Chapter 11

Éothain came to him in the morning to go through the day's agenda as Éomer prepared. It was his unfortunate job while they were away from the Mark; such things had not come easily to Éothain when he became the King's Captain. But the man was managing – they both were, and making do with what fates had thrust their way.

It would be a busy day, for Midsummer's Day was upon them, and it would see many celebrations in the city. Much of Éothain's words threatened to fall on deaf ears, as thoughts of certain Amrothian lady tempted the young king, but he did his best to actually pay attention. However, Éothain read him like an open book.

A faint smile appeared on the Captain's good-natured features.

"Just to check – have you been listening to me at all, or just thinking of your bride?" he inquired mildly.

"Both. I was doing both", Éomer admitted with a lopsided smile. "So I may need a cue today every now and then."

Éothain snorted softly.

"I shall stay close, then", he said wryly, though his eyes glittered in amusement. It was the best thing about him: unlike some of the royal advisers, Éothain didn't despair of him entirely if he were being distracted or thick-headed, but rather did his best to help him – or to give him a good kick.

The Captain's face then grew more serious, and he said, "You really do feel for that girl, don't you?"

"Did you ever doubt it?" Éomer asked back.

"Not particularly. Yesterday, you could barely take your eyes off of her, and the way you followed her around as she collected herbs…" said the Captain with a small, disbelieving shake of his head.

"Was it very unseemly of me?" asked the young king as he donned on his tunic. He still went without the undershirt, as the days were warmer than ever.

"No. Not for the way I saw you smile. She is your bride, and if she is such a woman that she can remind you of sweet and soft things in the middle of all your duties and troubles, then that is good. The lads and I were surprised, but not in a bad way. It's just we've not seen you act that way before. Yet your happiness means a great deal to us. We would see you enjoying the fruits of peace as the rest of us do", said Éothain emphatically.

Éomer directed a keen, long look at his friend.

"Then you don't think she's too strange, or too wilful?" he wanted to know.

The Captain winced.

"That still bothers you? There are other virtues, my friend, and perhaps I was wrong to expect you would ever seek a demure wife who doesn't burn singular among the maidens of North and South", he said carefully.

"But you are my friend, and though the choice is mine, I do not deny your approval would be welcome. That you and her might be friends as well", Éomer said, hoping he did not sound too desperate in his wish.

"And we will be, in time. You are too impatient, my king, though so it always was in matters near to your heart. So I don't blame you", Éothain replied.

The young king cast his friend a wry smile.

"That is most kind of you", he said and tied his belt around his waist. His hair was its usual wild mane, but he could not be bothered to do much about it, and Lothíriel seemed to like it either way. He almost chuckled out loud. She was a strange woman, indeed.

He cast a look at his captain.

"Shall we get going?" he asked.

"With pleasure. If you know where you're supposed to be going?" Éothain asked back with a bright smile.

"… no, but I'm sure you will remind me."


The morning of Midsummer's Day was as bright as it was fair. It was a day of celebration both in Rohan and Gondor – doubly so here in Mundburg, for year ago on this day King Elessar had wedded Queen Arwen. From the earliest hour of the day, Éomer felt like there was a sense of mirth and excitement in the air. The royal house had been decorated with flowers and garlands and bright banners, as would be the city's streets and homes. There was a massive fair that extended from the first level to the second level, filled with craftsmen, farmers selling their product, mummers and bards and poets from far and wide, and outside the city's walls commoners would gather for games and great bonfires. The King and Queen held their own feast in the Court of Fountain under the summer stars, hosting guests from prominent families of Mundburg, noble and common alike.

Éomer noted all of this was not so different from Rohan's own celebrations, though he expected in Edoras, there would be a lot more drinking, and dancing, and general madness – and many more children conceived. He almost wished he and Lothíriel could participate that feast instead of the one in Mundburg. He reminded himself at this time next year, his wish would be granted.

After breakfast and some meetings at the Citadel, the company of two kings made their way to visit the fair. Aragorn and Arwen would meet with their people, and were eager that Éomer would come and join them. Lothíriel came along too, and she walked by his arm as was fitting for a king's bride, but he didn't expect they could truly enjoy the fair, or have a moment or two for themselves. At times, he wondered at her words yesterday: This is how I first saw you. She had never told him the meaning of her words, and he burned to question her. It would have to wait until they had a better chance to talk alone.

Still, at this stall or the next he offered to purchase her whatever trinket that seemed good and pleasing, but she refused his coaxing with a shake of her head and a gentle smile. Often his eyes remained on her, though the city around them had never been quite so full of colour and bustle and wonders.

Some of the city's people were indeed met, but as chief of them Éomer would recall a young girl; unafraid she came to the Queen of Gondor, and then the future Queen of Rohan, and gave them both some wild flowers she must have picked herself. Both women accepted the gift as graciously as suited their station and the girl beamed so that the smile seemed to split her small face. Éomer smiled too, recalling something Lothíriel had told him the other night. He had never pictured himself as a father to a small girl, but now he certainly did.

