Chapter 16

It was late when Lothíriel finally passed out next to him. She didn't even stir when he briefly got up to blow out the candles and add some wood to keep the fire going. Éomer himself had no intention of staying up any longer: he too was very tired, though pleasurably so. With a mighty yawn, he returned to her side, arranged blankets and furs so that his wife wouldn't get cold during the night, and settled down. For a little while he watched her, basking in the sweetness of the moment, but soon his eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. With a contented sigh, he wound his arm around her and let sleep come.

It was light in the bedchamber when he slowly came around again. Usually, he rose at dawn. But perhaps after the past few days' madness, and especially last night, sleeping this late was reasonable.

When his eyes fluttered open, he saw he was being watched. Lothíriel was facing him, both hands under her cheek, and she regarded him with a slight smile on her face. At first he felt disoriented. Lothíriel in his bed, apparently naked? Seemed too good to be true. But then he recalled it was the morning after their wedding, and she had every business of being in this situation with him.

The morning after the wedding. Béma, they were actually married!

"Good morning", she whispered when she saw he was awake, evidently oblivious to his confused musings.

"Good morning to you as well", he replied, his voice gravelly with sleep. She made a soft, contented sound when he moved closer to kiss her, long and tender. That, at least, finally cleared any doubt of whether this was a dream or not.

She moved her fingers across the side of his face, brushing away a stray lock of tangled hair. He could only imagine which one of them looked more wild and haggard after last night's revelries.

"I was watching you sleep for a while. You look nice when you're so oblivious to the world. Softer, somehow", she murmured, but if she had hoped for a nice little conversation, she was to be disappointed. At this point, he had finally woken up and come to terms with certain excellent facts about their marital status, and it was simply too many hours since he had last kissed her properly.

In a swift movement he turned his wife on her back and covered her slighter form with his own.

"Is that soft now?" he growled against her mouth.

She gasped in surprise, but was quick to adjust herself, and to wrap her own body around his.

"Let me check", she uttered back, and for a while that was their chief concern. It was slower this time, and there was more focus and exploring. It took some manoeuvring at times, because she was that much smaller than him, and he didn't want to crush her with his greater body mass. He loved the little expressions that passed across her face, especially when she was near her release. And just being in the circle of her arms and resting his head against her breast while she ran her fingers through his hair was a wonderful, wonderful thing.

"What would you say to breakfast?" he asked some time later, once he had finally got out of the bed and splashed his face with some water. It was a poor substitute for the sorely needed bath, but he was not yet ready to think that far.

"I would love it. I feel like I could eat a horse", said Lothíriel from her seat on the edge of the bed. Judging by the twinkle in her eyes, the humour was not lost to her.

"As the King of Rohan, I am horrified to hear such a statement from my queen. Please don't eat Firefoot", he quipped. She threw a pillow at him.

Éomer picked up his robe from the floor, where it had ended up last night, and wrapped it around himself before making his way to the antechamber that led to the King's rooms. There guards were standing by at all times of the day. Both two were trying not to grin while he was ordering some breakfast and enough bathwater for two.

Returning to the bedchamber, Éomer halted at the doorway to watch his wife. She had found and dressed in her shift, and sat cross-legged on the tousled bed. Somehow she had also discovered his comb and was using it to undo the worst tangles in her hair. She raised her eyes and smiled.

"What are you looking at?" she asked.

He shrugged and returned the smile.

"I'm looking at my wife", he merely said.

Her expression grew thoughtful.

"I suppose I didn't fully know what I was getting into when I decided to marry a Rohirric man", she mused half-audibly.

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" asked Éomer as he stepped further into the room.

"I think it's good. In Gondor, a high-born man isn't really supposed to show his emotions, or his affection. It happens, of course – not all of us are so emotionally constipated. But your gaze is so straight and bold. One only needs to look at you and they will know how you feel about any person that is near you", she said slowly.

"A poor quality in a king, do you think? Shouldn't I try to hide my true feelings?" he asked her as he went to take a seat next to her.

"Don't ask me. I'm but a student of herb-lore", Lothíriel said, shrugging slightly.

"A student of herb-lore and a queen", he pointed out.

"Yes, but a person can be many things", she said and lowered the comb. Her hair already looked much less dishevelled, though it still had a fluffy quality to it. Lothíriel reached to touch his hand, and she said, "I do not think you should doubt yourself, or try to hide who you are. Rohan is fortunate to have a king with a heart like yours. There are times and places when feints and hidden truths have their use, but this is not it. Your age is not it."

"Ormar told me something similar when we were visiting Mundburg."

"I'm not surprised. He understands people", said Lothíriel and continued to comb her hair.

Breakfast arrived soon after, as though Leofrun had taken a cue from Lothíriel and foreseen the hour when the newly-wed couple would send for food. The housekeeper had also guessed both would be famished, and so sent a hearty meal for them. Usually, Éomer just wolfed down his breakfast and went off to see to the day's business. Now he saw the virtue there was in sharing it with another and taking time to actually enjoy the food. They would have to do this frequently in days to come.

After they had eaten, he suggested taking a hot bath. Lothíriel cast him a curious look.

