A/N: Thank you again for your many kind and encouraging comments, thank you especially for your helpful and constructive criticism. This really helps me keep my story on track.

Eyes of sky: You get the Review Oscar for the shortest review ever: "ah"

But that "ah" is very much appreciated!;-)

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The Rohirric song of this chapter is based upon the "The Exeter Book", as quoted by Tolkien in one of his letters (letter no. 54).

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A/N: R-rated chapter! If you don't want to read how babies are made, skip this chapter!

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96. A Paean of Joy

It was just after dinner the day following Éomer's unexpected return. I pushed the plate away from me with a sigh. I was replete. Éomer leaned back in his throne-like chair with a look of supreme content on his face that was only in part due to the admittedly excellent food. Somehow we had managed to stay in our room and in bed for most of the day – we had appeared only just in time for dinner. Somehow I managed to ignore the knowing looks of Anrid, Elfhelm, Sorcha and Elaine. It helped that I was too hungry to care much for exactly what the other members of the royal household thought about what Éomer and I had been doing all day. Especially since they would be right with exactly what they thought. Especially since now that the needs of my body in ways of food had been met, I was eager to return to our bedchamber and to continue there just what the other members of the royal household probably thought we had been doing all day.

I tried to catch Éomer's eyes to silently convey the idea to him that I wanted to return to our rooms. Our eyes met and I felt my stomach somersault with happiness and desire. How I had missed to see his eyes light up with those amber flecks when he was happy! How I had missed that slow, suggestive smile!

I drew a shivery breath. His eyes, his smile… and other things… Only now that he was back, I realized just how much I had missed him. All of him.

I realized that I was being watched and quickly lowered my head. Well, watch was perhaps the wrong expression. Somehow the Harper had not missed our silent exchange. The Harper never seemed to miss anything. Blind though he was, it was uncanny just how he seemed to feel the slightest shifting of the atmosphere in any room, between any persons. He was almost like an elf that way. Now he nodded to me with a hint of a smile on his ravaged visage. Normally he asked if anyone desired a specific song after dinner. Tonight he would not ask.

Out of the corners of my eyes I saw how Éomer hid a grin behind his mug of ale. Elfhelm did not even try to hide his grin. But from the faint glow on Anrid's cheeks I was inclined to say that he should be careful with any joke – because that joke could all too easily be turned on him. I tried not to look at Sorcha. Things between her and Helmichis had not moved an inch. And I knew that it must be hard on her to see me happily reunited with my husband.

Finally Éomer called the end of dinner and rose from the table. I followed suit. Everybody else were on their feet at once, too, and bowing and curtsying to us. It was hard to keep from impatiently tugging at Éomer's tunic. His hand briefly sought mine and squeezed it. Just a moment of contact, but my heart sped up and things low in my body tightened with need for him.

But then he let go off me and turned towards the great doors of the Golden Hall. I wanted to moan with frustration. What was the man up to now?

I had no choice but to follow him. The guards inside the hall were Lunt and Njall tonight. They bowed to their king and queen and swiftly opened the doors for us. Outside Wídfara and Helmichis stood at the ready, the heads of their spears glinting in the evening sun. They, too, bowed respectfully to us. On the low wooden bench that ran along the length of the hall I saw Helmichis' shy brown shadow, the boy Danso. The boy was still skinny and easily frightened. He followed Helmichis everywhere and watched his every move with his chocolate-brown eyes filled with profound admiration. At least Danso was decidedly of the opinion that Helmichis had hung the moon and kept the sun revolving.

I had told Éomer about Danso's case in a letter and we had talked about it this morning. Éomer had kissed me and assured me that I had done well. Then he had sighed deeply. "If only I could really trust Grimsir. He acted very prudently in that case…"

But Éomer could not trust the Lord of the Westfold. Gríma Wormtongue's shadow was long and dark. Now Éomer approached Helmichis and motioned to my guard to stand at ease.

Helmichis bowed again. "My lord."

Éomer nodded his approval. "You have guarded my wife well, when I was away. I thank you, Helmichis of Dol Amroth. It is good to know that the second in command of my queen's guard is such a reliable warrior as you are. My wife tells me that you have taken on the Dunlending boy that was involved in that problem a few weeks back?"

Helmichis inclined his head. "Yes, my lord."

Éomer looked Helmichis in the eye. Helmichis was an inch taller than Éomer and burlier in build. Nevertheless Éomer seemed… I don't know quite how to put it… there was an air of command, of authority to every inch of Éomer, a presence, a hint of danger that was not there in my calm guard. The king and the guard of the queen. There was no need to ask who was who, even with the king in an unassuming brown tunic and the guard in splendid armour.

"That was kindly done, captain," Éomer said. "Could I speak to the boy? Is he close by?"

My heart skipped a beat. I would place any bet that Éomer had noticed the cowering boy in the corner the moment he left the hall. That was why Éomer had come out on the terrace tonight!

"Yes, my lord," Helmichis replied. "I will call him for you. But he is not yet quite firm in the courtly manners, my lord."

"Never mind, Helmichis. Just call him for me, please," Éomer bid the soldier.

