April 4, Edoras

Spring came to the Riddermark with a call to war. Elphir rode from Minas Tirith as a messenger from Aragorn, explaining how the situation in the east was turning ever more difficult; Elessar was now asking for his fellow king's aid to meet the threat. Lothíriel and Éomer did not welcome this turn of events, even though they had known to expect it. But neither did they have to discuss whether he would go or not. As always, he knew his duty... and he was twice bound, once by oath and once by friendship and love.

"It's strange, how life changes you. Only some five years ago I would have been excited to go", he said to her on the night of Elphir's arrival – by that time, riders had already been sent to muster éoreds for war, and in the capital preparations for the King's departure were in full speed.

"Yes, I suppose there are enough of things to keep you here now. It must be very different from when you were a Marshal", Lothíriel commented, glancing at her husband. He was seated on the edge of the bed, watching as she got undressed and readied to join him in the bed.

"It's not just that, though I do not deny our own hearth has now things I wouldn't stay for", Éomer said, his voice turning quiet. He shifted and moved his eyes away, and spoke again, "Once I embraced battles – thought it was the only thing I could do well. But after the south... and after these past three years it seems there must have been something insane in me to be so eager for war. I have seen enough of death, Lothíriel. I would now rather witness life."

Hearing that, and the heaviness of his voice, she moved to sit next to him and took his hand in hers. He apparently guessed what was on her mind, for he smiled slightly and gently cupped her cheek.

"It's all right, beloved", he said. "I may not enjoy it but duty can never scare me again, whatever it might be at the time."

He didn't have to explain himself any further than that, and with a quiet sigh she wrapped her arms about him.

"You promise to be careful?" Lothíriel mumbled half-audibly, the words containing so much that was left unsaid at the time, though not unknown: you can't be replaced.

"Aye, I will", he reassured her, and then pulled her into a long and deep kiss.

In less than a week later came the moment she dreaded: all was set in Edoras for the King's departure, and he would ride to Dunharrow for the marshalling of éoreds. Then the muster would leave for Gondor, and beyond... Éomer had been gone before, but not for months at a time, and he could not say when he would return. He promised to send letters, and this comforted her somewhat, though she knew messages would linger on the road for many days – by the time it reached her, situation might have changed entirely.

So, after he had kissed her and Elfwine for the last time, Éomer turned and strode down the steps, his men around him; Silfren stood ready for the road and tossed his head when his rider mounted him. Sunlight glimmered on the steel and the white horsetail of Éomer's helmet as he looked ahead. But then he spared his wife one more glance and a smile she knew was to encourage her. Then he looked ahead and with his command, the King's Company began for the road.

Lothíriel held Elfwine a bit tighter and swallowed hard to get rid of the lump in her throat. It was easier to fight when Éothain laid a hand on her shoulder – she had been so in the middle of her own goodbyes that she had not noticed his presence.

"I wish I could go with him", she said in quiet tones, watching as the line of riders disappeared downhill.

"I know that feeling, my friend. To this day I still regret that I can't... it still seems wrong to stay behind when he rides", Éothain replied and let out a sigh.

"If you did, then I would be missing you and your help, Éothain", Lothíriel said in an attempt to cheer him up. He glanced at her and she met his gaze steadily as she spoke, "I see now why my husband prizes your help and council so much."

The former captain looked slightly embarrassed and he made a gruff sound at the back of his throat. She did not say she had seen time and again how hard he worked, as though he thought he needed to prove himself constantly. And Lothíriel knew not to point it out. For after what Éothain had lived through, how could one persuade him that he did not need to prove his worth?

Though Meduseld was always lacking during Éomer's absence, it did not leave Lothíriel in leisure: she had her hands full running the Golden Hall, minding Elfwine, and taking care of what everyday matters of ruling she could. She would sit in council meetings and trudge her way through piles of reports, seeing to whatever cases she was able and leaving the more serious issues to wait for Éomer's return. There even came a day she had to hold a court of justice all alone in Meduseld, and that was more terrifying than facing a traitor, although Éothain stood beside her the whole time and matters brought to her attention were not the most challenging she had witnessed her husband resolving. Ruling was hard work, but only at the times when Éomer wasn't home did she really understand just how difficult it could be.