"A bath sounds like a wonderful idea, but do you mind if I check something first in my rooms? The knights were supposed to bring my herbs there, and I'd like to see how they're doing. There wasn't much time for that last night", she said, glancing at the door that led to the Queen's rooms.

"Of course, though I still can't believe you brought living plants with you all the way from Dol Amroth", he said with a slight shake of his head.

Lothíriel let out a small laugh.

"It is unusual, isn't it? Well, I want to experiment with them – see if I can get any to grow here. I didn't bring any exotic plants, but only those I think have an actual chance of survival. I did a lot of reading last winter, you see – tried to find all the such plants that grow in both our countries", she told him. Then a thoughtful look came to her face, "Though I do wonder if I might grow some in my rooms... if there's enough light..."

"You are a strange woman, wife mine", he stated and gave her a kiss. She laughed again.

"You would know", she replied and then made her way to the Queen's rooms. He followed, not because he thought he would be of any use to her when she tended to her plants, but simply because it was nice to watch his lady.

As soon as she had entered her bedchamber, she picked up a pitcher of water and began to examine the pots and boxes laid on all the available surfaces. There were surprisingly many of them, and briefly he wondered at how all of this had even fit inside her carriage.

However, his attention was not long fixed on the plants and herbs. Quickly his eyes were drawn to her bed and the thing sitting there. A black cat had somehow appeared in the Queen's chambers and decided to use her bed as his own.

He had no idea of how the thing had got here. There were cats in Edoras, surely, and their merit in keeping mice at bay in storehouses and stables was recognised. However, they were not generally allowed to enter people's homes, and nobody that he knew of would keep them as household pets. Once, a stray cat had entered Meduseld's kitchens when the door leading outside had been left open. He wouldn't soon forget the sight of Leofrun chasing the creature out with a broom, screaming her head off.

The cat turned its head to look at him with vivid, green eyes. He stared at the thing, and it stared right back.

It was loathing at first sight.

"Lothíriel", he said at length, not moving his gaze from the intruder, "I'm terribly sorry – I don't know how it happened, but there seems to be a stray cat in your bed."

"A stray cat?" she asked, glancing briefly away from her work. "Oh, he's not a stray. He's Cúran."

"... that thing is yours?" Éomer asked after a brief moment of disbelief.

Lothíriel put down her pitcher and left the herbs for a minute. She made her way to the bed and picked up the creature, which immediately started to purr.

"Of course he is. Would you believe I found him a few years ago on the cliffs? A scrawny, famished little thing he was, and no sight of his mother. I can't imagine how he got there. He would surely have died if I had left him where I found him, so I decided to bring him home with me and nurse him back to health. But when Cúran was well again, he had already grown attached to me, so I decided to keep him. I couldn't well leave him in Dol Amroth, could I?" she explained, gently running her fingers against the cat's head and back. Curiously enough, Éomer noticed the thing had white toes in one paw, though the rest of him was black as night.

"You never mentioned you had a cat – or that you meant to bring him along", Éomer said, staring at the creature as if it might pounce at him straight from her arms.

"I didn't? I was so sure I had told you. Or did I just see something that implied it?" Lothíriel wondered out loud, her brow creasing as she raked her memory. He recalled what she had told him – that she couldn't always make a difference between what was and what would be. It rather sounded like that was exactly what had happened here.

There was probably something about his expression that alarmed her, for she looked at him worriedly, and quickly continued, "Was I wrong to bring him? Is he not welcome?"

He wanted to say that no, he didn't particularly like the creature, at least based on the first sight. But this was now her home, too, and he saw the protective way she held the thing in her arms, as though dreading it would be ripped away. It would be a poor start for their marriage if he asked her to get rid of what was obviously a beloved pet. He understood well how special the relationship between man and animal could be; he didn't need to look any further than Firefoot.

"No, it's all right. Meduseld is now your home and if you want him to stay, then he will. Just keep him out of the kitchens. I may be king but even I dare not go against Leofrun", he said at length.

Lothíriel smiled again and she came to give him a kiss. The cat stopped purring.

"Thank you, dear!" she said and leant back. "I really should have made sure I had told you about him. I'm sorry I didn't."

"It's all right. You didn't mean harm", he said simply. She smiled and put the cat back on the bed, where it curled up again. With a sigh, Éomer took a seat there as well, but apparently this was not appreciated: the thing's ears flattened against its head and it hissed at him. He bared his teeth and growled straight back at it, never minding whether that was below his dignity or not. No small, annoying furball was going to stop him from entering his wife's bed.

Lothíriel did not turn back from her task, but this little confrontation had not escaped her notice.

"Be nice, you two", she commanded as she continued to inspect her herbs.

Éomer glanced at the cat. Be nice? Easier said than done.

Either way, he responded with a mild "yes, dear."

The beastly cat decidedly ignored him.


It appeared all Lothíriel's plants had survived so far, although she was a bit concerned about one specimen with strong fragrance. She called it basil and said it did not take well to cold airs; she had suspected from the start it might not survive the journey.

"But it's no worry. I've got seeds, too, and I will try to plant them later in the summer. Maybe I can get it to grow in my rooms", she chatted lightly. Éomer did not have much to say to that, so he just hemmed in agreement.

