The days that followed were some of the most stressful, the most difficult Lothíriel had lived ever since the south or the events of the Kin-strife. The uncertainty and fear for the life of the King had infected the atmosphere in Edoras, and people went about their labours in quiet, as though speaking loudly and singing would somehow be obscene. Even Elfhelm, who had raced to the capital at her summons, was uncharacteristically grim. It seemed that the entire realm was holding their breath, waiting to see what would happen. Every now and then Lothíriel would hear someone muttering: "It's too soon. He's too young to die."

Silently she agreed, but Lothíriel knew she could not take part in these conversations. Hers was the duty of braving on, though she did not feel very brave at all. If she couldn't keep up the hope, then why should anyone?

During the hours of the day, she would try to make up for Éomer's absence as much as she could. While Éothain and the royal council were very helpful and supportive, she simply did not have her husband's gift for leadership, his experience, or his keen vision for the future of the Riddermark. At least it was a time of peace and she did not have to worry about ruling a kingdom in war, though she knew she could have surrendered the task of leading the Rohirric cavalry to Elfhelm and Deorwine. But war would have brought other concerns, some of which she was glad not to have to deal with right now. Meanwhile, Osythe and Scýne had taken over her other duties, for which she was thankful: Lothíriel knew she could not have handled the workload without their help.

In addition to the matters of ruling, she had two small children to tend to – they had their nursemaid, but Lothíriel was determined not to leave them without both their parents. Elfhild was too small to understand what was happening, but Elfwine appeared to be acutely aware of his father's absence, and would often ask about him.

"When Da better?" he would want to know; the look in his big, dark eyes would tear at Lothíriel's heart, because he shouldn't need to deal with this, not yet. But she could not lie to him either, no matter how much she wanted to make it better for her son.

"I don't know, sweetheart", she murmured and held him close. Though tears were burning her eyes, she held them back. I need to be strong, for them all. Perhaps this is how it will be from now on.

Whatever free moments she had, she would spend next to the bedside of her husband. At these times her friends mostly left her alone, knowing she did not care for company when she watched over the man she loved. She would sing or read to him or maybe just talk about her day, though he would not respond. When one of the maids asked her why she would do that, Lothíriel looked away and spoke quietly, "I hope he will hear me. Maybe my voice will guide him back."

However, the unpleasant truth was that the longer Éomer remained unconscious, the smaller was the chance he'd wake up at all. And she couldn't think of that, not even when she could see it in the eyes of her friends and the members of the household. Those wondering looks... waiting, asking, looking at her as though they were thinking whether she could manage it if he did die. It horrified her to even think of such an outcome: the Queen Regent at the age of 27, left to live without her other half as decades of grief spread before her, and to raise two small children, one of whom was the Crown Prince of the Mark...

At least, she had Osythe to vent her fear and weakness; in these bleak days, she was irreplaceable support.

"I've seen how they look at my son. They're wondering if... if that small child will soon be their king. It's frightening – he's not ready. Elfwine isn't ready for this... he needs his father to teach and guide him..." she said to the older woman several days after the riders had brought Éomer back. It had been just a few days, but it felt like weeks had passed.

In the middle of a small collapse, Lothíriel buried her face in her hands, and she stammered, "I can't do this without him. I can't. I can't rule or raise our children alone..."

Osythe's arms came to rest on her shoulders, sheltering and comforting, and without a trace of judgement. Helplessly, like she were a child, Lothíriel leant into the warmth of that motherly embrace.

"Lothíriel. You will do whatever you need to do", Osythe. "Even if you are feeling scared, the truth is you are strong enough. Éomer knows that... he counts on your strength now. Just as he did once before. We all count on you, my Queen – for who will endure if not our Lioness?"

The chatelaine was right, of course. The only thing she could do was keep on going... even to her heart's breaking.

Yet if these days brought her uncertainty and dread, there was also unexpected comfort. For only three days after Éomer had been brought home, a guest arrived in Edoras: it was no one else than Lothíriel's own dear father.

