Chapter 17

One early morning Éomer startled awake, and saw that the spot next to him in the bed was empty. Running his fingers over the sheet, he could still feel her warmth; she was not long gone.

It was the Queen's bed, for that was where they had ended up last night; it didn't seem to matter anymore in which bed he fell asleep in, as long as she was by his side. He supposed her beastly little cat did not agree, but perhaps the thing tolerated him in her bed for her sake. She might have told Cúran to, which seemed possible. Otherwise, he would not be surprised to find the little monster's claws in his throat.

Be that as it may, it had been late when they had retired. Last night had been the final one before her family and the rest of the Gondorian party began their journey back home, and so they had stayed with their guests later than previous nights. She had spoken a long while with her father, sitting a little away from the rest of the company. What words they had exchanged, Éomer had not asked. He knew she would be all right, but Imrahil was another matter.

The week had passed quickly. At times he had rather forgotten how the time moved on, for between his wife and his friends, moments were swift and happy. And Lothíriel, too, looked to be glad. Her spirits were ever high and bright. If any had thoughts that the new queen was strange, Éomer had not yet heard such reports.

Yet as happy as these days were, he knew what he preferred. He liked to be alone with his queen – and if there wasn't an heir in the land soon, it wouldn't be for the lack of trying. For as new as their marriage was, she had already shown herself to be a passionate lover, eager to learn and to respond to her new husband's affections.

That thought started to entice him now, but it was quite inconvenient while his wife was not nearby. So, with a big yawn, he got up on his feet in the dim chamber and began to look for her. If night-time was precious and exciting, these early morning's moments were too, when there was peace and quiet in the world before the day's bustle.

His foot touched something warm and furry. There was a startled, furious hiss and he could feel sharp claws slashing just above his ankle. Éomer grimaced but did not make a sound – he wouldn't give the little beast that satisfaction.

"Bugger off, you fiend", he said, though, before pulling on his breeches and going to look for Lothíriel.

He found her outside watching sunrise. A private door led from the King and Queen's chambers to the great platform on which Meduseld stood, overlooking what once had been the royal garden. Éowyn had maintained it as much as she had been able, but after her departure the place had been as good as deserted – except for Éomer himself, who sometimes walked there when he wanted some peace and quiet. His new wife had been quick to discover the garden, even with the wedding celebrations going on. This did not surprise him at all.

Gently, without a word, he approached her from behind and wrapped around her shoulders the soft blue shawl he had picked up just in case. He left his arms around her form and with a soft sigh, she scooted closer.

"Morning", he murmured into her ear. It was a beautiful sunrise with too many colours for one to name, he'd give her that, but personally he was more interested in her warm, soft shape and the tempting smell of her hair, which fell freely on her shoulders. She was wearing her shift and a robe, simple light-coloured things. He felt like he'd never grow tired of seeing her so casual and at ease.

"Morning, dear", she replied and turned her head enough to press a kiss on his cheek. But he shifted so that it landed on his mouth instead. She made a sound in her throat, but let him kiss her for a bit nonetheless.

"Why are you up so early?" he asked her after a while. As the sun climbed ever higher, the land grew brighter. Some fog still lingered on the meads, but daylight would soon burn it away. The green of the land was that poignant shade of spring that would ripen into a deeper shade as summer advanced. Like a ribbon of silver Snowbourn glittered, and the walls of the mountains were red in morning's light. It was a fair spring morning in the Riddermark.

"I haven't had a chance to do this before now. Somebody always keeps me in the bed until the sun has already risen", she said pointedly, with laughter in her voice. Her words also reminded him of some notions he had had upon waking.

"Hmm. What Cúran does is no fault of mine", he murmured and nuzzled the side of her head.

"That's below your dignity, Lord of the Mark, blaming an innocent animal for your own transgressions."

"That thing never was innocent", he growled and kissed her again. She snorted in answer, but still answered the kiss.

The sun was slowly climbing higher. Her light revealed the garden all its dismal state, like upturned wasteland. Momentarily Éomer frowned. What if she had expected a place of beauty ready for her?

"I know the garden is not more than a patch of dirt at the moment, but I hope it doesn't put you off too badly. Nobody has really been keeping it since Éowyn left, and we figured you might want to plant it anew", he commented after a while.

"It was well thought. If this place was as she left it, I'd probably feel like walking into somebody else's garden. But now I may make it my own. I already have plans", said Lothíriel warmly and looked up at him with a smile. "You'll see. Once my garden is planted and growing, you will walk in here, and wonder if you have stepped into the fragrant woods of Ithilien."

He returned the smile and held her a bit tighter. It was good to think of such happy thoughts about the future, instead of dreading what the new morning would bring.

"I look forward to it", he told her and kissed her temple. Then he asked, "Are you worried for today?"