Now that she had checked her plants and made sure that her cat was comfortable – the thing already had small ceramic dishes on the floor for drink and food, and a cushioned basket – he was finally able to persuade her to join him in a bath. She dropped her shift on the floor of the washing chamber with a wrinkled nose, and said, "I feel so filthy, they may have to burn this thing."

"That delightful piece? I forbid it", he commented, already seated in the tub.

She cast him that look he knew so well, both amusement and exasperation. Then she climbed in the tub, and after shuffling around a bit, they found a nice position. He sat behind her, and she settled down between his knees, her back against his chest. With a contented sigh, she relaxed there and placed her head on his shoulder. The air was thick with warm steam; it felt so damp it was a wonder the candles didn't go out.

The moment was simply perfect. His wife rested against him in a hot bath, and all was quiet around them. Later they would have to get dressed and go entertain their guests, but this was their private haven. At long last, he had to admit having to wait for her for so many months had truly been worth it. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her head.

"Must we go and meet the world today? I'd rather stay here for the rest of the celebrations", she broke the silence after a while. Her fingers were drawing odd circles across his knee and at times on his thigh.

"I'm afraid it's required. At least we're not expected to make an appearance before afternoon", he replied, though he shared the sentiment. Standing in ceremony could be so cumbersome.

Glancing at the side of her face, he asked, "You don't enjoy the merrymaking?"

"Yes and no", she replied after a moment. "It's mainly knowing that from this day on, my every move will be observed and analysed. In particular, how soon I conceive."

"Why does it worry you? Wasn't it yourself who told me we'll have sons and daughters? he asked her.

"In time, yes", Lothíriel said quietly. "But no matter how soon or late it will happen, it won't ever be good enough. Am I worthy of standing by your side? I sometimes ask myself that. And I know they will ask that same question more often than I would like."

He let out a sigh.

"You can't live your life like that, Lothíriel. If you second-guess your every step, then that's all you're going to achieve. Rohirrim need more than that from their queen", he told her gravely.

"I know. It's just... I chose – I wanted – the man, not the king. Bear with me until I find a way to choose both of them", she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Was it her words, or her tone, that sent the wave of heat and tenderness through him? He couldn't say. Either way, he pulled her even closer to himself and let his hands roam over the round curves of her body. Soon enough she turned around and repositioned herself in his lap, bringing their bodies together once more.

Afterwards he helped her to wash her hair – a wonderful task, one he decided he would be glad to assist in future – and there was mutual effort in soaping one another. She didn't mind using his things at this time, as her own soaps and oils were not yet laid out in the washing chamber. They only left the bath when the water was barely lukewarm, and seeing the way she was shivering, Éomer quickly wrapped his own robe around her. The sight of her in the too large garment was simply adorable: her hands vanished inside the sleeves and the hems hung well below her knees.

Unfortunately, leaving the bath also meant having to make ready for meeting their guests for a luncheon in the hall, and Lothíriel would have to shoo him out and call in her maids. No doubt they would greatly enjoy the opportunity of spreading gossip of how they had attended to the Queen, who was wearing the King's own robe.

Éomer could have sworn the cat looked at him in malicious glee when his wife dismissed him.


He dressed quickly enough, but he expected it would take longer for his wife to get ready. So he took a seat and poured himself a drink while waiting for her. There was one more thing he wanted to talk about with her before they went to join their guests, and so he pulled closer certain maps and a couple of documents he had brought to his rooms beforehand for this purpose. There was her morning gift: lands to her name in the East-Mark and a herd of her very own. In Rohirric standards, he had been generous, but he wondered what her Gondorian relatives and peers would make of it.

There was the workshop, too, but that he wanted to show to her in private.

She was a vision when she emerged at last. Her gown was soft, green velvet and the colour went better with her than he had guessed. At the bosom and the shoulders there were intricate white embroideries like drops of snow in grass. The braids in her hair were unmistakably Rohirric, but the familiar pearls on her neck reminded one always of Dol Amroth by the sea. Her appearance was a curious mixture of both North and South.

Éomer got up on his feet and made his way to her. For a short moment, he considered just whisking her back to the bedroom. It took some effort to banish that idea, even knowing they were already expected in the hall and her maids would not appreciate him undoing their work with her dress and hair. But she was lovely, and he could not help but kiss her long and deep. His bride made a soft noise in the back of her throat, but submitted nonetheless.

When he pulled back, she gave him a look that was probably meant to be reproaching, but the glimmer in her eyes rather belied it.

"We're making our guests wait", she scolded him gently, though her hands lingered on his shoulders.

"They can wait a little bit more. I have something for you", he said pleasantly, pulling her with him to the table. She saw the documents and the maps, but did not understand them right away, and cast him a nonplussed look.

"This is your morning gift. Nothing spectacular, I'm afraid, but these lands are yours to do with as you please. There are several good farms there and the income is yours to spend. And this herd of horses – if it's managed properly, it can make even a queen a wealthy woman. You'll be secure even if something happens to me", he told her, eager at first but growing more serious.

