Chapter 2

Days went by and became weeks. Then weeks turned into months, and high summer, golden and fair, arrived. The fields of Rohan had never been more green or as rich. Even with the devastation left behind by Saruman's devilry, many things bloomed in the land in such abundance that it was as though the very world still celebrated the passing of the Dark Lord.

It was a peculiar time. For past couple years, war had never wholly ceased in the Mark. True, sometimes weeks had gone by without a skirmish with orcs. But those quiet moments had been but lulls in a great storm, a chance to catch one's breath and prepare for the next onslaught. Éomer had known not to trust the silence. And every time, he had been right.

Now the storm was over. Patrols were still run and professional éoreds remained in a state of vigilance, for Éomer as well as his Marshals were too used to strife to trust the calm. Even then, there was quiet at the borders and peace in the fields. Grass began to grow where torches had burned the land. The river Isen flowed calmly, its stream clean once more, and Dunlendings kept the truce. Only a few stray orcs were spotted skulking in the wilderness, but they ran at the sight of Riders, disheartened now that there was no great master to command them.

It really was a peace.

A gleaming victory it had been, but the aftermath was not quite so. Burned homes, broken families, ravaged fields. Widows with wan faces and orphans, lean and hungry. Riders with broken bodies and shattered minds. Empty stables, scattered herds, orchards hacked down and put to torch in malicious glee. Many came to Edoras to beg for help in starting their lives anew. The cup of victory had a bitter aftertaste, and Éomer knew he would have to work hard and long to rebuild all that had been torn apart during the war. Himself, he had always regarded a warrior and soldier. Sword and spear and shield were his tools and he knew them well. Now he had to learn the trades of a politician and emissary, wielding a quill rather than his blade, and all without the help of his uncle.

He had never done anything more difficult.

And yet, as trying his days were in those first weeks and months, sometimes he could still hear that soft, comforting voice in the vaults of his mind: I see the sun shining down on your path. Was it foolish to cling to her words like this? Perhaps. On the other hand, in times of hardship, a man has to take hope and strength where he can.

Things eased a little when the first shipments from Gondor arrived. Grain and livestock were delivered to hold back famine in the coming winter. Aragorn had been generous in sending goods to aid the Rohirrim, though some said it was only what Stoningland owed as weregild for the Riders who had fallen in the great battles of south. But Éomer himself thought these were debts that could never be counted or repaid. If the Mark had not ridden to war, even now the darkness would reign in the western fields and there would be no more songs or hope of joy, only death and misery.

All the same, wounds began to close in the land, even if they did not yet heal.

He rode back to Mundburg in August. It did not promise a well-deserved break from the toils of ruling a war-trodden land, even if he were glad to meet his friends. For the task was to bring Théoden King home and bury him at last, so that he could have his long sleep close to his fathers. Though there was joy in the great escort that came to honour the fallen king, to Éomer it remained an ever-present weigh on his heart. His grief for the man who had raised him was not yet spent.

Still in those few days in Mundburg, his eyes wandered at times in crowds. He sought for a head that remained unbowed, a face untouched by toil, and eyes that shined calm and bright even in the moment of sorrow and shadow. She had to be there somewhere.

But he searched in vain. The maiden was gone.

Thankfully, there were friends around him. While Éomer was in good terms with all the company that would join Théoden King's funeral procession, most of his time he spent with Aragorn and Prince Imrahil and his sons, who were Mortal Men like himself. But Meriadoc too now had his lasting good favour, and an unlikely friendship had grown between him and Gimli Glóin's son. He'd never have expected such a thing, but the Dwarf's gruff humour suited his own, and it seemed that he enjoyed their verbal sparring and friendly insults as much as Éomer himself.

It was easy to get along with Imrahil and his kin. He was a fair-minded lord, well-spoken and quick to friendship. His sons each had inherited these qualities in at least some measure, even Amrothos who had none of his father's dignity. They had a sister, mentioned a couple of times in conversations. But she was not in Mundburg.

"Lothíriel did not travel with us from Dol Amroth. She prefers it there, for Father's court is much smaller and less crowded", Elphir said, soft and solemn, on the evening of his arrival. It was after the meal while they stood drinking some wine and exchanging tidings. It was a fair night and stars glittered brightly in the sky as they stood just outside the doors of Merethrond. The Citadel was well-lit with torches and braziers, granting a warm tone to the white walls that gave the city one of its many names.