She was in the middle of a meeting with the King's Council when a guard came to inform her of his arrival. In surprise, her head shot up and she lifted her gaze from the maps before her. She nearly bolted for the door and then through the Hall, but she was in the middle of a council meeting. So she glanced about and fixed her eyes on Éothain, as though he knew what she should do.

The former captain gave her a gentle smile, "Go ahead, my lady. Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth is no small guest, however unexpected."

Lothíriel flashed him a grin – the first one in many days – and then soon as she had apologised to the other council members, she went dashing through the space that separated her from her father.

He was about to enter the twin doors of the Hall when she came, just as tall and steady and reliable as she remembered him; arrayed in silver and blue, Father was always a vision to take her back to years of her childhood. His wind-blown, slightly shabby appearance spoke of the haste he had made on the road, and she knew he must have started for Rohan as soon as Edelric's rider had reached him in Dol Amroth. It was all she could do from just crying out "Adar!" and running into his arms.

Her last few steps did indeed become a run, and then her father's arms were about her, and Lothíriel felt just as she used to as a small girl. Oh, how she had missed him!

"Are you all right, daughter?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine", she mumbled, holding on tight to him – she felt she would not be able to unfasten her arms even if she wanted to.

"And Éomer?" asked her father, his voice even more quiet now.

"He hasn't woken up yet", Lothíriel replied. Her voice was close to breaking, and she wanted to break, if only for as long as Father held her. However, they were standing in the Golden Hall of the King and she had to be brave.

"I'm sorry for coming here unannounced. I was worried about you, daughter, and of your family", Father said, watching her closely. She knew he had heard the tremor in her voice and seen right into the dread and worry behind it. No matter how many years passed and what events they brought, Father could still see right through her even when others didn't.

"I'm glad that you came", Lothíriel said and was able to give him a smile. "Though I hope it doesn't inconvenience you or Gondor too much to travel so unexpectedly."

"Daughter, I once told you I would always be there if you ever need me", Father said gently, brushing hair from her cheek. "All is well in Gondor. Elphir rules in my stead in Dol Amroth, and Amrothos has gone to replace him in Minas Tirith."

"Amrothos? In Aragorn's council?" Lothíriel wondered out loud, even forgetting about her own troubles for a moment. Her question did not come from doubting her brother. Rather, it was just she had never known him to have great interest in politics.

"It gives him something to put his mind into, to feel useful. And Aragorn can keep an eye on him", Father said with a wry smile. He shook his head slightly, "But we can talk about the family later on. Please, tell me, is it very serious? Why was Éomer injured?"

She breathed in and out; the distressed tears, those which she had been holding back ever since she had seen her husband carried on a bier, would have to wait for a little while more.

"I'll explain everything. Let's get you settled down first, and I'll find you some food. I'll have to make sure your knights will be taken care of, too... and you must come and see the children. This is not really how I meant to introduce you to Elfhild, but I suppose it will have to do..."


"My lady! Please, my lady, you must do something!"

The abrupt shout, delivered on a midday when a week had passed since they had brought Éomer home, nearly had Lothíriel jumping in fright. She had been with her children and her father, and was now headed for the royal study to try and tackle some of the day's work, but the sudden yell interrupted with that line of thought.

Sharply she turned around to see one of the stablemen striding fast towards her. He looked flushed and startled, and his eyes shone anxiously.

"What is it? Has something happened?" she asked cautiously.

"It's Silfren, my lady – he's furious, I think he may just tear down the stables! We need you to come and calm him down!" said the stableman anxiously. He reached a hand towards her as though to grab and drag her along, but pulled back before touching her.

Lothíriel frowned; if the experienced stablemen did not know how to handle the angry stallion, what could she do about it? Not only that, Silfren was one of mearas, and while she might be Rohan's queen she was still not a native Eorling. She would only be able to ride Silfren if Éomer was with her...

