Author's Note:
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Lothíriel
Some teased her she was marrying a brute. Others hastily soothed her that he was anything but.
What was she to say? It was unseemly to meet your betrothed without a chaperon and he said very little when there was a third party lurking in the shadows during their brief meetings.
He was certainly formidable. He was well-muscled, most likely from the weight of both his armour and his sword. He was grim, but that was not new to her. Most men who were high in both prowess and rank, much like her brothers, were grim.
He did not change much after the wedding. There was never a sharp edge in his manners regarding her. He was almost gruff. But he caught how he lingered by her horse when it shifted nervously, his anxiety when she missed her home and his distant manner while he covered her with another fur to ward off the nightly cold. His love and care shone more in his actions than in his words.
His room was utilitarian. And that did not suprrise her either. She knew full well that even the furniture in her brothers' rooms was sparse. They only kept the things that were functional. But the room had no need to look so sober. So once she bade the women to accompany her and they gathered flowers from the gardens and arranged them on vases. She decorated their rooms with it and waited for her husband to see them in the night.
He entered, exhausted from the day's errands and stopped short at the threshold.
Éomer looked around the room once and then met her eyes. He smiled, albeit hesitantly. It surprised her. It was gentle and warm.
She smiled back.