His bride turned towards him and tucked one blue flower behind his ear, grinning brightly.

He raised an eyebrow, though he made no move to remove the flower.

"Should I expect this on a constant basis once we are married?" he inquired.

Her answering smile was mischievous.

"Only if you think your reputation as a fierce warrior king can take it", she told him sweetly.

"If at this point I should expect to be shamed by some flowers, then I never was the man I thought myself", he stated and made sure the flower did not fall off. Seeing the smiles on the faces of his guards, he deemed they agreed with him. And most like, they were amused to see their stern, war-hardened leader melt before his future queen. Even Éothain had an expression like he might be reconsidering his earlier doubts. As for Aragorn and Arwen, both looked at him with beaming smiles.

"Betrothal suits you. Both of you", said Arwen, her eyes glittering warmly. Éomer did not even try to hide his grin.

"I rather agree", he said and kissed the top of Lothíriel's head. She pressed herself briefly against his arm. Her presence was warm and welcome, and outrageously intimate for circumstances so public. To himself, Éomer wondered if she thought of herself as his wife already – if in her eyes, her choice was more binding than ceremonies of men. It was an exciting thought, and well within possibility. But she had spoken of not wanting to disrespect her father; he would have to bear his impatience the best he could.

They returned to the Citadel for the luncheon – a crowded affair, as most were for the time being. Private conversations remained next to impossible, though his curiosity did not cease, and Lothíriel did not stray far from his side. He kept the flower behind his ear, and each curious gaze directed at it he met with a bright smile. Apparently, Éothain was highly entertained by the affair, judging by the way the corner of his mouth kept twitching.

The luncheon was nearly done when Lord Húrin of the Keys, one of the great lords of Gondor and member of Aragorn's council, asked Éomer for a word alone. The young king's suspicions rose at once when Húrin started by saying he was not attempting to supplant his choice of bride. In his own words he was just wondering about it, even if she was Imrahil's daughter.

"Her eyes are as keen as Lord Denethor's, perhaps even more so, and yet she speaks but little. Will you trust such a wife as your queen?" asked Lord Húrin in a low voice.

But Éomer did not answer directly, because what use would it be to tell him this was not at all how she was with him. He merely gave the man a stern look and stated his decision was final – and that to speak ill of her was not something he was going to tolerate. Lord Húrin apologised for his impudence, but Éomer could tell the man well saw his disappointment, and felt the same sense that the previously friendly relationship had taken some hit that might not soon recover.

He did not return straight to Lothíriel, but rather sought for Aragorn, and finding him with a few of his lieutenants, caught him by arm.

"A word, my brother?" he asked in a low voice. So they had called one another since the War had ended; brothers in arms and alliance.

"Of course", said Aragorn and smiled slightly. He nodded his head at his lieutenants and followed Éomer some ways from the crowded centre area of the Court.

"What is it? Is something the matter?" asked Aragorn as soon as they were outside earshot.

"I am not used to second-guessing my own decisions", said Éomer, perhaps more harshly than he had intended, "but it seems that others are eager to do it. Three people now have wondered at my choice of wife, and one of them is Gondorian. Éowyn and Éothain think she is strange and knows things she should not, and Húrin suggests she's unfit because she keeps her own counsel Tell me, Aragorn, have I truly chosen poorly?"

Aragorn reached to rest his hand on Éomer's shoulder. His look was kind and sympathetic.

"Why are you so worried by what others think? When did you ever let it dismay you?" he asked back gently.

"But shouldn't a king pay heed to others' advice? Especially when it comes from those whose opinions are valued?"

"Often it is indeed so. But in this case… brother, I think you may be one of the few who do see her clearly. As for me, I think she's like a young tree that has not yet blossomed or borne fruit. Her time will come, and I think you know this. You are a man of keen and true instinct, and there are not many among my allies who stand as your equal. Follow it, Éomer, and trust it like I do", Aragorn reassured him calmly. Then a strange little smile made its way to his features, and he continued in a lower voice, "Few approved of mine and Arwen's union, and yet here we are. It won't be easy, but believe me when I say it will be worth it."

His friend's words consoled him and took away the unpleasant after-taste left by the conversation with Lord Húrin. With an easier mind, Éomer returned to a canopied table where Lothíriel had her seat with Arwen.

She looked at him with troubled eyes, like she too had been privy to Lord Húrin's words and worried over their impact on her bridegroom. But Éomer cast her a smile and made his way to take seat next to her.

"Is everything all right?" she asked quietly.

He picked up her hand and pressed his lips against the back of it.

"Aye, dear heart. All is well."


