Chapter Thirty-Six: The End

Pulling her from her reverie of bliss, a deafening applause and cheer resounded throughout the courtyard. With her arms pinned between them, Lothíriel laughed and laughed and laughed, so thoroughly overjoyed that it ached in the most marvelous of ways. Éomer grinned down at her before stealing another bold kiss, temporarily laying claim to her good reason. Belatedly recalling that her father was in audience, Lothíriel pulled back from Éomer, her cheeks a vibrant shade of red.

But Éomer was undeterred, had eyes only for her.

"Do you forgive me? I swear to you, Lothíriel, I will spend the rest of my life doing everything in my power to earn that forgiveness, if it should not be forthcoming."

"You are not the only one to beg for forgiveness, Éomer." Lothíriel told him gently. "I would ask it of you as well. My actions were self-serving and thoughtless of consequence. I need to know that your trust in me has not been broken, can be mended if it is—"

Éomer silenced her with a gentle hand to her cheek and a curling smile to his lips. "I understand now why you acted as such, Lothíriel. I cannot fault you for fighting for what you believe in, for wanting to protect those you love. It is the same thing that drove me to my own madness. When I thought that Éowyn had been lost to me, when I had lost so many before her..." He stopped, his throat constricting with emotion as his eyes, to hide his fleeting pain, dashed to the ground.

"I understand." Lothíriel whispered her consent, as a shallow pain lacerated her newly awakened heart. She knew but a fraction of the anguish Éomer lived with day in and day out, but even a fraction of that pain was enough to give her comprehension for the reason behind his actions. "I do not fault you that."

Éomer lifted his eyes to hers again, but instead of hurt she only saw joy. "Then let us vow to work on this together. I cannot criticize you for something I would have done myself, but if it would quell your conscience, I will say it: I forgive you, Lothíriel, and I have never lost my trust in you. I was blinded for a while, but with you, my eyes will be open forevermore, and we will learn to trust each other fully and move past this. There will be times when we are tested, and hardships aplenty, but I can think of no one else whom I would rather work them through with than you. Please though, I beg of you, exorcise my transgressions."

Lothíriel laid a hand against his stubbled cheek, smiling up at him in admiration. "It is given Éomer, freely and wholly. Though, like you, there is nothing to forgive. I understand your reasoning and yes, we can move past this."

She watched the wave of his relief take him; Éomer closed his eyes and crushed her to him once more, hugging her so tightly it stole her breath. She closed her eyes as she looped her arms around her neck, tears gathering on her lashes as her happiness spilled over the brim of her soul, causing her to laugh. Éomer buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply of her scent, her being, and she believed they might be thinking the same thing in this moment: Has this truly happened? My absolution, in my grasp?

"You know I shall do that anyway," Éomer said, pulling back to look down at Lothíriel. His hands splayed the soft skin of her cheeks, his fingers reverent as they coursed over her flesh. "Spend every day, until the end of my days, making sure you are happy."

Lothíriel smiled. "I will do the same for you, Éomer."

His fingers traced her lips, her nose, her cheeks, his eyes following in their worshipful wake. "Say that you love me." Éomer whispered roughly, lifting a hand to push a lock of hair from her face to reveal her full beauty to him. "Because I love you, Lothíriel. I love you more than anything in this world."

Lothíriel choked on her happiness, and a laugh escaped her lips. "Yes," she wept, her tears finally falling free. "I love you Éomer."

"Then I am to have your hand." Éomer replied, a roguish smile turning his lips. "Say that you will—"

"What is going on here?"

Lothíriel stilled at the coarse, thunderous voice of her brother Elphir, and she broke her gaze with Éomer to peer over his shoulder to see said brother embarking down the stairs of the castle, Amrothos and Erchirion in his wake. Lothíriel took note that Celís and Nissa were (and probably had been) watching from the doorway, their features darkening toward the newcomers.

