The chamber was quiet in the chill before dawn. The only sounds were the soft crackling of the fire and the muted scratching of Eomer's pen. He had left off matters of state, and was writing to Eowyn.

But his thoughts kept drifting to another woman, and he looked up to watch Lothiriel sleep. He liked watching her sleep, liked seeing the peace on her face. Actually, he admitted, he just liked watching her in general. She was beautiful, but it wasn't that; it was so much more. He didn't know how to put it into words.

No, that wasn't true. He knew.

She smiled in her dreams, and he felt himself smiling in response. Sometimes he wondered if she know how much brighter her mere presence had made his life. Even when she was sad and he was doing his best to comfort her, he was no longer alone. And when she woke him from his troubled dreams, or helped him through long hours of letter-writing, or danced with him... His smile deepened at the memory of the dance, but even more precious was that moment afterwards when they had stood together in the center of the floor, oblivious to all else. He hadn't been able to look away; he been both transfixed by and drowning in her eyes, startled by a sudden revelation. He didn't know what he would have done if she hadn't looked away, and he hadn't had a peaceful night's sleep since.

As if she could read his thoughts, Lothiriel's eyes opened. He smiled, but she seemed confused, and her own smile faded. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I... dreamed I was in Dol Amroth, that's all." She looked at the fire, then out the window. "What time is it?"

"A little before dawn." Lothiriel pulled the covers up to her chin and turned on her side, and her hair fell across her face, obscuring her eyes. He couldn't tell whether she was watching him, or going back to sleep.

After a few minutes she sat up and came to join him at the table, propping her head on one slim hand. "Can I help with any of that?"

"No, I'm just writing to Eowyn," he said.

Still, she stayed, apparently content to bear him company as he worked. She rested her head on her arms, watching alternately the fire and his writing; if she'd been a cat, she would have batted at his pen.

Finally he said, "I'm not keeping you awake, am I?"

She shook her head. "I'm not tired."

Ten minutes later, he looked up and saw her sleeping.

"Lothiriel?" he said softly, and gently touched her shoulder. She didn't stir. It really would be a shame to wake her, he thought, and hesitated only a moment before putting down his pen and lifting her carefully from her chair.

"Mmm?" She didn't open her eyes.

"I thought you weren't tired," he said, trying not to laugh.

"Mmm," she said, and leaned her head against his chest.

Eomer put her gently down on the bed, pulling the covers over her. "Go back to sleep," he whispered. She curled on her side and quickly appropriated most of the bedclothes, hugging her pillow to her chest. I will not be jealous of a pillow, Eomer thought, and went back to his letter.

- - -

To think, Lothiriel remembered with a smile, I used to find them daunting.

Lady Celgwyn had mentioned that her ladies were wondering when they would be called upon to weave again. Lothiriel had started to say that there was no need for them to do that, unless they really wished to, but her friend had added that most of her attendants had enjoyed the chance to gather and gossip while doing useful work. So Lothiriel had reinstated the morning sessions, though now they were in a large sunny room across the palace, that had once belonged to Lady Eowyn.

Lothiriel did not go every day; sometimes Hergyth needed to consult her about household matters. Sometimes she visited the orphanage, or was too weary to get up early, if Elfwine had kept her up the night before. Sometimes she simply chose to stay away, if she had letters to write, or if she wished to walk through Edoras.

But that day she was there and she had brought Elfwine, and the ladies were cooing over him in a way wholly at odds with her first remembered impression of them. So many strangers, most of them significantly older than her, smiling reservedly and expecting to be expected to attend her, had been intimidating. She'd gotten through that first encounter somehow, but for many months the morning weaving sessions had been ordeals to be endured. Like so much else seemed, she thought. How foolish I was. Now she counted the ladies among her friends, and they were clustered around her son, admiring him unabashedly. How things have changed in a year, Lothiriel mused, referring to more than her relationship with her ladies.

"What beautiful eyes," Lady Cynwyn said. "Just wait, Your Highness, before you know it he'll be talking and looking at you with those big eyes, and you'll find it hard-pressed to deny him anything."