Whatever free moments there were usually passed by with Scýne, Osythe, and Ceolwen, who had come to stay in Edoras for a couple of weeks – Elfhelm had ridden with Éomer to Gondor, and she knew well how it felt like to miss someone irreplaceable.

Letters came, as Éomer had promised. In them, he described the road to Gondor and his arrival there, and the preparations for departure; in the last letter, he and Aragorn were on their way east, and at least then things had been looking promising. Reading his descriptions, she could picture the war company and their camps, the nights under the stars, the meetings and plans, the long days of travel... she wanted to be there too, though she rationally knew her presence was more needed in Edoras. And anyway, how should she have left Elfwine behind?

There were nights she could not sleep, and she'd lay awake thinking of her husband so far away from home, or perhaps watch Elfwine as the child slept next to her until she'd fall asleep too. Somehow, his presence did help a bit to catch some rest. She wondered if Elfwine missed Éomer as well, and thought that he did – while their son did not yet have words to express such concepts, there were moments when he'd look at his mother quizzically as though to ask where his father was. On the day of Elfwine's first birthday she felt overwhelmingly melancholy, though such date should have inspired joy; because Éomer was not there to celebrate the occasion with them, she refused to organise a feast. Her mood was slightly lifted when a few days later heavy parchments came from Gondor, and inside she found toy soldiers which must have been made by some very talented craftsman. With them came a letter of apology that he was not home with his family, and he promised they would have a proper celebration next year.

The incident took place when about a month had gone by since Éomer had ridden for Gondor. As the day was a fair one and she did not have so much work for the day, Lothíriel was able to take dress in her cloak, ask Scýne to accompany her, and make their way to the markets of Edoras. With the influx of traders from south and north, the place was cramped; she had seen an appeal from a company of traders to rebuild it larger so that more people would be able to sell their goods, and their customers would have more space to roam the markets. When she and Scýne came there, she could very much see it was a valid concern. But with Éomer away, there was little she could do about it.

Yet even if the place was packed, the arrival of the Lady of the Mark caused a stir, and way was made to her along with many bows and curtsies and happy greetings. Traders took notice of her as well, and many of them shouted out in an attempt to get her to their stalls – even if it were pots they were selling, and she did not exactly have use for those.

"It's a good thing I did not take more coin with me. Otherwise, I might leave this market with all sorts of knick-knacks", she wryly commented to Scýne, who laughed softly.

"We would have to call in reinforcements from the Hall – to get it all carried up and inside", she quipped, glancing at the two guards trailing them. Once there had been a time Lothíriel had rued having to be accompanied by riders of the Royal Guard, but she had got used to it, and knew it reassured certain mother hens disguising as Eorlingas.

"Éothain and Ceolwen would think I had lost my mind", Lothíriel said and chuckled.

She had heard some booksellers had come from Minas Tirith, and wishing to expand the royal library, she had decided to come and find out what was on sale. She wasn't a particularly avid reader, but her grandfather had made sure she knew the worth of written word. Not to mention she hoped books would be useful in Elfwine's upbringing one day. So, if the merchants she had been told about did have good stock, she might just end up calling for that reinforcement.

Once they had the directions for the booksellers' stall, they went and met with the merchants – their stock was less than she had hoped for, but she was able to purchase a book on the recent history of Gondor and even an account of re-establishing the kingdoms of Dale and Erebor. When she and Scýne left the stall, she thought she'd have to visit the booksellers in Minas Tirith the next time she would travel to Gondor.

They made their way through the markets, picking up some necessary items here and there: fabric for Scýne, new needles for the servants of the royal household, a pair of riding boots... by the time they were done it was already afternoon, and they decided to head back to the Golden Hall. Lothíriel thought of checking on Elfwine, and then she'd spend a few hours going through some appeals and reports. Then Scýne suggested she should join her family for supper later that evening, and they were discussing it when suddenly the Queen of the Mark noticed movement at the edge of her vision.