When the last rays of the Sun had gone down, the great feast in the Citadel began. It was held under the summer stars as was the age-old custom – though rarely observed in the past few years, when the shadow of Mordor grew ever heavier. Now the Court of the Fountain was the fairest Éomer had yet seen it. Garlands and flowers filled the mellow air with sweet fragrances and many lamps glowed soft light into the fairest night of Summer. In the middle of it all, the White Tree stood, basking in the mingled light of stars and lamps. Down on the fields of Pelennor, many bonfires burned. He imagined if he should go nearer to the balustrade and listen hard, he might even hear the distant sounds of music and merriment. Somehow, he felt he was still much more fitting for that celebration than the one in the Citadel.

Even so, the atmosphere was lighter than before, which Éomer approved of, and perhaps tonight he would at last be able to speak to his bride alone. The sneaky little thing might even know of some nice, dark spot… it was Midsummer's Day, although he meant to have all the possible care. It might be acceptable in the Mark to engage in heady tumbles in the dark, soft air of high summer, but he wanted to give Imrahil no reason to regret his blessing.

Like most of the ladies, Lothíriel had gone to change for the night's feast, and she returned wearing her star-gown, the same one she had used on the night of their betrothal feast. It was a sight to behold: both her and the starlit sky glittering in unison. He ogled and did not care who saw the smitten look on his face.

She smiled back at him as she came to his side and put her hand on his arm.

"I was gone for only a couple of hours, and yet here you stand looking at me as though I've kept you waiting a year", she whispered. In her eyes there was a gentle light.

"Felt like it, at any rate", he uttered back and scanned the crowd around them with his eyes. As of yet, it did not seem like there was a good chance to slip away. They might have to make a few rounds among the other guests for some small talk, and then try to take their chance.

He glanced at her and asked, "Ready to entertain some more?"

She wrinkled her nose briefly.

"Very well. If you promise all our married life is not going to be like this."

"Certainly not. In Rohan, nobody will think twice about my snatching you away from a feast", he reassured her and squeezed her hand, which lay on his arm.

Lothíriel smiled.

"Do tell me, how frequent do you think the snatching shall be?" she asked mildly.

"So frequent that it will first become a joke, and then people will become sick of it", he promised her, offering her his most charming smile. She gave him that look of both amusement and exasperation which was becoming familiar to him at this point, and most dear.

"In that case, let us entertain", she said, stood a bit straighter, and took an expression that was fittingly remote and regal.

So they made their way through the crowd, speaking with this lord and that lady – mostly idle small talk that, as Éomer guessed, did not come so naturally either for him or his bride. Even so, she was quick to prove she was indeed Imrahil's daughter: she recalled all the names and family trees of the nobles they met, knew of their homes and lands, and inquired after the health of distant aunts with all the sweetness one could hope for. Briefly and spitefully, Éomer wondered what even was Lord Húrin's basis for doubting her.

They even spoke with Éowyn and Faramir, and this time, the interaction seemed to go perfectly well: the two women spoke of herb-lore, as much as Éomer was able to make out while he spoke to Faramir about Ithilien and how was the rebuilding of Emyn Arnen going so far.

But when Faramir excused himself and Éowyn for wanting to share some words with Elphir, Éomer deemed his chance had come; the guests had settled into a slow, comfortable hum around them, and most had enjoyed at least a couple of glasses of wine from southern vineyeards. He leant down to whisper to his bride, "Do you think we could sneak off for a bit?"

She cast him a mischievous smile.

"Why not? We don't get to be alone half as much as I'd like", she whispered back; he wasn't sure if it was her intention, but there were some very tempting and dangerous implications in her tone. He reminded himself it was not his intention at all, even if it were Midsummer's Day.

He cleared his throat, and said loudly to her, "Shall we take a stroll, my lady?"

"With pleasure, Sire. Perhaps to Merethrond? There are some banners I would like to show you", she replied with utmost propriety, and so they made their way to the Hall of Feasts. It did not seem like anyone paid them any attention.

No other guests were inside at the moment – the night under the stars was too fair not to be enjoyed. All the better. Lothíriel grasped his hand tightly and began to pull him after herself. She took them to a door Éomer had never noticed before, which lead to something that looked like the servants' corridor. Resolutely she lead the way through several more doors and twisting corridors, until abruptly they came again into the sweet night's air.

It looked like a small garden, away from the noise and formality of the Court of the Fountain, though the sounds of the celebration could be heard even here. The sheer wall of the city circled the garden on one side, and towers rose up high on the other. Bushes upon bushes of white roses were blooming around them, and the air was heavy with their scent. Where the bushes did not cover the ground, there was soft grass, freshly cut. It was a small spot of beauty and peace in this mighty city.

"What is this place?" asked Éomer as he looked around.

"It's the Queen's garden. Few outside the Citadel know of this place. No wonder – nobody has kept it since my aunt Finduilas died. But Queen Arwen has restored it", she explained. Seeing his expression, she smiled and added, "Not to worry. I have her permission to come here, and I would imagine it extends to you as well."

"Very well. I wouldn't wish to intrude on her hospitality", he said, relaxing again.

"She doesn't mind. I think she knew right away I wished for a place to escape the noise of the city", said Lothíriel and walked slowly to the wall. She gazed down over the city and to the mountains on their left. Slowly her features relaxed and her shoulders dropped into a less rigid pose. Being under constant observation was wearisome, indeed.