"For about a day," Lady Celgwyn added drily.

Lothiriel laughed. "My niece has the same eyes. I promise you I'm immune."

"How old is your niece, Your Highness?" Lady Cynwyn asked.

"Six," Lothiriel said. She wondered how Lotwen had liked the Rohirric seeds Lothiriel had sent her by way of Erchirion. Had she planted them yet? "Her brother is three, and her twin cousins are nearly two."

"Your brother must have his hands full," Lady Aellith said.

"Oh, very much so," Lothiriel agreed. "Both of them do. On the other hand, he says ruling Dol Amroth will be easy after this." Lady Aellith smiled the wry smile of someone who agrees through experience.

Lady Herlith peered over Lady Cynwyn's shoulder. "Perhaps Elfwine will have a brother or sister, himself, before long." Lothiriel suddenly felt as if everyone was looking at her, and did not know where to look herself. She murmured something she hoped sounded both agreeable and noncommittal, and raised her eyes from the floor again. No one seemed to have taken much notice of the exchange, except for Lady Celgwyn, who looked as if she were trying not to say something sardonic.

Elfwine started to cry, and the ladies passed him to Lothiriel, who simultaneously yawned so widely that her eyes widened. When she brought her hand down from her mouth, she felt her face heat. "I beg your pardon," she murmured, and then realized that all the women were looking at her with amused sympathy. They laughed, and the lingering discomfort she felt at Lady Herlith's statement was dispelled.

The Great Hall was crowded that night, with a party of merchants just arrived from Minas Tirith as well as the families of some of the soldiers from the Westmark, who had braved the cold to be with their loved men for the rest of the winter. But Meduseld's kitchens were up to the task, serving creamy soup with chunks of golden winter potatoes, and large yellow wheels of sharp cheese, and soft, crusty brown bread. After the meal the minstrels took up their instruments, for singing and tale-telling this time instead of dancing, and Lothiriel discovered that she knew all the words to all the songs they played.

When they returned to their rooms Lothiriel took a bath and washed her hair, quickly by necessity, and when she got out, she noticed that Eomer was quiet. She wondered if it was just that he had more on his mind lately, or if she had become more attuned to picking up on his moods, or if he had become less guarded around her. "What's wrong?" she asked gently.

He didn't answer for a moment. "Just memory," he said finally. "I... am missing people, tonight." He sank down on the window ledge, staring south, and she wondered again what he saw in place of the darkened city.

And there are so many for him to miss... She went to stand behind him. "Is there some way I can help you?"

He shook his head. "It will pass."

She stayed there, keeping him silent company in his vigil, as she brushed her hair out. After a moment she noticed that he was looking at her rather than out the window. She was a little surprised, but if he took some comfort in watching her, she wasn't about to deprive him. She'd tilted her head back to comb all her hair together when she felt his hand smoothing back over her head, and then the gentle brush of fingers against her cheek. Startled, she looked down at him.

"There was a bit loose," he explained.

After a moment, she finished combing, and went into the other room to put on her nightdress and robe. When she came out, Eomer was holding their crying son, and held him out to her as she approached the cradle. She took him and began to nurse, and Eomer went back to the window ledge.

As Elfwine suckled, Lothiriel watched Eomer with concern. It had been a long time since he'd shut her out like this, not letting her share his worries, whether he was doing it intentionally or not. She went to stand behind him again, and when he looked up after several moments, his gaze a little lighter, he offered her a smile. She felt herself returning it instinctively. When did his smile become so heartwarming? she thought, and offered Elfwine to him.

Perhaps it was the wistful look in Eomer's eyes as he held their son that prompted Lothiriel to say, "Tell me about your family."

He looked up. "What?"

"I told you of mine, the night you had the nightmare," she said, and immediately realized that that would not be an identifier for him: that could not have been the only night his dreams had troubled him. Lothiriel felt a stab of guilt for all the times she must have lain sleeping, oblivious as his memories tormented him. "If it would not pain you... would you tell me of yours?" She sat beside him on the window ledge.