Few things generally seemed to shake Lothíriel, but it was still a valid question. Her family was leaving today, and it might be months before she saw them again. But the closing of the wedding celebrations also meant something else. This was really the start of their life as husband and wife, and as the King and Queen of Rohan.

"Not really. I am where I wish to be", said Lothíriel confidently, and he thought that she looked so, too. She stood straight and strong in his arms, looking around her with bright, curious eyes. Already she walked in Meduseld with a light step and smile on her face.

"I'm glad to hear it", he murmured. "I'm where I wish to be, too."

She said nothing, but turned so that she could wrap both her arms around him and rest her head against his shoulder. So they stood and welcomed the new morning, both at peace with the world and themselves.

But now that the sun was in the sky, it was time to get back inside and prepare for the day. After the breakfast, they would send the guests on their way. And Lothíriel was shivering, as the air of morning was still cool, despite the shawl and his arms around her. So they made their way back into the Hall. In her rooms, maids were already waiting for the Queen. It seemed they couldn't help but glance his way as he passed, and no wonder – he was wandering about wearing nothing but his breeches.

Maybe he should be more cautious in that regard. Not that he himself minded, but Lothíriel might have an issue with others than her being privy to his states of undress.

In his own chambers, he quickly put on some clothes – the shirt she had made for him, a soft tunic and trousers and his favourite boots. He also picked up his circlet, as the event of sending off their guests asked for a degree of formality. Éomer let out a sigh. As good as it was to see friends and family, he was also looking forward to the comfortable routine of everyday life, and not having to polish himself so much. On the other hand, maybe there was a reason to tidy up a little bit more from now on. After all, he had a wife whose appreciative glances were very much worth the effort.

Lothíriel joined him some time later. Her appearance did not hint at any nostalgia: today she wore again the colours of her new homeland: her gown was deep green, and at the neck it was embroidered with white and golden flowers. For the first time, her jewellery was mainly of gold – these were from Rohan's royal treasury, and owned by the previous queens since times long past – and only on her wrist gleamed the pearls native to Dol Amroth. The knot of the bracelet was now so tight one would probably have to cut the leather to take it off.

A strange sensation came to Éomer as he looked at her approach. It was a wonder and joy and tenderness so poignant, it felt akin to pain. She really was here to stay. Though her family was departing, she was to remain. He had known this, of course, and he wasn't sure why this realisation should hit him like this now. Maybe after so many years of hardships, he had forgotten how to trust a good thing when it happened.

She gave him a quizzical look, but he composed himself and simply smiled as he took her hand in his own. So they made their way out and into the hall of Meduseld, there to meet her family and send them on their way.

The mood in the Golden Hall had changed. The excitement of the wedding celebrations was now gone, and there was quiet expectation for when the guests would depart. Many had already taken their leave of the capital: Rohirrim camping on the plains had collected their families and belongings and started their journey home with the dawn. Strange it was, how soon had passed this event Éomer had waited so eagerly and impatiently every day for the past year.

Voices were quieter this morning as final conversations were had, and rather than eating much, both the King and Queen of Rohan went among their friends and family to exchange some last words before parting. The longest Éomer spoke with Éowyn and Aragorn. Both smiled and told him to enjoy this time of joy.

All too soon the breakfast came to an end and it was time to move. The company rose and slowly crowds made their way to the twin doors of Meduseld. Gondorians were already in their travel gear, their horses would be waiting outside, and down on the plains the great camp city was now vanished.

Lothíriel said her final goodbyes outside. She hugged each of her brothers tightly and shared a few soft words with them. She then came to her father, who received the longest hug and the most words. Whoever stood near saw that the parting was harder on Imrahil than it was on his daughter.

But Éomer said his goodbyes to Éowyn and hugged her tight, and in whispers she asked him to visit soon, before she tiptoed to kiss his cheek. With a smile, she stepped back to Faramir's side.

Leofrun came from the Hall, and she gave Lothíriel the cup of parting. Then the new queen took a sip before she made her way among the guests, and each of them took their taste of the mead. So it had been since the times immemorial in Meduseld, and Éomer took quiet pleasure in seeing his new queen act this thing so easily when she was still a new bride in the Golden Hall.

When Aragorn had drunk from the cup, he raised his voice: "Ferthu hal, Éomer Cyning! Ferthu hal, Lothíriel Cwen!"

Many voices joined this cry, and some perhaps wondered how the King Elessar knew the language of Rohan. But Éomer smiled and nodded his head at his fellow king. Silently Aragorn mouthed "until we meet again", and then his company made their way down to the courtyard, now filled with horses and carriages. Noise and bustle filled the air as steeds were mounted, orders were given, and then Aragorn's herald moved forward. Éowyn shot a glance back at her brother and one last smile was exchanged between them. As ever when they parted, he felt like a knife was twisted around in his chest. But then she felt a small hand in his own, pressing against his fingers gently. He almost laughed out loud. One should think this parting would be much harder for her – that he would be comforting his bride, and not the other way around!