It was a possibility, after all. Even with all his prowess on the battlefield, he too could die. If such a thing came to pass, he'd have her provided for, whether she married again or not. Was it a morbid thought for the morning after their wedding? Maybe it was. Yet even in the happiest of days, a king ought not to forget he was mortal.

Lothíriel's expression remained even. If the idea of him falling in battle disturbed her, or whether she was taken aback by her morning gift, it did not show. Keenly he sought for some sign of what she was thinking of, and eventually she lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Thank you, dear. I can tell you have been generous; do not think I'm not grateful. But the truth is, you could give me a hoard of mithril and Elven jewels, and I would not be impressed. For you have already given me something more precious than all the treasure under the Sun. You gave me a life that I didn't think I could have", she said gravely, resting her hand on his.

He considered this for a moment. Her response was not particularly surprising. This was the woman who had never taken off the rustic bracelet of leather and pearls since he had fastened it on her wrist. She loved small, simple things: her beastly little cat, her herbs, her Rohirric cloak.

"Well, I can't say I expected to dazzle you with rich gifts. I know these are only a minor issue in this marriage. But they are not not completely unimportant. I would not be the first King of Rohan to die before my time. And if it should be so, I would have my wife safe and comfortable for the rest of her days", he said slowly. How to explain this need to take care of her? He knew she could manage, whatever befell. But he loved her, and wanted to know she was all right – even in the occasion they were parted forever in this life.

Lothíriel shook her head in a sharp, violent motion.

"You'll be fine. You'll live to a fine old age and have a dozen grandchildren running about your feet before your work is finished", she told him fiercely.

"Have you seen it?" he asked her.

"Maybe. But I do not speak so because of my foresight, but because I must believe it", she replied. Her look was troubled and her fingers pressed against his hand as though she was scared he'd vanish if she didn't hold on to him tightly enough. And looking into her bright eyes, both wise beyond her years and yet vulnerable, he could tell this fear went deep. And why wouldn't it? He was one of the few people who knew of her gift, and yet could protect her. Just now she had told him she had not thought she could have this life, and if he were gone, then that life would be lost, too.

Maybe they understood one another better than he had realised. For hadn't spent half his life being afraid of such a loss?

Gently he cradled her to him, never mind how that motion might wrinkle her gown.

"No need to be troubled, love. I have no intention of going anywhere", he murmured the gentle reassurance into her hair, and she made a soft sound in agreement, though her hands still held him tightly.

After a while, she pulled back and looked up at him. Her eyes were calm once more, and whatever dread had held her moments before was now gone.

"How soon do you think we can go and see those lands?" she asked.

"Let's try to get through these celebrations first. You're not eager to travel so soon after the journey from Dol Amroth?"

"Yes and no. It's good to be here at last, and I do like Meduseld, but I also want to see and learn everything. The winter was such a long time to wait", she said, eyes now glittering in unveiled excitement and expectation.

"Don't I know it", Éomer muttered, dipped her back, and kissed her one more time.


The third day after the wedding, there were games down at the plains in the honour of the new queen. Various competitions would take place, wrestling and sword fights and archery among other things. Éomer was not sure of how interested Lothíriel was in these, but he knew it was more for the amusement of the guests – and of any common folk that managed to find a viewing spot. Not to mention, it was a chance for friendly contest between Eorlingas and Gondorians.

So far time had simply flown by in a flurry of music and laughter and joy. Never in his adult life had the whole of Edoras felt so completely, unashamedly happy. Crowds bustled in and out of Meduseld, filling the streets of the capital, and everywhere Eorlingas and Gondorians mingled freely. Little conflicts took place, of course, but there seemed to be a sense of common agreement among people: the peace was not to be disturbed, and if any fights did break out, they were quickly dealt with by bystanders.

Later in the evening, there would be dinner in Meduseld and Rohirric minstrels came to perform before the wedding guests. Many songs of the Mark were sung, but also of Gondor in the honour of King Elessar's company. Lothíriel listened to the music of her new land in rapt attention, and her eyes had a faraway look in them, as though she was seeing things long past through the music; perhaps she did. But as happy those moments were, Éomer was always impatient for when he could retire with her.

But as of now, the night was still many hours away. The day was sunny and warm for springtime, though occasional gusts of wind flew over the fields. Lothíriel patiently endured his fussing when he insisted for her to take her cloak along just in case.

Down at the plains, a place had been cleared for the games. A large square area had been fenced and there the contests would take place. The audience crowded and sought for better viewing spots, noise grew and fell, and vendors from the city moved among them selling all kinds of sweet and savoury things to nibble on while the spectacle went on. By the field was a platform with seats for both the royal couples, and few choice companions of the wedding party. Some industrious tavern keeps had brought barrels of ale and mead to the site, but guards of Edoras kept an eye on things and were quick to escort out any drunken troublemakers.

The games began with a display by four Riders of King's own Guard. They performed some of their fancier tricks and this time, Éomer was certain there would be no accidents. When the group was riding around the square in full gallop, and making a show of turning around in the saddle without slowing down the horse, Lothíriel leaned closer to him.

"Can you do that, too?" she asked him.

