Disclaimer: Of course I do not own any of the characters - although I wish I did ...I just use them every once in a while.

TIME FOR REMEMBRANCE

Éomer opened the door to the large stone terrace surrounding Meduseld and breathed in the cool, fresh morning air. He flexed his arms and smiled to himself; a wide, content smile.

The King of Rohan had cause to be happy. A couple of hours earlier his wife had given birth to their sixth child - another boy. The royal housekeeper, Fréalin had assisted at the birth just as she had done at the births of the older children. She was now older and more frail, but she still had her wits about her. She had cast one look at the newborn and had remarked dryly to the other women – and to the queen: "Another son of Éomer."

And when Éomer had been allowed into the room to be presented to his latest offspring, she had looked at the king and chuckled softly: "I wonder how you do it, my lad." She still treated Éomer as the young boy he had been when he arrived at Edoras, and not at all as the sovereign, who was well into his forty-third year.

Éomer had just smiled at her; he loved the old woman dearly and did not even think of correcting her, after all she was the closest thing to a mother he had know since he was eleven.

He had bent down to kiss his tired wife thanking her for his new son. And as it has been his wont ever since the heir to the throne, Elfwine, was born he had taken the baby to be presented to his closest friends and advisors, Éothain and Gamling, who had waited with him in his study, also according to tradition.

The four eldest children had awoken, when they heard noises from the corridor and their parents' rooms indicating that their new sibling would be born soon, and had requested to know what was happening. Melia, Éothain's wife and the constant companion of the queen, has succeeded in getting them into bed again with the promise that they would see their mother and their new little sister or brother in the morning. Only Elfwine had protested, but a look from his father had silenced him on the subject and sent him back to bed.

Éomer carried his newborn son back to their chambers and left him with Freda, the midwife. Lothíriel had had an easy deliverance and was now sleeping soundly. Éomer looked at her peaceful face and smiled; her swearing in Rohirric and Elvish had not lessened over the years, but she certainly did not curse him the way she had done when she had given birth to their firstborn.

He had felt like some fresh air and that had led him through the door leading out onto the stone terrace. He sat down on the top step, leaned against one of the stone pillars, savouring the cup of tea he had brought with him. He looked out over his country where the sun was rising over the mountains, bathing their tops in the golden light of the very early morning. It was so early that Edoras had still not woken to the new day.

"Fourteen years of kingship; thirteen years of marriage," he said to himself, "thirteen years of happiness and total bliss." Then he grinned to himself, "well, perhaps not total bliss …" After all, his lovely wife also possessed a temper and it was certainly not everything that he had done over the years, which had met with her approval. Furthermore, the first seven or eight years of their marriage had also seen times, when he had had to leave his wife and his family to ride off – not to war, but to ensure the peace, true to his renewed oath to Gondor.

The Dunlendings had continuously been a cause of unrest and worry and only recently he had managed to secure the peace and settling matters with this unruly part of his country, signing a truce with the chieftains of the Dunlending tribes. The past year, however, had been peaceful.

He chuckled softly to himself as he leaned back against the pillar and closed his eyes, thinking back to the first year of his kingship.

Returning to Edoras after the War of the Ring and the coronation of Aragorn, he had dedicated all his time and efforts to restore his country and heal the wounds to land and people, helped by his sister and his good friends and advisors. He had worked all hours to familiarise himself with matters of state and the affairs of his people. Although he had been educated as befitted a member of the royal family of Rohan, he had never been supposed to rule a country, he had been the Third Marshal, a soldier and only concerned with the state of his éored and strategies of fighting the enemy. He had known nothing else since he was sixteen.

Théodred had been the king's heir, and when he was killed, there had been no time to learn anything about ruling a country; the war was in progress and he had not had much time with his uncle before Théoden King was killed on the Pelennor and Éomer found himself the new King of Rohan.

He only had had little time to himself before he went back to Minas Tirith to attend the wedding of Aragorn and Arwen – and to bring his uncle back to be buried at Edoras alongside his queen and his son attended by the Lords and Ladies of Gondor and Rohan.

Following the burial ceremony, Éomer had been crowned king and afterwards he had announced the betrothal of his sister Éowyn to Faramir, Steward of Gondor. His sister had forced him to accept a short betrothal period – and soon they were on their way to Minas Tirith again, this time for the king to give away his sister in marriage.