But then, she could probably see her family even when they were far away. For her, parting was not the same as to others.

Looking at her now, he could see her gaze was lingering on Éowyn, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"What is it?" Éomer inquired, wondering if some uncomfortable encounter had taken place between the two women – and hoping against it.

Lothíriel shook her head anxiously.

"Don't ask. You don't want to know."

"But I surely do. What is the matter?" he insisted.

"Trust me in this, love. It's not my tidings to share."

He glanced at her, and then at the back of Éowyn as she disappeared downhill. Then he understood.

"She... she's with child?"

Lothíriel sighed.

"Indeed. She doesn't know yet, though", she said quietly.

For a moment he just stared at her. Then, though he knew Éowyn had already vanished from sight, he looked the way she had gone. His sister expecting a child! That was news indeed, and at first he wasn't sure whether at core he felt bittersweet, or happy. Now his little sister was truly removed from life in Rohan, and from their shared childhood. And yet all things must move forward and grow, and he knew she would be glad once she found out.

Be that as it may, he knew she'd like to tell this news to him herself. Most likely he was frowning, for his wife looked unhappy as she touched his hand.

"Well, I did say you didn't want to hear it from me", she muttered.

Gently he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"It's all right. It's my own fault for being too curious", he told her and kissed her brow.

"Hmm. It still surprises me how well you read me", said his wife.

"You are an interesting study, I find", he muttered softly against the side of her face, at which she hemmed in agreement.

But then he turned and directed his gaze at the doors of Meduseld, now standing closed to keep the warmth inside. Doorwards stood there ready to open the doors again, if such was required by the King and Queen.

"Are you ready?" he asked her quietly. Now – now was truly the time for them to start together.

She turned her eyes towards the doors as well.

"I think so", she said and gently pressed his hand.

With that, they slowly walked inside.


Elfhelm the Marshal, along with his family and Riders, was among the last to leave after the wedding. Farewells had also been postponed because Éomer had decided to take this chance and hold council with his Marshals, who were all in Edoras for the celebration. But when these were done, and the two men took sharing some final words, the young king put his hand on his friend's shoulder and spoke in a low voice.

"I have another task for you, and it's of a more discreet nature. But before I speak more of it, I must ask: what do you think of Lord Eadwig?"

"Lord Eadwig? He's a proud man of an old and proud line. He has a good standing among the lords of East-Mark. Myself, I cannot say I've ever heard bad things said of him, and he receives me well when I have business in his lands", said Elfhelm. He was looking curious at first, but then he seemed to realise something, and he said in an even more quiet voice, "Before your betrothal, there was some talk Eadwig's daughter might be our new queen."

"Aye, and it seems he too took that talk to heart. I've become aware of some malcontent in his part, but I'm not sure yet how serious it is. Will you keep an eye on the man for me? Listen to what is said, and who is he speaking to?" Éomer asked quietly. Only a couple days before, Lord Wigmund had reported some such notions to Éomer. He had spoken of his conversation with Eadwig, the one Éomer himself had overheard, but given nothing that warranted arrest and direct confrontation. However, as long as Eadwig refused to let this go, he wouldn't feel fully at ease.

"You know I'll do whatever you need me to do", Elfhelm replied, "But this I will say: such secret dealings remind me more of Wormtongue's time than I'd like."

Éomer sighed and shook his head.

"I know what you mean. I don't like it either, and I had hoped there was no need for scheming any longer, now that the snake is gone. Still, I must know if I need to be more worried about the Lord of Healding than I already am", he said seriously, meeting his Marshal's eyes evenly.

"Your right to the throne is as solid as it gets, Éomer. Even if there are occasional complaints among the nobles, they know that the people of this land love you fiercely. Most of our nobles do, too. Eadwig is no fool; he knows better than to test that love. And why would he want to? This land has known enough of strife in past few years", said Elfhelm.

"It's not myself I worry about, Elfhelm", Éomer muttered back. His eyes strayed to where Lothíriel was talking to Elfhelm's wife and other women of the Marshal's household. They were all laughing about something, and his lady looked perfectly at ease in this scene. Alfwen stood there as well, smiling but also keeping an eye around – already comfortably settled into her new position.

Elfhelm took his meaning right away.

"I don't think you need to, my lord. She shows great promise, and ultimately, I don't think our people could ever truly hate what you love. And the leagues between Edoras and Dol Amroth may be long, but Imrahil's name will not be soon forgotten in this land", he said quietly. Then with a nod he added, "But like I said, I'll do what you ask. I'll keep an eye on Eadwig."

Éomer gave the Marshal's shoulder a tight squeeze.

"Thank you, my friend. It could be nothing, but I worry for her. I need to know she's safe."