"Or you could say she doesn't like the pomp here in Minas Tirith", Amrothos quipped for his part, leaning lazily against the door frame. His eyes strayed occasionally to follow the shapes of noble maidens that moved inside the Hall, but surprisingly he kept also following the conversation.

"Father was disappointed, of course. I think he wants to introduce you and Éowyn to everybody and their mothers in Dol Amroth", said Erchirion, smiling faintly.

Éomer smiled as politely as he could and said nothing. He was meeting all the people he needed and more, and he had no doubt he'd forget about at least half of them once he rode home. Not to mention, his Amrothian friends would probably think it quite peculiar that the chief part of his thoughts concerning females was not given to the fine ladies of noble Gondorian Houses, but a nameless young healer who could very well be a commoner.

But then, the Lady Lothíriel was a member of Imrahil's family, so an introduction was obvious and inevitable.

"Can you imagine? She was quite at home during the siege of Minas Tirith, but she says all these celebrations are tiring!" Amrothos said and rolled his eyes, like he couldn't think of anything more absurd.

"She was here during the battle?" Éomer asked in surprise. It was difficult to imagine that a lady of her standing would remain and face near certain peril – or that Imrahil would allow it.

The three brothers exchanged a wary look.

"Yes, she was. We were all here, trying to do our part – us on the Pelennor fields and she in the Houses of Healing", Elphir opted to speak at last. Éomer raised one eyebrow, intrigued that neither he or his brothers tried to explain the matter any further. On the other hand, what business of his was it?

"I might have met her at the time, then", he said at length. A curious thought flitted across his mind. What if…

But he swatted that idea quickly and took an ample sip of his wine. A lady so noble, no less than the daughter of Prince Imrahil, would have made herself known. Somehow he couldn't imagine Imrahil's daughter carrying water for the wounded. As for himself, he had not strayed far from Éowyn's chamber. There had been too many people in the Houses to keep count of, some just for a quick visit and others never to leave again.

"Well, yes. She did say she had seen your sister", Erchirion noted. Éowyn hadn't mentioned meeting the youngest member of the family, but he assumed she hadn't kept a record of all the people she had encountered during her time at the Houses of Healing. But he also recalled his sister had not identified the mysterious girl by his description. This, at least, confirmed that the healer had not been Lady Lothíriel.

"Why don't you come visit us some time? Father would love it. And it might do you well to get away from Rohan for a bit", Elphir offered suddenly. His brothers were nodding in appreciation. Amrothos even stood straighter and his eyes lit up, as though a hundred plans had abruptly come to life in his mind.

"I'm not opposed to the idea. But I understand the journey is long, and I don't expect to be able to make it at least this coming winter. It will be a difficult season in Rohan", Éomer said gravely. Granted, things were not as bad as they could have been, but private holidays would have to wait until the situation was truly more stable.

"Of course. You'll come when you can", Erchirion said, which earned agreeing hems from them all.

No more of the matter was spoken of at the time, and Éomer quickly forgot about the absent Lady Lothíriel. But another woman who was gone did visit his thoughts at times, and he wondered at the clarity of her memory in his mind.

When the body of his uncle was carried on a bier out of the city, and overwhelming grief made him feel like a thousand daggers were stabbing his heart, he could almost hear her voice: I see the sun shining down on your path.


It was truly over after Théoden's burial.

Soon enough guests took their leave of Edoras and with that, it felt like the last breath of the Ring War had passed – even if its consequences would long impact the western lands. Uncle had his final rest and at his funeral feast, Éomer was formally named the eighteenth King of the Mark. There was no getting away from it now: he was truly a sovereign lord.

Some wonder and disbelief still clung to this thought, but more than that, there was a restlessness deep in his bones. He paced without realising he was doing so, it was hard to focus, and he kept waiting something bad to happen. It wasn't long until Éowyn told him to go and get some fresh air, enjoy the crisp autumn wind and sun on his face. Weren't there some eastern lords he had meant to pay a visit, anyway? He was getting on her nerves.

He decided to take her advice.

