Moon


Éowyn snarled at the council, furious at their foolishness. A majority of the council were convinced the king was behaving like a spoilt child and refused her suggestion that he seek the one person who could heal him. She had no doubt that Éomer King was receiving the best care in all of the Mark, but she knew it was no ordinary ailment that plagued her brother. She had witnessed such despair before; the hollow stare, the listless whispering. Éomer was dying of a broken heart, just as his mother had after her father died. Unlike his mother, her brother could be saved, Ithílwyn was somewhere in the Mark and she was the only cure. Several of the council members accused her of witchcraft, stating that the king was under an evil spell and that his health should return as long as he avoided the witch. Many were compelled by their fierce argument, and Éowyn threw her hands up in frustration and marched away from the hall.

She rushed into Éomer's chambers, surprised to see several women tending to him, recognising them as daughters from prominent families. Groaning inwardly, she inquired after the healer's whereabouts, demanding that he explain the nature of her brother's illness. The ladies bowed their heads before her, and one of them had the decency to feel some shame at their attempted to seduce the king while he was infirmed. She commanded them to leave and waited for the healer while the eligible ladies swept their skirts as they hastened away.

The healer explained that he knew not the nature of Éomer's illness, and Éowyn was relieved to find that he did not share in the council's antiquated views on Ithílwyn being a witch. Still, the healer was doubtful that the queen could heal him, indeed he had tried most of the medicines he knew of to heal the king, but none had made a difference on his health. "It is a different ailment, and medicines will not cure him," she said to him sombrely, staring back at the pallid face lying in the bed and knowing she had to act if she wanted to save him.

She managed to convince the council that there was a healer in Aldburg who was more familiar with Éomer's health and he might be able to cure him. Her hysterical performance left them with little choice and they agreed that he should be treated in Aldburg with all urgency. Erkenbrand travelled to Meduseld to rule in the king's stead while he recovered and Éowyn focused on the next part of her plan: locating Ithílwyn.

On her arrival in Aldburg, Stanhelm had already received word and after speaking with him, they both agreed with Éowyn's judgment, her brother was indeed dying of a broken heart. Ainsware snorted when she told him, finding it hard to believe that the Third Marshal of the Mark, who had been so opposed to the idea of marriage and love, would die of a broken heart. Despite the grave situation at hand, she responded with an ironic smile but it soon faded, and she clasped Ainsware's hand, her confident and stoic demeanour melting away to reveal her fear.

"We have to find her, I saw her last in the spring in Ithílien and she mentioned she would journey home but she has not returned to Meduseld. Oh Ainsware," she cried in desperation, despising how helpless she felt.

"It is not her home, and Aldburg is not either. I have not seen hair nor hide of her since she left to care for your aunt. How is the baby?"

The both exchanged stories, Éowyn recounting the tragic incident that led Ithílwyn to lose her child and the grief she struggled afterward. There was not much she knew about what transpired last spring, only that she had been unwell and went to Mundburg to be healed by King Aragorn and his elven queen. Ainsware in turn, told Éowyn all she knew about Ithílwyn's courtship or lack thereof and how she had rejected Éomer's offer of marriage, choosing to leave him and raise their child in obscurity. She had an inkling as to where Ithílwyn's home was, but she would first need to consult someone who could help locate the runaway queen.


A week later, Éowyn was relieved to have a full moon above lighting their way through the forest. Gúthlaf was their guide and they travelled slowly, as Firefoot had to carry his master in a cart and there was no clear path in the forest. Ainsware was old, and the steady pace of their journey suited her fine. It would have been better to have travelled with more men, but Éowyn had kidnapped her brother after all, and secrecy was important. The cart wobbled and bumped over roots as they tried to find a path with the least obstruction. Éomer did not seem to acknowledge that he was out in a forest nor that he had been bumping against the cart for the past hour. The sudden realisation that he could die and leave her struck hard, causing her to collapse against a tree. Before she could crumple and cry at her brother's miserable fate, she heard the sound of rustling leaves. She brandished a sword without hesitation, the blade glinting menacingly.

"Ithílwyn?" Ainsware called out, and Éowyn held her breath in anticipation. She stepped forward carefully, staring at them in confusion. Bathed in moonlight, she seemed more a forest nymph than a woman.

"Lady Éowyn!" she exclaimed, then frowned as she realised the meaning of their midnight sojourn. "Éomer," she said, gulping nervously waiting for someone to say something, staring at the three of them.

"He is unwell, and he needs you," Ainsware summarised, seeing Éowyn incapacitated by the ordeal of watching her brother die slowly before her. Ithílwyn rushed to the cart and let out a cry of despair at the sight of her husband lying like one dead, save that his eyes were open and staring at nothing. Horrified, she nearly fell off the cart and somehow Éowyn found the fortitude to pull her up and slap her across the face. "You have to lead us, Ithílwyn. We cannot help him while stuck in this forest." Tears streamed down her face but she nodded, squaring her shoulders. Gúthlaf carried the king on his back with Éowyn beside him while Ainsware mounted Firefoot, leaving the burdensome cart behind as Ithílwyn led them to her home.