Elfhelm smiled.

"The safety and happiness of you and yours is a matter I take most seriously."

After that conversation, and knowing his trusted Marshal had his back in this matter, Éomer did feel much easier.


So began the days of the Queen, and they were the happiest yet Éomer had lived in his adult life. Now that he had her by his side, he realised how much he had ached for this kind of companionship – how her presence seemed to have filled some void he had felt but not perceived clearly. And there was such delight in waking up to her slight stirring in the morning or her sleepy kiss on his face. He was even willing to endure finding that the cat had appeared in the bed, usually in the crook by the back of her knees, some time during the night. For her sake, Éomer refrained from kicking the little beast out, even if it gave him some truly evil looks if he dared to kiss his wife.

"What do your maids think of your cat?" he asked her once, and she smiled brightly.

"Oh, they think he's just adorable. I believe a few of them are considering getting one, too", she said. More monsters like Cúran in the vicinity of Meduseld? Just lovely.

"Why am I not even surprised?" he muttered, but his wife leaned close to kiss him.

"Worry not. I think you're adorable, too", she told him sweetly. He growled at her words.

"As a famous warrior king, I resent being called 'adorable'", he told her as he caught her in his arms and held her tight. She shrieked in laughter and struggled a bit, but was unable to break free.

"But because you're completely smitten with me, you will endure it", she told him and then distracted him with a long, lingering kiss.

She was very, very good at distracting him.

"So, what do you think of Alfwen so far? Does she meet your expectations?" Éomer asked his wife a few days after the last wedding guests had left. Alfwen had not made the King and Queen wait long for her answer: eyes bright, her usually solemn face lit with a smile, she had told them she would be glad to stay and serve the new Lady of the Mark. Éomer suspected this had disrupted Erkenbrand's plans for his daughter a bit, but when he saw the proud look on the Marshal's face upon his departure, he knew this was not an entirely negative outcome either for the daughter or the father.

"Oh, she does. I never knew such a woman, though I suspect at some point, your lady sister was much like her. She's very serious about her goals. But I like her, and hopefully she would say the same about me", said Lothíriel, glancing briefly his way. She was sorting through the vials and little bottles she had brought with her from Dol Amroth, making sure all was in order and nothing was missing before these were transported to her workshop. It was one task she would trust no one else with.

She lifted one vial and inspected it against light before continuing, "And she's a useful guide. Not just in showing me around, but also telling me about Rohan. She knows so many stories about the people, and many songs. It's good to have somebody to translate the culture sometimes."

He smiled at her choice of words. Translating a culture. What an apt observation.

"I'm glad you two are getting along", he said, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on a stool. It had been a long day, as he had much work to catch up to after the wedding celebrations. It also meant not having as much time to spend with her as he'd like, but hopefully, things would get calmer soon enough.

"As am I. But I think it makes sense. We may be very different in many regards, but both of us understand what it's like to be a little bit strange. It's one thing to take the sword and fight with the men, but the dreams she has for future are something else", Lothíriel said thoughtfully as she continued her work.

"It's a pity there aren't more of her kind. Some say that our shieldmaidens are ten times as fierce as our best men. But maybe Alfwen may be the one to usher in something new. Many of our men died in the Ring War, leaving behind a lot of angry sisters and daughters", he said and felt an involuntary shudder at all the suffering his people had gone through. But Lothíriel put aside her vials and bottles and came to sit on the armrest of his chair.

"Do you think you'll make her a Marshal one day?" she asked.

Now he smiled at his wife.

"Why don't you tell me?"

She scoffed softly and kissed his brow.

Each morning they ate breakfast together, usually in her rooms before her maids came in to help her dress. Then he took his leave of her and went to get ready for the day's labours. On busier days it might not be until dinner that he saw his wife again, but whenever he could, he'd take an hour or two to spend with her. And so he might find Lothíriel somewhere in the Hall, talking with Leofrun about the running matters and resolving issues concerning the household. Sometimes she was in her solar, surrounded by ladies in waiting, and she was learning to weave cloth with a Rohirric loom, which apparently was different from such contraptions used in the South. At any rate, Lothíriel had never done much weaving herself. Upon learning how highly valued this skill was in her new homeland, she had instantly decided she wanted to learn it, too.

One such occasion, when Éomer entered the solar and stood by the doorway, she did not notice him right away. And he rather enjoyed watching her talk quietly with one of her women, running her fingers over the weave she had made so far, and inspecting it here and there. The look on her face was sharp and focused as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and idly worried with her teeth at her lower lip. But the ladies were quite aware of his arrival, and at first they giggled and elbowed one another, until one of them, Éothain's younger sister Heagyth, finally spoke up.

"My lady, the King is here", she said in a clear voice, at which Lothíriel turned around quickly. Her eyes lit up and she shoved the shuttle into the hands of Lady Scýne, Heagyth's sister-in-law, who had been instructing the young queen.