He had, of course, been happy for his sister. He liked Faramir tremendously, both as a friend and as a future brother-in-law and he valued the fact that the young steward made his sister happier than he had ever seen her. He realised, however, that he would be lonely after she left and that he would eventually need someone to take her place.

A tragic love in his youth, when he was just a Rider of Rohan, had put a stop to his romantic dreams of getting married. Later when he was promoted to Marshal, he had never really again thought about getting married. After all, what could he really offer a young woman? Sitting home, alone, perhaps with young children, waiting for him to come back. Or not.

He had seen too many widows during the dark years to wish that on a wife of his own. True, he had felt a longing when he saw the others, even his closest friends, being met by wives and sweethearts when they got back from patrols. Even his best friend Éothain had married during the dark years at an early age. Éomer had closed his heart and his mind to these thoughts, mainly because he did not want to be hurt again.

Besides, he had never wanted for female company when he needed it. Bar maids and serving wenches were plentiful everywhere. Was that not what Théodred had told him when he had spoken to him of his dreams of getting married? At times he had also bought the company and pleasure he needed in one of the bawdyhouses of Edoras when the need got too strong, and when he wanted to forget.

But – when the war was over, he was the King. And his life had changed. As the king, he could not take just any woman to his bed nor could he tour the houses of ill repute even if he had wanted to - or had the time for it, and he had been painfully aware that he would be very lonely, indeed, when Éowyn left him to go to Ithilien.

Éowyn knew this, and during the months before her wedding, she had suggested several young noblewomen of Rohan to him. He had absolutely refused to consider any of them. He knew that several mothers and fathers as well had ambitions of seeing their daughters as Queen of Rohan, and this aspect had certainly not appealed to him.

He had silenced his sister on the subject, ordering her to think of her own wedding and leave him be, at least for a while. "Just you get married and have some children. You will probably have more than one son, and then Rohan will have an heir after all."

He had then refused to discuss the matter further – and Éowyn knew better than to bring up the subject again. His advisors and counsellors had, from time to time, brought up the subject of arranging a suitable match, but one glare from the king had also silenced them on the matter, at least for a while.

One drunken night with Éothain, Éomer had let his despair and his dreams surface. "I will not marry if I cannot find a woman that I can truly love, not just lust for, and who can love me as a man, for what I am, not just because I am king," he said, looking at Éothain, solemn in his inebriation.

"I want something like what you and Melia or Faramir and Éowyn have; like my father and mother had. Like what I had - once. I will not just marry an ambitious woman, who might give me an heir out of obligation but not the love and companionship that I want."

Éothain had nodded; perhaps for the first time he had realised just how lonely Éomer really was. What this new status of his had cost him. Normal relationships with women he could not have, and only a few, trusted friends such as Gamling and Éothain, and of course Fréalin and Éowyn, still treated him much the same as they had always had.

"You will find her, Éomer. I am sure of it!" Éothain had assured him.

"Aye, but where?" Éomer had said, emptying his goblet.

Éomer smiled to himself, remembering this conversation and closed his eyes again. Indeed, he had found her.

They had ridden in procession to Minas Tirith with flying banners and shining armour as befitted a Lady of Rohan and Éomer had walked his sister up the aisle to give her hand in marriage to the Steward of Gondor. He had felt warm inside when he saw the look in Faramir's eyes as he greeted his bride.

He stepped aside to stand beside the King and Queen of Gondor and let his eyes roam over the guests on Faramir's side; his only living relatives were his uncle, the Prince of Dol Amroth, and his family – his three sons and his daughter. His daughter? Éomer had heard a lot about her from her brothers but had never actually met her, only seen her from a distance.

But now he truly saw her: A beautiful young woman, almost Elflike but not as tall as an Elf, with long dark hair held by a silver circlet. Her almond shaped, long-lashed eyes were green, as far as he could tell. Éomer smiled to himself as he remembered the jolt he had felt to his heart and his stomach when the young woman had lifted her eyes and looked at him. He had almost drowned in those eyes and he had seen the flush in her cheeks, when her eyes met his. Everything had disappeared around him, until he was awaken from his reverie as he felt Aragorn's elbow in his ribs and a whisper: "Wake up, friend, it is time to go!"