"Then it is good you will have a garden of your own at Meduseld", he said, coming to stand next to her, and anxiously trying to think of the most natural way of introducing the topic he had in mind.

"I'm delighted to hear it", she said and looked up at him with a slight smile. "Now, did you lure me out here to ravish me, or some other wildman business?"

"I won't deny it would greatly please me", he said, rougher than intended and trying not to think of the sheer audacity of tumbling with her in Queen Arwen's own garden, "but I did wish to talk to you alone. I had a feeling it would be easier for you in private."

Her smile faltered and she looked at him with suspicion.

"What is it, then?" she asked warily.

"What you said to me yesterday when we were about to return to the city… I was just mounting my horse when you said it was how you first saw me. I have wondered about it since then", Éomer began, slow and quiet, and keenly watching her reaction.

She looked away and lowered her hands on the wall, as though to grip it for support. She said nothing as she stared down into the city.

"Lothíriel… you have foresight, don't you?" he asked, at last forming the question that had long eluded him, and yet as he now looked back, he knew it had been staring at him in the face from the beginning. It was what had made Éowyn and Éothain so queasy, wasn't it? For foresight was not common among Rohirrim. He suspected few even among the Dúnedain saw as much and as clearly as her.

For the longest time, she did not speak or move. She stood there, staring down as though a silent statue carved in the days of old. But finally she let out a heavy sigh and her shoulders drooped.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly, still not facing him. It didn't sound like an honest question – she probably knew already what his answer would be. Yet some things must be said aloud no matter what.

"For a while, I did not. But people keep telling me you say things you can't possibly know, and so you did that very night we first met. There are not many like you among my people, and so I did not understand right away. Yet eventually, you told me so yourself", he replied seriously. He wondered if he should be more disturbed than this. Should a man be worried to marry a woman who knows his thoughts and sees his path better than he does himself? Perhaps he couldn't be dismayed because he already trusted her with these things, and knew they were safe in her keeping.

"Yes, I suppose I did", she sighed and shook her head. "I am always saying things. People don't like it. Foresight is not unheard of among my people, but others with this gift – or this curse – learn to conceal it. For me, there is no veil between what is and what may be. You don't know how hard it can be to remember others do not see the world like I do. Father thinks it may be because of our Elven blood… it made my sight different than it usually is for the Dúnedain. Yet at times I wonder if something went crooked with me."

"Lord Húrin told me you rarely speak. Is that what you do, when you try to hide it?" he asked.

"More or less, depending on the company. But neither option seems right. If I speak, then I am the strange woman who can't hold back her prophecies. If I'm silent, then I'm ill-bred and indiscreet", said Lothíriel with a surprising amount of bitterness in her voice.

He put his hand on her shoulder.

"For whatever it's worth, in my eyes you are neither", he said to her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She looked immensely troubled.

"I didn't tell you because… for a moment, it felt nice to simply be accepted as I am", she said slowly, not meeting his eyes. "And because for so long I was afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Éomer asked, frowning. "All I can see is your courage."

She looked at him with a joyless smile.

"Your confusion does your credit and I adore you for it. Yet for one like me there is plenty to be wary of. Once, years ago, I saw something… I knew then that if I married, I would be used for my sight in games of greed and power. I would be a slave to my husband's ambition, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless he was the wise fool", she said, and Éomer looked at her in wonder. A wry smile appeared on her features, "It never made sense to me before… you may imagine my surprise when one night, a man came to my workshop, asked me to marry him, and called himself just that. And that is why accepted you. Otherwise, I would have refused you."

"I knew it", he breathed in astonishment. "I felt your reluctance – I was sure you were going to say no. So that's why you like to call me the wise fool?"

"Yes", Lothíriel replied. "Because for me, it's a hopeful thing… because as much as you shined and drew me in only seconds before you said those words, I didn't think I could have you."

"Well, you have me", he said to her and pulled her in his arms. His bride, the woman who saw things which had not yet passed – who had probably known him even before they had met. The thought was bewildering, and yet it made so much sense.

He pulled back slightly, regarding her features, "Your father knows – and your brothers too? That's why they thought you wouldn't accept me?"

"Of course they do. They are some of the few people who know, and don't care."

"And they also know about this – this wise fool thing?"

"Yes. They… can get protective sometimes. I know they hate the idea of some ambitious lord using me to gain power", Lothíriel said. She let out a small, teary laugh. "Although, after the war Amrothos once said you are the closest thing to 'the wise fool' he ever saw. In case you wonder, he's enjoying this very much – he even said maybe he has caught some of my sight."

Éomer snorted instantly.

"I doubt it", he said, which made her chuckle. Gently, he lifted her chin, and spoke in softer tones, "You didn't see anything about me, then? You didn't know you were going to marry me?"

He couldn't tell for sure in moonlight, but he thought some colour appeared on her features.