Helmichis nodded and turned to the hall. "Danso! Come here! And don't be afraid!"

Danso slowly moved from the bench to his guardian. It was obvious that he was very much afraid. But he obeyed Helmichis without hesitation. I could see that Éomer liked that. Danso came to stand next to Helmichis, trying to move as closely to the big man as he could. Helmichis frowned at that and nudged the boy roughly into a bow, but there was no cruelty in his grip or in his gaze, just a mixture of impatience and pity. "Bow, Danso. What did I tell you? We bow to the lords and the ladies."

Helmichis turned back to Éomer. "This is Danso, my lord."

Éomer looked Danso up and down. The Dunlending boy was too small for his age and still skinny. His skin was brown and his hair, too, and despite Gosvintha's best efforts it was still kinky and rough. His eyes were dark like chocolate. His nose and chin were broad, his cheekbones flat. There was no doubt that he was not a Rohirrim, nor a Gondorian. His lower lip was trembling. But he stood his ground, frightened though he was.

I could see how Éomer's eyes darkened with some memory or thought that pained him. But he took care to keep his face relaxed and friendly.

Then Éomer slowly knelt down on one knee to be at the level of the boy's eyes.

"I could not be here earlier to welcome you to Edoras, Danso. But now I am. And I welcome you to Edoras. You will have to stay here until you are grown and of age. This may seem harsh to you. But it is best. For you and for your people. I hope that you will soon feel at home here. Know that I regret deeply the circumstances that led to you being here. But if you obey your guardian and apply yourself, some good may come of it yet and you will be able to shape a better life for yourself and for both our peoples when you are grown. Wes ðu hal, Danso."

For a moment Danso only gaped at Éomer, no doubt barely able to follow that speech. But then, to my immense surprise, the boy bowed to Éomer without having to be prodded to do it by Helmichis. With a voice that was astonishingly deep and hoarse for such a young boy, Danso replied in thickly accented Rohirric, "Hal wes þu, hlaford min."

Éomer rose to his feet with a hint of a smile on his face. Around me I heard the noise of many breaths being forcibly exhaled. My heart beat heavily in my chest and my throat constricted with the sudden urge to cry.

What a gesture!

The King of Rohan kneels in front a Dunlending boy!

I pressed my left hand to my lips, caught between smile and tears.

Damn you, man, I thought. Damn you. This is why I married you. This is why I love you so.

And: This is why you will be one of the great kings of Rohan when all is said and done.

Éomer rose to his feet again and turned to me, effectively dismissing Danso and Helmichis. Those courtly gestures were clearly becoming more natural to him at least. Then all thought fled from my mind, as Éomer smiled at me, his hair turned to pure gold by the evening sun. His eyes were lit with an inner fire to a deep russet hue. "I think that I still feel the fatigue of the battles and the journey in my bones, my lady. Would you mind to accompany me to our chambers now?"

I could only reply with a hoarse croak of assent.

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Once in our bedchamber, Éomer thrust open the windows to let the golden air of this early summer-evening into the room. He stood in front of the open window framed in sunlight, only in his white shirt and trousers, the shirt untugged and billowing in the breeze. In dun, tawny and gold his hair tumbled in soft waves down to his shoulders. His face was thoughtful but relaxed, calm.

"I will be thirty-one years this summer, Lothíriel," Éomer said abruptly. "A year older than my father ever was."

He turned to me and his eyes were so dark that I could barely make out the pupils. "Already I have seen two wars and endless skirmishes. Yet I am still alive and he is not. When he died, my father left two children – it was hard on my sister."

"It was hard on me," he admitted. "But I was almost a man when my father died. My father was married and had a child by the time he was nineteen. Yet I have not been able to settle down until I met you."

Suddenly I realized what he wanted to say. He longed to have children – our children. And yet he was afraid of having children. Afraid of abandoning them in a world of war and hardship, as he had been abandoned. As his sister had been abandoned.

What could I say to comfort him? What could I say to alleviate his fears that would not be a lie?

Finally I simply went to stand with him in the fading rays of the sun. I put my arms around him and laid my face against his chest, listening to the deep, regular rhythm of his heart, inhaling the spicy scent of him that I loved so much.

Finally I knew what I could say. And I did.

"I love you, Éomer."

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He picked me up then and kissed me and carried me back to the bed. Carefully he lowered me on the bed and reached for the buttons of my gown.

"What would you have me do, my love?" he whispered.

I smiled up at him, feeling giddy with love and desire. "Sing for me, Éomer. Sing a song for me!"

This perhaps untimely request brought an unexpected grin to his face. "Sing for you? Now? I? When you could have the Harper sing for you in the Golden Hall?"

I smiled back at him and felt that my smile could not grow anymore so all encompassing did it feel. "But I want you to sing for me, not the Harper. And I want you to sing for me here, where only I can here you!"

Suddenly, shockingly, there were tears in Éomer's eyes. I inhaled sharply, unreasonably afraid that I had unwittingly said something to hurt him. But he closed his hand around mine and then he smiled at me again, a smile that was full of love and reassuring, but filled with deep sadness nevertheless.