The error of her thought occurred to her all of a sudden. She might not be of Eorl's line, but she didn't need to be. There was one of his descendants in Meduseld, unhindered by any injuries.

Quickly she turned towards a guard who had been with her. She spoke hastily, "Go and get my son. We have a need of Elfwine."

Less than quarter of an hour later, once she had ordered stablemen and her rather concerned father to stay outside, she and the little prince entered the royal stables. Rest of the horses had already been taken outside, lest the stallion's mood spooked them. She had heard Silfren's loud neighing from outside, and the sound had made her tremble – there was something unspeakably wild about it. She had never seen him in such a state and it was positively frightening.

However, she had to try, even though a small voice at the back of her head was starting to inquire whether it was wise to bring the heir of the realm so close to an outraged stallion. But mearas responded to those of Eorl's blood, and she had to at least try.

"Silfren! It's all right – please calm down!" she cried out as she stepped closer to the stall. Her words had no effect whatsoever. Silfren neighed and reared, kicking open the door of his stall, and Lothíriel nearly jumped into an empty one before he would stomp her and Elfwine to ground. Somewhere outside, she could hear her father's voice, calling her to come out...

But then her son exclaimed: "Fren!"

There was no fear in his voice, though presently the stallion would inspire just that. He even reached his hands towards his father's steed... and either by his voice or his gesture, Silfren quieted down and stopped rearing. Once more he tossed his great head, but he looked now like he had calmed down.

Warily she approached the stallion once more, and Elfwine in her lap was still reaching his hands towards Silfren. The animal's nostrils flared as he breathed in and out, but whatever had been uncontrolled about him just moments ago was now gone: before the little prince he was as mellow as a kitten. How tiny Elfwine's hands were against the nose of the stallion!

"Fren angry?" asked the little prince.

"I don't think it was about being angry, son", Lothíriel managed in a breathless voice. She looked into Silfren's dark, intelligent eye, which was facing them. Supporting Elfwine more tightly against her shoulder, she reached one hand to run it gently across the neck of the stallion. She murmured, "You miss him too, don't you?"

He snorted softly as an answer and prodded his nose gently against Elfwine, whose giggles had now replaced the violent neighing in the stables. Despite herself, she had to smile at the sight.

"Lothíriel? Are you all right?" came Father's concerned voice from the far door of the stables.

"It's fine. I think he has calmed down", she called back over her shoulder. She looked back to Silfren, who was watching her quietly now.

"I know. It's horrible. But we can't do anything except just wait", she spoke to him again. Silfren let out a quiet little nicker, and then he placed his great head on her shoulder, as though he too wished for comfort. Elfwine wrapped his arms about him and pressed his little face against Silfren's cheek.

"My lady", asked one of the stablemen from behind her. Seeing the scene had become tranquil, they had dared to enter the stables once more. She moved her head enough to cast a quizzical look at the man speaking to her.

"My lady, how did you calm him down?" he asked, gazing at the trio in wonder.

She gave them a small, bewildered smile.

"I didn't do anything. It was Elfwine."


The White City had fallen quiet with the night.

It was usually very busy these days, creating quite the contrast to how Amrothos remembered it in the days before the War of the Ring. Peace had brought prosperity and new life to the quiet streets of the decaying city, which had once been so beautiful – now it would be so once more. He sometimes wondered if he could ever get quite used to it.

In Minas Tirith, he would see yet another way how the world had changed – and how it had left him behind. So many of his friends, sons of the lords of the realm, had got married and started families of their own. Some had taken over their fathers' positions and were now mighty lords themselves. And the responsibilities that came with family and power had made it necessary for them to give up their boyish, carefree ways.

But Amrothos remained as the third son, alone and purposeless. Oh, Father might have arranged him to sit in Aragorn's council for the time being, but he knew it would not be forever. Sooner or later Father would return home, and then Elphir would be back in Minas Tirith.