He did not remember much from the wedding feast; he had toasted his sister and her husband; he had danced with - the Queen of Gondor and his sister, and who else? The only thing that stood clear in his mind was when he had danced with Lothíriel, several dances - most of the evening, in fact, and when he had kissed her on the terrace where he had taken her under the pretence of getting some fresh air. He smiled as he remembered her face and her glittering green eyes, as he had let her go.

Her entire being, the scent that surrounded her and her beautiful eyes had set his mind reeling and before he knew it, he had taken her into his arms and kissed her. He had blushed violently and apologised profusely for his boldness. Lothíriel had only laughed and whispered to him that she did not mind; it was not quite proper according to court etiquette, but she had wished for it ever since she had seen him for the first time, when her brothers had pointed him out to her at Aragorn's coronation.

They had returned to the Great Hall. Soon after Lothíriel had retired to her rooms, but the smile she had sent him when she left to go with her father had assured him that they would meet again, and that she felt as he. He had been standing like a statue, his gaze following her until she could no more be seen. Aragorn and Éothain had come up to him and shaken him out of his dreams. Obviously they had both noticed what had taken place between him and the young Princess of Dol Amroth. As had probably most of the room, come to think of it.

Éothain had put a hand on his shoulder: "I told you, you would find her." He had grinned at his friend and king. And Éomer had had to agree; it would certainly look that way. Both his friends had grinned: "No one could be in doubt, Éomer."

During the following days, he had had several opportunities to meet and talk with Lothíriel and he had found that he was more attracted to this young woman than he had ever been to any woman before, even his first love. She was intelligent, had a marvellous sense of humour, she rode like a Rohirrim and she had a good, level head on her shoulders, she was as headstrong and stubborn as he was – and it was obvious that she did not care who and what he was. He fell more and more in love with her.

When he had left to go back to Edoras, he had asked her permission to write to her and an endless stream of letters flowed to and fro Edoras in the following couple of months. Éothain and Gamling were amused spectators to this. Both of them knew that writing letters had never been Éomer's favourite pass-time.

One day, a few months after Éowyn's wedding, Gamling had confronted his king: "My Lord, I know that it is probably none of my business, but do you not think that it is time that you gave your poor Riders a pause and went to Belfalas yourself?"

Éomer had shot a look at his Marshal: "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

Gamling had grinned: "I mean, my Lord, and please do not consider me disrespectful, that you should go to Belfalas and ask the Prince for his daughter's hand in marriage. Do you not think that it is about time?"

Gamling had seen Éomer's face both when the letters from Dol Amroth were late in arrival and when they actually arrived. More than once he and Éothain had caught their king standing at the window, absentmindedly staring out into nothingness with a faraway – and a bit silly - look on his face – and they had guessed the reason for it. The reason was probably named Lothíriel.

Thus Gamling had picked up the courage – as he also knew Éomer's temper very well – and then said: "Would it not be better to have her here, in stead of just her letters?"

Éomer had blushed profoundly and had glared hotly at Gamling, but had had to relent; his marshal was right.

And thus, a week later – more or less in mid-winter, Éomer had ridden to Belfalas followed by Gamling and the Royal Guard to ask for the princess' hand in marriage. The prince had given his consent gladly; he had suspected that outcome ever since his friend and his daughter had met. He had seen them together, and like Éomer's friends he had guessed the reason why his daughter at times seemed so far away in thoughts, sighed audibly for no reason at all, asked everybody questions about Rohan and Rohirrim traditions – and rushed to see whenever riders arriving from Rohan had brought letters for her.

Lothíriel had accepted his proposal, in a way that was not in strict accordance with propriety – Éomer chuckled as he remembered how she had responded, especially the less than virginal kiss, she had given him. Luckily, Imrahil had allowed them privacy; he was not quite sure that his father-in-law would have approved entirely, had he seen them.

Six months later it was a reality. Éomer and Lothíriel had spoken their wows of marriage at Edoras and Lothíriel had been crowned the first Queen of Rohan for forty years.

The king smiled to himself as he remembered the day of their marriage and how he had felt when he kissed his bride on the stairs of Meduseld for all of his people to see. And the wedding night, when he had made love to Lothíriel for the first time. He had never felt so happy, or so complete as he did when he held his wife in his arms, and he still had that feeling.