Elphir looked only slightly better this morning than the night before; his nose was indeed broken but his face somewhat less swollen. However, the black anger on his features twisted him into the ugly creature he had been the night before as he groused, "What is the meaning of this? Who let him free?"

"I did." Imrahil rumbled, drawing his eldest to a stop. Elphir cast his father a frigid glare before turning hateful eyes to Éomer, who had moved to stand protectively in front of Lothíriel out of habit.

"I would have your sister's hand in marriage." Éomer spoke loudly, his pride in the matter for all to hear and none to question.

There was more than one gasp that resounded throughout the courtyard, amplified when Lothíriel stepped up to stand united next to Éomer. She tipped her head back, glaring at her brother, who mottled red with fury at the statement.

"Absolutely not. Not for—"

"Hell will have to—"

"—any amount of coin—"

"—freeze over, and ice my dead body—"

"—or anything you could ever offer for that matter!"

"—before I allow you anywhere near her in that capacity!"

So much for reconvening with clearer minds, Lothíriel thought, turning to share her glare with Amrothos.

"Let us hear him out." Erchirion bade, drawing looks of absolute shock from Elphir and Amrothos.

"Are you mad?"

"Have you lost what little wits you possess?"

Imrahil moved then, slowly walking down the stone steps of the castle to pass his sons, coming to stand but a few paces from where Lothíriel and Éomer stood together.

"Tell me why you would have her hand, horsemaster," he said, his voice like thunder on this bright and glorious morning. "And then, if it makes her truly happy and only then, will I think on relinquishing it to you."

Lothíriel's breath caught.

Beside her Éomer smiled, turning to face her as he spoke instead of addressing Imrahil. With widened eyes, she gaped first at her father and then Éomer, her flesh tingling when he reached out to take her hands in his own. His eyes sparkled with his mirth and instantly Lothíriel was lost to them, so blissfully lost in the love they held.

"Because she is the soul I could ever be lucky enough to call the other half of my own."

Éomer looked at Imrahil then, departing of Lothíriel's hands slowly, and the two shared a wordless exchange. Éomer's declaration, so beautifully spoken and heartfully meant, rendered her speechless, almost utterly mindless, and she could do naught but stare at him in bewilderment. However, she suddenly recalled not too many weeks ago stunningly similar words her father had spoken about his Rusalinè, and her heart fluttered its awareness.

She realized then what Éomer's words meant not only to her, but to her father.

And she saw the moment he made his decision as it flickered through his grey eyes. Imrahil nodded, only once, and stepped back, shocking Elphir and Amrothos into utter silence.

Éomer turned to face Lothíriel, taking her hands in his own as he dropped to a single knee before her.

"Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, son of Adrahil, from the noble line of the Númenor, would you do me the greatest honor, the most wonderful of pleasures, of being my love, my wife, queen of my life, and also beside me over the wild and heinously barbaric country of Rohan?"

His mirth should have been infectious for it radiated from his person in stunning waves and those who watched twittered with excitement, but Lothíriel did not know how to respond. She simply stared at him, dumbstruck in her surprise, her happiness, her overwhelming sense of love.

Éomer laughed at her flabbergasted expression. "I think I am the only one with the propensity to render you speechless, my lady."

"Éomer…" Lothíriel trembled in his hold. "I… Are you sure?"

"I am sure that I cannot live without you." Éomer responded, causing Lothíriel's heart to skip a beat. "I am sure that I cannot go one more day without seeing your smile. I am sure that I will spend the rest of my life making sure that I do so, every day, as much as I can. I am sure I can no more live without you than the air in my chest or the blood in body. Aye Lothíriel, I am sure."

Lothíriel smiled, more tears collecting in her eyes. She squeezed his hands and said, "Yes Éomer, I will marry you."

The roar of approval from those that had been listening was deafening. Éomer leapt to his feet and captured her in his arms once more, smiling, laughing down at her, holding onto her as if she were the greatest treasure he had ever seen. And then she heard nothing, because once more Lothíriel became captive to his kiss.