"I know a few things. It takes a lot of practise, but it can be useful in a tight spot. Once in a battle, I had lost my spear. So while Firefoot was going at full speed, I slid down to the side in my saddle, and grabbed a spear from the ground. When I had got up again, I used the spear to run through a warg", he answered. The memory was more sensations than anything to him – he could still recall the feel of sweat against his neck, Firefoot's muscles straining under him, and the desperate lunge he had made to grab the spear from the ground. His arm still felt the collision of metal and wood against the exposed flank of the warg, the thick furry hide and the sinewy flesh beneath. Sooner or later individual battles, save for those like Helm's Deep or the Pelennor fields, faded away. It was the details that stuck.

"That sounds dangerous", she said quietly.

"Battlefield always is."

"Are you ever scared out there?"

"Not really. There isn't time for that", he replied slowly. "Battle is... for me, it comes easily. It's a very single-minded thing. I may worry beforehand, but in the middle of it I think of nothing else."

She reached to touch his hand, and he read something troubled in her features. He intertwined their fingers and smiled at her.

"No need to worry. The great battles are past. I do not think I shall have to ride out so often now, even if Aragorn says unrest will come sooner or later. But that is a concern for another day", he told her.

"Yes, I'm afraid it is", said Lothíriel and looked away. He wondered what she had seen, but there was no time to ask. His Riders had just finished their display and had now gathered in line to receive the deafening applause and shouting of the audience. Once it died down, Éomer stood up, welcomed all to the games, and announced the first contest, which was archery. There were both Rohirric and Gondorian participants, carrying weapons typical to their own homelands. It would be interesting to see how they fared in the competition. Even so, he wasn't going to ignore his bride. Often he turned to speak to her and to explain some technique, or the differences between his people and hers as far as warfare went.

After the archery followed group fights, and in some of them Eorlingas were pitted against Gondorians, and in others they fought together in mixed groups. Especially in those latter ones, Éomer could see that the camaraderie of the Ring War still lived – like flashes from the fields of Pelennor and the Black Gate, where the Men of North and of South lived and died together. Gondorians were better foot soldiers, but many of the Rohirric warriors possessed brutish strength and wild unpredictability that sometimes won the struggle. He suspected this would allow many of them to prevail in wrestling. At any rate, he was glad to see his own people do so well.

When the group fights were finished, there was a break in the games. A few performers, minstrels and conjurers, came to entertain the crowd. But Lothíriel reached for Éomer's hand, and asked, "Do you mind if I go and stretch my legs? I'm feeling a bit stiff."

"Not at all. Do you want me to join you?"

"Thank you, but perhaps not. I think I'd like to get to know some of the ladies a bit better", she replied and offered him a cunning little smile.

"I see. Get going, then", Éomer said, smiling as well. She reached to kiss him quickly before standing up and exiting the platform. He saw she was quickly joined by noble women both of Rohan and of Gondor, and at his signal, a few green-cloaked Riders of the King's Guard. Her protection was no longer the task of Swan Knights.

Himself, he had an errand to run. And so he made his apologies to Aragorn and Arwen and Imrahil, and quickly exited the platform as well. Glancing to the side, he could see Lothíriel walking, and she was followed by quite the company – even Guthild was there, for perhaps she had decided it was better to be seen in the Queen's company rather than to hold a grudge.

In the silence of his thoughts, he sent all his best wishes with Lothíriel, so that all around her may see her as he did, and then went on his way.

But before Éomer found what he was seeking, he discovered something he had not expected.

He was walking through the area where tents were raised beyond the battle square. Here was space for preparing people and their gear, or to tend to them by healers, if their injuries were more serious than intended. As he was making his way, just inside one tent he heard urgent conversation carried out in hushed voices, and at first he didn't recognise them.

"… completely smitten with her… never acted like that before, not for any woman..."

"Well, he isn't the first man to appreciate one of those Southern women. You know full well as I do that many of our lads had sweethearts and lovers back in Mundburg after the war ended, and some brought them back to Rohan as wives. He's hardly unique in that regard, and this lady has a mighty name besides."

The second voice Éomer recognised quickly enough. It was Lord Wigmund, one of his trusted advisers. But who was the man talking to?

He was not left wondering for long.

"I still say it's uncanny. He could have had any noble lady of the Mark and restore the House of Eorl with that lady. But he chose this one", said the first voice. It was Eadwig, of course. Was the man talking to a lot of the members of royal council like this?

Éomer might have wanted to hear more of what was going on, but it was then Éothain spoke; he had been following the King with a few guards.

"What is it, my lord?" he asked – evidently he had not heard the voices. But he spoke loud enough that Wigmund and Eadwig in the tent fell silent.

Éomer gritted his teeth. He would surely have liked to hear more, but obviously, his presence was now noted by Wigmund and Eagwid. So he glanced at his captain who had unwittingly revealed him.

"It's nothing. Let's go", he said and began to move again. While he walked, he thought of what he had just heard, and what to do about it. There wasn't much while the wedding celebrations lasted. And Lothíriel – she surely didn't mean it, but her presence could be very distracting.

It might be nothing in the end. Once the novelty wore off and she settled down properly, Eadwig too would realise his case was hopeless. Wigmund's words at least implied he was of a much more dispassionate mind than the Lord of Healding.

