Lothiriel woke shivering. The dull grey of the sky outside disguised the advancement of the day, but the king was gone and the fire, necessary now that the weather was cooler, was burning low. He would have added wood to it before he left, which meant she'd slept quite late.

She sat up and pulled the covers tightly around her. She'd been fatigued lately, unable to feel rested even after a full night's sleep. This morning she felt a little better, probably because she'd slept so long. But still, the grey day outside made her want to curl up under the covers and go back to sleep.

Instead she stood up, exhaling as her feet met the icy cold of the stone floor. Her slippers were a little warmer. Quickly she hurried into the privy room and let water run into the heating basin, crouching awkwardly near the copper vessel to enjoy the warmth of the fire under it. But her growing stomach made this position uncomfortable, so instead she returned to the bedchamber, retrieved the thick covers, and huddled in them until the water was warmed.

She dressed quickly, realizing that her damp hair would probably chill her until it dried, and with swift fingers braided it into a coronet, disposing of the rest in a bun at the nape of her neck. Then she hunted out her shoes, banked the fire, and slipped out of the door.

The women were already gathered in the antechamber, and the atmosphere was cool in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature. The unusual quiet, combined with the many glances towards Lady Robrym, left her with no doubts as to the reason. Still, Lothiriel smiled and greeted her ladies cheerfully, and received murmurs of "Good morning" in return.

The blanket-making was tedious in a way it had not been for months. They were doing something productive, and useful; her chilly awakening had proved that. Yet Lothiriel felt herself seized with an unusual restlessness. She wanted to go out and walk, and visit the orphanage, and do something besides sit for hours, patiently weaving or cutting strips of cloth or stitching piece-blankets together.

Some of the ladies shifting uncomfortably in their seats drew her attention back to the present. Lady Robrym was murmuring-- in Rohirric-- "someone really ought to let our queen know that it's not uncommon for men to stray during their wives' pregnancies. Poor thing," she added with unconvincing sympathy, and Lothiriel wondered with uncharacteristic sardonicism if the 'poor thing' referred to the wives or the men. "I would so hate for her to be shocked."

Lothiriel sighed inwardly. Did Lady Robrym really think she knew nothing whatsoever of the language of her new home? Even Morwen of Lossarnach had spoken Rohirric fluently; she'd just chosen not to. Lady Celgwyn opened her mouth, but Lothiriel cut her off. "Lady Robrym," she said in Rohirric, and the lady in question looked up quickly. A mottled flush spread across her face as she realized her error. "Are you accusing the king of breaking his vows?"

"Of course not, Your Highness," Lady Robrym murmured-- in Westron. The faces around her reflected a distinct lack of sympathy.

"Good," said Lothiriel. "For I would hate for anyone to get the impression that you were impugning the honor of your sovereign." The blush on Lady Robrym's face deepened, and her mouth compressed into a thin line; she bent her eyes downward and said nothing for the rest of the morning.

Lothiriel felt no triumph, only weariness. Did Lady Robrym have absolutely no sense of comportment, that she attacked her queen through her king? By implying that he was an adulterer, no less? Lothiriel knew how ridiculous that charge was, and it truly was insulting to the king's honor-- to imply that the man who had fulfilled his oaths in blood on the fields of Pelennor could not, or would not, be faithful to his wife?

Less stilted conversation sprang up to replace Lady Robrym's slander, but Lothiriel took no part. Finally, about midmorning, she stood up. "Excuse me, please," she said. "I am going to ask Hergyth if we might arrange to borrow any more giant looms." It was a pretext, but she could not tolerate that chamber any longer.

She found the lady steward overseeing the baking of bread in the large kitchens, and received the expected negative answer. But Hergyth did suggest that if they were in need of more material, some might be found in a certain small storage closet. Lothiriel thanked her and went to check, extending her errand to avoid returning to the antechamber.

The closet was not only small but dark, and Lothiriel almost tripped over the woman huddled at the base of one of the shelves. She threw open the shutters to let in a little grey light. "Lady Eambreth!" Lothiriel said, startled. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," Lady Eambreth choked out. In the dim light Lothiriel could see that she was crying. "I... thought no one would come here, I did not know..."