For tonight, he had mostly forgotten about that ever-present, depressing thought. A friend had invited him to join a dinner party, and the youngest of three Amrothian princes had rather enjoyed himself for change: having laughs with old friends, he could almost pretend it was like in the days before. Strange, that he might actually miss the years before the War of the Ring!

But as he made way home that night, Amrothos' thoughts turned again to the things that usually were at the top of his mind. He wondered how things were in Rohan, and if Father would soon be returning. Had Éomer woken up yet? The prince hoped he had, because if he didn't... well, Lothíriel would be devastated, and Amrothos didn't want that heartache and anguish to his sister. Not to mention her little children did not deserve to grow up fatherless.

Damn, how he missed her! Lothíriel had been his best friend when they grew up; she didn't fit in with other daughters of noblemen, no one else understood his adventurous moods or mischief like she did, and no one could conjure up so much laughter like she was able. Elphir and Erchirion were always too solemn, and for them the path of life ran clear and certain. However, for Amrothos and Lothíriel it was a question that had no easy answers... well, she had found hers, and he did not have to wonder why she had fought for it so fiercely. Had he discovered something he loved so much as she loved her horselord, Amrothos knew he would have fought for it just as she had.

Be it as may, when he had first pushed her on a path that lead to Éomer, the prince had never realised just how much it would cost himself.

In the middle of these morose thoughts he reached inside his coat and pulled out a flask. It was strong Rohirric liquor which he had first got to know during the Kin-strife of Rohan. He knew Father wouldn't approve of the rate he was drinking it, but then again his sire was not here to scold him, either. As long as he could do his job in Aragorn's council, then his private life should not be anyone's concern. And Amrothos firmly believed that considering his circumstances and his earlier indifference towards politics, he was doing fairly well as Elphir's substitute.

He was starting to be fairly drunk before he was even halfway to the house of Amrothian princes in the White City. At some point, his step had turned unsteady and his ability to focus his gaze left for wanting, too. It occurred to him it might have been a good idea to take at least one guard along, but upon leaving his father's house, Amrothos had not thought such thing necessary. Minas Tirith was fairly safe these days anyway, so a lone drunken fellow could usually stumble his way in peace.

The steps behind were soft, almost too soft for him to hear. At first Amrothos did not pay attention to it either, as he was mostly concerned with staying upright. However, the quiet pat pat pat of following feet eventually had him glancing behind himself and squinting his eyes, trying hard to see clearly. It had been some time since he had last seen everything in two.

Hooded and cloaked, the stranger trailing him could very well be a man or a woman. Amrothos stopped and wavered on his feet, grasping at his side in vain. He had left his sword back at Father's house, and he had no other weapon on him. At any rate, he was probably too drunk to even handle a blade properly.

"You there", he managed to speak somewhat coherently, "I've got nothing in my pockets except some liquor, so unless you're looking to get drunk, I'm really not worth robbing."

There was a soft laughter, so low that at first he thought the stranger was a man. But the voice that spoke next was not male.

"Prince Amrothos", she said, sounding wryly amused, "you really need someone looking after you, don't you?"

He blinked his eyes once, twice, and then once more. Her voice was familiar... but his thoughts were too muddy to make the connection.

"I do?" he asked, focusing hard so that he'd not stumble over the words. "Are you offering to take up that task?"

"What would be your answer if I did?" she asked, pushing down her hood. There, in the shadows of the evening, stood none else than Nehir, sister of Agon and Asli.

Once more Amrothos blinked. Was this some eccentric hallucination induced by the Rohirric liquor? No wonder those northern riders were so mad.

He decided it didn't matter whether this was a hallucination. Because if it were, he could do anything, even the maddest thing he could think of.

"My answer? Oh, yes."


In little Elfhild Imrahil did not see so much resemblance of his own kin as he did in Elfwine. True, the babe's eyes were the same clear grey as Lothíriel's, but looking at his youngest grandchild, he knew she would grow to bear the likeness of Éomer's line. But time would tell if in mind she would be like her mother or her father; at least Elfwine seemed to have a spirit more of north than of south.

