The Spectrum of Peace

by ihaveastorminme

"What does peace feel like to a man that has had a lifetime of war? What does love feel like to those who have denied it all their lives? To those who have never known it? What do two people who simply love and live as best they can, look like?"

4. The darkest hour

4. The darkest hour

"There is no worse death than the end of hope. When you have lost hope, you have lost everything. But then, even when you think all is lost, when all is dire and bleak… there is always hope."

- (adapted from) Pittacus Lore –

It was well into the night when the council between those that were now the leaders of the Armies of the West finally ended. Gandalf had spoken to them and Aragorn had laid their grim plan. All had agreed, if only to give Frodo the Hafling a chance, this one chance, to finally destroy evil from this Middle insisted that both Eomer and Aragorn come and share his home and the Prince insisted so much that to the Dol Amroth residence was where Eomer headed after he had gone to Eowyn's bedside to find her as sound asleep as this morning. She slept so much these days. If Aragorn had not assured him that it was to be expected, Eomer would have found himself losing his mind.

When he got to the Prince's home, all were gathered in front of the main guest hall: Aragorn sitting by the fire on the furs, and Elphir close to his side, speaking with the ranger in low voices over what must have been a cup of wine. They were not speaking of the decision that had just been taken, for they were all determined to keep it to secrecy at least until the morrow and Eomer knew that Imrahil had wanted a night of peace with his family, before breaking the news to them… he knew and he understood. Eomer's entrance was barely noticed, even as he sat down in one of the empty seats, the cushions soft against his back. He felt comfortable in his borrowed clothes if only because it was a relief to be out of leathers and chainmail, even for so little a time. He knew without doubt that soon he would have to wear them again, much too soon, and the decision weighted on him. There was no escaping the fate that awaited them and as he glanced about the room into the faces of the warriors surrounding him, he saw the same heaviness in their eyes that he felt in his soul.

Except… no, not on all of them.

Eomer felt his lips lift up in a smile despite his grim mood. Imrahil was talking to whomever his attention was called to, but there, arms wrapped around his arm and head of dark curls (tamed into more orderly waves now) resting against his shoulder was his only daughter, wrapped in bold red velvet and a thin golden circlet around her forehead and that disappeared under her hair, which marked her for the princess she was… A Princess who was drowsy despite the voices around her. Her lids were heavy and kept dropping until it seemed as if she was finally asleep, there on her father's shoulder like a child of ten years old. Eomer knew that he was not the only one to have noticed it, but none made to waken her, not until Imrahil became aware and smiled on his daughter. The Prince put a hand on her face and was about to gently wake her, when Amrothos, perhaps thinking it a funny jest, in remembrance of old days past, gently kicked his sisters leg with his foot. The Princess startled visibly, drawing in a harsh breath as she was jumped out of drowsiness, but what instantly set the company of men at edge was the very familiar sound of steel against sheath and the glint of a blade in her hand as her alarmed eyes looked about, the sheen of sleep chased away by fright.

It was as if she had taken the tentative peacefulness that had settled between the company a moment before and smashed it to the ground. The regretful pieces of it scattered away in the night and the silence that reigned was such that not even a stray breath was heard.

Eomer did not dare even blink. He had seen countless men react that way to being woken rudely, (indeed it was better to awaken a warrior by voice and standing a good distance away, lest you should find yourself with a blade at our throat) and women too. You'd be hard-pressed these days to find a woman of the Mark who did not know how to yield a blade or kept one within easy reach at all times... but he had not expected it from a Princess like her, who had grown with four warrior men to protect her from ever having to sleep with fear.

But then again, she had not been with her father and brothers this past year, had she? Who knew what she had lived through in those days of solitude and uncertainty… In the end, the simple truth was that, Princess or not, she was as obviously as tightly strung as any of them and just as easily startled.

But she was however, very swift at gaining control over herself. It took the lady only a moment to be composed again, and the blade that glinted so dangerously in the candle light disappeared in the folds of her sleeve silently.

"I beg your pardon, I…" but for the very first time, her words failed her as she looked around and took in the astonished faces of the men around her. She got up and curtsied stiffly. "It seems I am worn-out, my lords. I shall retire. Goodnight to all."

And she was gone in a swish of cloth before they could even rise from their places and bid her goodnight as her station demanded. Imrahil watched his daughter climb the stairs hastily and then turned impatient eyes towards his youngest son. Amrothos had the decency to wince.