He grinned a little self-consciously as he remembered the first months of their marriage. It was no wonder that the heir to the throne of Rohan was born less than a year after the wedding.

The door opened behind Éomer and out came a tall, blonde boy. "Father," he said, "why are you sitting out here? I have been looking all over for you."

"I needed some fresh air and then I got to think," Éomer said, "remembering my life as it was before I met your mother – and we had you." He smiled at his son and held out his hand. "Come and sit with me, my lad."

The boy sat down and leaned against his father, who put an arm around him. Father and son sat there for a while just looking out over Edoras where a new day was beginning. "Are your brother and sisters still sleeping?" Éomer asked.

"Yes, they were so excited last night; well, we all were – and I think that it will be good for them to sleep a little longer." Elfwine said, trying to sound casual and very grown-up.

Éomer grinned as he looked at his eldest, who looked and acted so much like him; he had always been an early riser and so was Elfwine. "You are a good big brother," he said. Elfwine got up and smiled at his father: "Father, could we please go for a ride before the others awake? It has been a long time since we have had a chance."

Éomer got up and nodded: "A very good idea, my son. And then we can have breakfast with your mother when we return. Just let me get my gloves and my jerkin."

Elfwine waited on the steps and father and son walked to the stables together.

One of the grooms greeted the king and his son. "Congratulations, my Lord," he said, "We've heard that the queen is delivered of another son."

"Aye," said Éomer, "that is truly so. If anybody ask, my son and I have gone for a ride. We will be back shortly."

They fetched their horses and saddled up and rode out the gates to gallop over the plains. Éomer watched his son, who already at this early age was an accomplished rider; and he remembered the day his eldest son had been born. He grinned as he remembered how Lothíriel had cursed him when he had entered the room, worried and scared because he had heard her screaming in pain.

Never again, she had told him – but fortunately she had not stuck to that decision. A year later she had told him that she was with child again and six months later she had given him a second son - and then one year afterwards twin daughters.

He grinned when he remembered his own stunned reaction when he had entered the room to find his wife cradling the two very tiny girls. In fact he had acted rather immaturely, fleeing the room much to the disappointment and grievance of his wife.

But he had returned just a little while later, having collected his thoughts and feeling fairly sheepish about his reaction. Lothíriel had looked up when he came in, the tears welling in her eyes. "I thought you said you wanted a girl this time?" she said, the disappointment evident in her voice. And then he had realised that she had thought that he had fled in disappointment because she had given birth to a girl.

He had reassured her that this was not the case. "Lothy, my love, I am not disappointed that we have a daughter; on the contrary. It was just somewhat overwhelming that we now have two – that was rather unexpected! I just did not know what to say."

She had, of course, forgiven him – and come to think of it, teased him quite a bit about it ever since. He could not help smiling at the memory.

Elfwine called out to his father and woke him from his musings. "We should get back now, shouldn't we? And besides I am hungry!"

"Aren't you always?" his father grinned. "You are right, my son, we should get back. Your mother is probably awake by now and wondering where we are."

"Race you back!" Elfwine laughed and spurred on his horse.

"Watch out, and stay on the horse!" Éomer cried, "your mother will kill me if you get hurt!"

"He rides like a true Rohirrim," Éomer thought as he saw his son gallop towards Edoras, and as he spurred on Firefoot to follow him.

Back at Edoras, they dismounted and led their horses into the stable. Having removed the tackle and saddles, they left the horses with a groom to handle and went up to the house.

Fréalin met them at the door. "There you are; the queen has been asking for you," she said.

"Father took me riding." Elfwine said.

"I can see that." The housekeeper said, seeing the wind tangled hair and bright eyes of the boy. She stroked his chin: "Now, go to your mother."

Éomer followed his son into the bedchamber, which he usually shared with his wife. She was sitting up in bed, feeding her youngest child and the other children sat around her, obviously enjoying themselves.

Éomer sat down by the bed and lifted his youngest daughter up on his lap. Bronwen giggled happily and snuggled against her father. Lothíriel looked up. "What kept you?"

"A ride on the plains. Our eldest son thought that it would be a good idea." Éomer smiled at his wife, who lifted their youngest to her shoulder. The burp that followed evoked a laugh from both parents.

