Chapter 25

Even after the first uproar had somewhat calmed, the atmosphere of Snowbourne remained different than before. Sighard's return convinced Éomer even more of this. The chieftain and his company of riders arrived soon after Alfar was given into the care of the Winfrith, and even if his initial reaction to the disappearance of his son and his horse had been angry and frustrated, his relief was just as great as hers when he heard that the child was safe.

Wulfrun and a local healer took the boy under their care. They set the broken arm, cleaned and rebound his cuts, gave him some medicines for the pain, and told the relieved parents that he'd be all right. But before he allowed himself to be taken home, Alfar limped stiffly to Lothíriel, hugged her waist with one arm, and thanked her in a small voice. She wrapped her own arms around his small shoulders and smiled down at him.

In that moment, her face was something special to see. There was raw openness to her features Éomer had witnessed perhaps only once or twice – a vulnerability that bared her deepest secrets. A violent shiver went through him as he looked at her and the child. For one dizzying second he felt like he too was seeing the future – or maybe just his own dearest wish.

His throat felt tight, his eyes burned, and Éomer swallowed hard, hoping to get rid of the sensation. He looked up and around himself and saw many people watching the Queen and the boy. But Alfwen's eyes were on him, and her face was serious and thoughtful. When their gazes met, she flashed him a quick, odd smile and looked away.

The atmosphere in Sighard's hall was different after these events. It took the chieftain over half an hour to finally calm down and stop thanking his king and queen for bringing his youngest child back home. Éomer told him many times he hadn't really done much, it was all Lothíriel and Alfwen's efforts, and the guards who had escorted them. Sighard didn't seem to listen, but the young king noticed there were others who did, and he could see few people here and there having quiet conversations between themselves and throwing curious glances at Lothíriel. As for Alfwen, she had apparently become the hero of all the young folk of Snowbourne, and few of the adults too, and was asked many times to describe how she had caught the chieftain's horse. The chieftain's older sons in particular bustled around her like a swarm of busy bees near a honeypot.

Aldred, Eadhild's father, arrived in Snowbourne in the middle of the uproar. He and his daughter resembled each other quite a lot, and like Ormar had said, he was a calm and steadfast man. Yet when he came to Sighard's hall, Éomer sensed some doubt and reserve in him – perhaps he thought this meeting would be as useless as the ones before it. He was quick to realise the changed atmosphere, though, and the young king saw a flicker of hopefulness in Aldred's blue eyes.

Now as they sat down to speak of the recent unrest in Snowbourne, and especially at Aldred and Eadhild's farm, Sighard really seemed to listen for the first time. He asked questions: when did the thugs come by and how often, what had they done to disturb the peace at Aldred and Eadhild's home, did he recognise any of them? The father and the daughter exchanged an uncertain look, and then, as if still not sure whether they would be taken seriously this time or not, they gave a few names – all of them somehow connected to Ceorl's family and kin.

At this point, Éomer did not need to do much else than observe and encourage here and there. He kept a close eye on Sighard. The chieftain glanced at his king, perhaps to remind himself of what the House of Eorl had done for his family today, and then sighed softly. He promised to send his own people to look for and round up the thugs. It was a decision he did not make easily, but on the other hand, Éomer knew that Lothíriel had proved a point which was now impossible to ignore.

Clearly her actions had persuaded Winfrith and Sighard by extension, and this chain of events rather reminded him of his talk with Léoma – of the role and significance of the Queen, and what kind of power she could wield when she so wanted. He felt like on some deep, unspoken level his young wife had understood this by instinct. She was reaching out to the women of the Mark and showing them that she was listening. Éomer felt proud for her, but was frustrated that he had no clear idea of how to talk to her about it. He was no good at this sort of thing, not with his frustration and impatience and all the previous hurt so close to the surface. Not to mention, he had so unwisely and unfairly implied she was only on a holiday here, pursuing her own interests – if he tried to praise her, she might just ask him if he still thought she was a waste of his precious time.