It felt good to be in the saddle again. Éomer tried to go out riding at least once every day, but it was usually for short periods – a few moments at dawn stolen just for himself. But this journey meant several nights under the sky, and when they made camp on the first evening, he realised how much he had missed this feeling and the familiar routine of patrols. Even Firefoot seemed to be relishing the opportunity to stretch his legs like in old times. As Éomer lay down on his bedroll, listening to the sounds of men and horses, and searched familiar constellations in heaven's field, he felt more like himself than ever since that damned war.

Which was a good thing when he reached the old fortified town of Healding. It was considered one of the chief shields of the capital against the northern marches and eastern fields, where only nomadic herders would roam without settling down anywhere for long; past couple years, even they had been wary of unguarded lands. Many of them had taken shelter near Healding. The lord of that part of the realm was named Eadwig and he was of an old line and shared some relatives with Éomer himself.

The young king was received warmly and he was glad to see that the locals appeared genuinely glad to have their liege-lord visiting. In some parts of the realm, in Westfold especially, he had sensed some scruples among the folk. Of old a rivalry existed between the West-Mark and the East-Mark – there were sayings along the line of "nothing good ever came east of Edoras", or jabs like "as witless as a Westfolder" – but he suspected it was also because Théodred Prince had been dearly loved by the people he had protected. Some saw it as a great injustice that he should die and a cousin from another branch of the House would take his rightful place. Éomer knew his own defenders were quick to point out his heritage as a descendant of Eorl from his both parents, but he tried not to involve himself in those conversations. He wanted to be a king for the whole people, not just squabbling factions.

Eadwig Lord of Healding was the most forthcoming among the townsfolk. He was tall and strong, though his active years as a Rider were long past. His long, honey-blond hair was in a thick braid that consisted of several smaller ones and his face had a weathered look of one who has spent much time in free winds of the Mark. Blue eyes peered keenly from under bushy eyebrows. Eadwig was dressed in wool and leather, good sturdy materials, and a round golden brooch, fashioned into a multitude of interlacing knots, glimmered on his chest. He and his men had defended Healding valiantly, so that even with the war and its repercussions the folk in these parts had not suffered too badly from orc attacks and the like.

This became quite clear as Eadwig proudly took him around the town, introducing him to the people, presenting this or that project, the new houses being built for the various refugees from borderlands who had come to seek shelter here, and the wealth stored in granaries after a prosperous summer. What Éomer did not realise at the moment was that this all was merely an introduction to something else. When he did, he felt like a fool. He still had a lot to learn.

Later in the same evening there was a feast in his honour at Eadwig's own hall. The same well-off air ruled there: furniture was made by expert hands and polished until it shined, the hangings were spotless and rich in colour, and household servants looked hale and glad. It appeared most of the town was present and all the benches were packed with people. The lord also made it clear his prosperity was not just for show, but served the visitors from Edoras with generous hand. It was hard not to feel flattered, which was how Éomer began to suspect there was something behind it.

Éomer had seat in Eadwig's own chair and the lord of the hall was right next to him. Their conversation was easy and pleasant as they spoke of next spring and whether it would be safe to let the herds graze in the grasslands of Eastemnet again. It had been unthinkable while orcs from Mordor and Isengard were at large. But if they meant to rebuild their herds once more, the rich grass of eastern marches would be very much needed.

The young king was listening to his host when he abruptly caught some movement at the corner of his eye. Then a soft, female voice spoke.

"My lord. Welcome to Healding", it said and he looked up to see a young woman standing before the lord's table. She was the image of Northern beauty, her golden hair falling freely on her shoulders, and her red dress emphasising the glow of her rosy skin. Her eyes were bright and blue, glimmering almost mischievously, which impression was somehow made stronger by the dusting of freckles across her small nose and cheeks. She was tall and her figure was ample, especially at the region of her bosom and her hips. Ten years ago, Éomer would immediately have forgotten everything in the world except her.

Béma, was he glad to have that decade behind his back now.

"My daughter, Guthild", Eadwig introduced the young woman. She bowed her head demurely as she offered a bronze chalice filled with mead straight to Éomer.

He couldn't quite refuse, even if the implications of such deed were clear for anybody to see. Indeed, it felt like the entire hall was watching. Suddenly the extensive tour of the town earlier today made a whole different kind of sense – as did the fact that Eadwig had invited the entire population of Healding to witness. Suppressing a groan, Éomer reached to take the chalice from the young lady.

