The Yule Day had been cold – colder than Lothíriel remembered from the year before. Indeed, Erfréa had commented she could not remember a Yuletide when the weather had been like this. Of course, it had earned the Queen yet another argument about the sufficiency of her clothing. Apparently her husband thought the plains of the Mark had turned into the vast ice fields of faraway north you only heard stories of, and her thick woollen gown and heavy winter cloak, rimmed with white fur, couldn't possibly keep her warm.

In the end Lothíriel had given in and stayed inside, but only because she was determined to take part at least some Yule festivities.

"But what of the child? What if you go in to labour? What if-" Éomer had asked, but she had shut him up with a kiss.

"The baby will come when it will, not any sooner. It won't make a difference whether I'm confined to bed or sitting by your side", she had told him and rested a hand on his cheek. "It's our first Yule together, beloved. And it's the first Yule in 40 years when a Queen sits beside the King in the Golden Hall. I wouldn't want to spend it bedridden."

He had relented at last, but he had insisted she'd sit the whole time. Lothíriel didn't tell him she had not planned to do anything else.

She knew that the baby should have already come. It wasn't unheard for a child to be late, but each day that passed without the little one entering this world also made the stone on her heart grow. As it was dangerous for a child to come too soon, so was it coming too late.

But now was Yule night and she did not intend to spend it worrying about things. The baby would come when the Valar so willed, and not any sooner.

Her handmaiden was adding last touches to Lothíriel's hair when Éomer strode in, already looking uncomfortable in a dark green tunic that was one of his better ones; he still preferred dressing in the thick, plain coat that he wore under his armour, though she knew Gamling's wife Héalic wouldn't stop nagging about how the King was not supposed to look like he had just crawled from the stable where his horse was. The poor woman had apparently hoped to find an ally in Lothíriel, who came from the southern courts of Gondor, but the Queen herself found it best not to try and participate in that fight. After all, Éomer was a man or Rohan and terribly stubborn, and altogether it didn't really matter to her how he decided to clothe himself.

"Wife", he greeted and smiled at the sight of her, and then gave her an awkward little hug from her side. Ever since her belly had started to grow, he seemed to have developed some nearly hysterical fear that he might crush the child if he embraced his wife properly. It went without saying that Lothíriel was very anxious for the child's birth, and the prospect of real intimacy with her husband was one thing she very much looked forward to. Indeed, she had a feeling that as soon as she would be able to welcome his affections, there would be something of a re-enactment of the day he had come home from war; it still made her blush when she thought of how immediately after taking care of running things, he had practically carried her to bed... and he had refused to leave their bedchamber even though there had been a fire in the kitchens. Éothain seemed to be particularly fond of reminiscing that day, and all the jokes and anecdotes that had sprung forth.

But for now Lothíriel would have to be content with waiting, though she was starting to get just slightly frustrated. And he had a feeling he felt that way too.

"How are you feeling?" Éomer asked, resting one arm about her shoulders and a hand on the top of her belly.

"I am well, beloved", Lothíriel answered and gave him a small smile; her husband gave a kiss to her temple.

"You look tired", he noted, and she knew he was already trying to come up with something to convince her to stay in bed.

"My dearest husband, it was your child that kept me awake last night. He wouldn't stop moving about", she commented and placed her hand on the top of his.

Her words made him smile.

"You think it's a boy?" he asked, standing a bit straighter as only a proud father was wont to.

"I have this feeling, yes", answered the Queen, "And if the way he kicks would imply anything, I'd say he's going to be very strong."

Her husband made a smug face at that.

"The men of House of Eorl usually are", Éomer told her, and she snorted.

"Of course, dearest husband. How could I forget that with you around?" she asked, rolling her eyes. He chuckled and kissed her, and then she placed a hand on his arm. "Is it time already?"

"Just about", he said, organising his more kingly expression on his face. But then, as he looked down at her, Éomer's face became soft again, and his eyes were alight with his affection.

"Merry Yule, wife."

Lothíriel smiled.

"Merry Yule, husband."

He had known something was wrong the moment he had seen the expression on her face.

Lothíriel had sat by him as he had asked. But suddenly her face had gone very pale, her eyes large, and her laughter dying on her lips. She looked like she had forgotten completely about the Yule celebration that was taking place about them, and he did too, as soon as he saw her expression.

It had taken several moments for her to answer his questions of what was wrong. By that time, his voice was already turning panicked and Éothain, who had been talking with Elfhelm nearby, appeared to have become alarmed too; nothing seemed to ever go unnoticed by him.

And finally, after a time that felt like a year, Lothíriel had turned to look at her husband, and a wavering little smile had appeared.

"Éomer, I think it's time. I think the baby is coming", she said quietly.

