Lothíriel, princess of Dol Amroth and esteemed lady,

I write to you to tell you of my involvement in this Southern campaign; I know that you would have already concluded that I could not leave Aragorn alone in this task, even in this short rest from war. As my betrothed, you should read in my own hand that I am entering a situation of great risk, and Béma knows, I fully intend to return from this venture and honor our agreement to make you my wife.

Kindest regards and loyalty,

Éomer, king of the Mark


To Éomer, king of the Mark and my betrothed,

Yes, you guessed rightly that I had already known of your involvement in the Southern campaigns; father told me as soon as Elessar had called up the Oath of Eorl. I have no doubt that you and your men will fight valiantly and return home victorious. I only wish that war could be over for all the land, and that we all could live in peace.

Elphir once said that news of home during times of war is like the finest and most precious pearls drawn from the depths of the ocean. For all his serious ways, Elphir can be quite poetic and I think you would agree. Your Lady Sister sent me a missive some time ago, telling me all that she and Faramir were doing in their new home. It sounds as if she has her household organized like a regiment of troops; they all seem to be quick and effective at what they do. It makes me laugh to think of your sister making house after her great feats of battle, but there is a season for everything, as my Aunt Ivriniel would say.

My sister by marriage has warned me to guard my words when I write to you, for it is often easier to say a thing in ink that you would not say to a person's face. I tend to agree with her, but seeing as we are betrothed, I will not hold back on even the most mundane of things. I pray you are faring well and ask that you send my greetings to my father and brothers if you chance to see them.

With warm regards,

Lothíriel, Princess of Dol Amroth


Lothíriel, my betrothed,

Your letter came at no better time, for we had just finished our first skirmish, and though only a few of our men fell, it was a bitter fight and all hearts have taken a wound. I chanced to see your lord father and brothers and they are all well, though I had not the time to speak with them. Truly, your letter was a balm for my weariness, and though the hour is late, I could not rest til' I returned your word.

Your sister in law seems to have some insight into this matter and I sense wisdom in her though I do not know the woman. But as you said before, we are betrothed, and we should feel a freedom to voice our thoughts, whatever they may be. For now though, I have not a thought to write to you that would make any sense. Though I was raised as a warrior, I have never been able to sensibly tell all that goes through my mind during battle. Battle is a dark place and I pray to Béma that you never have to raise a sword and fight. It nearly broke me, body and soul, to see my sister close to death on the fields of the Pelennor; since that time, the thought of women in battle has repulsed me. Not in the way boorish men say that the fairer sex is only there for breeding and house making, but it repulses me because we as men should be the ones to fight in your steads and cherish you always. I apologize for my weighty thoughts; my mind and pen have run away with me.

I trust you are well.

Loyally yours,

Éomer, king


Éomer,

I have finally received your latest missive; the Valar must have guided our messengers to the point that our letters came precisely when needed. It grieves my soul to hear my brothers recount their days of war, so I have a little knowledge of what you feel. Elphir was always careful with his words, for he did not want to trouble me but Erchirion held nothing back. His words when he returned from war were often dark and brooding, and he only got better after telling all that he saw, down to the smallest detail. I admit that one night, I caught him at a weak moment and we sat in the palace kitchens and wept together as he told me all that he had seen. I cannot imagine how men can return from war unchanged, even a little bit. Since that time, Erchirion has become more like his old self, though sometimes I see a shadow pass over his eyes.

I wish after this time of war that you could stay as a guest in my father's halls, so that we might speak, face to face. I will admit that thinking of seeing you ties my stomach in knots but that is normal, I think. I have not received any recent news from my father, but I am assuming he is well. He hinted in his last missive that he wished for a time of peace and rest after these battles were through. I only hope that this return to war will be the last for a very long time.

Now, I am about to be unabashedly brazen, and I apologize if I offend your finer sensibilities but I often think of our kiss at your sister's wedding. I tell you this because I hope you often think of it too. I must sound like an imbecile to you at this moment. I doubt there are many women out in the world who asks a man they barely know if they think of one shared kiss but I only said it to maybe give you something light to think of during the dark times. I claim no certain skill at kissing but I hope it is an enjoyable memory for you. If my Aunt were to read this, she would certainly lock me up and brand me a brazen minx and never let me into society again. Or she would insist I marry you straight away to keep me from my wandering ways. I laugh at my own words, for as I read them over again, I see my faltering attempts at flirtations and they are sorely lacking in skill.