Be that as it may, he had not come here to eavesdrop on private conversations, however worrying their contents may be. After making some inquiries he found Alfwen, daughter of Erkenbrand, getting ready for the games. This was not surprising, considering her prowess at arms. Not only was she as strong as many men he knew, she also had skill with a blade nearly the match of her father, who was a legendary swordsman in the Mark.

Alfwen looked surprised to see him approach. She was in full armour, and checking all was in place for the single combats that would soon commence; in her battle gear, she looked formidable. Her chain-mail was gleaming with fresh polish, and the plates covering her chest and shoulders bore the devices of her House. Her long, golden hair was in one thick braid, falling down her back, and her helmet waited on a stool nearby.

"My lord", she greeted him, bowing her head. "What can I do for you?"

"Alfwen", he smiled. "Is it very wrong of me to hope you shall show our guests today what's what?"

Her solemn, honest face broke into a smile.

"Not at all, my lord. I would like nothing more", she said emphatically.

"Then I wish you good luck. Our southern friends ought to know there is serious talent among our people. I know your father has taught you well", he said. Erkenbrand was not a man to leave anything halfway done, and he suspected Alfwen was like her father in that regard.

"I will try to do you proud, my lord", she said, bowing her head again.

Éomer cleared his throat and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Well, I did not come here just to wish you luck. I had a question for you, in fact. Alfwen, what do you think of the Queen?" he asked her, searching her eyes and features keenly for a reaction.

She looked perhaps a bit surprised at first, and no wonder. At this point she had only met Lothíriel once.

"She seems like a good woman, my lord. She has kindness in her", Alfwen said seriously, almost making Éomer smile. Here indeed was the very specimen of Rohirrim, honest and direct. No wonder Lothíriel had liked her.

"The Queen told me she likes you as well. She wonders if you would like to join the King's Knights and be her guard", he said evenly.

Now Alfwen's eyes widened and she nearly dropped the arm-guard she had been about to fasten. But Éomer also saw a glimmer ignite in her eyes, and knew she was intrigued.

"You don't have to answer me now", he continued then. "I suppose you will want to talk to your father. All the same, my lady wife and I would be happy if you decided to join us permanently here in Edoras."

"I shall talk to my father, Éomer King. I'm sure he'll agree this is a wonderful opportunity, and a great honour", said Alfwen. Her eyes were alight, and Éomer suspected that she would leave her father no choice but to consent. And it might not be a hard task at all. Erkenbrand would know this was good for his daughter's prospects – and for the chance of her following in his footsteps as a Marshal one day.

"I'm glad to hear it", he said and reached his hand for her shoulder. "Best of luck for the games – although I know you shall manage whether I wish you well or not."

"Yet I shall fight with a bolder heart with your urging, Sire", she said fiercely, already driven by the thought of a new life in Meduseld in the Queen's company.

Éomer left Alfwen soon after that. If Erkenbrand did not give his consent, then he would be most amazed.


Busy as these days were, there was one thing Éomer wished to do in peace, and that was talking to his sister alone. So he asked her for a ride, and she was quick to agree. Though they corresponded regularly, it was different to be able to talk face to face. On the other hand, he thought it was good to leave Lothíriel's side for a bit – let her find her bearings without him hovering about all the time. In the company of her family and of Aragorn, Arwen and Faramir, he knew she would be all right.

It was good to get out of the city for a while, and away from all the bustle of the celebrations. Once they had passed the camp, itself a smaller second city, they raced across the plains. The long road from Ithilien had given Éowyn much of the practice she often missed in her new home, and this time, she left her brother behind easily. When Éomer caught up with her again, she was laughing and mirth sparkled in her grey eyes.

"Well done, sister", he said, smiling at her brightly.

"I must say, I've missed this feeling. There's no wind like the wind of Rohan when you're riding hard over the plain", she said warmly.

"That is true", he agreed; few things could beat that sensation. She had slowed down her horse Wíndfola so that she could ride next to him. With an easy pace, they trotted forward along the bank of Snowbourn.

He said now, "I wish you and Faramir could stay a bit longer."

His sister cast him a teasing smile.

"But would you notice us much, I wonder?" she asked him at least half seriously. "Take my advice, brother. Enjoy this time with your new wife, and be glad that the rest of us are soon out of your hair."

"Does that mean that you approve of her after all?" he asked her at length, glancing at her face with a studious look. She met it evenly.

"It was never an issue of approval, Éomer. I know you'll do as you will, as is your right – and your heart won't be changed by anyone, maybe not even by yourself", she said seriously. "As for your wife, she has done very well so far, better even than I expected. It appears a woman may be singular and still fit to be a queen. And it is clear that she cherishes you. She has no eyes for any other man when you are in the room. Marriages are built on worse foundations."

"But you still think I might have chosen better."

"It doesn't matter what I think, brother mine. And anyway, I've been wrong before. You and your lady – nobody expected you to be here. Théodred is gone and you rule in his stead, and Queen Lothíriel... well, Béma only knows her secrets. But all that may be good. This is a new age, and you and her may be just what this land needs to see it through", Éowyn said, looking ahead and to the horizon.