"Pleasure to meet you, Guthild", he said politely. Just behind his right shoulder, he could almost feel Éothain sympathising with him.

"And you, Sire", she said and flashed him a beaming smile. She curtsied and turned away and he hated to wonder whether the sway of her hips as she slowly walked was calculated or not.

"My daughter has had many suitors for years now", Eadwig said nonchalantly, although his conversation was everything but. "I have refused them all. I'm inclined to think we both agree that the heiress of such prosperous town should not accept but the very best."

"Aye. A father wants to see his child wed well", Éomer said, trying not to sound very strained. "I can make queries in Edoras in your behalf, if you would like."

Admittedly it was not a very good diversion. In fact, he couldn't think of any device that would distract Eadwig from what clearly was a topic near to his heart and mind. The man resembled him a bit of a hound that has discovered a particularly juicy bone.

"You are most obliging, Sire. But if you'll allow such forward speak, I do wonder what are your plans for yourself? You must know that many of your people are concerned. Your predecessor and his first heir were both lost so quickly", Eadwig said and his blue eyes burned even keener than normally.

"I have not made any plans. I'm afraid this winter will be too busy for it, anyway. It's a question of great importance and I shall not give it any less than my full attention", Éomer stated, hoping that his voice relayed a proper sense of finality.

"Very good, my lord. One is glad to know you take the well-being of your people so seriously. The land has suffered greatly", Eadwig conceded. His tone was mild, but the burning of his eyes did not cease. "But even so, you must know that my family is at your service. I would be most honoured if my daughter were to be considered when the appropriate time comes. She's quite the accomplished young lady, the finest horsewoman you will find in Healding and learned in the lore of our people. She already runs my hall, now that her mother is no longer with us, and you can see for yourself that she does so very well."

"I shall keep it in mind, Eadwig", Éomer said reticently. He didn't mean to come across so and he almost bit his tongue. The man was only trying to look out for his daughter; it was no reason to be disrespectful. And he had been a king for less than a year. He couldn't afford to make enemies this soon.

"I hope that you do, Sire. A king does need a queen by his side. Many think Théoden's rule met such difficulties towards the end because his own hearth was so quiet and empty", Eadwig said and sipped his ale. Éomer made a non-committal sound, took a large mouthful of mead, and remarked on how delicious it was. Whether it was true that people thought so about his uncle, he couldn't say. Few of them would say it straight to his face, at any rate.

Be that as it may, he was fairly sure this was only the first of many, many times he was going to be questioned in the matter of marriage.


Little by little, things started to get better. The first days were the most difficult and the longest. But as autumn turned to winter, and no catastrophe befell the realm, Éomer began slowly to feel like this might pass eventually. Granted, there were minor crises to be dealt with, a few marauding orcs stealing supplies here and there and disputes over how the scarce goods should be distributed among the people, but solutions were found and general peace was kept. He rode often to visit his folk, even in autumn rains and winter cold, and never quite feeling warm or dry enough. But if he wasn't willing to put himself in line, how could he expect anybody else to do it?

Often he visited the fresh green mound covered by Simbelmynë that now stood in the second line near the gates of Edoras. He thought of the burial of his uncle and the days that spread longer and longer between this date and the one he had last spoken to the old man. How he missed Théoden! How much had been left unsaid and untaught! While he had somehow managed to prevent their land from immediately going to the orcs, there were still moments when he intensely yearned for the guidance of his uncle.

Éowyn had things to say about it, of course.

"Uncle wouldn't want you to keep wandering to his grave like some sort of a sleepwalker. I know that you miss him, and I do too! But he wouldn't want us to get stuck. We both need to look ahead", she told him more than once. Of course, her choice of words varied, and sometimes there were more of them, but the core message remained the same.