She kissed him, fiercely and passionately, as her heart swelled to enormous proportions and the fire in her soul, once doused, flamed anew.

A not-so-gentle nudge had Lothíriel breaking from Éomer, and she looked over her shoulder to see the impatient Firebreather eagerly awaiting her attention. She turned slightly, remaining in Éomer's arms, as she laughed at her horse friend.

"I thought I had lost you; that is twice now. No more, Firebreather." she told the beast, and he snorted his acquiescence and nudged her again. She caught his bridle and lifted a hand to scratch beneath his forelock as Éomer grunted and shook his head.

"I did not know he had been part of the herd that had been rescued from the battle and returned to Edoras. When Éothain told me there was an unmanageable nag in the stables I did not think anything of it until I saw him for myself." Firebreather bristled at being called a nag, laying his ears flat and glaring at Éomer heatedly. Lothíriel laughed, giving the horse an affectionate pat on his neck.

"He does not mean it." She stroked his sweating horseflesh, and laughed again when she saw Éomer glare right back at the steed.

"I most certainly do. Do you know what it was like to corral him for weeks on end, let alone behave on the journey here?"

"Well no one told you to wait weeks." Lothíriel replied smartly, and Firebreather whinnied in the face of Éomer's blackened scowl.

"You are lucky she loves you, beast," Éomer told Firebreather, who stamped an angry hoof in indignation.

"Lothíriel! You cannot be serious!" Elphir raged forward then, but Lothíriel would not let her happiness be stolen, not again, not by anyone.

She turned to face Elphir, breaking from Éomer's hold, and held up her hand to stay him. "Elphir, I have had enough of this. You can either respect the fate I have chosen for myself or you can become distanced by it. Either way, you are still my brother and I will still love you, and will admire you for your decision."

Elphir had slowed his stride but now came to a complete stop. Amrothos stepped past his brother, his scowl dark, yet his grey eyes soft on his sister. "Lothíriel… Is this what you want?"

Lothíriel smiled at first Amrothos, and then Éomer, before settling her gaze on Elphir. "I can think of nothing more."

Erchirion came forth then, a genuine smile of light and love on his features. "Then it is yours, little sister; that is all we could ever want for you. And we shall not stand in your way any longer."

Lothíriel's eyes glistened for her brother's words and her heart went out to him then. She would not forget to ask him about the serving maid from the celebration, would do so in time. Now, however, she had another to contend with.

Turning her gaze to Elphir, Lothíriel quirked a brow as her lips adopted a twisting smirk. "It seems as though you are outnumbered, brother."

She watched as he twisted his jaw, flickering hateful eyes to Éomer. He broke rank from Amrothos to stride forth, and Lothíriel began to panic none too subtlety when he headed straight for Éomer. Frantically, Nissa scrambled down the steps, her mind on the same outcome as Lothíriel's. "Elphir no—"

Éomer stepped forward as well and Lothíriel stumbled to come between the two, imploring, "Please, not again—"

"If I, but just once, hear of her sadness or misfortune by your hands, you may count yourself dead within the week." Elphir snapped, barely stopping the three paces it was to Éomer, even with Lothíriel between them.

Lothíriel could hear the mirth on Éomer's voice, did not have to turn and see his grin as he said, "I would like to see you try, swanmaster.

"Nevertheless, it will never happen, so you threats fall empty at my feet."

Lothíriel puffed out a sigh of heady relief, pushing at Elphir's chest. He budged back a step, but barely, his eyes still heated on Éomer.

"Just as long as you know."

"Just as long as you know."

Lothíriel rolled her eyes at their childish behavior. "Really, you two—"

"He will have all of us to contend with." Amrothos called from where he stood, crossing thick arms across his bolstered chest.

"I will have no problem doing so, little swanmaster." Éomer replied in turn, drawing more than one covered bout of laughter from those that remained to listen. "However, I will have you admit now that I am beneath her station no longer, am more than worthy of her."