These thoughts rather disheartened him, although he tried to keep a straight, smiling face on the front of his people. Ormar seemingly noticed something was the matter, judging by the small crease that appeared between his greying eyebrows, but the man said nothing.

All the same, it now seemed that Aldred and Eadhild might at last have some peace in their home, and hopefully Ceorl's gang would realise their options were running short. Éomer recalled the hateful look in the man's eyes when he had last seen him, and was not sure he would let it be and try to get on with his life, but this damage to his family's prestige would make his troublemongering more difficult. And if Ceorl did have some connection with Eadwig, and the business with rune staffs was somehow their doing, then perhaps today's events would also make Ceorl less useful for whatever the Lord of Healding had in mind.

But all that remained yet to be seen, and for tonight he allowed himself a degree of satisfaction; it seemed things might calm down at least here in Snowbourne and get back to normal. At least, Aldred and Eadhild had a seat in the hall, and there was real warmth in Winfrith's eyes when she looked at the two unusual guests. Whether or not Eadhild thought she had done much, the mistress of the hall seemed to appreciate the way she had stood by and comforted her while young Alfar was missing.

There was one shadow over today's triumph and that was, of course, the rift between the King and Queen. Even if they had put their troubles aside while bringing the chieftain's son back home, things were back to their troublesome state after they had returned to Snowbourne. Once more, Lothíriel retreated behind her cool, collected mask and refused to look at him straight. She kept her eyes demurely downcast, although he knew better than to take it as submission. With burning guilt and regret, he knew he had done himself no favours by the way he had spoken to her in the morning. He looked at her helplessly, desiring to reach out to her but feeling certain she'd only step back if he did.

But even with his self-accusations, he did wonder what the locals made of this quiet, deferential lady – and if they had a hard time believing it was the same woman who had so fiercely fought for Eadhild's freedom and brought back the missing and injured child only today. At some point, it occurred to him perhaps her silences were partially because she wasn't feeling very well tonight; she did seem a little under the weather, and was early to retire, pleading weariness. Alfwen trailed after her but Éomer saw the Shieldmaiden throwing a helpless look at him over her shoulder. He wasn't sure how to interpret that glance. Was she hoping to mediate between the quarreling spouses?

Although there was noise and laughter around him in the hall, and the atmosphere was cosier and friendlier than the evening before, his mind wandered. Lothíriel had been unwell lately, and he wondered if it was somehow because of the ongoing troubles between them, or something more sinister. Back in Dol Amroth, and even in Mundburg where she felt so confined, she had been a picture of good health and vitality. But now only after a couple of months, she was ailing and despondent. What if the airs and climate of Rohan didn't agree with her? It was still summer, and the weather had been fairly pleasant – he was terrified to think of what winter might do to her. On the other hand, it could be because of the loss of freedom. Even her own father had called her "a wild thing". In Dol Amroth, she had walked freely when and where she pleased, but here in Rohan she needed to have escorts wherever she went; the one time she had left Meduseld alone, he had nearly lost his mind. Before these troubles she had reassured him she could take it, but what if she had been wrong? Maybe she would continue to wither under the weight of restraints of her role... then again, she had seemed to manage just fine before this stupid, dreadful fight had started between them...

He was startled back to the present by Sighard's loud laughter. The man slapped Éomer's shoulder and he figured somebody had just told a marvellous joke. The young king let out a forced little laugh and tried to smile. He then attempted to hide his sudden melancholy by taking a long, deep drink of his ale. Looking up, he saw Ormar watching him with a frown, and even without words he could guess what the adviser had in mind: this was not the place or time to get lost in thought. They had just managed to bring the chieftain of Snowbourne back into the fold and it would be a very poor performance if Éomer alienated him again by acting indifferent and moody.

So with some effort, he forced the thoughts concerning his wife out of his head, and leaned closer to listen to the company around him – and to participate, too. He talked a little bit with Aldred as well, and was glad to hear that the man was pleased with today's discussions and Sighard's promise to finally deal with the thugs. His countenance was generally calm and revealed little, but his features became very open and his voice faltered a little bit when he spoke of his daughter and how maybe she could now truly live without having to look over her shoulder. He even smiled a little when he mentioned Lothíriel, and his respect for her – "she who stood up for my girl when no one else would."