"I was only reminded of something my mother used to say, when I was only a small child. My father was a good singer, too, you know. He would often sing for us at night when he was home, which was seldom enough. My mother liked poetry, and there was a bit of a poem that she always quoted when she asked my father to sing for us. Let's see if I still remember…"

For a moment Éomer closed his eyes, then he started reciting in Rohirric, first halting, then more and more fluent.

"Longað þonnet þy lǽsþe him con léopa worn,

Oþþe mid hondun con hearpan grétan;

Hafaþ him his glíwes giefe, þe him Eru sealde."

"Less doth yearning trouble him who knoweth many songs,

Or with his hands can touch the harp:

His riches are his gift of song and story which Eru bestowed."

Only when he was finished, he opened his eyes again. "But with my father all songs died for my mother and she could not be happy again, nor indeed live out her life among her children and her kin."

I sat up in bed and moved to kneel next to him.

What was there to say?

Grief could kill just as surely as swords could. The next war would come upon us as surely as the next sunrise.

I leaned in to kiss his lips and reached for the fastenings of his shirt. The knot was only very loosely tied. Swiftly it was unfastened and I slid the shirt down off his shoulders. Quickly Éomer cast off his trousers, just as I hastily shed my dress.

There was a new scar on his left shoulder, but only a small one, barely a nick. But I had to kiss that scar, I had to make sure that the body under the scar was warm and living and breathing. Just as he had to trace that scar across my breast and my throat again and again. Then I moved from the shoulder to his breast, kissing his nipples, enjoying the feeling of the silky curls on his chest against my cheek. Daringly, playfully, I caught hold of one nipple with my teeth, and lightly, lightly, ever so lightly nipped it. A deep moan was the very satisfactory response to that. So I allowed my lips to venture lower, and lower, allowed desire and curiosity to lead my mouth and my hands where they would. Éomer lay on his back, clenching and unclenching his hands, now and again moved to a deep-throated moan. How powerful this made me feel! What heat this called forth low in my body!

As I lowered my face to taste him once more, his hands came up and stayed my movement.

"Enough, my love," Éomer said, with a growl to his voice. "Or would you have me undone so early in the game?"

His hands only held me just above my hips, but his strength was such that I could not move away or towards him from that grip without struggling. I gasped as he drew me against him, as I felt his hot length pressed close against the lower part of my stomach. Easily Éomer turned us around so that I was lying next to him on the bed, and then under him. A light touch told him that I was ready for anything and everything he wanted.

"And now, let me love you, Lothíriel," he whispered and slid inside of me.

I gasped into his mouth, expecting the hot kisses and the wild ride I had enjoyed so much last night and this morning. But this time, Éomer had something different in mind. And stubborn Rohirrim that he was, Éomer was very set to have his way.

Gently, gently he pushed into me until he filled me to my depth. His movements were slow, almost soothingly, and yet he pushed me almost to the brink with his hard tenderness. He held himself on his elbows; his hands curled around my shoulders so that I could not move, but had to obey his lead in everything. Then he lowered his mouth down to my face and began trailing kisses along my temples, flicking his tongue against my ears, tracing my jaws with his llips, until he finally, blessedly found my mouth and silenced my helpless moans.

Softly, so softly he rocked his body against mine, locked his lips to mine, allowing tongue to meet tongue. He set a slow, inexorable rhythm that was a sweet, sweet torment for me. I wanted to scream and thrash and flail, but I could do neither. I could only suffer this golden feeling of love and desire growing and growing inside my body, enveloping me, spreading from me to him and from him to me and back again. I lost myself to his rhythm, I lost myself to Éomer, until suddenly, suddenly with a deep, slow thrust my world dissolved in golden ripples and we became one. We shuddered against each other, again, and again, overwhelmed by our shared, profound passion. Even when the throes of fulfilled desire abated we stayed joined, body to body, shivery breath to shivery breath, relaxing into each other.

Only when we were finally falling asleep, our breathing a soft and peaceful duet, did Éomer leave my body. But even then he did not let go of me, but continued holding me tight.

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A/N: Just so that everybody knows just how Elfwine was made! ;-)

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To answer a few questions:

Raven – nationality is a relatively new thing in human history, for example in the Middle Ages there was no such thing. People derived their feeling of identity from where they lived village/fiefdom and to which group of people/tribe they belonged. The way Tolkien describes the Rohirrim they feel very tribal to me. In such societies it will be shared blood, family ties that determine whether you belong to them or whether you are one of the others. That way Dunso, even though he was born in a Rohirric village would be one of the "others".

Silver-Kalan – sadly FFNet ate your e-mail-address. I have no idea if you will ever find this reply, but here goes: Lothíriel of Dol Amroth is (as far as I know) in LOTR, Appendix A, The Kings of the Mark, The Third Line and The History of Middle-earth, volume 12, The Peoples of Middle-earth, The Heirs of Elendil, The Line of Dol Amroth and The Tale of Years of the Third Age and The Making of Appendix A (because of the many different editions no pages are given here).