"I do not fault you for hoping your sister has been left unchanged by this time we spent apart, but you are a fool indeed son, if you cannot see the truth." The Prince said in such a hard voice that Eomer had never before heard, at least not directed to one of his offspring. Amrothos' usually so relaxed expression had gone. The young man got up and without even bothering to excuse himself, went after his sister. The rest of the company cleared out after that, everyone leading themselves to their chambers.

Eomer sat in the dark confines of his own for a long time kindling the flames and pacing the floor. He was so tired that sleep would not take him and his mind was heavy with all the thoughts that would not permit him rest. In the night's embrace, he suffered, for nothing short of a blow to the head could possibly stop his darkest thoughts from assailing him. No rest for this son of Eorl this night, even though his exhaustion was so bone deep he could weep from it… But there was no silence, no peace, even now. Everything came to haunt him, every mistake, every little thing he could have done differently but didn't, every way he'd failed. Such dark times they had passed, such darkness they were to face still. So much had been lost so quickly that he had not even had the time to mourn. Now, in the hours of the night he felt so alone that his heart ached with sorrow too deep to contemplate, a grief so strong Eomer was afraid of it. His heart and soul pained for the uncle he had lost and the cousin he'd had no time to mourn, and the sister that was even now in the grip of the Black Breath. Ached for a destiny that seemed to be forever entwined in death and suffering, not a glimpse of light anywhere to guide him, give him hope…

All these thoughts besieged his mind and the walls of his room seemed to close in on him, taking his breath away.

e.l.e.l.e.l.e.l.e.l.e.l.

He heard her before he saw her. His senses were as sharp as always and in the darkest hour of the night when all seemed to be lost to the world, even the whisper of cloth against marble and skin shouted its presence.

She was descending the stairs and within moments she would be within sighting distance from him. Eomer did not want to startled her: it must be strange to see a man laying by the fire in your own home - but if he spoke before she saw him herself, she might be even more frightened. So Eomer let Lothiriel of Dol Amroth make her way and spot him at her own time.

The Princess came into his line of vision slowly: first her bare feet as she quietly descended the stairs, thin ankles, white calves. He caught sight of her white gown - it must be her sleeping dress and at that realization Eomer felt instantly more ill at ease. But as he looked more closely, he realized that she was wearing what seemed to be several layers of cloth, and then realized that she would have a robe of some sort on, of which he was grateful. She came into moonlight and looked like a ghost clad in layers of white smoke, but the ethereal quality that seemed to surround her was broken by her very human curls, messy and wild about her. And when she noticed him, she inhaled sharply and stopped dead in her tracks, her hand going to her chest, as if to steady her heart (and a part of him was grateful she did not draw steel at him as well, this time)

"Your highness..." She whispered out of breath, and there was relief in her voice once she realized who he was. "You startled me, I did not expect anyone up at this hour."

"Neither did I, which is why I took the liberty of coming down here. I did not mean to frighten you, forgive me, but I thought it best not to speak first."

Her relief now took the form of a chuckle as she came nearer. "I'm glad you didn't. I would have fallen off the stairs from fright had I heard your voice in the dark."

Eomer made to stand now that she unlikely to scream the house down, but she held her pale hand out and stopped him.

"Please, I do not wish to intrude on your solitude. I was merely going to the kitchens to fetch myself some tea to help me sleep… and I shall bring you some as well, for you seem in need of it."

And she moved away to the direction she had said she was going, silent as a vision that did not touch the ground at all. She did not even give him time to object or decline and now he had to wait for her to come back... which she did sooner than he expected. And when she did, the forefront of her hair was tied back from her face giving her the appearance of being tidy (even though those shorter curls escape to frame her face) and her robe was perfectly poised on her shoulders, laced up to the very last ribbon – it had not been so before. That did not make standing next to her easier and had Eomer been kinder to himself he would have found a reason to leave, but he did not. The truth was that he did not wish to be alone.

"My dear Hilfild knows my habits - she had left a pot of my favourite tea over the fire."