It was getting late when he was finally able to retire – much later than Éomer had hoped. Lothíriel would be asleep, he expected, which meant another lost chance of talking to her in private.

Their shared room was dark indeed, and his wife lay quietly, her back towards the door again. For a moment Éomer simply stood there looking at her and going through the events of the past couple of days. It was quite enough to confuse anyone. One moment she was silent and still as a stone, then she was riding off to save injured children, and responding to him as normally as ever. And then she looked sick once more and retired before there could be anything that resembled a polite conversation.

It was confusing. And then something potentially very important occurred to him: maybe her behaviour seemed so irrational to him because she was confused, too. It wasn't like his own actions had always been sensible or consistent. On more than one occasion, he had spoken to her harshly and unkindly, letting his pride and temper get the better of him. He too had avoided her. But then he'd get drunk and defend her honour, or whisper in the dark that he loved her, invite her to his bed and practically pounce on her the first chance she gave him, or ride to find out if she needed help on her rescue mission.

And it wasn't like fighting with her was the same as he was used to with, say, Théodred or Éowyn. He couldn't really recall the fights between his parents, and how they had resolved such issues. Lothíriel probably lacked that experience, too – her mother had died when she was very young, and the rest of her family... he believed they had regarded her as something fragile and vulnerable, something to be protected, even despite her strength. He couldn't really imagine her fighting with her brothers or her father. Erchirion had even once told him that Elphir took cues from Lothíriel. Maybe that was a part of the problem: neither of them knew how to fight, or to put aside one's pride, or to reconcile.

While going through these thoughts, he noticed her blanket was a little bit in disarray, exposing the upper part of her body. Night-time could be chilly even in summer, and so he silently made his way next to her. With utmost care as to not wake her, he pulled the blanket back up again so that she'd stay warm.

He hovered there over her, his eyes drawn to her face before he even knew it, and felt how deeply, how helplessly he did love her. No matter how difficult and proud and cold she could be, she was still so... so unique. So singular and brave and sweet. With her he didn't feel so alone, or directionless, or like some sort of a damaged warmachine which had become obsolete in these days of peace. There was no one like her in the world, he thought to himself, just as he had on the night of their wedding. And then Léoma's words returned to him: Béma couldn't exist without Læs. What good was his work to protect the land if there was no spring? It was such an ancient thought, so simplistic compared to the high musings of those texts Aragorn had given to him as a wedding gift. And yet, for him, it was in some ways much more profound and moving than any long dead scholar's writings.

Lothíriel sighed in her sleep and burrowed deeper under the blanket, seemingly contented with his small gesture. The temptation to lay himself next to her in the bed was greater than ever, but he reminded himself she was quite unaware of the revelations he had just experienced, and might not welcome him. So he grabbed the pillow and his cloak again and settled down on the floor next to the bed. He listened to her breathing and, just before drifting off to sleep, swore to himself he would make things right.

Éomer woke up close to dawn. He felt a little bit stiff after another night spent on the floor, and sat up with a low groan. He expected to see his wife on the bed, perhaps brushing her hair again, but it was empty. As he got up on his feet, he saw the bed was unmade, as if she had just risen and walked out of the room. For one unhinged moment he imagined her getting up and riding out of Snowbourne in the middle of night, but then he took another glance around the chamber. There next to basin were her brush and soap, and her saddlebags sat neatly on a bench by the door. He was sure she wouldn't leave without all her belongings. Maybe she had just got hungry, like that other time in the morning he had left for the West-Mark, and gone to find something to eat.

He was a little bit disappointed, because now would have been the perfect time to talk to her, but as it was, the conversation would have to wait. If all went well today, then they could probably head home tomorrow... he could pull her aside on the way to Edoras, when she couldn't avoid or escape him, and finally talk things through. When washing his face, Éomer was going in his mind through suitable places on the way, and wondering to himself if any were sufficiently, well, romantic. The thought almost made him laugh at himself. He was becoming just the kind of sentimental old fool he had ridiculed as a younger man.