"My father came from Aldburg," he said after a moment. "He met my mother when her horse ran away with her on the plain in front of Edoras, as he was coming in to report to the king." A smile tugged at his mouth. "Theodred once told this story to Eowyn. He said our mother could not take her eyes off of the tall, handsome Rider who had rescued her."

"And how did Theodred know the truth of it?" Lothiriel asked, smiling a little.

"He was there," Eomer said, then explained at her surprise. "My mother was much younger than her siblings. Uncle was forty-one when she married. Theodred was eleven." His eyes focused somewhere in the distance. "He said that when she moved to Aldburg, he refused to come out of his room for two days until his father forced him to. My mother had been like a mother to him, too." Eomer smiled a little. "I suppose it was appropriate, then, that his father was like a father to me... after mine died." The smile vanished.

"You said your mother liked roses," Lothiriel prompted gently, trying to guide his memories along happier paths. And it seemed to work, as he told her of his childhood in Aldburg and the pleasant times he remembered: of riding with his father for the first time to see the eored assembled, of watching his mother garden and weave as she sang in Sindarin, of taking an infant Eowyn for her first ride and returning to find his parents frantic.

His face sobered when he spoke of his parents' deaths, but there were happy times to recall from Meduseld, too: teaching Eowyn to wield a sword, receiving his own first sword from the King and carrying it in his service, and listening to Theodred, a master storyteller, spin tales of the elves. But finally he trailed off, and stared unseeingly out the window. It was not until the moon broke through the clouds and illuminated the tell-tale gleam on his face that Lothiriel realized he was crying silently.

She shifted closer to him and then put her hand on his shoulder, knowing words would be inadequate to communicate her compassion or sympathy. "They are all dead," he whispered. "Save Eowyn, and she is gone."

Hesitantly, Lothiriel brushed the tears from his face, her fingers trembling a little. With his free hand Eomer caught her wrist and turned it, gently kissing the palm of her hand, and though she recognized the gesture for what it was-- gratitude-- he must have mistaken her sudden stillness for tension, for he let go of her immediately.

Just then Elfwine began to squall again, and Eomer looked down at him. "He must need to be changed."

Lothiriel shook her head. "I didn't finish feeding him," she said, and gently lifted her son from his father's arms and put him to her other breast.

Eomer reached out to stroke his head. "I wish you could have met my mother," he said. "I think the two of you would have liked each other very much."

"She sounds like a very loving woman," Lothiriel said.

Eomer nodded. "She was. She would have been delighted to have grandchildren, too."

That's right, Lothiriel recalled, Eowyn and Faramir had had their first child shortly before Elfwine's birth. "And how is Finduilas?"

Eomer grinned. "Eowyn writes that if Faramir looked at any other woman the way he does their daughter, he'd be in serious trouble." Lothiriel smiled, and then covered her mouth as it turned into a gaping yawn.

"I've been doing that all day," she murmured, trying not to look longingly at the nice, soft, warm, inviting bed-- stop that. "I think you ought to change the training regimen for the new riders," she added.

"How so?"

"If they had any practice in caring for infants, they'd be able to get through the longest rides or the most pitched battles without getting tired."

Eomer laughed, and then became serious again. "It's not too much for you, is it?"

"No," she reassured him. "It's not. Women of Gondor are hardy," she added with a teasing grin.

"I believe it," he said, smiling at her. Once again, the smile disappeared. "I hope there may be no more pitched battles," he said softly.

"But you will have to go north to fight the orcs."

Eomer closed his eyes. "Yes."

Lothiriel shivered, and pulled her robe more closely around her. Her wet hair and exposed skin seemed to suck all the heat from her body, and she was glad when Elfwine finished suckling, and she could tie her robe shut again.

"Do you want me to take him?" Eomer asked.

She shook her head. The cold was more than physical; the specter of death had, for some reason, brushed them both this night. "I want to keep him near me. If you don't mind."

Eomer also shook his head, slowly. "I think," he said, "I would like that, as well."

So for the first time in many weeks, they slept, not together, but within short arm's length of each other, both unconsciously angled towards Elfwine between them, protecting him even in sleep.