"I had some suspicions. I've seen you at times, and certainly in ways a woman only sees her husband. But not enough to be sure until you proposed. Never once did I dare to hope that there would indeed be a man outside my family I could trust with my sight. For a bit, on those nights we met in the garden, I even wondered if I would lose my mind and make some kind of an… an agreement with you", she admitted, and for some strange reason, he was pleased by this information. Yet he also shuddered at the idea of what pain it must have been to her, feeling the mutual attraction between them and thinking it could never become what she wanted.

"Béma, you weren't lying when you spoke of getting 'previews'", he muttered, feeling something hungry shift in the bottom of his stomach.

"I love the way you say that word, Béma..." she said and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing closer. And then he could no longer resist.

It was wild and rough at first, and there was something giddy and relieved in the way she responded his kisses. Until that moment, he thought later, he had not really understood what it meant to her that she was accepted by him – and not just accepted, but beloved whether she had this gift or not. Moved by this thought, he held and kissed her with greater tenderness, as though to reassure her just as by actions as by words that he was indeed her wise fool.

She melted against him. Had her lips ever been quite as soft, or as supple? In a way, it was as though she was only now daring to kiss him with her full potential. Her hands moved against him like she knew him indeed, and he was inches away from losing all control and touching her just as boldly. When she tentatively rubbed her hips against his, he felt like sheer sparks of fire were igniting across his skin and in his brain. Béma! He was very close to losing the wise and becoming a complete fool.

And then they were both gasping for air. Her fingers were tight at his hips, further suggesting the idea that she didn't think much on whether they were married or not. Éomer had to bite his lip and remind himself of three older brothers, ready to pounce at any sign of untoward behaviour. And yet the skin of her neck was so soft, and the way it trembled at his touch… he could see the silver pins in her tresses and thought of how easy it would be to let her hair down…

"We should probably get back", he stated hoarsely, though he did not let go of her.

"We should", she agreed, but the grip of her hands only became tighter. He stared at her, and she stared right back, until at last with great effort he withdrew his hands and stepped away. She made a small, displeased sound, but did not try to put her hands on him again, except to place her fingers on his arm.

"Did you truly see sunlight that night we first met?" he asked her in a low, hoarse voice.

She smiled.

"I did. You are going to be magnificent."

The thought made him tremble, and for a while, he could not speak another word.

They made their way back through the same corridors as earlier, but before they reached the crowd in the Court, she asked him in whisper, "Will you tell your advisers about me?"

"No, I think not. It is not their business what you see, and though I trust them, I would rather not tempt them with the idea of your sight at my disposal", Éomer replied, having regained his voice and his composure once more.

"But tell me honestly, aren't you at all intrigued to think what you could achieve with my sight to guide you?" she asked him gravely.

"Not really", he said evenly and glanced at her. "I did not particularly want to become the King of Rohan The lands between mountains and the Great River are fair and rich enough to sustain my people. I have as much power as I need, and earthly fortunes – well, the wealth of Rohan is its horses, and Firefoot already is a lord among them. A woman such as yourself can counsel me well enough even without foresight."

She was silent for a moment, looking ahead in thought.

"In that case, I shall try and learn to be less strange in the eyes of Rohirrim, and yet be glad to give you my aid whenever my sight permits it", she said at length, quiet and solemn, as though she had just made some tremendous choice.

Éomer let out a breath he had not noticed holding. It felt like in a single moment, his whole world had changed in some small but significant way. Just like that, she had promised him something she had never meant to admit to any man!


After the celebrations of Midsummer's Day were finished it was time for Éomer to return home. Taking leave of Lothíriel was no easier than it had been before, though she was calm and smiling as they said their goodbyes. In fact, to him she felt most like herself ever since they had met again on the shores of Dol Amroth, and he thought of how deeply affected she must have been these past few months, and how she had agonised over the secret between them. Éowyn was more agitated when she insisted Éomer to deliver a letter to Leofrun, and to report soon how the news of his betrothal were received in Rohan. Imrahil sent him on his way as one would send their son. It was a strange but not unpleasant feeling.

Before he left, an agreement was made they would meet again in Mundburg some time in the autumn, but the idea did little to appease to his anxiety; months ahead before spring would be painfully long.

On his way back to Edoras, Éomer thought much of what he had learned of his wife-to-be. There had not been many chances to talk about it, because they were constantly followed by chaperones, and he wasn't sure how much privacy she needed to comfortably speak of her unusual gift. Éomer was also doubtful of writing to her about the subject; he had a feeling these were conversations one ought to have face to face.

At first, he wondered that he had not realised the truth sooner. But then, as he had told her, such gift as hers was barely more than a tale among Rohirrim. No wonder both Éowyn and Éothain had thought her uncanny. And while Éomer himself had met others with the gift of foresight, none of them were like Lothíriel. She spoke freely and unexpectedly of what she saw, and he could understand why it would unsettle those who were not prepared for it.