Éomer said nothing for a while as he pondered on his sister's words. He knew she had not spoken or shown her true thoughts until now because she wanted him to enjoy the wedding. And he knew the meaning behind her words. It was now a time for Lothíriel to show what she was really made of and Éowyn was willing to give her that chance. In the coming days this new dynasty would be made.

"Well", he said at last, looking ahead as well, "I do hope that one day, you may see her as a sister. I do wish for a family, Éowyn, and for me you'll be always a part of it. I hope you'll feel the same."

"But I do, Éomer. You're my brother, now and always. Nothing and nobody will ever change that. And any family you choose for yourself is mine, too", she said gravely and reached her hand for his arm. She smiled wryly then, "But families are allowed to be a little complicated, aren't they? You and I should know about that."

He had to smile, too. His sister was right. However much Théoden and Théodred had loved the two of them, and no matter how cherished the memories, that family had never been simple.

"I suppose so", he admitted. "Though I would also like some peace, and some normalcy. I've had enough excitement to last me a lifetime."

Éowyn let out a low laugh.

"Some peace and normalcy? I doubt those are in store for you. Few kings get to enjoy such things, and if you truly desired a quiet little life, then I do not think you would have asked Lady Lothíriel to marry you. No, you would have chosen someone like the Lady Guthild of Healding."

He cast a sharp look at his sister.

"Would you prefer somebody like her as your sister-in-law?" he asked warily.

"I would agree she's a fine queen", Éowyn said, and then a glitter appeared in her eyes, "but in private, I would think you had lost your mind to choose so poorly. You've never done the safe thing, especially in the matters close to your heart."

Éomer glared at her in frustration.

"First you say my choice is strange, and then you tell me it would be worse if I had chosen safely. Would you make up your mind?"

But Éowyn was not intimidated by his temper.

"How testy you are for a man newly married."

"You're not answering my question", he pointed out, but still got not much more than a smile out of her.

"Your marriage is your riddle to solve, brother mine."

Somehow, he knew she was more right than he realised at the time.


Evening was growing late and the wedding guests had not yet finished their supper when guards of the Golden Hall were startled by a pair of shadowy shapes quietly making their way from the path that led to the royal garden. Before the guards could cry alarm and command the shapes to show themselves, they could hear their king's voice in the gloom: "Peace, Riders. We're not brigands."

"That would be something, wouldn't it? Arrested in our own home as brigands?" asked the soft, female voice the guards knew to be their queen's.

So the guards relaxed, and shared amused, knowing looks between themselves. If the King and his bride wanted to sneak around in some amorous game, then they were most welcome to do it.

As for Éomer, well, it was a measure of just that, but he had another purpose, too. All day long, they were surrounded by guests and friends and family, and he really wanted to show his wife her new workshop without crowds around them. And so he had suggested they retire early. She had agreed, but she had that discerning look in her eyes; she guessed it was not just because he wanted to take her to bed as soon as possible. That would come later, probably. But whatever his intention was at the moment, he knew no matter what they did there would be jokes about how vigorously the King and Queen were working on an heir for the throne.

"Where are we going?" she asked him in a whisper, holding on to his arm.

"Not far. We're almost there", he uttered back. Thankfully, the courtyard was well-lit and lanterns were readily available. So he grasped one, knowing her new workshop would yet be dark and chilly.

They came to the door of the building and he gave her the lantern.

"Hold this for a moment", he said, trying hard not to grin. Lothíriel did as he asked, but her look was more than suspicious now.

The key had been in his keeping since after the building crew had finished their work, but now he produced it in triumph and unlocked the door. He pushed it open and handed the key to her. She took it and glanced at him curiously.

"Want to take a look inside?" he asked her nonchalantly. "Do not worry. I promise there is nothing unseemly waiting for you."

"I hadn't thought so, but if you lured me out here because you've already grown tired of both our beds and would rather have me in some dark storehouse, then you can be assured it will not happen", she told him firmly as she stepped inside, lantern held aloft. Éomer suppressed his laughter.

Only moments later, she let out a soft gasp of surprise. He knew what she saw and smelt: a brand new working table and a beautiful chair in the corner, newly laid hearth, empty shelves, various pots and pans in a neat row, and other such objects as he had thought she would need. The air was chilly as no proper fire had yet been lit in the workshop, but the smell of sawdust and polish still clung to it. It was not identical to her old workshop, but he had known she would quickly realise the function of this place.

"Is this what I think it is?" Lothíriel asked at length, standing in the centre of the room, and looking around her with wide eyes.

He came to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Aye. I thought you'd like to have a workshop here in your new home, too. It's not as large as the one you had in Dol Amroth, but I hope you'll like it. All of this has been made just for you", he said, his heart swelling with happiness now that he saw how joy kindled her eyes, and how glad she was to receive this gift.

Indeed, her eyes were sparkling and a huge smile lit her face.

"This is so – you are just too – oh, Elbereth", she stammered, and then with a cry, she flung herself in his arms. Though, at least she still had the presence of mind to first put the lantern on the desk.