Though they had known that the baby would come any day now, his heart had still picked up speed when she uttered those words and he realised that their child was on its way. So he jumped up on his feet and bellowed to Éothain go and get Master Flód. At first, that made the noise quiet down and everyone looked at the royal couple, all of them wearing looks of intense excitement mixed with concern. Éomer grinned (a bit like someone who had just lost their mad) and called: "My good people, House of Eorl is about to receive a new member."

Something like an explosion had taken place at that. Shouting, toasting, laughing, drinking, and many well-wishes in random order. But then Master Flód had arrived to take things under control, with ladies of the household swarming behind him, as if the lot of them had been positioned somewhere just waiting for this announcement. Éomer was allowed to carry his wife to their bedchamber, but then Éowyn, wearing a look of determination, had pushed him out of the room, and they had not let him in ever since, even though he had threatened them with things like beheading.

And now, after entire quarter hour had gone by, he was pacing behind the door of the royal chamber, muttering to himself how one might have thought he weren't the King at all, what with the way no one seemed to be paying attention to him. Elfhelm, who had left the celebrations to keep him company, gave Éomer's arm a comforting little pat.

"It's no use, my king. This territory belongs to womenfolk and you'd do well to stay away. The only thing you can do now is wait", said the Marshal compassionately. A father of four himself, Elfhelm could well understand his lord's anxiety.

But then Lothíriel let out a loud, pained moan, which nearly sent Éomer through the very door (or perhaps the wall, if they tried to keep him out).

"She'll be fine. She'll make a bit of noise before it's over, but it doesn't mean she's dying", Elfhelm said quickly, which made Gamling grimace.

"Elfhelm, you're not helping", said the older man. "Go and get us some ale. This could take a while."

The Marshal complied and went along, and Gamling placed a hand on his king's shoulder.

"What do you mean, it could take a while?" Éomer asked, his voice panicked despite of his attempts to sound calm and controlled.

"You haven't observed a childbirth before, my lord? From what I gather, it's not entirely different from foaling... but you shouldn't probably say that to your wife because she might get offended – women are sensitive like that. Anyway, you know it is not always a quick thing, being born into this world", said the old rider. Then his face turned gentler, "Don't worry, Éomer. It's a lucky child, to be born on Yule night."

"Will it make her lucky too?" asked the King, unable to hide his fear. "I don't know what I'll do if she's not going to be all right. I am... she is... she..."

"Your wife will be fine, lad. She's in good hands", Gamling reassured him. Then Elfhelm arrived with a barrel of ale and all they could do was wait. Éomer's Marshals tried to come up with something of a chat with him, but they soon realised their king wasn't currently much of a conversationalist; rather, he was more interested in pacing about restlessly, then stopping to brood to himself and perhaps consume a mug of ale, and then pace some more. Erkenbrand and Éothain came to keep company for them too, and together they watched as the women hurried back and forth from the royal chambers. Things like clean linen and hot water was carried there and they wore faces of intense concentration as they went about – faces that did not betray anything that might have hinted as to how it was going in the bedchamber.

As he paced about, Éomer thought of the day he had come home from war. He remembered riding up the hill, towards the Golden Hall... seeing her there on the stone terrace, he had very nearly ridden up the steps. She had come running at him, laughing and crying at the same time and he had loved her so much, his dear wife... his wife. And he had caught her in his arms, spinning her about in air. When he had pulled her close to him, she would not stop kissing his face.

Then, finally, she had whispered it, like it was a beautiful secret she could not hide any longer: "Welcome home, husband of mine... and father of my child."

His heart had missed a beat when the realisation had sunk in. He would become a father.

And he had laughed out loud, spinning her and himself about once more until they were both dizzy, and he didn't think he had ever been as happy as on that day. It was a memory he knew he'd always cherish.

But now he was scared, for he had no way of knowing of how things would turn out, and if his wife and their child would be all right. Éomer was a man of action, but here none of his skills as a warrior and a warleader meant nothing. It was frustrating and kind of terrifying, for there was absolutely nothing he could do. He was helpless and that was a feeling he did not take pleasure in. And he knew women did not always survive childbirth; his own aunt, Théoden's wife Elfhild, had died giving birth to Théodred.

That could not happen now. No, not to Lothíriel. He could not lose her – if he did, terrible things would happen.

The night grew old. In the hall, celebrations of the Yule night were carried on in the most exhilarated atmosphere, and the sounds of laughing and singing were carried all the way to the corridor where Éomer was waiting along with his faithful Marshals. It sounded like the prospect of the birth of an heir was making everyone beyond merry.

"You can go and join the others, if you want to", Éomer told his Marshals, who were sat by a barrel of ale. "I fear I'm not the best company right now."

