A/N: Thank you for telling me that you are still there and enjoying the story! Hugs!

If anyone is interested I'd be willing to mail a zip file of Lothíriel either in htm or in MS Word 2003 for Christmas. Perhaps even with some illustrations – if I can get my scanner going that is. Just send me a (nice) mail with "Re: Lothíriel" and tell me if you prefer a htm or a word file.

…still hoping to have finished Lothy till Christmas…

Yours

Juno

80. Because You Let Me Be

"Something secret about me

Something I hold to myself

I love you in my heart

Because you let me be"

– "Quiet of the Night" by Karan Casey, album "Distant Shore"

They had to come out of the tunnel leading up to the Citadel any moment now. At the top of the Tower of Ecthelion the banner of Rohan and the white flag of the Stewards of Gondor had joined the colours of the King and the coat of arms of Dol Amroth already billowing in the wind. My heart was in my mouth, my stomach fluttering. My palms felt icy. I was standing next to Míriël. Míriël looked completely composed, her hand gracefully placed upon Prince Imrahil's arm. But I think there was a hint of grin hidden at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes were sparkling, too. I love it when people think I am so funny. I suppressed a sigh, feeling slightly sick. I had gone pale and jittery the moment the message had arrived that the company of the Prince of Ithilien, his new wife and the King of Rohan were approaching the Rammas Echor. It was the fifteenth of May. The earliest date we had expected the wedding company from Edoras to arrive in Minas Tirith. I wondered if Éomer had been as impatient as I was…

Waiting for the guests to appear in the white arc of the tunnel leading from the sixth to the seventh circle of Minas Tirith, my thoughts went back to the past four weeks.

Somehow the long weeks of waiting had passed. Sometimes time had slowed down to an agonizing crawl. Sometimes the hours had flown by.

Helmichis had started to teach me another set of runes. The Cirth. The writing used for every day purposes in Rohan. The Rohirrim do write. The fact that the memories of their people is chiefly kept alive in songs passed down from generation to generation does not necessarily mean that a people are illiterate. Well, most people in Gondor and in Rohan are illiterate, of course. But even in Rohan there are scribes. Even in Rohan certain offices cannot be filled by someone who cannot read or write – for example the major domo of Meduseld or the treasurer have to know their letters. While most books are actually written in tengwar and in Gondor tengwar is used for every kind of writing, in Rohan they prefer the simpler, straightforward style developed by the dwarves. Cirth. As if I had not enough to learn already…

Elrohir and Elladan had resumed training me in the use of sword, dagger, bow and arrow. I was getting used to being beaten black and blue. Well, it was not quite as bad as it had been in October last year. Sometimes I did not fall over my own feet anymore. One memorable day Arwen joined in the fray. Aragorn, Míriël and I were equally horrified. But I got the bruises to go with the horror. Arwen does not have the strength of her brothers and not much real fighting experience. She makes up for that with speed and really mean moves. And how is that appropriate behaviour for a queen? If I can help it, I will never fight her again.

How long can it take them to ride from the Great Gates to the Sixth Circle?

Then a message had reached us from the Shire. Merry and Pippin would hopefully be able to reach Ithilien in time for the wedding celebrations. Sam and Rosie had been married on the first of May and Merry and Pippin had set out the day after the wedding. With a little bit of luck they would be in Minas Tirith on the 24th – and the date that had been set for the celebrations of Éowyn's and Faramir's wedding was the 25th. If Merry and Pippin had not been tall enough to ride real horses due to the powers of the ent-draught, they would never be able to make it on time. Riding ponies it takes at least forty days from Hobbiton to Minas Tirith. Even with horses the bets were about equal between those who claimed the Hobbits would be on time and those who thought it impossible for two halflings to travel from the Shire to Ithilien in twenty-three days. It was of course Gimli who had instigated the bets on the Hobbits' arrival. Míriël had forbidden me to participate. Betting is apparently another activity not suited to young ladies of noble birth – or young ladies betrothed to the king of Rohan (even if not of noble birth). I rather thought that was a shame. It was as safe as a bet can be. Hobbits not being in time for a feast – I ask you, how can you possibly lose that bet (if anyone is stupid enough to hold against you that is).

How long can it take them to dismount and hand over their horses to the grooms of the Guards?