I hope you do not think me flighty and that I have poor taste; I only hoped to give you a little dose of the lightheartedness that everyone needs from time to time.

Warmest regards,

Lothíriel


Lothíriel,

I apologize that it has been some time since my last missive. You certainly brightened my countenance when I read your final words of your last letter; I wonder if my face betrayed me, for Éothain was sitting with me at the time and he gave me the most keen of looks and tried to wrend the parchment from my hand. As you can see, we all are in better spirits and happy to be done with this war. It was quick and, Béma be praised, I can count on one hand the men I lost. It is an undoubted miracle that so few fell and I am deeply grateful for whatever divine providence led our steps.

Your lord father approached me and asked that I be a guest in his house for a time of festivities when we reach Dol Amroth. I could not refuse, especially remembering your wish to speak with one another face to face. I will save any abundance of words for when we meet again.

One final thing, I might add: your kiss has never left me since the night of Éowyn's wedding.

Loyally yours,

Éomer


July, 3020, third age

"Princess, the elven envoy is about to arrive; will you be greeting them personally?"

Lothíriel's head jerked upright, her mind still foggy with sleep. She could not recall what day it was and what she was supposed to be doing. Huan, her faithful hound, lifted his shaggy head from the floor, looking behind Lothíriel lazily. Lothíriel looked to the door where the voice had come from, seeing the head butler of the house.

"I am sorry, Berion, you caught me unawares. What did you say?" Lothíriel sat up straighter, trying with all her might to look like she had not fallen asleep. Berion seemed not to notice, or chose not to notice Lothíriel's ruffled state and calmly repeated his message.

"The elven envoy is nearly here; will you be greeting them?"

"Yes; yes I will greet them!" Lothíriel's heart sped up a little as excitement ran through her. She stood from her seat, smoothing out any wrinkles in her gown. Berion nodded and walked away on silent feet, leaving the Princess to her last-minute ministrations. Lothíriel stopped before the large, full length glass mirror in her room, tucking back the few errant strands of her dark hair that had escaped the long braid down her back and shaking out any remaining wrinkles in her gown that she saw. With a snap of her fingers, Huan lumbered off the floor and Lothíriel breezed out of her chamber with the shaggy hound on her heels.

The elven envoy consisted of none other than the famed Legolas Greenleaf and several other elves that had followed the fair Prince to renew the lands of Ithilien. Lothíriel never tired of Elven Company but her excitement stemmed from something more. The elves had acted as scouts and front-runners to the mustered forces of the west; Lothíriel's father and brothers would soon be home.

King Elessar had called upon the forces of Gondor and Rohan to begin the purge of the southern lands of all who still kept league with the Shadow. Barely a month after Faramir and Éowyn's wedding, a band of Corsair pirates had attacked a garrison of Gondor along the southern coast. Elessar had called upon the Oath of Eorl and the kings of the west had ridden forth and purged the southern coasts of the remaining Corsair threat. It had been a short campaign, compared to the long War against the Shadow but it had been victorious. Few that defied the crown were left and any others that had survived were scattered too far from one another to pose any threat. Just a fortnight ago, Imrahil had sent a letter to Lothíriel, telling her to make the palace ready for the stay of the kings of the north. They were to have a time of feasting and gladness after this short return to war, and provide a respite for those who had marched so far from home. In his letter, Imrahil had also stated that a letter had also gone to the court of Minas Tirith and that the Queen and her escort would arrive shortly after they did, followed by Faramir and Éowyn.