"My lord", she greeted him, for she never used his name except in private, and walked straight through the room to him and tiptoed into a kiss, which was something she did both in private and public.

Behind her, there was some more giggling and elbowing. He wasn't sure he preferred it over their initial wonder at the fact that their Gondorian-born queen would not hold him at an arm's length when they had company.

"This is a nice surprise, though I wonder how you managed to escape from your study without Lord Ormar noticing?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

He let out a short barking laughter.

"You think there's any hope of me sneaking past him? I'm outside by his leave. I'm meeting my council in an hour or so, but I was thinking of taking a walk before that – and hoping you might join me, lady wife", he replied.

"I would love to join you. Let me just go and fetch my cloak", she said, kissed his cheek again, and hurried out without a word to her ladies, but judging by their amused smiles, they found this simply an endearing trait.

Éomer grinned, nodded his head at them, and went to follow his wife.

In the afternoons, he knew to look for her in the garden, digging and planting and weeding, her hands and apron stained by the soil. Somewhere she had got a wide-brimmed straw-hat to shield her face from sunlight – he suspected one of her ladies had made it for her. Cúran would usually be there too, sometimes napping in a sunny spot, or dashing after some tiny animal which had been disturbed by his mistress' shuffling. Coming upon this sight, one might not soon believe they were looking at the Queen of Rohan. Afterwards, she might come back inside smelling earthy, and there was wind in her hair and a light in her eyes, and he felt like he might choke with the love and wonder of her.

Still, he masked his reaction the best he could, and asked nonchalantly: "How's the garden?"

"It's coming along nicely, although there's still so much to do. A real garden takes years to establish, and even then it's never truly finished", she'd answer as she washed her stained hands with a bar of soap she had herself made in Dol Amroth just for this use. She threw him a bright smile, "I have been able to secure quite the prize from one of western ladies who was visiting Edoras."

"Oh? What is that?" asked Éomer as he went to pour some warm water over her soapy hands, and to offer a clean towel.

"She promised me three saplings of apple trees! Can you believe it? I was told this is a rare gift, because many of the great orchards of the West-Mark were burned down during the war. It will take time for them to grow, but one day we may sit in the shadow of our own apple tree. And even then it will be a wonder", she told him.

He raised an eyebrow at this news. He knew well the wanton destruction of many old orchards of the West-Mark, and the boundless grief of those who had tended them. It was a sore loss that would take years upon years to heal, and it was a long time before the famed apples of Westfold were seen again. That Lothíriel had secured herself a few of the precious remaining saplings was most unexpected.

"It is a rare gift indeed. She must really like you to have made such a promise", he commented.

"Well, it was not completely free. I promised to give her in turn some plants I brought with me from Gondor – and teach her how to tend to them. But I still think I got the better deal", she said cheerfully.

"Look at my wife, learning to barter with Eorlingas", he muttered warmly before lifting her in the air and kissing her. Lothíriel laughed before succumbing into the kiss, and her still damp fingers disappeared in his long hair. The smell of some southern flower was around them, but so was the smell of the wind and earth. It was inexplicably enticing, and it wasn't long after that he took her to bed.

No matter how dishevelled she might return from her garden or a walk to the plains, she knew how to appear according to her station when there was need: when they held court in Meduseld, attending appeals and hearing disputes, Lothíriel was always immaculate in her dress and manner. She may not be the greatest beauty that had ever walked in the Golden Hall, but she had a distinct grace and shine in her that always drew the eye – or at least his own eyes.

One such occasion came when Éomer invited some of the more well-known horse-breeders of the land, so that Lothíriel might choose one of them to keep and manage her own herd. Wearing a moss-green gown and her usual pearls, and the Queen's circlet on her brow, she moved among the wide-eyed herders – some of whom had never seen a lady of Gondor, or even less a queen.

"Your queen is blooming, my lord, if you do not mind me saying so."

These words were spoken by Lord Ormar, who had come to stand next to the young king.

He glanced at the man and smiled. Ormar did not squander his compliments, even though it was clear he had taken a liking to Lothíriel from the start.

"So am I forgiven for marrying a Gondorian?" Éomer asked half-seriously.

"In my eyes? You are, Sire. Not all are as easily persuaded, but the start is promising. If you and her keep up this thing, then even the stubborn neck has to bend", said the older man.

"How many stubborn necks do you think there are?"

Ormar was silent for a moment before answering.

"Not enough to be too concerned. The Queen seems to be her own best advocate so far", he replied.

Éomer smiled.

"I never thought you would like her so much."

"There is something about this young woman I've not seen before. Just as there is in you, Sire", said Lord Ormar in a low voice, touched his king's shoulder, and then went his way.

Éomer said no word, but he thought of his adviser's words for a long time.

