Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

Author's note: I was in a melancholy mood when I wrote this, but I just wanted to be clear that this is a one-shot, and has nothing to do with any other story of mine, already written or not.

Always and Forever

Ælfhild, the healer of Edoras, sighed deeply and turned to meet her king's eyes. Not a word was spoken between them, for none was necessary. He already knew.

"I'm sorry," Ælfhild offered quietly, tears in her eyes. She had said those words often, watching hope give way for despair. She wanted to reach out, to give some comfort to this young man, but she knew it was not her place nor was it what he wanted.

"How long?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Not long," the old healer answered. She ushered her young assistant healer out of the room, leaving the young king alone with his wife.

Éomer swallowed harshly and fought to control his grief. He approached the bed carefully, for a long time staring at the face of his wife. Her face was so pale, like the snow-clad peaks of Ered Nimrais. Her hair, the colour of the night, circled her soft face. She looked so peaceful, he thought.

He took her hand gently in his, shuddering at how cold it was. Bema, please, don't let me lose her, he pleaded silently.

He sat down on the edge of her bed, gently not to disturb her. He closed his eyes, trying not to imagine how his life would be like without her. He couldn't live without her. "I just can't," he whispered brokenly.

"Don't cry."

He opened his eyes and looked at his wife, meeting her eyes.

"You don't have to cry for me," she said quietly, unshed tears shining in her blue-green eyes.

"I do," he argued, squeezing her hand. "I can't lose you."

"You won't," she promised him. "You will never lose me."

Éomer fought hard not to cry, but a few tears fell down his cheeks. He would lose her. He would no longer have her with him everyday. These past seven years had been the happiest years of his life. With her by his side he had been content. She was the other part of him, the other part of his soul. Without her he was not complete.

He had always thought he would be the one to die first, so that he would not have to bear the pain of losing her. It seemed that he had been wrong. And this because of an accident he had never dreamed of could happen. Her own horse had thrown her and stamped on her. The healers had done all they could, but they were unable to do anything with the internal injuries.

His wife had always been a good rider, something his father-in-law, Prince Imrahil, had pointed out to him when he approached him to convince the new King of Rohan that his daughter would make him a perfect queen and a wonderful wife. Éomer had been sceptical when Imrahil had made the suggestion. The Princess Lothíriel seemed to him a rather fragile young woman, but he had soon found his assumptions to be incorrect. Soon he had fallen in love with the beautiful woman, who had such skills with a horse that it rivalled many women of his own country. He had found her to be outspoken, but at the same time diplomatic, less direct in her approach of things, and a good judge of character. It was a perfect match, and the ties of Rohan and Gondor were strengthened by another alliance.

Now she had ruled by his side for seven years, years which had been all too short.

"My time is growing short," he heard her whisper, and he felt his heart breaking.

"Do you want anything?" he asked, kissing her hand.

"Yes," she answered, her strength ebbing away by each passing minute. "I would like to see the plains again, our kingdom. With you and our son. On the plains is where I will leave."

Éomer nodded. "I will see to it, my love," he said, pressing a tender kiss to her temple.

He rose from the bed and went into the hallway, where he was met by Ælfhild and three more servants, and Gamling who was seated on a bench with Éomer and Lothíriel's young son in his arms.

Éomer went over to his son, who immediately looked at him with fear in his eyes. "Is Mama..?"

Éomer shook his head. Even as young as his son was, he knew his mother was going to die. "You and I will take Mama outside for a little while," Éomer explained to his son. "It will be fine, all right? Papa must just make a few arrangements." Elfwine nodded.

Haelger, the head-servant, approached the king, a horrified expression upon his face. "But my lord, you surely cannot even consider taking her outside in this cold! It will only make matters worse…"

"Make matters worse?" Éomer repeated disbelievingly. "How much worse can it possible get? I am losing my wife!" Seeing Elfwine's terrified face looking at him, forced him to get control of his temper again, and when he spoke, he spoke quietly so that Elfwine could not hear. "Do not tell me what I can do and what I can not. She is my wife; I am the one who are losing her." He nodded to the two other servants. "Find warm blankets and warm clothes for my wife. Then you are dismissed."

With that he took Elfwine's hand and re-entered his wife's bedroom. A few minutes later Lothíriel was wearing a warm robe and Éomer wrapped her in several warm blankets. Then he carried her in his arms, Elfwine walking behind them, out the door, down the hallway and to the Great Hall of Meduseld, where servants now stood, watching the family with great sorrow, all loving the young queen whom had captured the heart of their king.

Gamling ordered the doors to be opened and followed discreetly, in case he was needed, as Éomer carried his wife outside and down the stone steps and through the city. The gates were opened for the king and his family, and Éomer found a place where he sat down on the grass, holding her safely in his arms.

"Beautiful," she muttered, looking at the sky, seeing the shining, bright stars. "It is a beautiful night."

"Mama," Elfwine whispered, sitting next to his father so his mother could see him. "Mama, don't go, please don't go," he pleaded, tears flowing freely down his face. "I don't want you to go."

"Oh, darling, Mama does not want to go," Lothíriel assured him. "But this is not something I can decide. It is my time, son. It is my time to go."

Elfwine shook his head violently. "No, please. You can't go. Papa," he looked at his father. "Papa, please make her not go. Make her stay here with us."

Éomer could not keep his own tears at bay, and swallowed harshly. "I can't, son."

"But you are king! You can do anything. Make her stay," Elfwine cried pleadingly.

"Elfwine, son," Lothíriel took her son's hand in her own. "Please remember… Mama loves you. And I will always watch over you."

It was becoming harder for her to keep her eyes open. Her strength was ebbing away, and a wave of pain hit her, making her gasp for breath. She did not have much time left.

She shifted her gaze to the mountains in the distance, and admired the view of the open plains once more, before turning back to her husband and son.

"I would take away your pain if I could," Éomer said, praying for some sort of miracle so his wife would survive.

"I know," Lothíriel whispered.

At last his self-control disappeared, and he broke down. "I can't do this, Lothíriel," he whispered brokenly. "I can't… I love you too much."

Tears made their way down Lothíriel's cheeks as well. "Take care of our son... and raise him well."

"I can't. Not without you," Éomer shook his head.

"Promise me… to take care of him," she demanded, looking at him pleadingly.

Éomer nodded. "I will."

She smiled, but it soon faded and she looked at her husband with frightened eyes. "Éomer, I'm scared," she admitted in a whisper. "I don't… don't want to die."

"I know, Lothíriel…" he took a deep breath. "I love you, my beautiful princess. I love you so much." His voice broke.

"I love… you both…" she whispered, gasping for breath. "Always… and forever…"

With the last of her strength she kissed her hand and placed it on Elfwine's forehead, smiling at him. Elfwine closed his eyes, crying silently.

"Éomer…" Lothíriel looked at her husband as her life slowly left her body, the light leaving her eyes and closed, one last time.

"Lothíriel…" Éomer kissed her lips tenderly, holding his wife close to his chest. His free hand he placed around Elfwine's shoulders, drawing his son closer to him, seeking comfort as much as giving it, and they wept.

"I love you, princess," he whispered. "Always and forever."