As soon as Lothíriel had read the whole of the letter, she had run down to the palace's large kitchen, bringing as many servants as she could find in her wake. She had then read the letter to the staff, sending a buzz of excitement through many of the younger of the servants. The palace of Dol Amroth was by no means in disrepair, but when hosting two kings, a queen, various nobles, and an envoy of elves, there was much to do to make the place presentable. What had followed had been some of the busiest two weeks of Lothíriel's life. She had spent many late nights in her father's study, pouring over ideas for festivities, writing letters to merchants and farmers, and all the while seeing to the everyday tasks of her father's fiefdom. As it was, Dol Amroth's summer festival was to start a week after the guests arrived and Lothíriel was inundated with requests relating to the festival as well. All in all, the past weeks had served to exhaust the Princess; that was why Berion had found her asleep upon the balcony off her chambers. She had sought out the quiet of her rooms for a short rest in the middle of the afternoon, only to be lulled to sleep by the warm sea breeze rising from the shore below.

Even now, as Lothíriel stood in the palace courtyard, she self-consciously smoothed back her hair again, hoping her previous state of sleep did not show. Huan sat next to her in calm silence, his large head at her elbow. Lothíriel dropped her hand to the hound's head, absently rubbing Huan's ears. The large canine's presence was always calming to Lothíriel, and by the time she heard the clatter of hooves outside the gates, she was in a calmer state of mind. Lothíriel smiled as two horses trotted into the courtyard, followed by a handful of elves. Though their entrance lacked pomp, there was no mistaking the grace and power of the elves before her.

"Mae govannen, Prince Legolas," Lothíriel said as the elven Prince dismounted. A bright smile flashed on the Prince's face and he took Lothíriel's hand and leaned in to brush a chaste kiss upon her cheek.

"Well met indeed, Princess," Legolas beamed, dropping a friendly hand upon Huan's head. The hound's tail wagged as the elf rubbed his ears, his long face breaking into a feral grin. Legolas smiled at the hound then turned back to Lothíriel.

"Your lord father tasked me to make sure that you are well and to tell you that he misses you and will be home in less than a day. I asked your brothers if they had any messages to send to you but they were less than verbose," The elven Prince smiled and Lothíriel could not stifle a laugh.

"Amrothos though, did ask me to make sure you had stocked his favorite ale, in preparation for the coming festivities,"

"Well then my brother will not be disappointed, for I know him too well and have ordered some just for him," Lothíriel could not help but smile, for the elven Prince's happiness was infectious.

"I have grooms for your horses and there are servants to lead your people to the chambers provided for them if you wish. We also have a light meal set out for any who are hungry," Lothíriel added, smiling once again at the Prince.

"You have my thanks, Princess," Legolas then turned to his people, saying something so quickly in elvish that Lothíriel's rudimentary knowledge of the language could not understand. The second elf that had ridden next to Legolas finally dismounted at the Prince's words. The elf's expression was anything but happy and there was a deep-seated sorrow in his green eyes. That elf turned his green eyes upon the princess, making her feel as tiny as an insect in his dour gaze. But to her surprise, the elf nodded in respect to the princess, then headed up the group of elves to follow the servant into the palace. Lothíriel did not realize she had been holding her breath until she let out a long sigh. She could never hope to understand the elven race and she knew she was still a child in their eyes; playing the hostess to the elves was a daunting task for one so young in their reckoning.

"I apologize forSaerdartha, my kinsman," Legolas suddenly spoke at Lothíriel's side. Lothíriel nearly jumped with surprise at the elven Prince's voice but she recovered quickly.

"He is certainly intimidating," Lothíriel said, not sure she wanted to know the reason for the dour elf's harsh expression. The Elven Prince next to Lothíriel sighed.

"He has chosen a hard path in life and I fear he has many long, joyless years ahead of him. He was the captain of my father's guard when he lived in Eryn Lasgalen but he traveled from there during the War of the Ring and has not returned since. He agreed to be my captain, but only because his soul could not stand the inactivity of peace,"

Lothíriel looked at the elven Prince, noticing that his eyes seemed almost unfocused, as if he looked at something far away. Then the expression was gone and Legolas smiled again.

"But let us not dwell on things so melancholic. This is a time for celebration. Tell me, what have you in store for us?"