Eomer took the wide cup the Princess offered (painfully careful not to brush her fingers and burn himself as he did so). With the crisp scent of lemon and strong chamomile that came from the cup, came also the sweet and almost heady fragrance of her skin, or her soap, or whatever it was. It was unmistakable, because it had the warmth that only another live human being could have and it burned its way through his dark thoughts and into his lungs like a wildfire… Eomer felt the hair on every part of his skin stand up, galvanized at her being so close. He was incredibly aware of her presence and all the more vulnerable to it because he had felt so deserted before she had appeared. Only moments before had felt as if the world had forgotten him and he alone inhabited this earth. But the silence that pounded his ears had been breached by the sound of her bare feet on cold stone and she had come out of the darkness to remind him that there was life still, warm and vibrant and just there next to him. And because he still had some sense left in him, Eomer reminded himself that he was not acting reasonably and that this was the betrothed daughter of Prince Imrahil, an honourable man to whom he had sworn friendship.

Eomer reminded himself of all those things, before he allowed himself to skim the surface of how badly he wanted her in that moment… without reason or sense, same he had wanted her from the moment he saw her, but differently now – now it was a want of the tangible, the physical. This was something he knew… and yet new, because so violently the desire boiled that he could barely control it, with the same inexorable strength of both his darkest thoughts and most relentless hopes; a longing to strong it could break stones. It was a desire born of solitude and despair as much as her personal appeal. It would have been unfair and untrue, to say that she could have been anyone and he would have wanted her the same… but the real truth was that the vulnerability of his mind was leaning him towards paths that he would not have treated, had he been calm and in peace.

Unexpectedly, just as his fingers grasped the cup she offered, she also handed him a white flask.

"It's my father's favourite brandy. He mixes it with the tea when he has trouble sleeping, and I thought perhaps you might like to do so as well."

Eomer felt something within him tug a little and felt foolish because of it. Had it really been so long since he'd been in the presence of simple kindness?

"You're very thoughtful Princess, thank you." He said quietly and took the flask from her. She thanked his with a smile in return… and then started to walk away towards the stairs.

She was leaving…

"May I..." Eomer stopped. He'd spoken without thought and now that the words were out, he wished he could take them back, but he could not. Painfully aware that she had stopped and half-turned to him expectantly, he gathered all his courage to finish his sentence.

Was he really going to do this? Dare he?

With a resigned sigh, cursing himself for still being a brash fool even as he approached his twenty-eighth year upon this earth, he finished speaking.

"Forgive my forwardness, Princess… I was about to ask you to join me for this cup of tea, but too late did I remember how exhausted you must be and how late the hour. I will not take offense if you refuse, the request is ridiculous, I realized it myself, only too late…"

But she hurried to shake her head, smiling and already turning to sit on one of the plush sofas directly in front of him.

"No, on the contrary. I myself was wondering if you would like the company, but thought it too audacious to ask, even for me."

Their smiles were of the same nature, soft and understanding of each other's minds and it was comforting (and in a way, agonizing also) that she would like his company too.

Lothiriel brought her cup to her lips, letting the hot liquid warm her from the inside out and tasting the honey in it. "I should have known better. Insomniacs should always keep each other company." She said almost absentmindedly.

Eomer smiled and they stayed in silence for a time, her sitting on the sofa, surrounded by colourful pillows and he sitting on the furs by the fire, his back resting on the sofa behind him, each prey of their own thoughts. Lothiriel wondered what was on his mind to make him look so grim, and Eomer wondered at how much she must trust him to look at him so openly, or to sit with him so at ease at such a dark hour. Was it because she was utterly unafraid, or was it because she did not know any better? Had she ever been in the company of a man outside her family so late in the night? Did she even know the effect she had as she stood there, so reachable, so close? And how she looked at him... unflinching, with a steady eye sharpened by intelligence and softened by kindness. Within that open look laid the truth of her nature, Eomer realized: bold, but open, as if she would listen to anything he had to say and judge nothing. It was in her honest eyes that Eomer found the answer to his question. The truth was that she had no true understanding of why exactly she should not be in his company just now, no way of perceiving his state of mind, not because she lacked intelligence, but because she did not know him – how could she? To her he was a man whom her father trusted enough to open his own home to, a man to whom she owed the life of whom she most loved – and those were her own words. And if she thought he was in need of companionship, then so what if it was the middle of the night? If her brothers and their behaviour were anything to go by, perhaps that was what she too understood by friendship.

Eomer startled when he fully realized how dangerous that made her. Dangerous to him, that he could feel that way around her. He, a man who had never spoken of what he felt even when what he felt almost choked him, a man who had learned to guard his secrets with his life and knew well the weakness there was in too many words… and yet she called forth his secrets by just being there. Dangerous, his mind whispered, and Eomer looked away from her and into the fire. And it seemed that looking away was not enough, because his mind was so full of her that even in the fire he could see her likeness.