"Nonsense, Éomer. Yule nights will come and go, but your child doesn't enter this world every other day. We will stay with you", said Erkenbrand, and the others made vague sounds of agreement. It moved the young King more than he could have ever told them and he was thankful; so much actually that he could not speak. So he just looked upon his brothers in arms and hoped that they understood.

And like they promised, they stayed with him, until the celebration in the hall ended and the night fell, though it was doubtful much sleep was had that night in Meduseld.

Couple hours after midnight Lothíriel's shouts became more frequent and listening to them, Éomer couldn't help but drive his fist repeatedly into the wall and dig his nails into his palms until they drew blood. But then at last she screamed for one more time and fell silent, and the men held their breath... and it came then, the scream of a new-born child.

"I'm a father! I'm a father!" Éomer repeated time and again as his eyes welled with tears, and his men rose up to congratulate him. Erkenbrand even went as far as giving him a mighty bear hug that nearly crushed the young King's lungs and left him gasping for air. Éothain grinned madly, as did Elfhelm, and Gamling watched over them a bit like an old father watched a gang of boys.

Finally, after a time that felt unbearably long, Master Flód appeared at the doorway, a gentle little smile on his usually serious face.

"You may come in now, Éomer King", he said, and that was all he needed. Éomer practically flew past the man, and then to the bedchamber, until he finally saw his wife.

They had already changed the bed sheets and dressed her In a pale blue nightgown. She looked pale and tired and at first he thought she was sleeping, but at the sound of his steps she opened her eyes. Though she looked thoroughly exhausted, there was also this warm look in her eyes... she was happy.

"Lothíriel", he managed, as his voice did not seem to allow much speaking at the moment.

"Éomer", she greeted him as he took her hand in his own.

"Are you well?" he asked.

"I am. Just tired", said the Queen and smiled at him. Even as pale and tired and after a childbirth, she was a sight to set his heart aflame. Oh, she was beautiful. "And you, my love?"

"Fine", he uttered, placing a kiss on the palm of her hand. Her eyes focused on something behind him, and he turned; Éowyn was standing there, with a small bundle in her arms. There was a huge smile on her face and her eyes sparkled as she lulled the child.

"Here's your son, brother", she said softly and lay the little prince in the arms of his father. Carefully, he held the baby, all the while fearing his large warrior's hands might hurt this helpless little thing.

A small, kind of strange sob escaped Éomer's lips when he felt the slight weight of a tiny human being in his arms. His son. They had wrapped the child in a green cloth, and he was asleep now. His skin still glowed ruddy and on the top of his head, there was a shock of dark hair.

"I have a son!" said the King in weak astonishment and wonder. Beaming at his wife, he held the baby close to his chest. They had only just given this small thing to him and he already loved it fiercely, and he knew that there was nothing he would not do to defend and protect this child, just like he'd stop at nothing for his wife. His child. Her child. Their child.

"Send word for Aragorn and Imrahil. They must be notified immediately", he said to his sister, his voice wavering. "And send riders to all reaches of Rohan, and have them shout that the Mark has an heir!"

"I will see to it, brother", Éowyn promised, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "We'll leave you three alone for a bit. Someone will be outside, in case you need something."

But Éomer barely heard, for he was staring at the face of his son, fearing that his heart might just burst from all the love he had for these people and for life itself.

Silence finally fell in the chamber and the King of the Mark was left with his family. After a while, he looked at his wife, who was watching him with half-open eyes.

"He's beautiful", she said softly, and the smile was rather in her eyes than on her lips, "isn't he?"

"He is", he answered, reaching his free hand to gently squeeze hers. Another helpless sob betrayed him, and the tears were blinding his vision once again. "Our son. I can hardly believe it. I didn't think I'd ever get to see this day."

"I know", she said softly, her fingers curling about his. "But we are here, now. Together."

"Together", he agreed and placed a kiss on her knuckles. Lothíriel smiled, and then her eyes fell on the sleeping child.

"I'd like to hold him for a bit", said his wife, and carefully he lifted the baby, placing their son in the crook of her arm. The baby never woke up but carried on with his peaceful sleep – a perfect picture of untainted innocence. And the sight of the two of them, his wife and his son, almost made the King of Rohan weep like a young maiden.

"He's going to look like you, I think", he said and kept his tears at bay, as that might have scared her or woken up the child.

"Perhaps", Lothíriel said, looking at their child. She smiled, "but he's going to be tall and strong like you."

"And hopefully as blessed as myself", Éomer softly spoke, and he stood up to tuck the covers better about his wife and the baby. "Go to sleep, beloved. You look very tired."

"So do you", she pointed out.