Lothíriel sat at her vanity mirror, tiredly brushing through her hair. She had dismissed her maid after the evening meal and had stayed up late, listening to the news that the elves brought. They spoke of the endless sea of sand that was Harad and of the bright colors worn by the people of Umbar and all the strange animals they had seen. Legolas and his elves had served as mostly scouts to the army of the west, and they had seen many things that Lothíriel could only imagine. They did not speak of the battles though, telling Lothíriel that they would be discussed at length and all would tire of them before long. After the elves had spoken of their travels, many left the great hall, content to wander down to the shore of the beach or to contemplate the stars out in the gardens. Legolas and his dour kinsman had stayed and talked with Lothíriel for a time until she nearly nodded off and then politely excused herself. There would be plenty of nights where she could listen to the stories of elves but tonight she needed her rest. So with a polite goodnight to the elves, and a quiet word to Huan, Lothíriel had sleepily headed for her rooms.

The candle upon Lothíriel's vanity sputtered, making the princess jump. She did not know how long she had been sitting in her thoughts but her brush had long been still, and Huan was fully asleep upon the cushion that served as his bed. Sometimes, Lothíriel envied the ease at which the great hound slumbered, unaware of the cares of the world around him. With a small smile, Lothíriel reasoned that was why she loved the animals in her care so much.

Lothíriel pulled out a drawer of the vanity, putting her brush inside without much care. As she did though, a flash of green silk ribbons caught her eye. It was Éowyn's wedding garter that the king of Rohan had given to Lothíriel. Underneath the silken ribbons was a stack of well-worn parchments. Lothíriel could almost recite the words contained on the pages by heart. She had kept the letters that Éomer had sent her during his time in the south and she had read each one over several times. She pulled out Éomer's last letter, her eyes falling to his final line.

Your kiss has never left me…

Butterflies welled up in Lothíriel's chest and she felt her cheeks burn. Why had she been so forward with the man? Now she would face him the next day and she did not know what he expected of her. Would he want another kiss? But then another thought still Lothíriel's mind and she sighed in relief; their betrothal had yet to be officially announced and there was still the papers to be signed and witnesses to be found. And then they would be announced before the people and the courts and then all the festivities would have to be planned…

Lothíriel felt her mind running away with her and she suddenly realized that she was more nervous about her betrothal to the intimidating king than she thought. But then there was that kiss…

Lothíriel shook her head, and stood quickly, shutting the vanity drawer with a little too much fervor, making Huan twitch in his sleep. Charging herself not to think of another vexing thing, Lothíriel blew out her candle and went to sleep.


Lothíriel was awake when her maid knocked at her chamber door. She had been awake for some time, staring enviously at Huan, who still slumbered on the floor. Lothíriel had not slept well all night and could not shake the butterflies that caused her stomach to twist whenever she thought of the coming day.

"You're up early, my princess," Lothíriel's maid, Fingwen, said her tone a little too cheerful for Lothíriel's taste. Lothíriel felt a retort rising to her lips but she bit her tongue. Causing her maid undue distress was not the way to start her day. Huan lifted his large head lazily at Fingwen's chirpy voice, yawning at the maid disinterestedly. Lothíriel did not share Huan's easy mood and found herself gritting her teeth at Fingwen's chatter.

"I've thought of a most lovely arraignment of braids for your hair, m'lady. You will look absolutely stunning when the kings and lords return," Fingwen took hold of Lothíriel's arm, pulling her gently from the bed and onto the vanity stool. Within a short amount of time, Fingwen had braided Lothíriel's hair into an elaborate knot at the base of her neck.

"There. You look beautiful, m'lady," Fingwen stood back for a moment, admiring her work, then went right back to business. "I have a gown picked out just for today," Fingwen practically skipped to Lothíriel's cedar wardrobe, pulling a sea-green gown from the massive wooden closet.

"This color will bring out your eyes and make your hair look like a Raven's wing,"

"What makes you so excited this morning?" Lothíriel finally asked, trying her best to sound civil. Fingwen looked at Lothíriel and laughed, as if the Princess should know the reason for her cheerfulness.