And she wasn't wrong. It was necessary to move on and learn to live again. It was just so much easier for her, because Éowyn had the certainty she wasn't travelling that path alone. And she was not the old Éowyn; something new and bright had grown out the cracks of her heart, and Éomer knew it was in good part because of Faramir. If he were brutally honest, he had to admit there were times when he envied the two so much that it felt like his guts were being twisted around. He wasn't proud to feel so, but what could he do when it seemed that everybody around him were picking up the threads of their lives and making something new out of it? How could he fight that ugly sensation creeping on his mind when the slow watches of night passed, and he kept turning in his bed, anxious for some peace? Yet he did not know even himself what it would take to discover that elusive thing. Perhaps he had lived too long in unrest and peril to truly tame this sense of longing. At times, he burned to see the strange woman from the Houses of Healing, shake her by shoulders and tell her how wrong she was about him.

But at least he would always have Rohan, he considered at times with varying levels of bitterness. It was rare for a king to have any personal bit of happiness, never mind the bliss of Aragorn and Arwen in their white tower. And she had promised him sunlight, but perhaps not repose.

So passed that first winter, and it felt longer than any such season ever had in his adult life. Most of it he spent buried in many labours, but at times in Meduseld when crowds were gathered for this or that occasion, Éomer half-heartedly studied the ladies present and tried to recall which one might be available – and what political implications he would be making if he chose this or that one. He was well aware that no matter how he chose, somebody would complain. Westfolders would expect him to extend his arm to them, for he was from the East-Mark himself and after the suffering of the western part of the realm, their spirits would be greatly lifted if new queen came from among them. On the other hand, the last Eorling-born queen, the consort of Fengel King, had been a lady of the West-Mark. She had been succeeded by Morwen Steelsheen of Lossarnarch in Gondor, and the Princess Elfhild had died before Théoden became king. Eastern lords had already dropped hints that it was high time they and their daughters most especially were remembered in Edoras. And like he had guessed, many others came after Eadwig, and though there was variance in how subtle they were, their intentions were very clear to the young king. Eadwig himself brought his daughter to Edoras for Yuletide and during that week, Éomer felt like whenever he turned, Guthild was there, smiling slightly and giving him every opportunity of courting her.

While this went on, Éomer felt increasingly like there was not a single part of his life left that was his own. As such, the invitation made by the sons of Imrahil grew in his mind and became more and more tempting, and though he knew the journey wasn't going to solve any of his troubles, at least it would give him some much-needed distance and time to think. So he hoped.

It wasn't long that he made his decision: once spring had come, and Éowyn and Faramir were married, he would travel to the city of Dol Amroth by the sea.


Once the uproar of the wedding had finally died, nearly a month after the guests had departed at the end of April, Éomer determined it was time.

This he also decided to tell Éothain one warm, sunny afternoon as they were returning from the training field and the two men took seat on the great stone steps leading up to Meduseld, waterskins in their hands. Éothain was one of his oldest friends; they were both of the stock of Aldburg and had been born in the same year. As children they had roamed and caused different sorts of mischief in their home town, and then entered training at the same time, both dreaming of great deeds in battle. Éothain had been there as Éomer raged his way through the stormy years of his youth and eventually witnessed him growing into the mantle of the Third Marshal. It only made sense that Éothain should become his captain, as Éomer trusted few men as truly.

"So, what is it you've got in your head now?" Éothain asked now and splashed his head with some water. He had rightly noticed that his king's mind was not quite in the training. A few new bruises bore witness to that. They may be friends, but in training ring Éothain gave no mercy to anybody.

"I was thinking of visiting Dol Amroth soon. Imrahil's sons asked about it again at Éowyn and Faramir's wedding", said the young king as he raked a hand through his sweat-damp hair. He glanced at his friend, "It would be a good time to go now. The worst seems to be over and there are no weddings to plan. I owe Aragorn a visit, anyway."

"But in truth you just want to take a holiday", Éothain said lightly.

"And what if I do?" Éomer said and leant back a little bit. "You were there for that madness. If it doesn't earn me a few weeks off, nothing will."

"Of course it does. Nobody thinks you didn't give your all, and more", his captain stated and sounded more serious. But then he punched Éomer's shoulder and resumed to the earlier tone, "You're wrong about weddings, though. There's always your own to plan."

Éomer snorted loudly and opened his waterskin. He was tempted to splash it over his friend, but he suppressed that thought. He took a long sip and poured some on the cup of his hand to wash his face.

"Not you too, Éothain. If I hear one more person saying the word, I shall go mad and run into the wild", he muttered glumly.