- - -

Try as she might, Lothiriel could not get Lady Herlith's words out of her head. Did the Rohirrim expect her to be constantly pregnant? It was far too soon for her to even think of having another child; she would be nursing Elfwine for months, and her stomach muscles still ached occasionally. I did not come here to be a brood mare, she thought. Surely they can give me some time.

Finally she concluded that no one else's opinion was relevant besides Eomer's, and went to find him before her courage failed. He was in their bedchamber, working on a stack of papers, and her heart sped up as she approached him.

"My lord," she said, and then corrected herself; she hadn't called him that in months. "Eomer."

He looked up and frowned in concern. "What's wrong?"

Were her emotions that apparent on her face? "Will you... you will want more children eventually?"

Eomer looked startled, but she did not miss the wistful expression that followed. "Yes," he admitted.

"I would... very much prefer that it... not be right away." She felt her face growing warm. "Not until Elfwine is a little older, and..."

"Yes, of course," Eomer agreed. He smiled tentatively. "I think we'd both die of exhaustion, and Brinweld would have my head."

She swallowed. This was harder. "If you wish, I will get lennis from him."

He stopped smiling as he realized what she meant. "I would never force myself on you--"

"No! I know that," she said hastily, and felt her cheeks flame. "I... am... I am... offering."

"Some things should not be offered," he said gently. "This is not your duty, Lothiriel."

"I would do it from..." Could her face get any hotter? "... from care for you." She could not meet his eyes.

"I am not a brute," he said softly, and when she looked she saw that he was staring down at his desk. "I would take no pleasure from it unless you did." He raised his eyes to hers. "And... I do not think you would." His voice and his gaze made it not quite of a statement, but she did not want to think about his unspoken query long enough to answer it.

"I did not mean to imply that you were a brute," she said instead.

"I know," he assured her. "And I thank you for the thought."

There was an awkward silence, and when she could tolerate it no more she smiled hesitantly. "I should go. I promised to see the gardens that the children at the orphanage have cultivated."

Eomer blinked. "Is there anything to see? Surely it's early yet for sprouts."

She felt her smile broaden into a genuine one. "No, not particularly," she admitted. "But I did promise."

He laughed. "You will make them happy."

"I hope so," she agreed, and turned to go.

His voice stopped her on the threshold. "Lothiriel."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked back at him. "Yes?"

"Do you want more children?" he asked. "You are the one who will have to carry them, and deliver them, and you said..."

I said that I could not do that again. Her sudden panic eased. "I think I would like a daughter next," she said by way of answer, and smiled at him again.

"A daughter would be nice," he agreed as she turned to go, and again the wistful note was in his voice.

This time, she stopped and turned back of her own accord. "Eomer?" He looked up. "If we... if we do have a daughter." She hesitated; this was hard. She didn't want to insult him, but it was important to her. "Will you... don't ask her to consider marriage to a man she doesn't know."

"Of course," he said after a quiet moment, his face serious now.

"She might not be so lucky as me," Lothiriel explained. The smile that returned to his face was boyish and free, and did something funny to her chest. She hurried away before she could think about it.

- - -

The next afternoon, convinced that all of them could use a brief respite, Lothiriel went riding with Lady Celgwyn and Lady Eambreth. It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear soft blue and the breeze tinged with warmth, and they all enjoyed themselves. Lady Celgwyn and Lothiriel drew Lady Eambreth out on the subject of her wedding, planned for midsummer. "That is, if nothing comes up at the orphanage," she added. "Like a lice epidemic." Lothiriel shuddered at the thought.

"Things will always be coming up," Lady Celgwyn said. "You must decide what is most important to you, and work around the rest. Balance is part of life."

Lady Eambreth said that Anfrum's blood-son had said his first word, "Ma-a," bringing tears to the girl's eyes. Her foster son had followed suit two days later with "Goose!" which no one could quite explain. "Leofwine offered to teach Isencaf to use a sword," she said. "He said no thank you, quite firmly, and then changed his mind two days later. I'm not quite sure why, yet."