When he had washed and combed his hair, Éomer made his way out. Guards stood at the door as usual, and after a moment's hesitation he stopped to talk to them.

"Did you see the Queen come out?"

"Aye, Sire. She was heading out before dawn", said one of the guards.

"Out? What do you mean?" he asked.

"She was wearing a cloak, Sire, and she asked for Lady Alfwen. I expect she was going outside", said the guard, and seeing his look, he quickly added, "I tried to say she should take a few more guards with her if she was leaving the hall, but she refused."

"Did she say where she was going?"

"No, but she reassured us she wasn't leaving the village."

Éomer frowned. What was his wife doing outside at such an hour? True, she did go for walks at strange hours even back home, but at least she usually remained in the premises of the Golden Hall. Béma, would he ever get to her bizarre ways? It was much more difficult to understand now that they weren't talking. Which was even more of a reason to make up soon.

"Send someone to summon her back. I want to talk to her", he said to the guard.

It was now or never. Ormar and Ceorl and Sighard had got quite enough of his time; now he had to make Lothíriel his first priority. He was going to talk to his wife even if he had to tie her down and make her listen... well, maybe not tie her down. That would be bad, counteractive even. He'd have to do it gently and patiently, and not allow her stubbornness to provoke him again. In other words, he would have to be the opposite of how he had acted so far. This thought was not without guilt and shame.

All the same, he might as well face her with a full belly, and so sent a word to the kitchens to bring him some breakfast; it was still a bit early and most people were only just waking up. He felt anxious though, and couldn't quite make himself sit down to wait, and so he walked slowly back and forth in the main hall. Now and then he stopped to look at the colourful banners and tapestries, but paying attention to them was next to impossible; he forgot about what he had seen as soon as he moved forward. This restless energy was all too familiar, but there was no time to go and spend it on sparring.

Food was brought to him, and Éomer sat down to eat, although the knot of anxiety in the pit of his stomach made the thought of food unappealing. The hall was now starting to fill slowly with still sleepy-looking people, but Éomer himself felt sharply and acutely awake. Over and over he kept glancing at the doors of the hall, waiting to see his wife and Alfwen emerge with the guard he had sent to look for them. But minutes passed, and when the guard finally returned, he was alone. An ill feeling immediately rushed down his spine.

"Well? Where is she?" he demanded to know as soon as the guard was at a speaking distance.

The man looked uncomfortable.

"My lord, I looked around the village centre, but I could not find her. Perhaps she has gone to visit someone?" he said quietly.

"Gather the others. Send them out to look for her immediately", Éomer said, standing up in one swift motion. "Where's Éothain? Somebody get me Éothain!"

As he strode quickly outside, his mind was working at a great speed. What had she done? Was this another little rebellion, like the time she had vanished from Meduseld and he had found her walking alone by the side of the river? But this time, Alfwen had gone with her, and she had let the guards know she was going out... Béma, if this was some attempt to provoke him, well, she was going to succeed. He'd absolutely lose his mind.

Outside, his Riders came quickly, some of them looking like they had just jumped up from their bedrolls and raced to receive orders. Éothain came too, still fastening one vambrace. The captain's face was full of concern.

In a quick, sharp voice Éomer spoke to his Riders and told them to look for his wife, talk to people and find out if anyone had seen her. At this point, one of them came half running from the stables, announcing that the Queen's horse was in the stables, unsaddled and unbridled. The animal's mistress would not have got far without a steed.

The green-cloaked Riders dispersed, going in pairs in different directions according to their king's instructions. Now Éomer stood near the doors of the hall, rubbing his temples. His anxiety had grown tenfold.

"Where would she go so early?" asked Éothain, who remained by his side.

Éomer grunted something unintelligible in answer. Where indeed? What reason would she have to leave her bed at this time? He thought over the past few days, and then weeks... she had been unwell last night, and perhaps she still was...