"You want to look your best when the men come marching home, don't you?" Fingwen asked, a sly look coming into her eye. "And I hear the King of Rohan is quite a sight in his armor," Fingwen could not hold in a giggle as Lothíriel shot her a dark look. Thankfully, the maid remained quiet as she helped Lothíriel finish dressing, and the Princess was soon out the door, Huan faithfully on her heels.


Éomer sat back in his saddle, taking in the countryside about him. They were nearly to the outskirts of the city surrounding Dol Amroth and he finally felt the tight coil of vigilance in the pit of his stomach start to unwind. Though he had been a warrior for the better part of his life, Éomer had come to appreciate the peace that came after Sauron's defeat. He would never abandon Gondor's call for aid but when the request had come, Éomer had found it hard to call the muster. It caused the king no small amount of guilt when he called warriors from their families when his people were still recovering from such great losses from the War. But Rohan's people were a proud folk, and even for his misgivings, Éomer could not deny that his people would stand with him until the day he died. Thankfully, this campaign had been short and they had suffered little loss. He had been afraid that he would lose many of his men in the south, and on one of his more troubling nights, he had written a letter to Lothíriel, telling her things that troubled him. Now as he rode towards her home, doubt assailed Éomer. Did Lothíriel think him less a man because he had confided his doubts in her?

"You seem troubled, brother,"

Éomer looked to his side; Aragorn, King Elessar, was studying him with his keen grey eyes. Éomer knew there was little he could hide from his Battle-brother and friend but today he did not allow the Ranger-king into his thoughts.

"I am just thinking of my people, that is all," Éomer smiled at Aragorn, hoping the king would abandon his questions for now. Aragorn indeed, seemed to pick up on Éomer's mood and dropped any further questions he might have asked the younger king. There was a moment of companionable silence before Aragorn spoke again.

"You will enjoy the palace of Dol Amroth. It is a restful place and Imrahil has done much to make it so. I hear also that Imrahil has festivities planned to lighten our hearts and those of the men we command. It will be a glad time. My lady wife will be there," Aragorn said, a secret smile crossing his face. "And Faramir and Éowyn as well," The king added, almost as an afterthought. Éomer smiled with his friend, though he envied the older man in that aspect. There would be a loving embrace and a warm bed to greet the king upon their arrival. Technically, Éomer did have a woman to go to in Dol Amroth, though he knew that he could not and would not treat the Princess like a common tavern wench. She was a Princess, and she was his betrothed. He would not shame her by taking liberties, as much as he ached for a tender touch.

A shout went up from the head of the column, drawing Éomer out of his thoughts. The Sea-ward tower had been spotted, meaning they were soon within the city of Dol Amroth. Éomer shifted in his saddle, excited to be nearing food and rest in spite of the swirling doubts in his heart. He missed his land and people but Meduseld was a lonely place without his sister and uncle and Éomer often found himself longing for the comfort of friendship. So with his previously serious thoughts pushed to the back of his mind, Éomer signaled his guard, and after a quick word with his captain, Éothain, about the construction of their men's camp, he rode to the head of the column. Aragorn and his men followed suit, each king pulling their horses to ride abreast of Prince Imrahil. Imrahil's son's rode behind him; the older two nodded at Éomer respectfully but Amrothos, the younger, smiled at him mischievously. Éomer did not doubt that the brothers knew of the arrangement between him and Lothíriel but they had all kept silent and not let on what they knew. Amrothos though, had kept a running dialogue with the king throughout their journey home, and Éomer guessed that the youngest prince was sounding him out and measuring him up. He had seen at Éowyn's wedding that Amrothos and Lothíriel were close to one another and Éomer had no doubt that Amrothos was weighing him in the balance to test his worth.

"My lord, I hope you are enjoying the scenery of my father's land. It is certainly a sight for sore eyes," Amrothos said, his tone innocent.

"It is far different from the Riddermark, but it is beautiful in its own right," Éomer answered, still uncertain where the young prince was heading. He knew that Imrahil's youngest son was an infamous jokester and had often gotten himself and several others in trouble because of his antics.

"I cannot say that I have seen the plains of Rohan but I hear they are beautiful as well. My sister has read several books on your lands and she is quite versed in animal lore; perhaps you can test her knowledge sometime?" Amrothos threw the king a jaunty smile despite the sudden mutterings of his older brothers beside him.