Both children were fast asleep now, safely tucked in their beds by the Prince of Dol Amroth himself. He had insisted to put them to sleep, to allow Lothíriel one quiet moment after another long, busy day. Minding small children was something he had not done in years, but he had not forgotten. He was rather grateful to experience it again with his daughter's children.

But it was more than just getting to indulge himself. It was one of the few ways he could help his daughter at this time when her husband's life was hanging on balance. Imrahil knew what heartbreak was waiting for her if Éomer did die. Time might heal that wound, but not completely, for it was one grief that never fully vanished. Though it had been many years since his own wife had passed away, not a day went by that he did not think of her. Elphir and Erchirion had not been so young at the time of her death, and Ivriniel had been there to aid him in raising his offspring, but Lothíriel... her children were small and who of their parents' siblings could bear the burden of raising the future King of Rohan?

He knew his fay-child would endure, somehow. She'd hold the realm together, fight for it if she had to. But she would grieve as well, just as deeply as she had loved the man she had married. It's not like Lothíriel to give up on things she has invested her heart in.

With a sigh, Imrahil got up on his feet from the arm chair and crouched to add some food into the fire. He didn't want his little grandchildren to get cold while they slept, both so innocent and unaware of the grave situation and the possibility their father might never wake up. It seemed undue after all that had been sacrificed for peace and freedom... cruel even, when Imrahil remembered how his daughter had fought to save Éomer and then to help him restore his realm.

However, he had lived long enough to know it was not use to ask what was fair: the fates cared not whether the lots they dealt were due or not. Imrahil rubbed his forehead and straightened up again, deciding he'd check on his daughter. She had seemed tired earlier – he should tell her to go and catch some rest.

The Prince of Dol Amroth entered the royal quarters quietly. The name of his daughter was on his lips, but something held him silent as he peeked into the bedchamber. It seemed to go unnoticed by Lothíriel, for she did not turn to look at the door. So focused she was that his presence did not occur to her, and quickly Imrahil saw why. She was singing softly under her breath and brushed a damp cloth across the body of her unconscious husband, washing the piece of fabric in a basin every now and then and wringing it before resuming her task.

He backed away silently. He knew his son-in-law would not want Imrahil to see him like this, and Lothíriel too would have rued it.

His feet carried him back to the royal nursery, though he did not exactly take notice of where he was going. Still, as he halted to stand above his sleeping grandchildren, he wondered if their faces brought as much comfort and courage to his daughter as they gave him.

But then there was something else hovering behind everything else, and for the first time in many years, Imrahil of Dol Amroth felt well and truly frightened.

O Nienna, Lady of Mercy, let him turn back from the gates of Mandos, guide him to the land of the living... yet if he must pass, then give us the strength to accept that which can't be changed...


A/N: Thanks to a glass of wine I got a bout of inspiration and you, my dear readers, can have an early update! Hope you enjoy this chapter. :)

Here's a little more of how Lothíriel deals with having to rule in Éomer's stead. She may have her moments of weakness in the presence of Osythe and her father, but ultimately it's just a relief valve to her to let out some steam. After all, there's a lot of pressure on her, having to rule and to be the one everyone counts on. Plus, she has to take care of two small children all the while knowing their father might not live. But like Osythe tells her, she is strong enough to endure.

It seemed like a good idea to also bring back Nehir - we'll see how things go between her and Amrothos, and what is her motivation for returning.

Nienna is another Valië. She is associated with grief and sorrow but also pity, mercy and courage. As for Mandos, the name is used both for the Vala responsible for death and also for the hall he dwells in.


solar1 - I'm glad to hear you're still on board! Hope you stick with me in the future, too. :) I will do my best to keep this worth reading!

brandibuckeye - Thank you! Lothíriel is only human, and so she has her moments of weakness, but in the end she is not one to give up. :)

Catspector - Thank you so much! I am glad to hear you liked it. :)