"Is your mind so troubled, my Lord, that you should not find even a small measure of peace this night?"

Her question was so softly spoken that for a moment Eomer fancied he had missed the wording of it, even thought he did not. There was honest concern in her eyes when Eomer met them and he realized that she was smart enough to know that what put his mind to such unrest would not be without consequence for her as well, or her brothers, or her father. That was what he thought as he looked at her. He simply could not imagine that her concern in that moment was for him alone.

"After some time, one loses hope of finding peace, my lady princess. Even rest becomes hard to come by." Eomer replied and felt his heart even heavier in his chest.

"I wish with all my heart for you to find both, your highness." The Princess said candidly and Eomer blinked at her in surprise for a moment, before he remembered himself and simply nodded his head at her by way of thanks. She seemed such a strange, contradictory creature: so full of hidden things and so cautious with her words, measuring of her every step - so much so that one seemed to be surprised when she so readily spoke her mind and feelings, even though one shouldn't. There was confidence in her eyes, that never wavered, despite her silences.

"My lord, is it too late to extend my condolences?" she asked after awhile, sounding apprehensive for the very first time, and Eomer gave her a small smile.

"It's never too late for that." Was his response and Lothiriel saw it was true to him, in the way his grim expressing melted away from his face and his eyes gentled.

"I am so very sorry for your loss, Highness. I am sure I cannot begin to comprehend the depths of your pain."

Why should a stranger be so moved by a sorrow that did not even belong to her? Why should she look at him with such compassion?

"How fares your sister?" Lothiriel asked then, not sure if she should keep speaking of this when it was so clearly the very matter that darkened his thoughts, or if she should turn to frivolous conversation to take his mind away from such musings. Keep his sorrow company, or distract him?

"My sister is unchanged. Aragorn assures me she is physically healing but I worry for her. Sometimes I feel as if she will never wake up and if she does, I fear for what she…" Eomer stopped his tongue and looked up at the Princess as if startled. She noticed his eyes widen, startled perhaps that he had said so much even though he'd hardly spoke at all. He refused to open his mind to anyone with such resoluteness that it was no wonder he felt so miserable.

"You may confide in me if you wish. I'll take your secrets to my grave." Lothiriel said, willing him to look at her, see that she meant it, how much she wished to be even of the smallest help to him. And though it was strange and incomprehensible that she should feel in such a way for a stranger, (terrifying was the word she refused to use, because that was the prevailing sensation he made her feel… but Lothiriel was not one to bend to fear!) She was sure of her feelings, as she had always been, and for the sake of them she would bend all rules, even if that made her reckless and careless. What mattered was that there was something about this king that called to her from a deeper place in her soul; something ghostly, as if from another time or another life, perhaps from dreams she no longer remembered. Something that made her disregard all sense. That made her sit with him and offer her ear even if she knew she could have no advice to give to one such as him. She only had a desire to be there for him, born from a need she did not understand, but that became immediate and undeniable when she'd seen the vulnerability in his eyes. It did not matter where this bond she felt tied, whether into past or future, whether it was true or she was simply being the night's fool. What mattered was that she felt the strong pull of it and it made her want to help him even in the most miniscule way. In whatever way.

How she wished he could trust her, even if a little… and how ridiculous that wish felt, when they knew next to nothing of each other.

"I cannot explain what it is to be a brother, Princess." Eomer started and his deep voice in the half darkness startled her.

"I have first been a son to my parents and a brother to Eowyn and that is who I am. But my father died, my mother followed, the one I loved as I brother was cut down and the one who was to me as close as a father, died just a week ago. And Eowyn, the only family I had left… she was driven to such despair that she sought death. I felt her die in my arms…"

His eyes were shiny with emotion and Lothiriel wanted to go to him and take his hand in both of hers and hold it tight, take all that pain from one who deserved all its measure in happiness. It was precisely then that Lothiriel realized what it was that really ailed him, that gave him such pain and struck such fear in the heart of one so brave. It was the same sorrow that had dug a hole in her own heart... and once she saw that she felt foolish for not recognizing it sooner. But when she did, Lothiriel realized that she knew exactly what to do, knew precisely what to say. She did the very thing she had wished someone would have done with her, spoke the words she would have begged to hear, in her most lonely hour.