It was then he realised something quite important that may just explain everything. His eyes grew wide. What if...?

"Wulfrun. She has gone to see Wulfrun", he said and began to move quickly, not waiting to see whether his captain would follow him or not. Of course. Of course she wouldn't take anyone but Alfwen with her for this...

They headed straight for Wulfrun's home at the edge of the village. Éothain had to half run to keep up with his king's long and swift stride. He almost started to run, too. He felt like his head might just begin to ache from all the buzzing thoughts and anxiety and dread that filled it. And there was an overwhelming need to see his wife and know that she was all right, and he didn't know what he'd do if...

They reached Wulfrun's house at last. The woman herself was outside in the middle of some chores. She straightened when the young king and his captain approached. There was no sign of Lothíriel and Alfwen. With a sinking heart, Éomer thought maybe they were inside.

"Mistress Wulfrun, good morning. Have you seen my lady wife today, or Lady Alfwen who accompanies her?" Éomer asked bluntly.

"I'm sorry to say that I have not, my lord. I was out walking this morning, I left well before dawn, and have only just returned a few minutes ago", she answered and wiped her hands on her apron.

Éomer frowned in worry and confusion. He had been so sure Lothíriel would be here. If she had not come to see Wulfrun, then where else could she possibly have gone?

"Sire, over here!" Éothain exclaimed some fifteen feet from the edge of Wulfrun's property. The alarm in the Captain's voice nearly had Éomer leaping in the air.

His friend was kneeling on the ground and examining something. Éomer saw it quickly as he approached, and felt like his heart turned to ice in his breast.

The grass was trampled and trodden – the unmistakable sign of a struggle. Then, following Éothain's pointing finger, he saw blood on the ground, clinging to the bright green blades of grass. Something gleamed there, and carefully Éothain picked up a small, silver knife. It was familiar. Lothíriel used that knife with her herbs and carried it on a small purse on her belt.

He had never felt panic like this. It bubbled and boiled in his stomach and his throat, trying to turn into a howl but not quite managing to find its way out. What had happened here and who had attacked? Was she hurt? How badly? Was she still alive? And where was Alfwen? He wanted to scream and rage and yet at the same time, he knew it would do nobody any good.

As hard as his panic beat against his brain, Éomer forced himself to take a few calming breaths. He raised his eyes and scanned his surroundings. Wulfrun's home stood some way from the edge of the village, but if there had been a struggle, somebody ought to have heard it... depending on how early Lothíriel and Alfwen had come here, and if the attackers had lain in wait. Maybe the neighbours had not woken up yet or hadn't paid attention for some other reason. Still, the earliness of morning could mean there were no witnesses, especially if the struggle was over quickly. Alfwen would put up a fight, of course, but if they had got Lothíriel... if they threatened her at swordpoint, then the Shieldmaiden had very few options. She had been taken probably as well – whoever had attacked wouldn't leave an eyewitness behind. And Alfwen would try to stay with her queen, even as a prisoner.

"Go and get the rest of the guard. We need to search this area", he told Éothain, hiding his dread and worry the best he could. Éothain's face was grave when he nodded, and he started into a run as he headed back to the village centre. Few of the King's Riders were already coming this way and the captain gestured wildly at them to go make haste.

Wulfrun was watching this scene with a horrified look. Her face had gone bloodless and her brown eyes were wide.

"Are you sure you saw nothing?" Éomer asked her in a tight voice.

"I... I did see a band of Riders a little earlier while I was walking back. They were heading west towards Edoras. I thought nothing of it..." she replied, her voice trembling. "They were a couple of miles away. I don't know who they were."

Éomer groaned out loud and paced for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Every passing moment carried his wife further away from him, towards Béma knew what horrors. If he had guessed right.. his hands tightened into fists and murderous rage mounted once again, momentarily tinting everything in red. But it was all in vain. Rage availed him nothing and it certainly wouldn't help her.