"What's the matter, though? You've been weirdly against it since the war ended. Don't say it's because you're a woman-hater in secret. We all know that is not the case", Éothain said, seemingly unsure whether he should approach this seriously or not.

"I'm not against anything – except maybe feeling like a piece of pork loin that is being appraised at the autumn market", said the young king and failed to hide his scowl.

"Ten years back, you would have thought it the best thing that ever happened to you", his friend pointed out.

"Ten years back I was an ass."

"One could say you still are."

"Well, then I'm just an older and more tired ass than I used to be", Éomer said and took another drink from his waterskin.

The captain looked at him curiously.

"What is it that you want, Éomer?" he asked in a low but keen voice. In this one question, there were a number of others that he didn't say out loud. What was he looking for when he could choose almost any young lady of the Mark? What restlessness kept his heart and mind so closed that he was preventing himself from moving on? Éothain had witnessed some offers close by and knew well that among them, there were some very good options. Why would none of them please the young king?

"... I don't know", Éomer replied at length, but the very moment those words left his mouth, he remembered a pair of sea-grey eyes. He wanted to shake himself for the sheer absurdity of it – and for letting the happiness of his sister and his friends fool him into thinking it was a rule, not an exception.

"Is it because you've already met somebody?" Éothain inquired, as though he had read his friend's thoughts.

"What makes you ask that?" Éomer asked back, directing a sharp gaze at the man next to him.

A sheepish look came to Éothain's good-natured face. He was not one for ruses or keeping secrets, and at once the young king could tell the captain knew more than he was letting on.

Narrowing his eyes, Éomer commanded, "Let's hear it, then."

"It's just Éowyn, you see. A few days before the wedding we were talking and she was telling me about this conversation you had with her after we rode back to Mundburg from Cormallen… she thought you might have met a lady at the House of Healing, and she wanted to know if I had seen anything. But as you well know, I snored away most of that night, which I also told her. But it got me wondering", Éothain confessed in embarrassment.

Éomer cast a look of one who has long been suffering to high heavens. It wasn't hard to guess what had initiated that particular conversation between his sister and the captain. He was only surprised that she had waited this long to badger Éothain about it. As happy as she was for her approaching wedding and marriage, she also worried about her brother. She wanted him to have all that she did, too – and not a few times during the winter, she had made thinly veiled suggestions about this or that lady. But as the time of her nuptials grew close, the whole matter had probably been closer than usual to her thoughts. She must have recalled the conversation back in Mundburg when he had so foolishly mentioned the healer, and so she had tried to find out if Éothain knew anything.

What a pair of schemers.

"Béma, she must have been desperate to try and involve you. I told her it was a five minute conversation and I never saw the girl again. So even if I were harbouring some misguided notion over chasing a Gondorian commoner – which I am not – there is very little chance that my path will ever cross hers again", he said firmly and drank some more. He rather wished it was hard liquor.

"All right, all right. No need to get angry. But you've been so withdrawn and lost in your thoughts whole last winter, and I feel like I hardly know what's going on in your head. I worry about you, lad", Éothain said, sounding unusually grave. His blue eyes were regarding Éomer keenly, but his bearded face had that look of support and loyalty that was well known to the young king.

"I'm sorry if I've made you feel like I don't trust you. It's just… all this has been a lot. It's hard to make sense of even to myself, let alone to others", Éomer said slowly and as he spoke, he made a general gesture before himself, encompassing the courtyard that remained busy in its everyday comings and goings, and the city beyond it. Seeing the faces of his people, he thought about what it was like to learn to be a king all by yourself, and how lonely and difficult it was when you had to rebuild yourself while rebuilding a kingdom, and meeting all the pleading eyes of those who depended on you. He also shuddered at the sheer fact of Éowyn leaving and how every day, he still thought about his uncle and Théodred and whether they would approve of his decisions or not… if he really had any right to sit on this throne, after all.

Éomer didn't say those things out loud, but he felt Éothain's hand on his forearm, and saw that same fierce constancy on the features of his friend. Such was the nature of their friendship that the captain knew all these unsaid things from half a word.

Éothain patted his arm and sat back again.

"So, when do you wish to leave? I should like to know when to make preparations", said the captain, speaking in a mild and jovial tone.

"You think it's a good idea to go, then?" Éomer asked half-audibly.