Hair on the nape of her neck stood up and a shiver passed through her in a moment of foreboding. She shifted and moved to side the very same instance that Scýne exclaimed: "Watch out!"

The knife was meant for her body, perhaps her chest or her abdomen to slash internal organs and cause serious damage, but her shift altered where it hit: she lifted her arm just in time and she could feel the blade cutting through fabric and skin. It hurt anyway and made her curse in pain, but the metal did not go so deep as to render her defenceless.

Her opponent was hooded and cloaked, not much taller than her – he lifted the blade again and meant to strike, but she caught him by wrist as instinct for survival took over. Then, as the crowd around them shouted in shock and terror and the guards threw aside things they had been carrying in order to rush to defend her, Lothíriel drove her knee into her attacker's groin and her forehead against his nose.

He yowled in pain as he fell, and then one of the two guards was on him, while the other grabbed Lothíriel by arm while he unsheathed his sword. Scýne picked up her skirts and went running, growling something about alarming more guards to storm the scene. The second guard pushed away the attacker's hood to reveal his face, and they saw he was no Rohirric man. Instead he looked like he was from the east – not of Harad, but perhaps from the vast lands of Rhûn.

"My lady, are you badly hurt?" asked the guard sheltering Lothíriel, his sword bared in case any more attackers appeared. Around them the crowd bustled, though they had retreated to create an empty ring – no one seemed to want a blade in their guts. Meanwhile, the attacker was writhing on the ground in a fetal position, and the second guard's task of watching him was mostly nominal, though he had his spear ready.

"No, I don't think so. It's just a scratch", Lothíriel replied and pressed the hem of her cloak against the wound. Her heart still beat fast and alarmed, as though the fight to defend herself was not yet over. In truth it was, because guards flooded the place then; in orderly fashion the culprit was taken in custody, the Queen and newly returned Scýne closed inside a defending circle, and the investigation of the scene was started.

"Come, let us get you back to Meduseld. We'll have a healer take a look at that wound", Scýne said briskly, linking her arm with Lothíriel's good one. The older woman glanced at her sternly, "Are you sure you can walk?"

"Of course I can. It really is just a scratch", said the Queen with a humourless smile. She was yet too dazed to make out anything about what had just happened. Her friend frowned.

"You must tell me right away if you start to feel faint", she insisted, and then they started for the Golden Hall. Guards remained around them the whole way, their hands resting on the pommels of their swords, though no one should be so mad as to try to harm their mistress now.

Half an hour later, when the healer had cleaned the wound – a longish but not very deep cut – and was in the middle of wrapping fresh linen around it, Éothain and Ceolwen came to see their queen. Both were wearing grave faces, and one might have thought Lothíriel had received a far more serious injury.

"Well? Have you been able to get anything out of that man?" Lothíriel asked once the healer was done with her, and she glanced at her two friends. She decided she'd be surprised if the villain had not said anything, seeing he had been interrogated by the two former captains. Even so, she already had her own suspicions about the reason of the assault.

"Not much yet. We will continue to question him, but right now it looks like he was trying to get revenge... it seems that someone in the east doesn't like how the campaign is going", Ceolwen replied.

"You mean they may have sent men all the way here, to harm me in hopes of distracting my husband and Aragorn?" Lothíriel asked and narrowed her eyes, looking from the Shieldmaiden to Éothain. The thought had occurred to her, but it still astounded her.

"It is possible, yes. With all the traffic in the realm it would be easy at least", he said. The implications occurred to her in a blink of an eye, making her nearly leap from her seat.

"You must send a rider to Minas Tirith immediately. If someone is trying to take revenge on the Lords of the West by attacking one royal consort, then the other may very well be in same danger. Arwen's guards and Faramir must know as soon as possible what is afoot", Lothíriel said sharply.

Ceolwen's eyes widened only very slightly and briefly. She had been in war enough not to give in to shock when action was needed.

"Aye, I'll see to it right away", she said and strode out swiftly to send a rider to Gondor. Éothain remained behind, looking worried.