Not until he could get his hands on the bloody villain who had taken her. If she was hurt, if something bad had happened, there would be a hell to pay, and he didn't care how many men he would have to cut down.

And yet this was perhaps the worst thing about it all: he was at least partially responsible. If he had talked to her sooner, if he had done just anything, this might not have happened. Instead she could have woken him up and he could have accompanied her to Wulfrun's house... he himself had trampled all over her trust in him, driven her away and made her feel alone and isolated. It was his own bloody fault she had gone to see Wulfrun with just Alfwen to guard her. And if his suspicions were true...

If this ended in tragedy, then he could only blame himself.

His Riders were now beginning to arrive, and forcibly he cast his own tumultuous feelings aside. Lothíriel needed him to be clear-headed and rational. So Éomer began to give orders: the closest neighbours should be interrogated, possible eyewitnesses searched for, and horses be made ready. Trackers should leave at once to look for a trail, and the whole Royal Guard ought to be ready to ride out soon. A couple more messengers he dispatched to Edoras to make the alarm and summon more Riders. If they acted quickly and had some luck, they might be able to catch this band of criminals before any further harm came to Lothíriel. And if not… well, soon he would have the Muster of Edoras behind himself. Whoever had taken her – they would never be able to run fast enough, or hide in a deep enough hole where he wouldn't find them.

When his men had their orders, Éomer began to make his way back towards Sighard's hall again. Éothain, stone-faced, joined him without a word.

"Horses?" Éomer asked in a low growl.

"They are being prepared. We'll be ready to ride out soon."

"Right. I'll have to speak to Ormar first, but make sure we can depart as soon as we have any intelligence. If there was even one eyewitness..." he muttered, trailing off. Such information could be invaluable, although he didn't have high hopes that any would emerge. If anyone had seen the Queen's kidnapping, they would have let him know already.

There was a bustle at the doors of Sighard's hall. It looked like people had come either straight from the bed or their morning meal to join the gossip: the news of Lothíriel's disappearance had already spread and people were ravenous for information.

"Make way! Quickly now – I will not ask you twice!" Éothain bellowed, and the crowd parted. Éomer did not meet any of their eyes. He stared straight ahead, trying to shut out the murmuring voices. He felt like even the smallest provocation might make him snap.

Sighard met him in the hall. His usually smiling face was serious, even a little bit disturbed.

"Sire, I've heard the news. Is there anything I can do?" he asked in earnest – perhaps thinking how only yesterday, his own family member had been missing and brought back by Lothíriel herself.

"Thank you for offering, but I have it under control. My Riders are on the task right now", Éomer said. He was surprised there was any softness in his voice, even if he did truly appreciate Sighard's empatethic response to his blight. With a tiny smile he added, "You have duties of your own, Sighard; attend to them as was agreed yesterday, and I will be glad for it. I'm only sorry that our visit to your home has to end in this way."

"As am I, my lord. Please accept my apologies. If I had done more sooner, your lady wife would be safe and sound right now", said Sighard quietly.

It was a bitter thought, but Éomer wasn't going to make this man pay for his honesty, now that it was at last freely given.

"Maybe. But others have blundered here as well – myself included. And I hold myself more responsible than anyone else", he said in a grim voice that, hopefully, betrayed more his determination to get her back rather than his immense fear for her life.

He swallowed hard and nodded at Sighard, "Please excuse me. I really must get going."

"Of course, Sire", said Sighard, making him way.

"Ormar, in my room. We need to talk", Éomer was already saying to his adviser, who stood nearby, his face white and grave.

"Very well, my lord", said Ormar and began to follow him.

But then one more person blocked Éomer's path, and he stirred in impatience. He needed to move now, he had been wasting enough time as it was…

There was Winfrith, standing before him, and wearing a distressed look on her features.

"My lord, please forgive me. I know you are in haste, but… the Queen left this in my keeping before she headed out today. She asked me to give it to you", she said, offering her hand to him. There sat a scroll, bearing Lothíriel's seal.