Amrothos bristled, his countenance turning dark where he stood. Lothíriel covered her laugh with a faint cough, glancing at Éomer with a facetious smile.

"In fact, I am King of Rohan now…in case you did not know. Or may have forgotten." Éomer straightened to his full height, looked down his nose at Amrothos. "I believe there should be no small amount of groveling to be had from you."

Amrothos took a step forward as Imrahil laughed aloud and Lothíriel spun on Éomer, her eyes wide. "Éomer! Really!"

"I think I might begin to like this Éomer." Erchirion came to stand beside Imrahil, smiling as Lothíriel stood between Amrothos and Éomer, who had begun to bicker like squabbling hens.

"He makes her happy." Imrahil rumbled. "That is all I could ever want for her."

"Indeed."

"—and you, my lord, are in dire need of a bath!" Lothíriel was telling Éomer hotly, after shouting at her youngest brother.

Éomer balked, playing that he did not know of what Lothíriel spoke, a hand of betrayal laying on his chest. "I daresay I have never been so disgraced in my entire life!"

"Oh, you will get used to it Éomer King!" Celís called from her perch on the stairs, hands on her hips. "I have come to realize that is how she shows her affection; with her sharp tongue!"

"I will have no more of this!" Lothíriel began to drag Éomer toward the stairs, glaring at Celís as she walked, amidst the laughter of those who had been on the receiving end of said sharp tongue. "No more fighting, no more debauchery on my part—"

"If that is the price I must pay for such admiration—"

"Hush, horsemaster, lest you deign to regret it." Lothíriel threw a glare at Éomer over her shoulder as they ascended the stairs to the castle; she then turned her narrowed eyes on Celís. "And you old maid, ready a room for our esteemed guest."

Éomer pulled her to a stop, crushing her to the thick wall of his chest with arms of banded steel. His smile was roguish as he finished, "—then I will gladly pay it."

Lothíriel pretended to be petrified by his dirty visage, twisting this way and that to get free from his grasp, but succumbed to him when his lips fell upon hers in a gentle, soothing kiss.

"Aye," Celís murmured with a wry smile, shaking her head as she gathered her skirts in her hands and turned to do as her mistress bid. "Two trinkets indeed."

One month later, Lothíriel watched from her position on the seventh level of Minas Tirith as Aragorn was crowned King of Gondor by Gandalf before all of those who had come to Minas Tirith. In attendance were those Elven nobles far and wide who had not yet departed from Middle Earth: Galadriel, Celeborn, Thranduil, Elrond and his sons, and other lesser lords and ladies. Radagast was present, as well as the most esteemed and favorite of hobbits Sam, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin. Beside Lothíriel on one side stood Éowyn, with Faramir beside her, and on Lothíriel's other side stood Éomer, followed by Imrahil, Amrothos, and Erchirion.

It was a beautiful day, the utmost perfect for such an event. The sun was brilliant, lending her mirth to the cloudless blue sky to brighten the many colored gowns and tunics and warm the denizens of Minas Tirith. The entire seventh level of the city was saturated with tittering bodies, all eager and awaiting for the moment when the crown would be placed upon Aragorn's head.

And when the glittering, silver piece was held high for all to see, a boisterous ovation surged through the crowd. Lothíriel's cheer was among the loudest of them all, and she could not stop the radiant smile from lighting her features when Aragorn turned to face the assembly, finally the true and recognized king of Gondor.

He raised his hands in a motion for quiet, and after a few more moments of applause those gathered dimmed to silence.

"Out of the Great Sea to Middle Earth I am come. In this place I will abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world."

The cheer sounded again and reigned for many moments until Aragorn raised his hands once more.

"Furthermore, we are here to celebrate more than my ascension to the throne." He turned his eyes to where Éowyn and she stood at the base of the stairs, his eyes shining with his joy. He opened his upturned palms to them and their counterparts, inviting them forward to be recognized.