"I shall have men search the capital in case there are more Easterlings here", he said, but his words made Lothíriel frown.

"This was unfortunate, yes, but we can't assume everyone is a potential assassin", she pointed out. "It's already bad enough now. I don't want people on a lynching mood because of one man's deeds."

"When your life and well-being are in question, I will not do things by halves", Éothain said sternly. "That is the least I can do for my king."

Lothíriel groaned. Of course she should have known he would bring up her husband... she could very well imagine how Éomer would take these tidings. For the man who had attacked her it was very good Éomer was not home... but even so, after an attempt on the life of the Queen, his future prospects did not seem very good.

"Do you think Queen Arwen really might be in danger?" Scýne asked then – she had been silent until now, but had followed the conversation keenly.

"I wish I knew. This could have been just an isolated event, but we must take it into account and warn her... still, it's days' ride to Minas Tirith, even for one fast rider. I hope she'll be all right", said the Queen and sighed as she rubbed her forehead with her free hand.

"I'm sure she will be. The Citadel is very safe, and she is guarded by capable men", Scýne said in an attempt to console her, though there was slight concern on her features as well. Arwen could be under attack this very moment... Lothíriel shook her head, trying to rid herself of the dread. After all, it was not like they could do anything now, except hope that the rider would reach the White City before it was too late.

Early June 4, near River Running in Rhûn

Rain had been falling since a few days ago.

It had left the camp a muddy field and was carried everywhere – there was mud even on Éomer's sleeping furs. As the rain combined with a cold wind from the north, he was starting to forget how it felt like to be warm and dry. If he had not known better, he would have guessed the time of year was October rather than June. The weather was also stalling them on an otherwise prolific campaign. As long as rain continued to fall, they could not make progress.

"I think my boots have sucked up so much much water and mud, it will create a whole new lake in the Mark once we get back", Edelric muttered half to himself as they made way from Aragorn's tent. Éomer paid only brief attention to his captain's words, as he was mulling over the meeting with his fellow king. He thought of sufficiency of the provisions, of battles still ahead, and of going home. It was nearly two months since he had left Edoras and he felt the length of that time keenly; this was the first time he was parted from his wife for such a period, and it was still going on. He had no doubt she was fine, and Elfwine too, but still he missed them terribly.

"I'm sure the rain will end soon and we can leave this place", he said to his captain, though the weather was starting to get on his nerves too. What would he have given if he could have sat before a fireplace in Meduseld, watching his wife and son!

"Well, I hope it does. Some sunshine should cheer up the men as well", Edelric commented wryly. Not that their morale was very low, for Eorlingas were a people who moved a lot under the bare sky, and it would take much more than just a few days of rain to shock them. Rather it seemed the Gondorian troops were much more affected by the weather.

As they approached the royal tent, the guards bowed their heads to the two men and made way. At least inside it was slightly less wet – though the furs near to his cot smelled abysmal for all the water they had sucked up, and most likely would have to be burned once this war was done for.

He gestured his captain to sit down and poured them some wine while Edelric pressed rainwater from his long hair. The young man received the cup with thanks and downed almost half of the drink in one go, while Éomer sat down and kicked off his boots. He stripped his feet bare and stretched; he had to smile, because he could almost hear Lothíriel telling him he'd catch cold. The dear woman still did not seem to believe him when he told her the cold had never much bothered him.

"What are you smiling about?" Edelric asked, bringing Éomer's attention back to the present moment.

He smiled still when he answered, "I was just thinking about Lothíriel."

His captain made a noise someone who didn't know him might have called rude. Edelric sipped his wine again before muttering, "I should have known."

Erkenbrand's son looked at him then with a jesting half-smile, "You and that wife of yours are so sweet together it's disgusting."

Éomer chortled and sat back, running fingers through his damp mane.

"Sorry. Can't help it", he said humorously. His captain let out a soft laugh and relaxed on his seat as well. Quietly they spoke of days ahead and what things would follow, and whether they might soon see the end of the campaign. While they had won a few victories against the hostile forces of Rhûn, a definitive battle had yet to take place.