His heart skipped a beat and then, as if his life depended on it, he snatched the object, tore off the seal and opened her letter.

It read:

Dear husband,

Seeing that at this time we cannot speak to one another without anger and unkind words, I thought it best to write this letter to you. There is so much, and my hand is shaking, as if you were listening to my words even now. But I must speak to you in a way that doesn't provoke both our worse natures. Otherwise, I fear that these words will choke me.

These past few weeks have been a torment to me, and I have no doubt you feel the same. We have been so horrible to one another, treating each other in a way you never should treat your spouse. For my part, I am so sorry for the things I've said and done. From the moment I first saw you in my visions, I've only wished you happiness – and yet here I am, wondering in dread if I have already broken your heart beyond healing.

Oh, where can I even begin? My heart and my mind are so full, as if I had stored a thousand year's worth of doubt and regret in me. I will admit I haven't been myself lately. I have been so afraid and so confused; my visions have been more strange and uncontrollable than ever. I fear something is coming, but I don't know what it is, and it scares me. There have been times I have truly feared that I am losing my mind, that I'm becoming the very thing they call me – and that my worst fears are becoming true. In these dark moments I have even mistrusted my commitment to you, my dear king. I'm not used to doubting myself in this way, Éomer, and it has scared me senseless. And then there are our unfortunate interactions and the mutually hurtful things we have said to one another... I am not proud of how I have acted, and I know you have suffered as much as I. But do you understand how confusing it has been for me? One moment you say something callous and storm off, and then I hear your voice in the dark, saying that you love me...

I know I gave you a scare that day when you found me walking alone on the fields. I was deeply distraught, and I ached for you in a way that I can't describe. Alfwen has told you the reasons why, and I won't go into it here. I would have apologised, Éomer – I wasn't blind to how it startled you to find me there by myself. But then you got so angry with me, asked me if I had gone mad... you were giving me orders as if I was your subject and not the woman you loved and respected as your equal. It felt like a betrayal, even though I know now you didn't mean it that way. I realise you were just worried and scared of what could have happened. Please understand my sight doesn't always do me favours in this regard. I knew you were coming home, I was desperate to see you, so I could not perceive it as dangerous like you did. The distress I felt that day clouded my judgement in a very bad way.

As for that day's night – Scýne has told me you came to my door and meant to talk to me. Éothain had parsed as much from your speech after you had got drunk. Don't be angry with them for talking about it between themselves and to me; they were just trying to help. I can only imagine what you felt when I didn't answer you... but Éomer, I wasn't in my rooms at the time. I had gone out to my garden, where I sat hours upon hours in my helpless anger and agony, wishing that you might come looking for me after all. That you'd tell me you didn't actually believe I was a madwoman to be kept behind lock and key. You didn't come – it didn't occur to me you'd try my door – and I was even more hurt. But then in the morning I heard about your drunken little adventure, and didn't know what to think. Your actions made no sense to me, not then and not many other times afterwards. And because I could see and feel only my own pain and loneliness, I didn't realise you might be feeling exactly the same.

Hopefully this account explains some of the things I've said and done these past few weeks, and helps you to overcome your own hurt feelings so that we may at last speak to one another without this poison between us. There is so much more I need to tell you, but I believe those things should be said face to face. Do you think you could talk to me with an open heart, in good faith?

I shall be visiting Mistress Wulfrun early in the morning, but Winfrith will give you this letter before I return. Alfwen goes with me. She tells me she has even doubted lately whether you truly care for me. But she seems to have changed her mind, although she won't tell me what caused it. I hope you may change yours, too.

I'm so tired of fighting and of being without the man I love. I need you by my side, Éomer. Now more than ever.

I want my husband back. I want my wise fool.

Will you let him come to me again?

Your wife

To be continued.

A/N: ... well, that happened. So they have both reached the understanding of not wanting to fight any longer, but what would be the fun in them just reconciling easily and happily? I am me, so I need to throw in a nice little cliffhanger!