The couples, sharing clasped palms with their respective complement, stepped forth to stand at the base of the stairs before Elessar. The king turned his attention back to the crowd, arms outstretched as he said, "May I present to you, the formal announcement of the betrothals of: Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, son of Denethor, to Éowyn, Lady of Rohan, daughter of Éomund; and Éomer, King of Rohan, also son of Éomund, to Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, Princess of Dol Amroth."

The couples, in unison, turned to face the crowd as praise and acclaim resounded throughout the city. Aragorn stepped down the stairs, Gandalf in his wake, and walked between the two couples, pausing to turn and speak with them. Regal in stance he was, wearing a black tunic with the proud symbol of the White Tree of Gondor emblazoned on the front. His dark hair was clean, his face shaven, and he looked truly and irrevocably happy, save for one small glimmer of light missing from his eyes.

It is said that he does not know what has become of his lady Arwen. Lothíriel thought, smiling at Aragorn as he clasped forearms with first Faramir and then Éomer. I hope to never know such pain.

"My dearest Lothíriel, whoever knew your journey would bring you here." Aragorn said to her then, and Lothíriel curtsied before him. Aragorn laid a hand on her shoulder and she rose, shimmering emerald skirts twinkling in the light of the sun as she bestowed on him a smile full of grace and adoration.

"Thank you, your Grace, for always having faith in me." Lothíriel told him, speaking of the times behind them when he never doubted her, was always a strong supporter of her actions.

"We have been through much together, Lothíriel." Aragorn said softly, his smile kind. "You may call me friend. I would not have it any other way."

He turned to Éowyn then to exchange pleasantries with her, and Éomer leaned down to whisper in Lothíriel's ear, "I wonder what the Rohirrim will think when they learn their future queen had their king imprisoned in the dungeons."

Lothíriel glanced at Éomer from beneath her lashes, a crooked smile on her features. "They will think he well deserved it, and throw her a grand celebration. They do like to revel in savagery, after all."

Éomer scoffed under his breath, his jovial brown eyes on his betrothed. "The mighty Rohirrim? They will demand retribution and then throw you in the dungeons. At least ours are more inviting than Dol Amroth's. Perhaps you could tell your father to tidy up a bit, make the place more welcoming?"

Lothíriel could not help but laugh. "And who is to tell your people that you were imprisoned? Need I remind you, you came alone to Dol Amroth?" She raised a brow. "Are you to throw me to the wolves so soon?"

"Ah but you see," Éomer continued, as he grinned roguishly and linked her arm with his, laying a warm hand overtop of hers and curling his fingers to cup her flesh. "That is the plan. I will have you thrown to the dungeons, and then I will steal away down there with you for the night."

Lothíriel blushed heavily, pinching at Éomer's side surreptitiously as Aragorn moved to lead them down the center of the peoples, to greet and to accept their praises. Éomer jumped and laughed, bequeathing upon his lady a quick kiss to her temple in a show of affection that was becoming more and more like him.

Behind Lothíriel and Éomer fell in step her father and brothers, Gandalf, and those of the Fellowship who remained, with Faramir and Éowyn walking behind Aragorn. Bows and curtsies fell as the King of Gondor walked by, and he nodded his head in turn.

When he came upon Elrond, the Elven lord of Rivendell bowed, and then presented something to the newly crowned king. The party of nobles was momentarily halted, and Lothíriel quizzically looked around Elessar to see what was being passed between the two.

Wordlessly, though with much meaning, Elrond passed the silver Sceptre of Annúminas to Aragorn. Slowly, reverently, Aragorn reached for the talisman and grasped it firmly, his eyes never wavering from Elrond's. The Elven king smiled ever so slightly and then bowed again, before moving off to the side.

And Lothíriel lost her breath.