Gimli and his bet: this leads directly to the other highlight of the past weeks. That had undoubtedly been the arrival of Legolas and Gimli in Minas Tirith – each with a company of their own people. They had been hard at work on Faramir's mansion in the Hills of Emyn Arnen. It had to be ready when the newly-weds would arrive. Ready, beautiful and safe. As even the king was satisfied with the security measures by now, it was probably the safest place in all of Gondor apart from Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth. I was looking forward to seeing it very much. I had heard so much about it already. I had even seen plans of the building and the gardens. The house is about twenty-three miles (as the crow flies) south-east of Minas Tirith, situated on the south-western slopes of the Emyn Arnen, overlooking the Anduin, South-Ithilien and the fields of Lossarnach. They have even built a new bridge across the Anduin there. It is only a wooden bridge, but it is so well made that horses can use it. They tried to name it Arnen Bridge, but people had already started calling it "Faramir's bridge" and that name kind of stuck. It's still a day's ride from Minas Tirith, but without Faramir's bridge you'd have to take the path on the eastern banks of the Anduin to Osgiliath and then head back to the south-west, that's fifty-six miles, not twenty-nine. A fast horse can make forty miles a day. Only a Meara or an elvish horse will be up to more.

Where the hell are you, Éomer?

On the first of May Sorcha and Solas had arrived in Minas Tirith. God, it's wonderful to have her here! I am still not used to having servants, bodyguards and ladies-in-waiting. I am comfortable with Helmichis and Ini. I don't know why, but I am wary about the Lady Elaine. She is intimidating. Until I am sure where her loyalties really lie, I don't feel all that comfortable with her as my chief lady-in-waiting. Though I am relieved to have her, of course, because she is such a good healer and I trust her completely in that capacity. At the moment I don't see much of her. She spends most of her time at the Houses of Healing. Anyway, Sorcha: about Sorcha there is no doubt in my heart at all. Sorcha I trust to the hell and back. And what's best about her is that she knows real life. There are simply things that the Lady Míriël won't or can't tell me about life in Gondor and Rohan. Sorcha can and does.

Éomer… where the bloody fucking hell are you???

Steps! And voices! There's movement in the tunnel leading up to the Citadel! The heralds who had taken place at the sides of the arc of white marble that frames the tunnel-opening raise their golden clarions to their lips! My heart goes thumpety-thump.

There!

I stare. I blink.

He's taller than I remember him. Broader. More solid. Muscular. Real. His face… his demeanour… he's sterner, harsher… he's King.

Oh, God, he's real!

I blink again, and suddenly he's exactly as I remember him.

A lion's mane of hair: golden, dun and darker, barely reaching his shoulders. The beard, neatly trimmed a dark dun colour. His eyes. His eyes: almost black. I swallow heavily and I feel a slight trembling spreading through my body.

He looks around. He hesitates. He sees me. His gaze grows hot.

I can see his lips quiver with the hint of a sigh – a sigh of desire?

Then Éomer walked towards the King and Queen. He bowed deeply to Aragorn and Arwen, and then dropped a delicate symbol of a kiss on the back of the queen's hand. The next in line to be greeted was Lord Húrin of the Keyes, and then it was Prince Imrahil's turn and the Lady Míriël's.

Suddenly the King of Rohan stood in front of me. For a moment our eyes met and I knew it was still there. The fire, this searing fire deep in my heart, deep, deep in my bones, the fire that says, he's the one, he's the one and only. Curtsy. After an inappropriately long moment of staring at each other I remembered that I was supposed to curtsy: deeply, prettily, and gracefully.

I bent my knees. I felt all shivery and wobbly. But I managed a curtsy. It was certainly not pretty, deep or in any way graceful. But I did not fall flat on my face. Éomer took my hands in his. His grip was warm and strong. He drew me up, keeping a firm hold on my hands. Our hands seemed to share a heartbeat, a hot, fast, heavy pulse. I raised my eyes to look at him. Amber flecks danced in his eyes. Standing so close to him, his lips revealed their secret between the well-trimmed borders of dark beard. Sensuous, wide, tender lips. I gasped lightly, desiring nothing so much as a kiss, a deep, deep, deep kiss from those lips.

"Lothíriel," he whispered, his voice dark and like a soft song in the trees. His voice was even more beautiful than I remembered. A shiver ran down my back. That day on the field of Cormallen… when I was not sure how to address him…Suddenly I remembered how to smile.