The place she seemed to love the most in all of Edoras was, of course, her workshop. She was quick to fill the shelves and cover the desk with her tools, vials, pots, and many of the things he had first seen in Dol Amroth. It wasn't long before she also seemed to acquire a couple of eager apprentices from among the children of the King's Guard and other members of the royal household. Often they were seen running errands in Edoras, or following the Queen around, or gathered around her desk while she worked. One time Éomer came across her and three children near the market of Edoras. All four were squatting by what was apparently a plant she had never seen before, and her guards stood by wearing expressions that varied between wonder, amusement and interest; Alfwen's look was a mixture of these all. Lothíriel was drafting it in her notebook, and the children were talking quickly about what they knew about this plant; though she was still not fluent in Rohirric, she and the small ones apparently understood each other well enough.

Lothíriel herself said she was not so much a healer than a student of herb-lore, but in Rohan, where things were taught for practical purposes and no clear idea of such scholarship existed, there was not a similar understanding of the matter. Eventually, when she had been in Edoras for a few weeks and people learned more of the new queen, she began to receive some of them at her door asking for remedies and help in matters local healers may not have been helpful. Éomer made a point of not intervening and it was not needed as he soon observed; she received these requests with discretion and understanding, and helped where she could. Whatever she herself might say, it became clear that many of those people therefore thought of her at least as good as any of the local healers.

What he loved best were the nights after they had retired. Sometimes they just sat by the fire, and she had needlework in her lap, or some easy manual task with her herbs, and he would sit opposite her. He might be honing his sword or one of his daggers, and they would quietly talk about the day. For her sake, he'd even tolerate the cat, which was either lurking somewhere in the room, or sitting by her side on the armrest and glaring at him. When Lothíriel picked up the little beast and idly caressed him, the creature looked perfectly smug and self-satisfied as though after winning some contest. Éomer was loath to allow the cat into the King's rooms, but Lothíriel's wide, pleading eyes were his downfall.

Other nights there was less talking. In passion she was indeed his match, and the bold way she came to his arms never failed to ignite his desire. And he loved those slow, golden moments after lovemaking as they lay still half entangled, breathing each other in and out. Quiet words and tender little touches would be exchanged, until at last she drifted off to sleep. After watching her for a while he would join her in the land of dreams, and sleep with a peace he had rarely known in times before.

There were nights, especially near full moon, that Éomer might wake up in his or her bed, and find her gone. After a couple of such occasions he knew where to go look for her. In the garden he'd discover her walking slowly, bare-footed and wearing only a light shawl over her shift, and on her face was an expression of one dreaming while awake. What she thought of in those moments he could only guess, but she never resisted when he took her hand and walked her back inside. It was nearly summer now, so nights were not terribly cold; but he hoped she'd dress more warmly for her late walks once autumn came. Still, after these late walks, it was more often than not she would reach for him, perhaps climb to sit astride on his hips, and show him such things he had never expected from a well-bred lady of Gondor.

As for her sight, it was an ever-present part of their relationship. She spoke of things to come, perhaps not daily, but still fairly often. Sometimes it was small things, and sometimes of more importance. She would know the day's weather, or expect a visitor before no word of them had yet come, or tidings from Edoras and beyond. At times her look would be far off and fond, and Éomer guessed she was seeing something about her family in Dol Amroth. A few times she told him things that had a direct impact on his daily counsels with his advisers. He did his best to hide her part, but at times he could tell they wondered. Éothain in particular often gave him a quizzical look, though the captain did not speak the question aloud. Yet.

Éomer loved his lady very much, and he felt like every day, that love grew a little deeper. Life without her was now unthinkable. And though she never really said it, he was certain the sentiment was shared – so he guessed by the way her eyes lit up when he entered the room, and how her hand sought his own when standing next to him, or the often endearing and sometimes quite arousing way she would snuggle close to him at night. When one time he returned from some errand to Meduseld very late, and thought she was already asleep in the Queen's chambers, he decided not to disturb her. It was less than minutes after he had laid himself down that she tiptoed into his room, lifted the blanket and burrowed against his side with a soft little sigh.

She was his wife, his best friend, his helper, his lover, and so many other things. She did not seek for intrigue or power in the court, but her counsel was very much present in his commands and policies; whether Lothíriel had sought it or not, she had an influence in the royal court few could match. And he knew people were noticing this, too.


An evening came, some three weeks after the wedding, that Éomer upon returning to Meduseld from some errand noticed Lothíriel was more quiet and distracted than usual. She still directed the dinner in the hall, and at times exchanged a few words with Leofrun about this or that issue, but often her expression grew remote and thoughtful. She didn't really contribute to any conversation he tried to make, though she still answered straight questions.

When she had eaten – which she had done barely and quickly – she touched his hand, and asked, "Do you mind if I retire already? I was thinking of taking a hot bath."