As for her consent to marry him… it still made him dizzy to think that something Éothain had first said and he himself had quoted in a moment of desperation was in fact the crux of why she had agreed. When he started to consider the implications on fate and chance, he got even more light-headed. Either way, until the last she had meant to say no. He could only imagine the agony she had been through: he had not held himself back when going at her, and all she had wanted was to accept him, and yet every moment for her had been shadowed by the dread of her worst fear coming true. Now he surely understood the way she had acted the day he had gone to seek for her in the workshop, and why she had in quiet pain said she was scared of him.

What of Rohan, then? Doubtless many of Rohirrim would share Éowyn and Éothain's initial sentiment, but Lothíriel had insisted she would try and not give them a reason to think her strange. And hadn't his sister and captain both reconsidered their impressions after seeing the young king and his bride together? All in all, Éomer was at this time too glad and hopeful to worry too much over it. Even if she occasionally said unusual things, after the Ring War Rohirrim were much better acquainted with Elves and Halflings and many other things out of legend than before. Times were changing, and like Éothain himself had said, Imrahil's name would grant her leeway until she had established herself as the Queen of the Mark.

She had promised him sunlight and he had complete faith in her.

On his way home, Éomer decided to visit Healding for one night. It was still ways to go to Edoras, and the town was conveniently situated. Yet if he were completely honest, it was not just because of convenience. Lord Eadwig and his daughter Guthild had been some of the most eager when it came to a possible match, and he wanted to make it clear how things now stood.

Was it a foolish or a strange thing to do? Perhaps. But deep down, he felt like these two people had placed such hopes in him, and to keep them guessing would be wrong. A lord such as Eadwig, respected among his own folk and by other nobles of the land, was not someone Éomer wanted to offend.

So he arrived at Healding with his company after the long journey from Mundburg. His arrival had been spied before he reached the gates of the town, and in the courtyard of Eadwig's Hall stable-hands and servants were standing ready when the King's Guard came to halt.

Eadwig himself was not to be seen, but Guthild stood at the doorway of her home, and she was looking at the young king with shining, hopeful eyes. A regretful twinge went through him. He didn't look forward to disappointing this maiden.

"Éomer King! What brings you to our humble home?" asked Guthild eagerly once he was at speaking distance. He dismounted and surrendered Firefoot to a stable-hand standing by.

"We were on our way from Mundburg back to Edoras, and decided to pay a visit to you and your father. Is he at home?" he inquired, glancing around and half expecting to see the lord of Healding appear.

"He left earlier today for some business in our homesteads in northern parts, but he should be back tomorrow. Even so, I know he would insist on offering you our hospitality. Supper is soon ready, Sire, and it would be my honour if you and your Riders shared it with us tonight", Guthild replied, curtsying at him as delicately as any Gondorian lady.

"Thank you, Lady Guthild. It is most appreciated", said Éomer and suppressed a sigh.

He was given rooms, and water to wash, and not an hour later he was seated at Eadwig's table. Guthild had offered him her father's own seat, which Éomer accepted with growing resignation. At first, Guthild was offering to serve him herself, but he insisted on her taking a seat next to him and sharing the supper. What a perfect wife she would have made. Her impeccable manners, her respectful conduct, and even the spotless hall around them all spoke in her behalf. And her beauty was more obvious than Lothíriel's, what with her shining bright hair and fine features. However, whenever he looked at this woman, he knew with her something would always be missing. He couldn't help but think and miss the knowing smiles and penetrating looks, those gentle teasing words and the voice that spoke without restraint or calculating its impact. Fancy that, finding this kind of straightforward sincerity in a lady of Gondor instead of a bold lass of Rohan!

Be that as it may, Guthild did take a seat next to him and filled her own plate with thick, savoury stew and broke off a piece of still warm bread. Perhaps the poor young woman thought he wanted to get to know her better. He swallowed hard, knowing he could no longer postpone the conversation.

"My lady, I admit I did not come here only in the hopes of enjoying the hospitality of your Hall. I wanted to talk to you, and to your father", he began, painfully aware of how much this sounded like he was about to propose. Indeed, she lifted her eyes, wildly hopeful again, and he opened his mouth to continue as quickly as possible. It wouldn't do to keep up her hopes like this.

But Guthild spoke to interrupt him.

"Sire, I cannot tell how glad I am to hear it. Our hall is at your service in every way. In case you wish for company later tonight -"

That was too much. A dreadful sensation nearly overcame him, like she had just offered something that wasn't truly wholesome. Quickly he lifted his hand to interrupt her again.

"My lady, please let me finish first", he said a bit too loudly, at which several eyes of others sitting nearby were raised to study them in curiosity. Éomer cleared his throat and cast a sharp stare at those curious eyes. Then he faced again the lady, who stared straight back.