It was in the middle of this conversation that the messenger arrived, way-worn and dripping wet. A guard announced him from the doorflap of the tent: "Sire, a Rider has arrived from the Mark."

"Let him in", said Éomer and stood up; like always, there was a slight leap of his heart and a sudden twist, for he could never know if the tidings would be good or bad. The messenger stepped in and he did not seem to wear any ominous expression, which at least consoled the King of the Mark somewhat.

"My lord, there are letters from the Mark – from Lothíriel Queen and Lord Éothain", said the rider and bowed at his liege-lord.

"Give them to me", Éomer said impatiently, reaching his hand towards the messenger. News from home were always welcome, and on this rainy night Lothíriel's words seemed like a promise of a warm embrace. The rider produced two scrolls from the satchel on his side and offered them to his king, who grabbed them hastily

"Go and get some food and rest. One of the guards will find you a place", he said to the messenger, who bowed again and exited the tent. Edelric stood up from his seat and grinned.

"I will leave you to it, then", said the captain, to which his lord only growled half-audibly, his mind already turned towards the letters. He paid little attention to his captain as Erkenbrand's son left the tent. Éomer was fast considering which letter he should read first: while he was anxious for his wife's words, he thought perhaps he might save those for later – to savour them when he was sure he wouldn't be disturbed, and compose an answer too.

So he set her letter aside for the time being and instead sat down to read Éothain's letter. After breaking off the seal he rolled it open an began to read:

My friend,

While I know your wife is writing you a letter – and no doubt she'll give you a better description than I could – I thought you might wish to hear another account as well. It could be a grave matter, though at the time I'm writing this letter we don't know everything yet. I do not know if it might be important for your campaign in the east but alas, I would not take any chances.

Yesterday there was an attempt on the life of your wife. Don't be alarmed, my friend – she was not injured badly and the wound she took to her forearm should heal nicely. Certainly it is not holding her back in the slightest. I know what you must be thinking right now, but I assure you she is fine...

When Éomer stopped reading the letter, his heart had already assumed a fast pace, and there was a feeling like just before battle. But he felt anxiety and terror as well, even despite Éothain's reassurances. It remained one of his greatest fears, that something should happen to Lothíriel while he was far away and unable to help her...

The bottle of Rohirric liquor stood on a stand nearby. He grabbed it and took a long swig, reminding himself Éothain wouldn't lie to him, and least of all when it came to her. If his friend said Lothíriel was all right, then there was no reason to doubt him. Moreover, she had written a letter to him, so it was foolish to imagine she was laying on her death bed or something of the sort. Yet he still felt a wild urge to jump in the saddle and race back to the Mark, even if he knew the mere thought was irrational.

He took another mouthful of the liquor and continued reading. Éothain explained what had happened: the attack at the markets, Lothíriel's response – "You'll get a better description from her, I imagine", he wrote – and the interrogations afterwards. At the time Éothain had written the letter, the culprit had not yet told much about his reasons and whether he had been working alone but one thing was clear: he was of the people of Rhûn, which clearly connected him to the present campaign. Éothain promised to send riders as soon as he knew more, and insisted that in the meantime, the Queen and the Prince would be watched over most diligently. As for the attacker, he'd be kept tightly under guard until Éomer could return and see to the matter himself.

"Don't be troubled, though these tidings seem to give a reason. Eorlingas certainly don't seem disheartened by the incident – rather, they are proud of their queen, for there was quite a crowd to see her fight and defeat her attacker. I would tell you not to worry if I did not know that you will anyway. Just remember your wife is Lioness, and assassins will have to try much harder to cause her harm."

Éomer took a third swig of the liquor and rested his forehead against his hand.

Oh, but my friend, it is the fact that they try which kills me...

A/N: And here comes an update! I'm going on a holiday and won't have time to write anything, so this chapter is a bit "meatier", if you get what I mean. I have a feeling this little story thread may continue to several more chapters. :)

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Jo - It's also entertaining to switch between POVs every now and then. I'm glad you enjoyed it! And yes, kids at that age are so adorable!