"Éomer," I replied, my voice sounding husky and out of breath.

It felt like being caught in a slow motion shot of a movie. Éomer – close up. Then, Éomer smiling. Then, Éomer letting go of my hands…

Reluctantly Éomer released my hands and turned to greet Elladan and Elrohir and then the other high lords and ladies of Gondor who made up the reception for Faramir, Éowyn and the King of Rohan.

I only came back to reality when I found myself in Éowyn's arms. Apparently the new lady of Ithilien did not give a damn about appropriate greetings. "God, Lothy, it's good to see you!" She told me, trying to break me in two in the process of hugging. Finally she released me and stepped back into her husband's arms. I blinked stupidly at Éowyn and Faramir. Faramir and Éowyn…husband and wife… the Prince and the Princess of Ithilien…Éowyn winked at me. Faramir – his arm around Éowyn – blushed slightly, but tightened his hold on his wife. Damn, but married life agreed with those two!

I had missed Éowyn for the better part of the last eight months. Now I wished Éowyn, Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen, Imrahil, Míriël – hell, all of my friends and loved ones – except Éomer - to the farthest, hottest, most god-forsaken part of Harad imaginable. Or maybe Erlangen, Germany.

There was a banquet, of course. To honour the King of Rohan and the Prince and of Ithilien and his wife. The Hall of Merethrond was decked out festively. There were boughs with cherry blossoms and sweet smelling lilacs scattered across the tables. But it was only a dinner. Only a taste of the celebrations to come.

Eowyn wore a gown of silver. Her pale golden hair was braided into a crown and adorned by a sheer silvery veil. It befits a married woman to cover her hair. The beauty of her hair belongs to her husband and only to him. The thin veil made Éowyn's hair shimmer only more enticingly. Faramir's eyes were so happy that there was almost no grey left in the blue of his iris. His hair was braided back on the sides of his head, bringing out the noble structure of his bones. When I looked at them – Faramir and Éowyn – my breath caught in my throat, so beautiful they looked together. So together did they look. They looked even more together than they had looked when they had arrived at the Citadel this afternoon.

You may guess the reason why…

Éomer was allowed to be my dinner partner. This resulted in me eating next to nothing. Éomer ate well. I think that's probably the difference that makes men better warriors than women. They don't allow little things such as love to interfere with their appetite. Therefore they have more energy when things get… hot.

Although I don't think Éomer did really notice what it was that he ate. I guess we could count ourselves lucky that the hobbits weren't there yet. They would have noticed Éomer's absentmindedness, too. By now I know about hobbit jokes. They would have tried to make Éomer eat stones or spiders.

…well, he probably wouldn't have noticed.

Talking was difficult. If only we could have gone straight to bed to get reacquainted… hell, to really get to know one another finally! Instead we sat side by side. Across from a very happy, pregnant Arwen and a very happy, foolishly grinning Aragorn. Across from a very relaxed, extremely soft spoken Éowyn and very satisfied looking, almost smugly grinning Faramir.

Not to mention all the other Lords and Ladies of Gondor who were present.

Well, I couldn't really fault them. It was the time of the spring council. So they had to be at Minas Tirith. And they really did like Faramir. Hell, I liked Faramir. I sat next to Éomer. I felt the warmth of his thigh against mine. We had barely had a chance to talk. Aragorn, Faramir, Húrin and Lord Forvomir of Lossarnach were talking to Éomer about the spring council, the situation in Harondor, the legal status of the dwarves at Aglornond and you know what. I sat next to Éomer. I could barely see his face without turning around in a very inappropriate way. I heard his voice, deep and serious, as he told about his dealings with the dwarves. I felt the pressure of his thigh against my leg. Warm, strong, heavy. I could even smell that scent that I had almost forgotten during the last eight months, but which I had immediately recognized. Éomer's scent. Spicy. Male. Mixed with the fragrance of horse and vetiver, which he liked in his shampoo or soap or whatever. But more than that. Alive. Warm. Delicious. Éomer.

I clenched my teeth. Apart from an unhinged desire to ravish him on the spot, I felt choked with questions. Do they still want to kill us? How are you? How is Rohan? How are our people? How are the dogs? Do they come when you call them? Has it become easier to be king?