"Well, then I shall have to speak to the Princess, if she is versed in the history of the Riddermark," Éomer said, calling the younger man's bluff. Amrothos' smile did not waiver though and Éomer wondered if he had given the younger man exactly what he wanted. Éomer then wondered how such a lordly and oftentimes dour man as Imrahil could have such a jokester as a son.

"Please forgive my youngest son's jesting. He's had a penchant for it all his life and I often forget that he can be taxing to ones not used to his lighthearted ways,"

Éomer looked to his side, meeting the gaze of Imrahil. The man had an apologetic smile on his face though he did not seem overly troubled by Amrothos' chatter.

"A light heart is not always a bad thing," Éomer said, feeling partially responsible for the younger Prince's reprimand.

"No, no it is not," Imrahil said, his expression becoming inward and his face becoming more serious. Something about that expression sparked a memory in Éomer's mind and he could not stop the sudden question springing to his lips.

"Does the Princess take after you?" Éomer asked, ignoring the small snicker he heard behind him. Imrahil as well, seemed unperturbed by his youngest son and looked deep in thought but not perturbed that Éomer had asked about his daughter so casually. But, the two men had an understanding, and Éomer knew that Imrahil wished for the Horselord to know his daughter if they were to be married.

"Lothíriel is much like me, you could say. She was always very serious as a child and had few friends outside of her brothers and cousins; unless of course you count the various animals she adopted over the years," Imrahil stopped for a moment, a smile coming to his face. Éomer waited in silence, his curiosity suddenly piqued.

"Her seriousness is often taken as a lack of personality, but she has quite the character when you get to know her. Even as her father, there are still depths to her that I have never seen, and may never see ere my days are done. She was born an old soul, as my sister Ivriniel would say," Imrahil smiled. "I fear the poor girl's ears are burning with all the talk of her," Imrahil said abruptly, effectively ending the conversation, leaving Éomer to wonder what "talk" was going around about the princess. Éomer would have been content to muse on the Prince's words but they were suddenly within the city, leaving the king no time for thought.

Crowds lined the sides of the street, filling the air with cheers and well-wishes. Young women and children leaned out of upper windows and over the edges of the flat roofs of their homes, throwing flowers and petals down on the returning men. Several of the bolder young ladies chanced darting up to the riders, tucking sprigs of flowers into their saddles or the men's outstretched hands. None dared venture toward Éomer though, but that was just as well, he thought. He did not want Imrahil to think that he took his betrothal lightly.

Upon glancing over his shoulder, Éomer saw that Imrahil's two unmarried sons, Erchirion and Amrothos, had nearly an armload of flowers and at one point Amrothos leaned from his saddle and kissed a maiden bold enough to return the gesture. Envy flared so quickly in the horse lord's soul that it took him by surprise. Éomer looked away from the young Prince, stuffing his childish emotion far away to the back of his mind. He was the King of the Mark now, and betrothed to a Princess. He was no longer a soldier and not a young prince who did not carry the weight of a realm on his shoulders. Éomer suddenly felt his mood souring and his expression became like a thundercloud.

It was a great relief to Éomer when they came to the road that led to Imrahil's palace; it was a little more peaceful, for there were citrus groves and vineyards separating the palace from the city proper. They traveled in silence for a short time, until a loud cheer rose up from behind Éomer.

"You are welcome to join in our race, my lord!" Amrothos' voice sounded behind Éomer and the king turned quickly. Amrothos spurred his horse forward, cutting around the kings and galloping down the road. Erchirion and Elphir followed their younger brother, their serious faces splitting into competitive smiles. Éomer watched the princes go, his fingers twitching at Firefoot's reins. Imrahil looked over at the young king and smiled.