"Another true Rohirrim!" Éomer grinned.

"Aren't they all?" quipped Lothíriel. She looked up at her oldest son. "Would you like to hold him?" Elfwine nodded and took the babe from his mother.

"Hello, little brother," he said, his face lighting up in pride.

The twins leaned against their big brother, both trying to get a look at the babe. "Can we hold him, too, mother? Can we?" Théodwyn pleaded and her twin Ciera added, "It is not fair if only Elfwine gets to hold him."

"Of course, you can – but be careful. You can help Elfwine tugging in your little brother." Elfwine carried the little one to the cot, followed by the twins. Haldred, who had been leaning against his father's chair, stayed where he was and just looked at his siblings with a smile. Although a cheerful boy, he was not a boisterous Rohirrim and was more like his grandfather, Imrahil.

Éomer released his youngest daughter, who crawled up to sit by her mother, and put his arm around his son. "What is it, Hal? Is anything the matter?"

"Nothing," the ten year old replied, "I was just thinking that I would like some breakfast." Éomer grinned. Trust this boy to be practical.

Fréalin had come in and Lothíriel asked her to take the children to the kitchen and ask the cook to give them some breakfast and Éomer chuckled. "Yes, please, Fréalin – remove this lot; I want a moment with their mother; I have not been able to have her a moment to myself yet."

Fréalin smiled and told the children to come with her. She turned to the king: "I will have one of the maids bring you and the queen some breakfast," she said and left the room together with the children, who were arguing loudly among themselves about what they wanted for breakfast.

Éomer sank down beside his wife. "Good Béma, I certainly did not know when I was in for when we started having all these children!"

Lothíriel smiled. "It is too late now to regret, Éomer. You will have to live with it."

"I know, and I certainly would not do without them." He bent over to kiss his wife. "I cannot thank you enough, my love, for sharing your life with me – and I do not regret a thing." He sat down beside her and put his arms around her. He did not let her go until a knock on the door announced the arrival of their breakfast.

Éomer sat beside the bed as they shared the meal. Lothíriel looked up at her husband. "I was thinking," she said, "is it not time for another Théodred? I know that you loved your cousin and that you still miss him - and would it not be a good way to honour him to name our youngest son after him?"

Éomer smiled and reached over to caress his wife's cheek. "Why is it, my love, that you always seem to know these things? I had been thinking along those lines – if indeed we had another son."

After breakfast he announced that he had to get some work done and went to his study. He sat down at his desk and looked at all the scrolls and paperwork. "I will never get through this. It is difficult to concentrate on matters of state right now," he sighed, ran his hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair, his thoughts gliding back in time again.

He remembered a time not too many years ago when he had gone out on a mission with his men and came home wounded and seriously ill. Lothíriel had not wanted him to go; she had been worried that that would happen and when he got back, she had tended him for weeks both day and night and trying to rule Rohan, while he could not with the result that she had lost the child she was expecting. He still remembered her pale face with the large, teary eyes when she had told him that she had lost the child.

Luckily she had had a pause from childbearing until they had Bronwen three years ago. "And it was certainly not for lack of trying." Éomer grinned to himself.

Then he settled down to write some letters to their friends and family, telling them of the birth of the youngest. Later that day he would take his family to the naming ceremony, telling the people of Rohan that they had a new Théodred, named for the prince who had already rested for several years in one of the mounds covered with Simbelmÿne.

Hearing footsteps, he looked up and saw Gamling entering the room. He smiled at his friend. "Could you please tell Éothain that we have work to do. Otherwise all these matters will not be dealt with in time. I believe that I have been rather preoccupied all day, I cannot seem to concentrate properly these days."

Gamling chuckled. "Well, that's what having so many children does to you, Éomer. And remember – you are getting older!"

"Get out of here!" Éomer threw a scroll at him. "And fetch Éothain so that we can get something done! Obviously you are bored, deeming from your snide remarks." He could help grinning as he looked at his marshal.

Gamling ducked deftly and went to find Éothain. He chuckled to himself. "Being the father of six and the almighty sovereign of Rohan has not changed Éomer much, except for the fact that he seems, indeed, a happy man. Well, I suppose that he has every reason to be," Gamling mused as he went down the corridor.