"Aye. You're right to say it's been a lot, this last year. And you deal with things I never thought I would have to advise you in, but maybe your new friends in Stoningland have an idea or two. Who knows? Maybe you'll meet your future wife and fall head over heels in love with her, too", Éothain replied and shrugged.

"That doesn't sound very likely", Éomer snorted as he got up on his feet and stretched. After almost thirty years of not submitting to such dramatic feelings, he was starting to think there was no such woman out there who might change his heart.

"Stranger things have happened. I'm sure Thengel King said that exact thing before he met Morwen Steelsheen", Éothain commented, undaunted by his king's doubtful notions.

Éomer decided the argument was not worth pursuing. And he still had plenty of work waiting for him, especially if this plan of travelling to Dol Amroth was to be realised.

"You focus on making ready for the road, and let me worry about my lovelife, Éothain. You don't see me giving marriage advice to you and Scýne, do you?" he quipped as he offered his hand to his friend and pulled him up.

"And I thank Béma for that every day. Toads know more about marriage than you do", Éothain shot back, his blue eyes glinting in amusement. No doubt he was glad to see his old friend bantering like they used to in days gone by. In fact, Éomer wasn't sure when had been the last time they had really talked like this.

Maybe Éothain had a point, and he really had been in some deep waters this last winter. But he was determined to rise to the surface again. Hopefully, his time in Dol Amroth among friends would show him the right path.

To be continued.


A/N: Here is the new chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it.

This chapter covers an entire year, but I felt there was no particular reason to dwell on it more in detail. Still, I hope it gives you an idea of what Éomer is dealing with at the time and what may be waiting for him in Dol Amroth.

Some background info:

Béma is the name of th Vala Oromë, the Huntsman of the Valar, who loved dearly the woods of Middle-earth. He was said to have brought the ancestors of mearas over the sea. Rohirrim revered Béma in particular, but in my own stories I sometimes add Vána, his spouse, as an important patron of Rohan's people.

Weregild means essentially blood money, and it was used as compensation for the family of the slain in some early Medieval societies.

Stoningland was the name Rohirrim had for Gondor in their own tongue.

Fengel was the father of Thengel, who married Morwen of Lossarnarch in Gondor. Thengel was famously at odds with his father and he lived effectively in exile until his father's death. His son Théoden was born in Gondor, but the family moved to Rohan after Fengel's death. Théoden married Elfhild who bore him a son, but she died shortly after.

Thank you all for your reviews, favourites and follows! I am always glad to hear what you think about the story.


fantasticferret - Thank you! :)

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Glad you liked it! :)

cuteutgirl04 - Yes, he is still very much in the dark about her! I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Guest - Thanks!

Tobiramamara - Thank you very much!

EStrunk - Thank you! I am quite eager to show more of their interactions! And I admit I did enjoy that bit with Éowyn, too.

Rho67 - Thank you for your lovely words! It's always a bit of a challenge to step into the shoes of a man, but it's also rewarding in the end. And I do love writing Éomer, even if Lothíriel's POV is often more easy for me. I am glad to hear I have managed to give him such depth!

WillowMist14 - Thanks!

Tibblets - Glad you liked it!

chloeafter - Thank you!

JennyVDM - Well, I write and publish as fast as I can, but writing always takes its time and real life has its demands, too.

Serni - Hope you will enjoy the story!

Guest - Yes, I think it's most likely for him to be in that set of mind. Not only Éomer has gone through some heavy personal losses, I can't imagine it would be easy for him to learn to be a king in such a difficult time. But he strives to do his best in matters of duty.

Jo - Thank you! :)

Mary07 - Glad to hear it! I hope you will enjoy this one as well!

Catspector - Thank you for your kind words! I do try to make effort for the opening paragraphs. For me, they are often the very ones that determine if I will read the story or not. So it's important to catch the reader's attention and want to make them read more!

Irgendwer - Thank you! :)

Mathde - Thank you very much! Glad to hear you like my stories so well!

Estel la Rodeuse - Yeah, it's a very good setting for their first meeting. The whole idea of this chance encounter of kindred spirits in the middle of war and death, finding that one good and sweet thing in one another, feels very dear to me.

I hope you will enjoy the rest of the story!

sploosh93 - Thank you! You could say they've met already, but let's see how the official meeting goes!