But I could not ask any one of those questions. The only thing I had to tide me over this evening was the feeling of Éomer's thigh pressed against my thigh under the table, while we talked about everything and nothing. That dizzying scent, almost hidden beneath the perfumes of the ladies and the smell of roasted meats. The sound of his voice that I had missed so much.

When dinner was over, my knees were weak and trembling. It was almost difficult to get up and accompany Éowyn and Arwen outside on a stroll in the moonlight.

We walked across the place of the fountain and slowly made our way to the front of the Embrasure. The night was mild and scented with the perfume of spring. There was a full moon hanging above the blue shadows of the ridges of Mount Mindolluin. The stars were sparkling above us like diamonds spread out on black velvet. For the hundredth time I tilted my head back and searched for the few constellations I knew. The few constellations I knew from Germany, Europe, earth. It never ceased to amaze me that the stars were actually the same here as they were back on earth – at least as far as I could tell. There was the one we call "the chariot" in Germany, ursus maior, and the great hunter, Orion, the heavenly "W" – Cassiopeia, and of course, barely more than a blotch of light – the Pleiades.

I inhaled deeply. A shivering, deep, wonderful breath. I realized that Arwen and Éowyn had been patiently waiting for me to get back to reality. I turned to my friends and I felt a very broad, very wry grin spread across my face.

"Sorry." I said finally. The smile was audible in my voice.

"Take your time," Arwen said, her voice deep, clear and amused. She was leaning with her back against the white wall of the Embrasure. She wore a warm cloak, but it had drifted away from her front, and I could see that she was stroking her stomach in the pale light of the moon.

Éowyn moved closer to Arwen, and – perhaps it was the shelter of darkness, perhaps it was the euphoria of newly wed sex – she reached out for Arwen and gently placed her hand on Arwen's belly. "How does it feel?" Éowyn asked. "Do you feel them already?"

Arwen laughed at that, a happy, relaxed laugh that grew deep inside of her. Since Aragorn was back, she was at ease again, and more beautiful than ever (if that is at all possible).

"I do feel them. Only a little bit – after all, it's only the fifth month. It feels… like bubbles in my belly, rising up and bursting against my stomach. A tiny tickling feeling. Like a carp tasting your skin when you are swimming in a deep pond. Or like the softest of waves lapping against your skin – only from the inside. You know that you are no longer alone in your body. That's probably the most amazing thing about it." Unexpectedly Arwen reached for my hand and placed it underneath Éowyn's on her belly. I did not feel anything at all, only Arwen's warm, still flat stomach, and Éowyn's cool, slender hand above my own. Arwen laughed again, a small, but completely happy laugh. "And you feel so great. It's as if you have consumed a whole bottle of sparkly Dorwinion white. But all you have had is a glass of water. I can't describe it. You'll have to try it out for yourself."

I drew back my hand and felt my stomach drop a foot or two. I would. My heartbeat echoed in my ears. My monthlies were back to a regular rhythm of feeling miserable four to five days once a month. If all went well I could easily be pregnant a year from now.

Éowyn had drawn back from Arwen, too. If I was not mistaken she had covered her mouth with her hands to stifle a breathless, girlish laughter. Newly weds…

I admit I was envious. But I was also happy to see my friend so… in love. Completely, absolutely, breathlessly, stupidly in love. "So what is it," I asked. "What is it that's best about Faramir, Prince of Ithilien?"

Éowyn giggled like teenager. "You mean, apart from the fact that he is well suited for every indoor activity imaginable and very ingenious with it, too?"

I groaned. Arwen gasped. Éowyn giggled the way only a woman can laugh who is completely satisfied. For a moment we stood in silence, our backs to the white walls of the Embrasure, our heads tilted back, our eyes on the stars, our thoughts with our men.

Then Éowyn added – this time very serious. "The best thing about him is…" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper. "The best thing about him is – that he lets me be."

My heart gave an almost painful thump in my chest. Yes… I inhaled slowly. Cool and sweet, a night of spring. A night of spring in Gondor in the fourth age of the world. Yes. That's it. That's exactly it.

"He loves me the way I am," Éowyn whispered to the stars, and to us, her friends. "Just the way I am. And he will let me be – just the way I am. Me. Éowyn. He will let me be."

More A/N:

Eilenach: Yes, you are right. I have made a note and will change the chapter accordingly when my beta gets to it. Thanks.