Lothiriel knelt awkwardly beside her. "What is wrong?" she asked gently.

Lady Eambreth shook her head. "Nothing that can be fixed," she said despairingly. "I was just came here to be foolish for a little while. That's all." She smiled weakly, but Lothiriel was not deceived.

"Has Freca come back?" Lothiriel's gut clenched.

But Lady Eambreth shook her head. "No, Your Highness."

"Is there trouble at the orphanage?"

"No, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth whispered miserably.

"Then what is wrong?"

Lady Eambreth just shook her head again, and tears flowed silently down her face. "I am foolish, and… and shameful. That is all," she stammered, and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook violently.

Lothiriel was now thoroughly alarmed. "Lady Eambreth, will you not at least let me share in your trouble?"

"You can't," her former attendant said shudderingly. "Please, just go. It cannot be good for you to sit here like this."

"Then that must only be greater inducement for you," Lothiriel said firmly, "for I will not go until you tell me what is wrong." She twisted awkwardly and pulled a blanket from the shelf behind them, wrapped it lightly around Lady Eambreth's shoulders, and then got one for herself. The stone room was chilly.

Lady Eambreth shook her head despairingly, and suddenly started to cry again with such violence that Lothiriel was afraid she would make herself sick. She felt guilty about pressing Lady Eambreth to tell, but she could not leave her now. So she knelt by her side, murmuring soothingly, until her tears ran their natural course.

Lady Eambreth brushed a lock of copper hair that had come loose from its bun out of her face. "I… I have fallen in love," she whispered at last, hiding her face.

Lothiriel was again startled; this was not what she had expected. "With who?" she asked.

"A guard… one of the king's men," Lady Eambreth sniffled. "His name is Leofwine." She smiled tenderly for a moment, and then her happiness vanished.

"And does he… return your favor?"

Lady Eambreth ducked her head. "I… he likes me, and I think he would love me…" she blushed. "But I keep him at a distance. He thinks I don't—care." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"Then what is wrong?" Lothiriel asked gently. "To love, and be loved in return, is one of the greatest things in this world." As she spoke, she was aware of an aching emptiness in her heart, but she pushed it aside. This was not Lady Eambreth's problem.

Lady Eambreth looked up again, her expression shocked. "Your Highness, I am married!" she said with astonishment. "To even entertain such thoughts makes me—" her face crumpled into a mask of misery—"shameful, and low, and…" her voice dissolved into silent tears again. "He must never know," she finally whispered. "But I could not help being upset. So I came here, where I thought no one would see me." She started to shrug the blanket off of her shoulders, and smiled wanly. "I can go on and be all right now," she said. "I just needed… needed to cry a little." But her forlorn eyes belied her.

Freca, you shall not steal any more of your wife's happiness, Lothiriel thought angrily. "He broke his wedding vows in spirit, if not in letter, when he hurt you," she said. "And then when he left you. Surely you are not bound to an absent, abusive husband!"

"He left at your order," Lady Eambreth said. "And I… left him first."

"I did not order him to leave. I ordered him to respect your wishes or leave. It was his choice to make," Lothiriel said. "And his choice indicates that he is not worthy of being your husband." She shook her head, feeling helpless. "In Gondor you would be considered no longer bound. I do not know what the custom in Rohan is."

Lady Eambreth shook her head miserably. "I never had the courage to ask."

"Then I will ask," Lothiriel said. "I will ask the king. He is a just man; he will do what is right." Some of the wretchedness started to leave Lady Eambreth's face. "It will be all right," Lothiriel told her.

Lady Eambreth ducked her head. "I never thought I would trust a man again," she whispered after a moment, a shy smile starting to spread across her face, "but…"

"Tell me about Leofwine," Lothiriel prompted when she did not continue.