"Every time we have returned from a time away from home, my sons will race from the old citrus tree home," Imrahil pointed slightly behind the moving column, to a knarled tree barely off the road. Then Imrahil urged his horse forward, his face alight with the prospect of home. The challenge of a race was too much to pass up and as the walls of Dol Amroth and the Sea-ward tower rose to greet them, Éomer pressed his heels to Firefoot's flanks and the warhorse burst into a gallop within the space of a breath. Éomer felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he moved with Firefoot, leaning into the horse's neck as the wind whipped his hair back. He had passed Imrahil within five strides of his warhorse, and now Éomer was gaining with the three princes ahead of him.

It was only a matter of a minute when Éomer and Firefoot caught up with the three princes. Their horses were smaller and quick but they could not compete against the pure muscle of Firefoot that shot the stallion towards them. Amrothos looked over his shoulder at the pounding of hooves and let out a whoop when he spotted Éomer. The competitive streak in Éomer ran a mile wide, and he could not help but utter a ruthless laugh as he pulled around the two older princes and came abreast of Amrothos. The young prince's face was alight with glee and he nudged his mount forward as a horn-call came from the palace walls. Éomer looked ahead, seeing the tall gates of the palace opening. He nudged Firefoot once more, bursting through the gates of Dol Amroth, still abreast of Amrothos.

"That was a fine race, my lord," Amrothos yelled, slightly out of breath. Éomer remained silent, letting Firefoot slow as they gained the center of the courtyard. Amrothos had already dismounted and when Éomer looked to find him, the young prince was hugging a young woman. Beside the young woman sat a shaggy, grey hound. The hound's head was level with the young woman's elbow and he studied Éomer with alert eyes.

"You remember my sister, my lord?" Amrothos said, pulling the young woman forward with an impish smile; Éomer watched as the young woman's eyes widened and her face became serious.

"Welcome, my lord king," The princess said, looking up at Éomer quickly. Éomer only nodded, for he could not take his eyes off the princess. She was stunning in a sea-green gown, making her strange grey eyes look greener and her hair jet-black. Éomer felt like kicking himself, for he could not get a sensible word to come out of his mouth. Thankfully, the Princess saved him from further words.

"I have grooms to show you to the stables; I know that you and your men like to see after your own steeds but there are several grooms that are ready to assist you if you so desire," Lothíriel extended an elegant hand toward a wizened man, dressed in the garb of a Farrier. The man bowed to Éomer as best as his aged back could bend.

"Our services are at your command, my lord," The old man said, his voice creaky with age. Éomer nodded his thanks at the man, dismounting Firefoot. Having regained some of his wits, Éomer walked up to the Princess, extending a hand.

"It is an honor once again, Princess. I thank you for your hosting and provision," Éomer did a short bow, taking Lothíriel's hand in his own and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "And I thank you for your letters, and kind words," Éomer said quietly, not missing the blush that rose to the Princess' cheeks. The hound at the princess' side let out a low growl but fell silent with a quick gesture from the Princess. Éomer smiled at the princess again and saw that her blush deepened though her face remained impassive. Éomer was searching for something else to say when Firefoot snorted in his ear.

"It seems your stallion thinks it is time for his food and rest," The Princess said, an uncomfortable silence falling between her and the king. Just as Lothíriel felt she was going to wring her hands off because of nerves, the sudden clatter of hooves saved her from having to talk to the king of Rohan anymore. She stepped to the side of Éomer with a slight nod, hoping the king did not notice her sigh of relief. As soon as she spotted her father, Lothíriel walked quickly to him, smiling in genuine relief. He was home and he was safe. Seeing his daughter, Imrahil dismounted quickly, embracing Lothíriel and placing a kiss upon her forehead. Then, with a sweeping gesture, Imrahil addressed all who stood in the courtyard.

"Welcome, lords of the West, to my home,"


A/N: I hope you all enjoy this next chapter!

silverswath- Thank you for your review! I hope that you are still enjoying the story. And thank you for the complement on my editing. I'm only human but I try my best to make sure things are Grammatically correct and so on... there is nothing more distracting, I think, than poor Grammar. That being said, I hope I continue to live up to your high standards! :)

HeartoftheArtsari - Thank you as well for your review! It is my hope to make this an enjoyable tale for everyone to read. I've always loved Éomer as a character and I couldn't help writing about him! I hope I don't disappoint as the story progresses! :)