I would say Lothíriel was little bit in a state when she went to see Wulfrun, and for certain reasons did not want anyone else with her than Alfwen. That was, of course, a miscalculation on her part, but not one made maliciously (or to provoke Éomer). Hopefully she'll get to explain why. And Éomer is not so wrong to think that in other circumstances, she would probably have woken him up and asked him to come with her.

My favourite part of this chapter is Lothíriel's letter. I would say she wrote it after retiring, and probably hoping that he'd read it in the morning before she came back. Like she says, she has been confused and afraid, her visions have been strange, and she has sensed that something bad is coming, though she has not been able to ascertain what it is (until now at least). It has been very difficult for her, not being able to tell him about these "irregularities" in her sight and in this vague sense of foreboding. Still, she is not afraid to admit that she hasn't been herself. The isolation from Éomer, her most important ally and confidant, has tried her very deeply - further adding to what he has seen at times as coldness and others as irrationality.

As for Alfwen, I would say she has indeed had some doubts as to whether Éomer does really love Lothíriel - she is very much biased in her queen's behalf - but she was watching him when Sighard's son Alfar came to thank Lothíriel, and saw the way he looked at his wife. Alfwen is a warrior, but she's also a keen observer and can tell much even when no words are said.

I would also imagine Éomer guessed it right: Alfwen was forced to or she chose to lay down her arms when Lothíriel was being threatened. Rather than try to quickly contrive some way to escape (which would be next to impossible without getting killed), she'd try to stay close to her queen and protect her in any way she can, even as prisoners.

Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter, despite the cliffhanger! Stay safe out there. There's light at the end of the tunnel - some family members of mine have recently got their first vaccine shots and I can't wait to get mine!

Thank you all for reading and reviewing. If you got time, let me know what you think!

Kehlan – Wow, I'll admit I was dreading a comment like this, because the story is entirely from Éomer's POV and it's not easy to convey her perspective especially when they are not talking properly. I understand her actions seem frustrating, but I think it's unfair to call her a spoilt and selfish brat. Granted, she hasn't always made the best choices, but she's under a lot of pressure in more than one way, and Éomer hasn't been helpful either. He too has hurt her feelings on multiple occasions with his quick temper and impatience. At the same time, she is scared and confused, and she is feeling some sense of foreboding that she hasn't been able to explain to him because of their fight.

As for her disappearance (which initially started this whole mess) – yes, it was a bad call, but you need to remember her gift makes her see things from a very different point of view. She didn't perceive it as dangerous, because she knew Éomer was coming home, and on the other hand, she was feeling some serious distress at the time (which clouded her judgement). So I would say she deserves some sympathy. She would have apologised for leaving like that and tried to explain why she was out there, but then Éomer went and practically called her mad – which is a very tender spot for her. She isn't sulking because he got angry. Her behaviour stems from a deep sense of betrayal, for which he never actually apologised. After that, there have been other miscommunications between them which have made the situation even worse. Add both their pride and stubbornness into the mix and you may see why it's so hard for them both to bend.

It has actually been like three or four weeks at this point, but I guess the pace of both the story and my updating will probably make it feel much more.

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you!

Catspector - You are quite right - both needed to try harder! Unfortunately, that realisation came a little bit late...

EStrunk- Well, I'm not sure this is what you were hoping for! ;) I'm afraid things are going to get even more complicated.

Katia0203 - I hope this chapter gives you some insight on Lothíriel's thoughts at last! But you're correct - they both have their ways of getting people to work with them. And Lothíriel does indeed have her reasons to spend time with Wulfrun!

And you are right - that's exactly what he should have done and said in that situation, but poor dear oaf was quite clueless at that point. :')

Simplegurl4u - Yeah, it's quite painful... well, they were both trying to make up, but I'm afraid things can't get better that easily! ;)

I hope you continue to enjoy this story!

Galenrandir - Thank you! :)

Tibblets - Thanks, always glad to hear from you!

Jo - I'd think Alfwen was very close to the point of wrestling him down and laying some truths on him, but unfortunately for them and for us, it seems she won't be able to do that!