Eomer saw the realization settle in her features and then the determination take hold in them, strong and unshakable. She got up and came to kneel by him, took his hand in both of her and stood firm against his very obvious confusion.

"You're not alone, Eomer King. Your sister will come back from shadow and you will find happiness and peace. You will be a good king and your people will love you. And you will never be alone."

Eomer stood very, very still, as if he could not move even to breathe. Her face shone in the fire light with a fierceness that was almost frightening. And so was her ability to push away all the words that did not matter and see straight to the heart of the problem. She believed every single word that came out of her mouth and spoke to him with the same honesty now as she had this morning at the courtyard of the Houses of Healing.

And what she spoke of was disconcerting to say the least.

"You have lost so much and no one will ever be able to replace your family, but please believe me when I say this: as long as my father and brothers have breath and strength in them, as long as I live, you will never be alone. Family can be found as well as born into and we will always be there for you when you need us, just as family would. That is the promise my father made you when he recognized our kinship."

Eomer did not know what his expression showed to those searching blue-blame eyes that held such strong confidence. Wrapped in dancing shadows and golden light she seemed almost unreal. Unpredictable – that was what he had learned so far of her nature. You expected on action, and yet, she floored you with another that was completely her own.

"You are an outlandish creature, Princess." He said slowly.

He could have said that she was too passionate for her own good as well, and impulsive also and too tempting because of it. That she should take more care with her actions and how generous she was with those she trusted. He could have warned her that, had he been a lesser man, he would have kissed her then and there. Kissed her mouth long and hard, because in this lonely hour, all her passion and impulsiveness and kindness was practically an invitation to do so, even if she did not know it, or mean it that way. But that would have meant taking advantage of her trust and her open nature and he would not do it. Because he was not a lesser man - he was Eomer, now King of the Mark and she would always be safe with him... and perhaps she knew that. What she could not possibly know was that he felt too blessed by her so open and freely given trust to breach it that way.

And he also kept his peace because after the kindness of her words, chiding her for them would have been cruel.

"I've been called worse things." The Princess said, lips curved upwards just a little. "Do you believe my words?"

His smile was his answer, but he spoke one all the same so that there be no misunderstanding between them.

"I believe you."

But the princess did not notice how the very faint accent he put on that last word changed the meaning of his statement. She only smiled at him softly.

"Finish your tea while it's still hot my Lord, and perhaps you'll find at least some sleep tonight." She said and took her hands away as tactfully as possible and put a little more space between them as she sat cross-legged on the furs.

"One should always hope." Eomer said lightly and took his hand back as he drank the last of the tea she'd brought him in one gulp.

The tea was sweet and the brandy strong and perhaps because of both, he was starting to feel drowsy. Or perhaps because the very fact that he was not on his own kept the darker thoughts at bay, and that it was she by his side was even better. He could not have asked for a better keeper… and how funny that thought was: Eomer, rider of the mark, many years a warrior, seeking the guardianship of a girl half his size. But then again, he could not defend himself from what ailed him with sword and shield. So he looked at his guardian, sitting not a foot from him, white dress pooling around her and eyes looking into his, so studiously searching his expression. She seemed like a little girl to him just then, and without knowing why, he smiled.

"Tell me of your home, lady. Tell me of the City by the Sea."

Lothiriel's surprise lasted only the space of one blink. The surprise did not lay with the words themselves, but in the way he spoke them, the voice he used, the look in his eyes that seemed dark and warm in the firelight… but then again who was she to put such limits when she had been the first to break them?

"My home… my home and the sea are one. Have you ever seen the sea, Eomer King?"

He told her he had not, and she made him promise that he would do his best to try and come to Belfalas one day, so that he may see it himself.

"I cannot describe it. It is as a lake might be, but vast, without boundaries, an expanse of water that stretches as far as the eye can see and changes colours with the wind and the sun. At night it's a mirror for the stars and the moon. It can be from the clearest azure to the brightest green and when the storm roll through, it's the dark and angry blue and it roars and heaves as violently as the skies when they open up. It moves as if it has a mind and soul and the sailors say it's as traitorous as a woman."

Eomer's laugh burst from him and it felt like the sun sifting through the grey clouds of a storm.

"They say other things, but it would not be polite for me to repeat them." And only one corner of her lips curled upwards giving her an incredibly mischievous look, so much that Eomer could almost imagine her as a child, running around asking for the favours of unknown rangers.