Departed from the crowd came Lady Arwen, wearing a shimmering gown of celadon and a silver, dangling circlet upon her sable head, shining with all the beauty and magnificence Lothíriel thought the world possessed. Indeed, she was as divine as Gimli claimed: tall and lean of build, with long, dark hair lying in rippling waves over her bosom to tickle her waist, moon-colored, upturned eyes, and the most beautiful ivory skin. Her slender, oval face was glowing with her smile, and her full, berry-red lips piqued in the most fascinating of gestures. She was stunning in her Elven glory; however, her eyes belonged only to Elessar as she paused in her stride, her hands clasped delicately before her.

"Arwen." Lothíriel watched with tears in her eyes as Aragorn mouthed her name, stepped forth but ceased, disbelief in his eyes.

Arwen ducked into an elegant curtsy, and Lothíriel watched as Aragorn reached out to tip her chin up, his hand trembling as if afraid to touch her. Arwen rose slowly, and then a moment later found herself in the amorous embrace of her love, Aragorn.

A deafening roar turned the crowd, and Lothíriel laughed as tears trekked paths of happiness down her face. She dashed them away before clapping with the rest of the people around her, joy abound in her heart.

I could get used to this, she thought, turning her gaze to Éomer to find he was already looking at her. This happiness. She smiled then, and thought she saw the words he so readily spoke to her, day in and day out, in his eyes: I love you.

She answered in turn with her own unspoken utterance: And I you, my love.

Later that evening at the celebration of the coronation, Lothíriel was enjoying her wine and the lost company of her friends. Gimli was already drunk and spewing a battle tale with Legolas at the ready to run interference, Merry and Pippin were off dancing on a table, and Sam and Frodo were sitting back and watching the two, silently taking bets on who would be the first to fall. Éowyn, Éomer, and Faramir were laughing with one another, lost in conversation with Gamling and Éothain in attendance while Lothíriel's kin talked with Aragorn. The Elven nobles were sitting near the hearth, sipping their wine and watching the revelers. As Lothíriel sat at the high table and enjoyed the harpist and the boisterous noise of the crowd, her eyes scanned the bodies she had so lovingly come to know as friends, smiling at their antics.

So this is peace, she thought, setting aside her wine. Love, atonement, and happiness.

She froze and choked on the mouthful she had yet to swallow, however, when her eyes landed on Mithrandir. She was belatedly thankful that she had set down her wine, for she was sure she would have upturned the goblet. He sat not alone near the hearth but with a slight figure she thought never to see again, one dressed in drab robes and sitting with a knobby walking stick in her lap. Her hood was cast down to reveal a half-bald head patched with white hair that touched the floor. She was wagging a finger at Gandalf and the wizard was laughing uproariously, clutching his belly with his head thrown back, mouth open wide.

Old Agna shook her head and then, in a moment of absolute absurdity, turned her face toward Lothíriel's as if she felt the young woman's stare. With her one good eye she focused on the princess and grinned shamelessly, sending a wink through the crowd straight to her. Lothíriel blinked, for in the next moment Gandalf had reclaimed the old nag's attention and once again they were locked in bickering conversation, leaving Lothíriel beyond stunned.

Well bless my very soul…

"My lady."

Lothíriel looked over her shoulder, startled out of her surprise into a new one when she found Lady Arwen standing behind her chair. She pushed back her own to stand and curtsy, but Arwen stalled the movement with a hand outstretched, before taking the vacated seat next to Lothíriel.

"Elessar has told me much about you." Arwen told her, her voice the melody of a songbird. "So much so that I had to meet the princess herself."

"You flatter me, your Grace." Lothíriel said, a slight blush to her cheeks. "I am sure what Aragorn has told you has not been all that endearing."

"On the contrary; meeting your acquaintance has been at the forefront of my mind. To meet someone with such strong family values and a pure heart is a fine trait. Something tells me we shall be great friends."

Lothíriel beamed, bowing her head in note of respect to the queen. "You must meet Éowyn too, for we are much alike. Who knows what the three of us can accomplish when in concert?"

Arwen laughed, a musical sound. "I think our husbands are in for a time or two."