"Lady Guthild, you and your father have indeed been most welcoming in all our interactions, but let us not pretend ignorance. I know what hopes you have nurtured for me, and for the hope of an alliance between our Houses. As for me, it is a great honour, for your family has served the Mark well since times out of memory. It's all the more reason for me to be frank with you. My lady, I know it may disappoint you, but I need to make it clear that I'm not going to ask for your hand. Next spring, I am to marry Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, daughter of Prince Imrahil", he explained in a quiet voice so that only she would hear him. He hated how stiff and formal it all came out, as though he was reciting some report out of memory. Yet what else could it be? He hardly knew Guthild and come to think of it, every time they had spoken so far had felt like a court function. Perhaps it was unkind of him to think so, but he expected even the attempt of siring a child on her would have been like some kind of a performance.

Guthild's eyes widened just slightly and she lost a bit of her colour. Otherwise, she controlled her face carefully. Just how severe her disappointment was, he could not tell, but he was sure it hit her hard. All the same, Éomer felt like he had somehow betrayed her.

"If I may ask", she said at length, folding her hands neatly in her lap, "did you choose her for power?"

He ground his teeth together for a moment. Her question hit a nerve for more than one reason; Lothíriel had accepted him only because she believed he was not power-hungry.

"I did not. She's not a woman you can choose. In fact, if a choice was made, it was by her", he replied evenly.

Guthild said nothing at first. Her face was still paler than normal, but her features betrayed nothing. Even he, who prided himself in his skill of reading people, had no idea of what was going through the young lady's mind.

She would have made a fine queen in her own way. Many who thought Rohan took too much after Gondor would have loved her as their lady. But the time for that had passed already. From the moment Lothíriel had stepped into his life, it had been too late.

"It is her, then? A woman who would be queen?" asked Guthild in a low voice. She did not look at him, but rather considered her supper, which sat before her barely touched.

"No. She had no ambitions for the crown before we met, and perhaps still doesn't", he said. It felt awkward to be explaining himself and Lothíriel to this young woman, and maybe he was indulging her far too much to be doing it. However, Eadwig would probably have these same questions, and if his answers retained the good faith between their Houses, then so be it.

"Then how can she possibly manage as a queen?" Eadwig's daughter wanted to know.

Now there's that Eorling bluntness. The thought almost made him smile, even if he did not much enjoy the sentiment behind it.

"As well as anyone can – and as well as I can manage as a king, I suppose", he answered curtly. At this point, it was getting harder to remember why he needed to remain courteous.

So he took a deep breath and looked at her, trying to catch her gaze but not quite managing. He said, "I am truly sorry if I have caused you a disappointment. It was never my intention. But in this matter I will take my own counsel. Hopefully in time, you will see it was the right course all along. A woman such as yourself will find ways to work for the good of our people, even if it's not by the King's side."

So he said to her in the hopes of reminding her of the first, the most important thing about the crown: it was not glory or power or ambition. Before a king or a queen was anything else, it was the servant of the people. Or the shield, or the sword of the people, as so many kings of Eorl's line before him had been.

It was one of the last things Théoden had told him. In his bones, he felt that of Lothíriel and Guthild, the former was more likely to understand what it meant.

But Guthild's face was blank and her posture stiff as she rose up on her feet. As graceful as ever, she curtsied at him.

"I beg your pardon, Sire. I must go and make sure all is well in the kitchen", she said, and before he could say anything, Guthild had already moved away.

He suppressed a groan and leant back on his seat. He had half a mind of chasing after her, even though he knew it would be a waste of time. She needed her time simmering down. Sometimes he truly envied Amrothos for his silver tongue; Imrahil's youngest son would surely have known how to smooth down any ruffled feathers. Elven poet you are not, cousin mine, Théodred had once said, and even now his voice seemed to be speaking from years ago.

Perhaps he should have offered to make inquiries on her behalf at Edoras. He was sure his advisers could name at least one or two unmarried lords near to the throne; at least Erkenbrand had a find young son only couple of years her junior, and he did not yet have a wife. However, Guthild struck him as a woman who didn't accept seconds. Not to mention, she might have regarded it as an insult added to the injury.

"How did it go, then?" asked Éothain. The Captain had kept his distance, knowing this was one conversation his king wanted to have alone. Still, judging by his expression, he already got the general gist.

"Well, at least she didn't throw me out", Éomer muttered and took a long sip of his ale.

"You may want to appease to her, or to her father, once the dust has settled somewhat. While your bride doesn't strike me as an avaricious woman, I think she will want other morning gifts than a set of enemies made before she ever set foot in Rohan", Éothain noted quietly.

Now the young king could not hold back his groan.

"Aren't you just the ray of sun and optimism?" he said under his breath, even though his captain wasn't saying anything that hadn't crossed his own mind already.

Éothain's eyes, usually so good-natured, were now serious.

"'Remind him of the worst'", he said, slow and quiet. The words rather took Éomer aback, but Éothain continued already, "That's what Théoden said to me. You probably don't know it, but he spoke to me briefly that night we camped under Min-Rimmon before the battle. There was so much he wanted to teach you, but I think he already knew he wasn't going to survive. I suppose he expects us to figure this out together."