"I believe that. Your brothers certainly do not restrain themselves in your presence."

"No, they do not. And why should they? I'd rather they treat me equally, for I am their equal, than treat me like a silly flower or a frivolous pretty face." She said firmly, but then a moment later a smile lit her eyes. "Besides, had Elphir not been harsh with me, and Echirion not cautious, I would have been much more spoiled and wild than I am, for I am not sorry to say that my father denies me nothing."

Eomer raised his eyebrows at that, but did not comment because he was starting to understand a little more of this Princess. He had a feeling that this she did not see her father's weakness for her as such. She simply saw it as love and honoured it as such with her own.

"And what of Amrothos?"

Her smile turned conspiratorial, and he had return it.

"Amrothos is my playmate. Though we were quite vicious with each other as children – and twice as much with others! Why, just a few years ago, he was cross with me and so he took scissors to my hair – that's the reason why it's still so short!"

Eomer chuckled and for the very first time he took notice of the lengths of her curls: shiny in the firelight like black steel, they grew perhaps a inch or two short of the middle of her back in waves and loops, and yes, it was short for the standard – women of his country tended to let their hair grow out to their hips and Gondor was not so different. But her hair was beautiful none the less, and he knew it would be soft and smooth as silk...

"This seems to be the way of all brothers. My cousin and I did the same to Eowyn, long ago – admittedly, we were still children." Eomer said. The princess positively smirked at him.

"Your sister? The shieldmaiden that slew the Witch King of Angmar? I shudder to imagine the reckoning she put you through."

But she did not shudder at all, only smiled.

"Her punishment was so exemplary we never tried the same trick again. And you? How did you exact retribution?" Eomer asked and her eyes twinkled. The very corner of her mouth curled upwards and she looked so impish, such a girl that he felt ancient in comparison – not in age, but in spirit. Eomer had not smiled that way in… well, too long to remember.

"Unfortunately for my family, I used to be an incredibly vengeful child, and quite slow to forgive: I shaved off his eyebrows and bleached his hair a horrific shade of yellow." The Princess deadpanned and Eomer held back his laughter, because had he not, he would have woken the household and that would not do. He did not hesitate to make his astonishment known.

"However did you manage that?"

"Oh, I'd put ambrosia in his wine - it made him sleep like a rock for about 12 hours. For quite a while Amrothos looked as ugly as like a ragged dog, because father prohibited him from changing his hair back, just as he forbid me from hiding mine. He said that was to be our punishment: that our change should be permanent and visible to all."

"My sister was much more direct than that, thank the gods! She took sword and rocks to us, gave us the beating of our lives."

Lothiriel chuckled quietly. It was hard to imagine anyone beating this king. He seemed strong enough to take on a mountain. She looked at him then and found herself comparing him to another man. A man to whom, whether by her will or not, she was tied to… and who was now far enough away in the south for it to be easy to pretend he was nothing more than memory. That she belonged to him however, was a stain that no amount of hot water and furious scrubbing could erase. She knew, she had repeatedly tried.

"Well, I though since his trick would leave me with lasting consequences, I should repay in kind." Lothiriel said flippantly, and the kind smiled. But even as she spoke she knew that that hadn't been all of it. She had known that Amrothos, for all his humour and light demeanour was as vain a creature as any, so she had taken away that which people most complimented him on. It hadn't been simple payback; it had been calculated cruelty… and now that she thought back on it, Lothiriel could feel her cheeks heat with embarrassment over it. And perhaps for a moment she forgot that the king did not know all that, and kept on speaking, elaborating, as though her thoughts and past were written words for him to read.

"Amrothos had wicked ideas that were always fun, but I was worse I'm afraid, because I did not dread punishment like he did. I was resentful of the power they - the men of my life - had over my destiny. So I grew to find my own ways to assert independence, even though I knew it was a lie: I broke all the rules and the harsher the punishment, the better I felt about it."

Eomer listened and as she spoke there was a strange expression on her face. It did not sound as if she was proud of herself. On the contrary, her expression turned sober, the darkness of her thoughts overtaking her entirely, making her hunch a little into herself. It was easy to think of her as a child that would have a penchant for trouble if he remembered the way she could sometimes smile so crookedly, but it was hard to imagine her so wicked as to intentionally cause harm in anyone.