"They were warned." Lothíriel replied none too sympathetically, drawing another laugh from Arwen.

"I have something for you, to celebrate your betrothal." Arwen lifted a hand, beckoning a servant hither.

"My lady, please, I cannot—"

"If we are to be such great friends you will call me Arwen." Arwen said, taking the wrapped package from a bowing serving boy. "And you will accept my gift, for it is given not just for your betrothal, but for being a steadfast ally to Aragorn, something of which I can never repay you for."

The package was about three feet in length and slender, and when Lothíriel took it from Arwen's hand she found it hard to touch, but light. Placing the object in her lap, she unfolded it from its confines and felt her heart leap when she saw it in its golden glory, a fine piece indeed.

"Laurinquë it is made from, carved from the best master I could find on this earth." Arwen told her, watching as Lothíriel picked up the arrow quiver with her jaw hanging open. The wood was sturdy but wrought to a soft grain, a subdued shining golden in the light of the flickering candles. In it were a slew of arrows hewn from the same wood, topped with dark heads of sharpened steel, a tuft of white feathers sprouting from the opposite end. "It replenishes on its own, so your hoard shall never dwindle, even in the most dire of times."

Lothíriel turned wide eyes to Arwen. "My lady, such a gift I cannot accept! Please…"

Arwen only smiled, standing from the table. "Some day I would like to see this skill I have heard so much of. Perhaps before you leave to return home to Dol Amroth?"

Lothíriel knew it was a futile thing to say anything else against her gift from Arwen. She smiled up at the lady, nodding her agreement. "I would like that very much. Thank you, Arwen."

Arwen bowed once more before stepping from the table, gliding over to where Aragorn stood. Lothíriel watched as he turned, breaking the conversation he shared with Erchirion, before she even approached, his face blossoming into a smile she knew bespoke of adoration. Arwen slipped into his embrace and Aragorn once again turned his attention to the conversation, his lady with her eyes solely on him.

"What have you got there?"

Lothíriel turned at the familiar voice and smiled up at Éomer, as he took the seat on her other side which was also vacant. She showed him her treasure, gazing wondrously down at the beautifully etched creation. Elvish it had to be, with its intricate pattern of vines and leaves and its tint of magic, finer than her own at home.

"Arwen bestowed upon me a gift for our betrothal." Lothíriel told him, laying a hand on the quiver. "And for remaining a friend to Aragorn through the War of the Ring."

"Do not tell me she got to hear one of your stories before I did!" Éomer said, rather dejectedly.

Lothíriel laughed, tossing her head in the act. She knew Éomer spoke out of true hurt, for he so loved to hear her tales, and was coming to terms with her willful, wondrous nature. He had not departed Dol Amroth until it had been time for the coronation, so for the last month the two had blissfully been allotted the time to reconnect. It was time they had taken to heal, to learn each other once more, to work things through, and start anew. He was still a temper to be had at times, was surly on some days, and Lothíriel always reciprocated the fire with her own. But it was something they were learning to accept of one another, learning to appreciate more and more each day, for it came with the greatest gift: each other. It was a journey, this love, one they were all the more willing and eager to take. And this love was not, nor would it ever be perfect. But it would be theirs.

"No, my love, our conversation was rather short. She only remarked that she would like to see my skill before I left for Dol Amroth, and that she knew we would become the greatest of friends, driving our husbands mad at every turn."

Éomer groaned, taking her hand in his, imploring with his eyes as he kissed the backs of her knuckles. "Please, allow me a few years of sanity first."

"It shall be something I think upon."

Éomer groaned again, dropping his head in mock pain. Lothíriel laughed, reaching forth to cup his cheek in her hand. "Do not seem so despondent; I promise it shall be a happy madness. For you shall have me."

Éomer turned his head to kiss her palm, meeting her eyes with gleam of admiration twinkling in his warm, brown depths, as he smiled fondly at her.

"Aye; I shall always have you, my archer queen."