"Go ahead, love", Éomer replied, picked up her hand and kissed it. His wife smiled before she made his way out of the hall, so lightly that one might think her feet barely touched the ground. He watched her retreating back and wondered.

So it was a little while later that he made his way to Alfwen, Lothíriel's own guard. Perhaps the shieldmaiden had some idea of what was bothering the Queen. Of course, he meant to talk about it with his wife, but she was probably still in her bath and Alfwen might have noticed something essential that Lothíriel herself wouldn't think to mention.

Erkenbrand's daughter was seated near the dais, as was her due, and she had just finished eating. In her hand she had a tankard of ale she was slowly nursing, but she put it aside when Éomer approached, and she stood up as quickly as any young person still new to serving in the royal courts of Edoras.

"Sire", she greeted him, making a strange gesture that was between a curtsy and a bow. He hid his smile, knowing that living as a shieldmaiden must be confusing at times.

"Alfwen", he said, nodding at her. "May I bother you for a word?"

"Of course, my lord", she said readily, and followed him as he lead the way to a bit more private spot at the left side of the dais. There Éomer turned to look at Alfwen.

"I know you have the trust of both myself and my queen, and so I will speak plainly; for I think you will answer clearly and truly", he began and watched her face closely. "Tonight, I thought my lady wife was unusually quiet and distracted. I wonder, why might this be? Has something happened to upset her?"

Alfwen looked troubled. First she glanced about them, like she was making sure they weren't listened to by anyone. Then she took a deep breath.

"There was an incident earlier today", she said slowly. "The Queen had wanted to go outside the city, to walk by Snowbourn and look for the plants that grow there by the river. We were coming back to Meduseld when one local man saw us. He was a little drunk, but it doesn't excuse him, of course; he made a lewd gesture at the Queen and told her she didn't belong here – that she wasn't one of us. I wanted to apprehend the man, but she forbade it. She just..."

"She what?" asked Éomer, almost shaking in anger at the way his lady had been disrespected. He would find this man, and he would make the pig know the full price of insulting the wife of Éomer King.

But Alfwen's expression was peculiar, for now there was some wonder on her features.

"The Queen didn't seem to mind. She just looked at this man, and then asked him why he wasn't with his wife. She told him drinking and insulting people he didn't know wouldn't ease the pain of losing his daughter. Yet I do not know whether it was her look or her words that impacted him", Alfwen said. She was shaking her head, like all this went too far beyond her understanding.

As for Éomer, his anger now cooled. Dear, far-sighted Lothíriel. Of course she wouldn't let insults cloud her eyes.

"And what did the man do then?" he asked Alfwen.

"He was too taken aback to answer anything, Sire, as were most of the others who saw this moment. He just slunk away, I would say. Then the Queen told us to move again, and so we came back to Meduseld. But she has been quiet ever since", she replied.

"Thank you, Alfwen. You have done well in telling me this", he said and touched her shoulder briefly.

"Sire, if I may ask – how did the Queen know about that man – and his daughter? How does she know so many things?" Alfwen asked just as he was about to go.

Éomer sighed. Here was yet another asking the same question.

"That is a question you must take up with the Queen, Alfwen", he answered simply. He nodded at the shieldmaiden, turned and made his way to the royal chambers.

How to speak of this with Lothíriel? Did she want him to approve of her conduct, and let alone the man who had insulted her? What did he want to do? Even without being there himself, he had a feeling that Lothíriel had turned the insult against the offender. Looking for this man and punishing him may be both useless and seen as unusually cruel, if he was already struggling with the loss of a child. His own desire for retribution had died with that knowledge, and he had a feeling that the people of Edoras felt the same.

What a wife he had. She had seen this man's trouble right away, no long and painful questionings needed. She had resolved the issue with a look and a few words.

Éomer stepped inside the royal chambers, which were warmly lit by candles and a low fire. He loosened the lacings of his tunic, pulled it over his head, and then tossed aside on a chair. Was Lothíriel still in a bath? He wasn't going to disturb her while she was washing, no matter how much he wanted to talk to her.

He stepped inside his bedchamber, and then froze right there at the doorway.

There she was in the centre of his bed, wearing nothing but the shift she had worn the very night of their wedding, and her hair was tumbling freely down her shoulders; he never tired of seeing her hair like this. Fire's light danced on her skin and her eyes seemed to hold a promise of unthinkable things. At once, he felt very uncomfortable inside his trousers.

She looked at him, and he at her, and before he could commit to any clear-headed thought of fighting back his desires, she was already up. She came to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her hips against his. When she did that little rubbing motion, he was lost.

It seemed to him that a long time passed where there was just their bodies, and the heat and the need and the desperation. He could smell lavender in her hair and her skin, and some oil he didn't recognise, and as ever, he felt all his life he had been lost until finding her. Her fingers against his skin held as tightly as he held at her, and she gave him no mercy. It was a long, fierce tumble in the bed and at the end, he felt quite spent.