"You're confused I see." She pointed out, looking at him as if she held some secret… which she probably did.

"I would have to be a much wiser man not to be, my lady." He admitted simply, making her smile.

"I know. The story itself is confusing… but that, I think, is a tale for another time. Should I start now, morning would be upon us before I finished."

That was a delicate way of denying him an answer, but Eomer allowed the Princess her wish, because if she did not wish to tell him more, now was not the time to prod.

"What matters is that I got myself into trouble quite often… but I was ever afraid, because I knew Amrothos was always one step behind me, to make sure I got out unharmed." The princess said almost absentmindedly. "It hurts him, I think, to see me so changed. He does not know how to speak to me, as if he's afraid the wrong word will break me… and I do not know how to reach to him either."

And Eomer saw that this distance hurt her too. He knew all too well that kind of pain that came with loosing someone close to your heart, thought they were right there in body.

"Are you so very much changed my Lady?"

Lothiriel hesitated at the question, because it surprised her. Perhaps the only reason he could only ask that so easily when her brother dared not, was because he did not know her well enough, love her well enough, to dread her answer. Or rather, he would not know the difference: the one she showed him was the only Lothiriel the King of Rohan knew.

"It was strange being away from the protection and rule of my father and brothers. I had to do everything myself and never had I realized just how much there was to do. It made me understand how small I was in the grand scale of things, how little I mattered in the face of thousands suffering. Yes, I changed… and now a year later, this is what they see in me: a different person."

Ah, yes. Here Eomer did not need explanations. 'This' was a creature of contradiction, with the eyes of a woman, sadness of a old lady and the smile of a girl. A person that had too many silences, that was quiet and with shrewd eyes, that held back much and spoke harshly when she had to… but laughed loudly and jested freely when she could. And there was a thirst for life in her, that overrode everything else. She reminded him of a wilted plant that had been starved for sunlight and water, but thrived within moments of coming into contact with both. But he found in her none of that anger she had spoken of, at least not that Eomer could see. Perhaps that was what was missing, that confused her family so.

"It would take the world ending to make my father stop loving me, Elphir speaks to me the same as always and Echirion knows my mind before I even speak it, but Amrothos is different. He looks at me as if… as if he dreads me. Hugs me as if he's afraid to break me."

She did not say however, that there were moment when she thought her brothers was right… She did not because the King was looking at her so closely that she felt if she uttered that truth, he would be able to drag all the others from her like a string of unbroken pearls.

"Perhaps you should simply speak with him of this. Tell him of what is different in you and what is not. Brothers and sisters can never grown too much apart princess, especially when they do not want to." Eomer said and saw as she stayed in silence a moment as she contemplated, and then nodded, once again sure of herself.

"I shall do as you said. I think it is best for both of us – we were ever plain spoken with each other, there is no reason for that to change... But enough of this dreary talk. I forget, what were we speaking of before?"

Eomer conceded. "You were telling me of your home."

"Indeed I was. That was quite the distraction! What would you like to hear of Dol Amroth my lord?" She asked with renewed liveliness that seemed utterly out of place at this hour, but not in her.

"I's have you tell me of the things you love." Eomer said softly and knew that he was pushing boundaries, saw it in the pause of her fingers on her robe, in the way her whole body was unmoving for the shortest moment before she relaxed and smiled faintly.

"I love my country in the spring when the fields are lush and glossy green under the sun and I love it then they turn golden like a godly carpet in autumn. I love riding through these fields under spring rain and walking through the orchards of the south in late summer, seeing the trees heavy with fruit and feeling their sweet smell in the air. I love looking upon the hills from the windows of my rooms and seeing the olive trees ever green."

Her voice was warm and her accent did something strange to the common tongue: the words rolled in her mouth, they lost edges, smoothed out. Eomer felt her pull him into the words, into the images she was trying to paint.

"My windows face east and every day I rise with the kiss of the sun upon my face - that is the favourite part of my day. And every time I can, I go to my father's study, and together we watch the sun set because his balcony faces west. He, unlike myself, likes to see the sun go down and set the sky and sea aflame with its dying rays. I like to see it born, again and again."

Eomer had leaned his head at the armrest of the sofa behind him and was feeling drowsy as her voice washed over him like a blanket, pulling him into a land of quietness, where the only sound was her describing the sea.

Lothiriel noticed that he was looking at her through the heavy lids of exhaustion and she kept speaking, willing him to close his eyes and sleep.