"I'll have another grandchild in the fall," Lady Celgwyn said a few minutes later, and both women congratulated her. "It will be their first for my youngest and her husband. She was beginning to fear that she was barren."

"Her cousins will spoil her," Lothiriel said with a smile, thinking of Lady Celgwyn's five grandchildren from her other three daughters.

"Her parents will spoil her," Lady Celgwyn agreed.

"But you won't?" Lady Eambreth asked teasingly.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Lady Celgwyn's mouth. "I never spoil my grandchildren." The three ladies laughed again.

When they turned their horses back towards Edoras, Lothiriel was taken with a sudden restlessness and urged Annwen into a trot, a canter, and then a gallop. The other two ladies kept pace with her, and she glanced over at Lady Eambreth with a grin, and then they were racing, their laughter lost on the wind.

Annwen stayed neck and neck with Lady Eambreth's mount until just before they reached the gates of Meduseld, when Lothiriel urged Annwen out front-- but her way was blocked, for Lady Celgwyn had come up on her other side, beating both of them inside. Lady Eambreth looked startled, and Lothiriel laughed again, for she knew she did, too.

"Congratulations, Lady Celgwyn," she said, dismounting. "I confess I did not know you were racing with us."

"Age and treachery over youth and skill, Your Highness," Lady Celgwyn said with a small smile.

As they led their horses on they saw that their race had been observed: Eomer, Elfhelm, and some of the guard had watched from the wall, and now a few copper coins were changing hands. Many rueful glances were cast Eomer's way, and one said, "You were right, Your Majesty, but how did you know?"

So Lothiriel stopped in front of Eomer, her face serious. "You bet against me, my lord?" she asked, looking up through her eyelashes at him.

The men gave shouts of laughter as Eomer hesitated. She let the corners of her mouth turn up a bit, and saw his eyes grow warm in response. "I advised the others not to bet on your horse," he said, and held out an apple to Annwen to make up for the slight.

Hergyth had seized the opportunity of the year's first warm weather to turn the Great Hall out and scrub it from top to bottom, changing the tapestries and replacing the rushes as well. Therefore everyone ate where they could, some in the city, some outside; Eomer had food brought to their rooms, and they ate a quiet, lazy meal in front of the fire.

Eomer was not talkative, lost in his own thoughts, and she also felt a bit detached from reality, as if she were coming down with a head cold. Strange that I've been having such realistic dreams, she thought. Earlier she'd dreamt of Dol Amroth, and woken to melancholy disorientation; then she'd dreamt that Eomer had put her to bed. She distinctly remembered walking that same distance from the table back to the bed, though why she should dream that he had carried her... she put that thought aside.

She looked up to find Eomer watching her, and there seemed to be a strange look in his eyes, though it might have been the fire. But still he did not say anything, so she nursed Elfwine and put him to bed, then brushed out her hair and put her robe on. She went to stand by the window, looking out over the city as she liked to do, and after a moment she heard Eomer's footsteps, stopping some steps behind her.

"Lothiriel." She turned at his low voice, and there was no mistaking the intensity of his gaze. Her heart sped up, and warmth spread through her body. She could not look away from his dark eyes, and felt herself drawn a step forward. What was happening to her? "I love you," he said softly.

Shock flooded through her and froze her to the spot. "I..." she whispered, and stared at him. "I..." She did not know what to say; she did not know what she could say.

But she knew what she could not say.

Time seemed to dilate, and she watched miserably as pain came into his eyes. Finally, too late, she found her voice. "Eomer, I-- I would not lie to you." Her voice broke. It was the most difficult thing she had ever said, and as she watched the import of her words sink in, she knew she would never, ever forget the look of sadness on his face. It would haunt her until the day she died. "Forgive me," she whispered. "Please."

"There is nothing to forgive." His voice was so low she could barely hear it. "Forgive me for causing you pain."

"No!" She could not keep her voice even. "Do not mock me like that." Her eyes filled with hot, stinging tears, and it was almost a relief to no longer be able to see his eyes.

"Lothiriel, I would never mock you," he said softly.