Éomer had to take a step back at the sheer force of the collision, and then she was already covering his face in a multitude of kisses. The Queen was indeed most pleased.

Still, he couldn't resist teasing her a bit. When she had calmed down somewhat, and was not smothering his face anymore with her eager affection, he said, "I see which gift you most prefer – though I admit I didn't expect you to go into palpitations over becoming a landowner in Rohan."

Lothíriel looked sheepish.

"Don't think the land and horses you gave to me are not appreciated. But this", she said, and gestured around herself, "is something I can touch, a place where I can come every day, and do what I know and love. It's a connection to my life before you, but it also shows care and consideration and... and acceptance. That you think my studies are useful and worthwhile and you believe in it. Not all men would."

Gently he cupped her face with his hand.

"You're not the kind of woman who will easily change herself. Nor would I wish you to change, because then all that wonderful strangeness that I love about you would vanish, too. Your herbs and your knowledge and all the work you do with it, it's part of who you are. So what else can I do than build you such a place? And, of course, I want you to be happy. I suspect you wouldn't be, if these things were taken from you", he told her, slow and even.

Her eyes were wide and serious as she listened to him speak. When he finished, she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

"Never let it be said that I'm the only one who sees into people's hearts. In that your eyes are as keen as mine", she said softly. Then she tiptoed into a kiss, and no more was said for some time.

Later on they walked slowly back to Meduseld. Though the night was chilly, it was also very beautiful; air was clear and the moon nearly full in the sky. His light and that of the numberless stars was bright and fair. A slight, dreamy smile lingered on Lothíriel's features, and often she raised her face to the sky, as though to drink in the silver light. Ithiliel her father sometimes called her, but Éomer had not remembered or realised it was a name well-given.

At the door, she tugged his arm gently, and asked, "Can't we stay outside just a little longer? It's such a beautiful night."

"You aren't cold yet?" he asked back, at which she simply shook her head.

So he relented and kissed her brow.

"All right then", he agreed. With a faint smile, he added, "I'm going to spoil you silly, aren't I?"

Lothíriel smiled, and he felt like the very light of the moon was reflected in her eyes.

"Oh, you already have."

To be continued.


A/N: Here comes a new chapter! I hope you like it. :)

I had a good time writing this one - their interactions with one another are just a delight. I admit I loved writing about Cúran at last. He's existed in my head as Lothíriel's pet for a good while now, and I can tell you she's definitely a cat person. Éomer, on the other hand - not so much. But we are ready to endure much for our loved ones, aren't we? Cúran is Sindarin and means "crescent moon".

I believe Éomer remains somewhat in the haze of happiness, otherwise his reaction to overhearing that conversation between Eadwig and Wigmund had been different. But we'll see how and where this all goes!

Inspiration for this chapter was drawn very much from song by Einar Selvik & Ivar Bjørnson called Ni Mødre Av Sol - not necessarily from lyrics, but just the mood of the song.

Hope you and yours stay safe. I know the world's crazy right now, but I believe that by caring about and loving one another we will conquer.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think.


Boramir - Thank you! I hope you liked her reaction to the workshop. :)

I have a feeling Lothíriel and Alfwen have a chance for a beautiful friendship, if it works out. But we'll see!

I'm sure a commander of Éomer's calibre would have come up with a hundred plans far superior than mine in that chapter. But alas, I'm not a brilliant strategist, and I believe he not only had manpower to execute any plan he wanted, but the ground was also never truly against him.

EStrunk - Glad you liked it! I think it would be important for Éomer to make sure that there are no hard feelings between him and Imrahil. And no matter how hard it is for Imrahil, he does know what this means for his daughter.

sai19 - You are right - this is an issue usually best handled in one chapter. Glad it worked out so well, even if the chapter was humongous.

This site can be a little wonky at times, I've seen!

As for what's to come next, we'll see!

Simplegurl4u - Thank you! I'm glad to hear you liked it. :)

The part with the siblings was bittersweet for me, too. And I think for Éomer, it's very important to make that distinction for his wife, and even remind himself that she ought to be treated always well.

sailor68 - Thank you very much! Weddings are often difficult to write, but I'm very glad to hear you liked it so much!

Katia0203 - In that case, what a convenient timing that chapter had! Best regards to your brother. :)

We'll see what mischief Eadwig might come up with!

fantasticferret - Thank you! We'll get to that soon, I hope. :)

Wondereye - Thanks! It's been tough waiting for her, but he's very delighted at the moment. ;)

Catspector - Thank you very much! I'm glad to hear you liked it. I had a good time writing the wedding night, and I'm glad to hear it conveyed this happy, light feeling.

Jo - Thanks! :)

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you! It's a difficult one for Imrahil, but he's managing.

NightBlossom - Thanks! Indeed they did. ;)

LH Wordsmith - Thank you! I think there probably is more trolling byÉowyn and Aragorn going on, but Éomer is just too blissfully distracted to notice it! :D

I really enjoy writing this version of them. They have their flaws, certainly, and I hope I've been showing how they just become unarmed around one another!

Leilal - Glad to hear you liked it!

coecoe11 - I'm happy to know you did! I hope you'll continue to enjoy the story. :)