"It is warm where I come from. The desert of Harad is not too far south and sometimes the hot wind of those places blows and you can feel the heat of the desert sun on your face and breathe in the scent that springs from the dry earth and hot dunes of my country as it mixes with the salty tang of the sea: it's a wind that can be felt nowhere else in this Middle Earth. To me it's the scent of home."

Lothiriel pause to take a breath and Eomer gave her a sleepy smile.

"You love you country, princess?"

Her eyes were as warm as his smile. "I do, my Lord. Every grain of sand. Every rock in the river."

"It sounds like a beautiful place." He said to her, words half whispers, so close he was to falling in the grip of sleep. Lothiriel lowered her voice instinctively and slowed her speech.

"It is. It's a enchanting place to grow up in. I remember the sun's fingers reaching through the room through latticed windows and falling on the colourful rugs, and myself lying on the floor for hours just looking at the particles of dust in the air glitter like small stars. All the memories of my childhood are tied to the sweet, heady scent of jasmine and roses from the gardens that comes all the way inside the palace, and in the afternoon it mixes with the scent of spicy coffee and incense that burns in the corners."

Lothiriel could have gone on speaking of Dol Amroth, but the King was finally asleep and no longer heard her. Silently, she reached to the sofa and took the blanket draped on its back and with great care, she tried to put it over him, so that he would not suffer the cold of the night. But she could not be silent enough to escape his instincts. A hand grabbed her wrist roughly, freezing the breath in her lungs, and warm hazel eyes blinked open and then closed again (instantly his grip had relaxed but he had not let go).

"Keep talking." He murmured, eyes sliding closed again and not opening again. "Tell me..."

Eomer felt the ghost of a touch on his brow, so gentle he thought he had imagined it. It went from his forehead to is temple, smoothed back his hair… faintly he felt it, as if he was being touched with a feather. But there was no mistaking the warmth of her skin, the scent of the inside of her wrist, warm and sweet… even in half a dream he responded to it: he turned her face to her hand, following her touch.

Lothiriel put a hand on his shoulder and whispered to him to lie down in the furs and Eomer, in his half asleep state was as compliant as a child and allowed her to cover him with the blanket.

"Sleep, Eomer King. The world can wait one more night. Sleep…"

His breathing slowed and deepened into the patterns of sleep, but he still held her wrist between his fingers. His skin was as rough as she had thought it to be - as her brother's hands were, as her fathers. Hands that wielded swords, while hers had never taken up anything hardier than a pen. Her skin was as smooth and soft as his was coarse and she felt the difference from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes, tingles taking her in all the wrong places. There was a moment when he pulled at her wrist and his intent clear as his hand travelled up the smooth skin of her forearm, bunching up her wide sleeve and a small moan, soft as a breath, sounded in his throat… and in that moment Lothiriel stopped breathing and her heart drummed insanely in her breast, bruising her ribs. She felt a little lightheaded and was trembling, as if she was suffering a fever. Instinctively she knew that what he wanted was for her to lay down next to him. And then came the warranty of his desire, because he pulled gently at her forearm until Lothiriel had to bend over him so close she could have kissed his lips, enticingly parted just a little so that the very tips of his white teeth showed… His breath fanned on her face and he smelled chamomile and brandy. She knew that she was being wicket, but did not care as she took a deep breath from his breath. She fancied she could imagine the taste of him this way. The warmth in her contorted and took life, filling her so much she felt lightheaded.

"Lothiriel…"

Her name on his lips was tangled by sleep, and yet even then he refused to release her. She felt tears sting the back of her throat, their grip strong and painful, just as an iron fist twisted her heart. Gently, her hand went to his and pried his fingers from her. She put his hand on his chest and slid her fingers between his as she pulled away, the only caress she could afford for him. (and even from such a fleeting touch, the feel of his skin burned its way through her).

"Sleep, warrior king. Rest."

And if Eomer woke up the next morning with the remnants of strange, but not frightening dreams clinging to him, he thought nothing of it, for he had not slept so peacefully in a long time. His heart was heavy with thoughts of what must be done for the upcoming battle, but those dreams clung to him and gave him a lightness that was strange, but that felt right, and among his better thoughts, there was the memory of a kiss, light and warm on his brow, hazy as if from a half remembered dream, that told him there were things in this world that were worth sacrificing for.

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TBC:::