"I... I think I'll sit for a while. Lýtling will probably wake up soon and need something", said the King; though his body may be tired, his mind was racing too fast to even consider sleep at the moment.

"Mmm. You shouldn't stay up all the night", Lothíriel said, her voice already sleepy.

"I won't", he reassured her. He leant down to kiss her and brushed his hand across her cheek. "Sleep well, dear wife."

She smiled and then her eyes fluttered close, and Éomer was left watching over his family. And for a long time he did just sit, watching the two sleeping people on the bed, and listening to their even breathing.

Looking at his child again, Éomer knew many things would change now and he'd have to assume new kind of responsibility.. and he would have to teach his son to be a good king, which scared him. After all, a year ago this time he had not even thought he'd ever even sit on the throne of the Mark. And as he looked at the small human being that slept by his wife, he realised this child was and would be his legacy, and that the kind of father he would be might also have its impact on the course of future. Then his eyes fell on his wife, and her peaceful face consoled him just like it always did... he thought to himself that as long as she was there, he could do anything. And the baby that now slept by her was her child too. They'd raise their son together, and he knew she'd be a great mother.

Together. Yes, that was a word larger and stronger than any struggle there might be in the future.

And so, as the night turned into a new day and the light grew outside, he was with the two things he most loved in this world and all was well. Future might yet bring hardships and struggles, but he knew this was what he would fight for... and for the moment, Éomer King of Rohan was truly at peace.

THE END.

A/N: And there you have it. The Lion and his lady have their cub, and all is well in the kingdom of Rohan. After all, this is not really supposed to be one of those very conflicted stories (another reason why this is so short).

The child would be Elfwine, though canonically he was probably born during the Fourth Age. But I'm breaking canon with this storyline anyway, so hopefully I'm not going to be murdered for that.

People have commented how they'd have liked to seen a proper encounter complete with fluff and sexytimes afterwards, but as I already said in last chapter's Author's Note, I eventually decided not to write that chapter. That's something for "Heart's Desire", as this piece is supposed to go to places where HD doesn't. I see how that is disappointing and perhaps I will return to this story once "Heart's Desire" is done, but I won't make any promises. See the last chapter's A/N for a longer explanation.

Just to conclude couple of hanging threads: Erchirion's visit to Rohan went mostly well as soon as he got changed into dry clothes, and like he told Éomer in the chapter 2, he was fine with his sister's choice to wed Éomer. His talk with Lothíriel confirmed this and he was able to return home with a word that Lothíriel was happy and very loved in Rohan. Imrahil's initial reaction was mostly positive, but I think he sometimes felt he had made a mistake in sending Lothíriel to Rohan, for he missed her tremendously, as did Aredhel. But as he saw she was happy, he never said anything. As for why exactly he was in Edoras in the last chapter, apparently I derped again and thought it was somehow obvious why he was there. The explanation for his presence is that Théoden King's funeral took place in August, which is also when chapter 3 happens. So Imrahil would have been in Meduseld to pay his respects to the deceased king and also to visit his daughter (Éomer had not let her travel to Minas Tirith, because he was an overprotective father-to-be).

As for Aradhain, some arguments were had about where he should be brought to justice, as he had assaulted the Queen of Rohan, but eventually it was agreed that he'd be brought to Minas Tirith and Aragorn would attend to the matter. This was decised as a compromise, though certain parties grumbled to themselves how they'd have liked to either feed the captain to wargs or the fish. But in the end let's just say that Aradhain got what was coming for him and he never stalked anyone again.

All the same, for now this is all I have to say about this story, and I hope you liked it! Big thanks for all who took time to read this!

Lýtling = little one

memory bleeds - You are right in noting that Aradhain's reaction is mostly just disapproving in the chapter 2, but remember: that is what Lothíriel sees. It's from her point of view, so she doesn't know what he's actually thinking. Aradhain is, if anything, a liar and a pretender, and he's good at that... at least when he is able to contain himself. For a captain of his rank it would be odd to react in any other way. So he keeps his calm, though I can tell you he was at that point very angry. Another reason is because he doesn't want to get caught. He's the kind of person to sneak about in the dark, and so he wears the mask and only strikes when he thinks he can get away with it.

As for why Éomer figures her stalker is Aradhain is because he does know someone has been stalking her (the incident back in Aldburg, chapter 6, and later when Gríma had Éomer imprisoned, Lothíriel came to see him and told someone had been behind her door the other night, chapter 13), and he has had his own suspicions whether that man ever went away. After all, it's not so likely that she'd have multiple stalkers after her, so Éomer figures that the man who assaults her in the middle of the night when no one else is around is probably the same person who has bothered her before.

Hope this clears your confusion!