The smile blossomed into radiance. "He is… he is kind, and gentle, and he likes children," here she laughed a little. "He often comes to the orphanage to see them, and…" she blushed. "To see me. And they like them. He plays with them." She looked up at Lothiriel. "You might have seen him at Sumorende, the first night. He was there with some of the ladies and I." In her mind's eye Lothiriel recalled a slender young man leaning against a fence, watching the gathered ladies—but especially Lady Eambreth, she realized now—with warmth. Lady Eambreth's blush deepened. "He says… I am beautiful. I have never had a man say that to me before." She brushed her hair back from her face again. "We are the same age, and he makes me laugh. And he makes the children laugh. I… I think I had almost forgotten how, before. And…" her smile vanished. "Giving him up, just when I am beginning to live again, hurts so much," she whispered.

"Lady Eambreth, if I have the power to do anything about it, you will not have to give him up," Lothiriel said firmly. "You deserve happiness. And every woman deserves to marry for love."

"But you did not, Your Highness," Lady Eambreth pointed out. Then her eyes widened. "I am sorry, I am too bold, I did not mean…"

Lothiriel dismissed the apology with a shake of her head. "No," she said after a moment. "No, I did."

- - -

Lothiriel watched the king write from her seat on the window ledge. Soon it would be too cold there and she would have to find another spot for the evenings. Maybe the chair by the fire, but it was most comfortable on her stomach to sit against something with her legs tucked off to the side…

She let her thoughts drift, her eyes still focused on the man who was her husband. It was such an odd marriage they had, composed of acquaintanceship and perhaps friendship. She wasn't sure about that last yet. Her parents and her brothers had all married those they loved, as had her cousin Faramir. Even King Elessar had married his beloved. She had not, and she had had no idea what to do. But they had come to a sort of truce—no, they were not warring parties. An unspoken arrangement, by which they could be almost comfortable with each other. She was grateful for that, not only because she was carrying Eomer's child, but for herself. In the early days of her marriage she had felt revulsion at the thought of the form and function of a marriage with none of its love. But the king had not asked that of her, and she was glad, for she could not have given it to him. He was content to let her be, and she had never thought of being other than content to let him be.

"Do the Rohirrim ever dissolve marriages?" she asked suddenly.

The king turned around, and she saw surprise on his face, but it was quickly gone. "Are you thinking of Lady Eambreth?"

Lothiriel nodded.

"It could be done," he said after several minutes of thought, during which she waited with bated breath. "Some would be upset, but it is not unheard of. And she deserves better."

"She does," Lothiriel agreed.

The king looked over at her. "Is this what she wants, or are you merely curious?"
"I think… she would want it if she knew it were possible," Lothiriel said honestly. "I know she would. We… spoke about it."

"Is she… quite certain that she is not with child?"

"She is," Lothiriel affirmed. "Would that bind her to Freca?"

"It would make it more difficult." He paused. "I will talk to her, and then make a pronouncement—"

"No," Lothiriel said quickly, concern for her friend making her bold. The king looked at her, inviting her to continue. "That is… surely some people must know but is there a way to do it that would not make her an object of scrutiny, again?"

He nodded. "There is. And you are right. That would be better."

Lothiriel felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Good," she murmured. "She has been bound to him too long."

The king looked troubled. "I should not have allowed such a man to continue as my rider, especially not if his abuse was common knowledge."

Lothiriel harbored the same guilt. "I should have noticed sooner," she agreed quietly. But she had been preoccupied with her own misery, and as a result one under her care had continued to suffer far greater misery. Whatever Lady Eambreth said about being grateful, Lothiriel owed it to her to look after her happiness; she had already failed her once.

Soon her weariness caught up with her, and she moved to the dressing room to begin her preparations for sleep. "Would you like me to move?" the king asked when she came out.

Lothiriel shook her head as she pulled the covers around her. "Only if you would like to." The light of the candles on the desk did not disturb her, nor did the faint scratching of the king's pen. She wondered drowsily how much work he had yet to do; he had been up longer than her, and working at more demanding tasks. He had to be tired as well, yet she had never heard him complain. "Good night," she murmured.

The sound of the pen stopped for a moment. "Good night."