Éomer relaxed somewhat and cast a weary, humourless smile at his oldest friend.

"Then he was smarter than either of us", he said wryly.

Éothain smiled as well.

"Aye, that he was. But we aren't going to disappoint him, are we?"

"Never. And I'll be damned if I fail him before even having a chance of showing what I've got."

Éomer retired soon after supper. Guthild had not made another appeaance, and it was a serving woman of hers she sent to inquire whether there was anything more he needed. He asked her to compliment the mistress of the hall for the meal, although he suspected in Guthild's mind it would be empty flattery after he had refused her.

No wonder he missed Lothíriel, her easy affection and calm presence, more than usual tonight. Yet it would be many long weeks, perhaps months, before he saw her again. So he settled down in his bed, spread a piece of parchment on his knee, and began to compose a letter for her. It would probably be messy thanks to the circumstances, but he knew she wouldn't mind. He pictured her as she travelled back to her home by the sea, and then a Rider putting his message in her hand; the slight smile and twinkling of her eyes. Perhaps she would read it in her workshop, hands stained with this or that herb, before she took her own writing easel and began her answer. Maybe now she wouldn't hesitate to write about the things she saw.

But as he laid himself down to rest, his mind returned to Éothain's words, and he wondered if he had indeed made enemies for Lothíriel by refusing to think of any woman but her. Who could blame her, though, when they saw her with him? So Éowyn had said, and so would his people understand sooner or later. And Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil of Dol Amroth, would bring much good with her to the land which had so suffered under the yoke of war. Just like she had given hope to him, she would give hope to Rohan.

In time, even Guthild would see that.

To be continued.


A/N: I return with an update! I've been pretty busy lately, and haven't had too much energy for writing, so this chapter surely took its time. Either way, I'm fairly happy with how it turned out!

Altogether I expect this chapter will clear out some of your questions about Lothíriel. Yes, she is foresighted. Many of you have known this for some time. While foresight is not uneard-of in Middle-earth, I would think it's not that common, either. With Lothíriel I decided to give it my own little spin. Tolkien's characters credited with foresight always speak their prophecies with certain gravity, and you get the feeling it's not so frequent for them. However, she sees much and often, and like she tells him, for her there's no difference between what is and what may be. For the record, she's not all-knowing, hence her having uncertainty about Éomer's significance for her own life even when he was first proposing to her.

Foresight is something Tolkien always mentioned specifically about Dúnedain, which is also why I decided to make it a matter of legend among Rohirrim. This is partly the reason Éomer takes his time figuring it out, but it's also because his feelings for Lothíriel cloud his judgement. Plus, it's why Éowyn and Éothain think of her as strange; they're simply not used to someone like her. I hope this chapter will also explain her actions prior to the proposal and her sudden acceptance.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think!


xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Glad to hear it!

Melissa Black13 - You had the right idea! I hope you liked the little bit of reveal in this chapter. :)

EStrunk - Happy to hear you think so! I have been enjoying writing her in this story very much, and I'm glad others are fond of her, too! Hopefully the conversation between Éomer and Éothain in the beginning answers your question.

I rather hope her being hurt by Éowyn's reaction is a welcome balance to her otherwise calm, at times even otherworldly appearance, but that could just be me!

LH Wordsmith - Thank you! :)

Glad you liked the sibling interactions! I rather enjoyed those bits as well. I hope her brothers' talks with Éomer show the differences between them.

Lothíriel definitely lives at times in her own world, and it's very much because of his feelings for her that he hasn't seen through it until now.

Thank you for your lovely words!

sai19 - Thanks! :)

Jo - Happy to hear it!

Katia0203 - :D Now that would be something, but I'm afraid my version isn't quite as inventive!

Susnsmsh - Thank you! I've taken particular enjoyment in writing the conversations in this story, so great to hear the dialogue is working that well!

I hope you liked this chapter, and the part where her gift is revealed!

sailor68 - It's not completely extraordinary in Middle-earth, but it's rather the case of her gift working a bit differently than it normally does. Plus, there's the additional stress of her dread of being used for her sight.

Catspector - Glad you liked it! It was delightful to write her brothers coming at him with their two cents. :D

Simplegurl4u - Thank you for your lovely comments! I just love it when readers take their time to comment on different parts on my stories. :)

The romance does move rather quickly, but I too wanted to have it essentially rooted in friendship and this sense of companionship that somehow became when they first met.

You're definitely right about her being fey! Éomer himself doesn't realise it at first - or maybe he does, but he's definitely biased in her favour. On the other hand, his feelings also cloud his judgement in some regards. It's also why he doesn't (yet) have an issue with her way of walking abroad alone.

I hope her explanation in this chapter is sufficient to clarify that "push and pull" thing she had going on! It's basically the mixture of being overwhelmed this charming man who is clearly interested in her, and yet believing with all her heart that it can only end in hurt and heartbreak for her.

Guest - I mean to, but real life has been taking its toll on me!