"You have no reason to ask my forgiveness," she said, her voice choked, as she wiped at her face.

"I have hurt you," he said, and the self-recrimination in his tone was not to be borne, for he did not deserve it. His expression changed to one of compassion, and he took a step forward and brought his hand up to brush her face, and Lothiriel instinctively backed up. She could not bear his gentle touch. She did not deserve his kindness, and if he tried to comfort her she would drown in self-loathing.

Eomer had frozen where he was, and the look on his face made her feel like she'd kicked a dog. "I'm sorry," she whispered miserably as he slowly lowered his hand back to his side. I'm sorry I cannot return your words of love. I'm sorry I cannot let you touch me. Oh, Eomer, forgive me. She sank down on the window ledge and leaned her head against the wall, trying not to give way to desperate sobs. It was of no avail.

You will do anything for him, and yet you hurt him? her merciless conscience demanded, but she knew it was no worse than she deserved. She bit down on her hand, trying to keep herself silent as the tears poured down her face. He loved her, and she might as well have torn his heart out and stomped on it. He would never say so, but the Rohirrim did not lie, and she could read his expression as clearly as if he had spoken.

She didn't know how long she sat there, suffocating in misery and guilt, but finally her crying slowed, leaving her feeling as if she had torn her own heart out as well as Eomer's. She looked up, and saw him sitting on the far side of the bed, facing away from her; the slump of his shoulders, and the way he held his head in his hand, was like a silent accusation, and the tears started all over again. This is what you have done to your dearest friend, her conscience said, the man you care about so deeply.

She heard him moving about, after a while, as she lay curled in the window ledge, her sleeve soaked with tears. Every time she thought she'd stopped crying she remembered something, whether the way he smiled at her, or the warmth in his eyes as he laughed, or the tenderness on his face as he watched her with Elfwine; then she saw in her mind the look on his face when she'd said she wouldn't lie to him, and her heart hurt so badly it was a physical ache. Lothiriel knew that the best thing she could do for him now was to stop crying, but never had she felt more wretched since coming to Rohan than she did at that moment.

Finally she was quiet, and lay exhausted, wishing the numbness that seemed to have overtaken her senses would dull the sensation in her heart, too. Would that I could turn back time...

"Lothiriel," Eomer said gently, nearby, and the sound of his voice sent fresh guilt through her. "Come to bed. You will catch your death of cold there."

How can he still think to care about me, when he must feel... She mutely shook her head, not looking up. After a few moments, she heard a quiet sigh, and a thick, soft blanket settled over her.

"Thank you," she whispered, and his response was a brief, light touch on her shoulder. Then she heard his footsteps retreat, and the bed creaked as he settled on it.

But when morning came, the sun's first light saw her curled up in the large bed, her pillow wet with tears.

- - -

Eomer went very early to the council chamber the next morning, feeling numb, hoping to avoid seeing anyone. And for a few moments he had blessed solitude, and then Elfhelm entered.

"Eomer?" the other man asked quietly, and Eomer forced himself to look up. He knew what he looked like. "Is something wrong?"

Eomer stared at the tabletop for a full minute before the words trickled out like blood from a wound. "I made Lothiriel cry."

He had his old friend's full attention now. "What happened?"

He closed his eyes, trying in vain to shut out the memory of the previous night. "I told her I loved her." Elfhelm was silent, and he didn't dare look up for fear of what he would see. "The way her face crumpled..." he whispered. "I felt like a murderer."

"Are you angry with her?" Elfhelm asked gently.

Eomer started to deny it, but his innate honesty forced him to stop. "A little," he admitted. "I love her, and she finds the idea repugnant." His bitter tone softened. "She cried for so long," he said slowly. "And all I could do was give her a blanket." He shook his head. "I wish I knew why she was so upset."

"You may have reminded her of someone in Dol Amroth that she loved," Elfhelm said quietly.

"Perhaps," Eomer forced himself to agree, and closed his eyes.

Elfhelm put his hand on Eomer's shoulder. "She is a good woman. You are a good man. It will work out." Then the door opened and the rest of the Council arrived, and there was no more time for talk.