But it was in those slow moments after lovemaking that he recalled his intent. He had wanted to talk to her. On the other hand, he wanted to hear whatever was troubling her from her own mouth. So, after some time, when they had rested awhile and her head was still against his chest, he spoke at last.

"You seemed distracted tonight. I wondered if something's the matter."

"I've just been thinking", she replied at length in a low voice. "Do you think a woman should always love and respect her husband?"

Éomer was silent for a while. He wasn't certain of what he had expected her to answer, but this was not it. He tried to understand it in connection to what Alfwen had said, as some kind of a criticism on the man who had insulted her today. But it didn't seem likely. A doubt crept on him: was her disquietude even for the reason he and Alfwen thought? Maybe it was not so. Lothíriel did not always think the same way as others, and this could well be such an occasion.

"A woman will do as she will, this I know. I hope that she could love and respect her husband; it will surely make things easier. But I also know lives and marriages can be troubled and complicated, even if ours isn't", he answered slowly as he ran one hand against her arm. Just in case, he added, "I do hope I haven't given you any reason to think otherwise."

"No, no. It's not you that I'm talking about", she replied, holding him a bit tighter for a moment. "You know people sometimes come to me, asking for help when they feel like they have no other options. There was a lady, and she made me wonder. But I myself have such a lovely husband, I do not know if I can help her."

Hearing these words, he relaxed once more. Not that in his heart he had doubted her, but it was nice to hear her say it.

"If anyone can answer such a question, I think you are that person", he said and pressed a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"Hmm. It may be so. But I still wonder what you would tell her", said Lothíriel, and she raised her head to look at him with wide, serious eyes.

He met that gaze, and was quiet for a moment. At length he replied.

"No woman needs to love or respect a man who doesn't make an effort to earn it. I hope you will remind me, if I ever fail in it", he told her solemnly.

She met his gaze, steady and grave. Then she raised herself to kiss him. It was a slow, quiet one, before she settled against his chest again. For some time, they were quiet again.

"You are a good man, Éomer galu", she muttered against his chest, her voice half disappearing against his skin.

"What's that?" he asked; there was a word in her speech he had not recognised.

Lothíriel just hemmed sleepily, and said no more.

To be continued.


A/N: Here is a new chapter! I hope you all liked it.

While plotting this one, I meant to include certain events I've been eager to get to, but eventually realised it wasn't going to work out yet. The biggest reason is I first wanted to show a bit of their life together, and how Lothíriel is settling down in her new role. But I am eager to get to show you the next chapter, so let's hope I can write and complete it soon enough!

I must admit at the moment I'm not certain of how long this story will be, but I suspect it will be closer to 250k than 200k. I guess it all depends on how vigorously my muse keeps on going for this story. But just to let you know - we're nowhere finished yet!

Galu is Sindarin and means something like "blessedness, good fortune". So, the reason Lothíriel uses that word is because she's foreseeing his epithet Éadig, the Blessed.

I hope you all remain safe and sound. I know it's been a long year for us all, but it's all the more reason not to give up the precautions now. To my American readers, hopefully you'll be able to enjoy Thanksgiving despite the current situation!

As always, I'm eager to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading and reviewing!


Guest - Thank you! Glad to hear the story has such quality. :)

EStrunk - Yes, they certainly have a very good relationship between them, and a promise of it growing even stronger. But what sort of trouble there may be, we'll see!

sai19 - Thanks! It's a bit of small fun detail. I can't see Éomer being a big cat person, so I was very much amused by the idea of him having to put up with one on a regular basis. :D

Boramir - Interesting thoughts once again! You are quite correct in your assessment of what Lothíriel makes of the workshop. It's a very tangible gesture of her new husband's support and understanding, and it's enormously important to her.

Éomer has definitely been quite distracted with his new wife, but he hasn't forgotten about Eadwig. Still, there aren't easy ways of dealing with the man while he's not doing anything obviously treasonous. But as seen in this chapter, he's taking certain steps to keep tabs on Eadwig and recruiting Elfhelm in this task. On the other hand, he does feel uneasy about it. This kind of intrigue reminds him too much of Wormtongue's era.

Simplegurl4u - Yes, he has a very strong need for making sure she's safe and secure even if he's not with her anymore.

We'll see what happens with them and Eadwig!

Catspector - That it very much is! Still, this new life takes some getting used to. And you are right - the greatest menace near Éomer at the moment is indeed the cat Cúran! :D

sailor68 - Glad you liked it!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you!

Jo - Thanks! Happy to hear you adore Cúran. I must admit, I do too!

Wondereye - It happens when and if it happens!

Guest - I work as much and fast as I can, but stories take their time.