Gúthlaf's guess had been close, and it was not long until they arrived at Ithílwyn's cave. Since the entrance was small, Éowyn helped him carry her brother into the cave. Ithílwyn helped him to settle while the rest returned to the cart to gather the supplies they had brought. When they returned, Éowyn found Ithílwyn completely distraught and she comforted her, reminding her that she need not feel guilty. No one had expected Éomer to bear such intense feelings and the loneliness he had suffered without his wife, the hopelessness he had to endure each day she chose to be away from him.

"Come now, child, there will be a time for tears, but he has not eaten. Will you try and make him eat? Gúthlaf has been his industrious self and collected some firewood. Truth be told, I am famished and would like a hearty meal," she said gently. The prodigal queen nodded and with a worried glance at Éomer, she let out a quiet sigh and allowed Ainsware to assist her.

Later, Éowyn finished the last of her stew and looked at Ainsware barely keeping her eyes open. Gúthlaf was grooming Firefoot but he too was yawning. Ithílwyn had not eaten, immediately rushing into the cave with a hot bowl of stew to tend to Éomer. She peeked in the cave and found Éomer's head on Ithílwyn's lap as she patiently tended to him, feeding him water and stew. He seemed to stare at her as if he were in a dream and Éowyn marvelled at the effect Ithílwyn had on his brother. Perhaps she was a witch, her brother seemed to be completely entranced by her. She whispered to him as she spooned miniscule amounts of stew in his mouth, encouraging him to swallow and rejoicing when he did. Éowyn turned away and went to sit by the fire, letting out her breath in relief. Her brother would soon be well, and he would live.


Ainsware drifted in and out of sleep, the forest floor was not comfortable and her back was beginning to feel sore, but she was too weary to move. Beside her lay Gúthlaf, snoring contentedly and Ainsware was grateful for his company and his assistance. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Lady Éowyn and Ithílwyn conferring, speaking in hushed voices. There was a resigned look on Ithílwyn's face while Lady Éowyn appeared stern as if demanding something from her. Though she was curious, her exhaustion wrapped around her like a heavy blanket and she dozed off.

The next day, she rose and heard several cracking sounds from her back and grunted, rubbing her sore muscles. Éowyn was already packing and loading the cart, Gúthlaf assisting her. "I have spoken to Ithílwyn, and Gúthlaf will return in two weeks to escort the king back to Aldburg," Éowyn announced at breakfast. "We must return and brief Elfhelm, he has agreed to help us in our deception and we must advice him now that Éomer is safe with Ithílwyn."

"How is he?" Ainsware inquired, nibbling on her bread. A small smile appeared on Éowyn's face, and she put her cup down.

"He called her this morning, but he is still weak. Ithílwyn is trying to have him eat more, but he looked right at her and recognised her. There is a faint light in his eyes, and she believes he is stirring from his dark dreams."

"Incredible," Ainsware breathed, forgetting her hunger for a brief moment.

"Indeed," Éowyn said, brushing crumbs off her shoulder. "It is better if they are left alone, Ithílwyn assures me that she has not encountered any dangerous beasts since her return and she does not foresee the need for protection. Éomer is," she sighed wearily, "recuperating quicker than expected and she thinks he will be walking on his own in a few days once some of his strength has returned."

"That is good news," Gúthlaf commented in an uncertain tone, perplexed as he watched Lady Éowyn chew on her lip.

"Yes," she said, her tone unconvinced. There was more to Éomer's quick recovery that worried her, but despite Ainsware's best efforts, she mentioned nothing, keeping it all to herself.


Ithílwyn apologised profusely for being a poor host as she bade them farewell. "You will save him yet," Ainsware whispered in her ear, embracing the young woman. Her doubts were displayed clearly in her eyes, her lower lip trembling with fear. "He loves you, and I am certain that you bear a great love for him." Ithílwyn nodded tearfully. "Then that is enough, little one," she said, "he is stirring, you shall awake him and remind him what it means to live and love."

"I, I am not the right woman," she confessed breathlessly, turning to glance briefly at Éowyn's back.

"Éomer is not the right man for you either, he has wronged you before and I can see you are afraid of what the future holds." She realised this was what Lady Éowyn was concerned with. Éomer would be hale again, but if they were separated, it was not certain that he would return to the dark dreams he drifted in. And if they should be reunited, she wondered what dark fate might befall Ithílwyn, who had already suffered in Meduseld as his queen. "Think not of the future, you must worry the most about his health. You will arrive at a solution, time oft brings wisdom." Ithílwyn nodded at her advice and allowed herself to be consoled.

That night, she took some comfort that Éomer was eating more and was able to chew on the roast potatoes. He stared at her with recognition, but he appeared confused and dazed. She knew that he was struggling with his resurfacing consciousness, wearying easily as his mind perceived in increasing measure. He slept fitfully that night and she bathed him with a warm cloth and fragrant oils, taking great care to arouse his sense of smell and touch as he dreamed. The outline of his ribs against his skin was a stark contrast to the man she had married. Éomer was an imposing figure, and she could not picture anyone as strong and hale as he in her memory. Now he lay weak and thin, a shadow of his former self.

For so long she believed that he was merely infatuated with her, that he never truly loved her the way she loved him. It was a poor consolation that made their separation easier, she could hope that he would find another woman to love and marry. His frail frame was evidence that he was dangeorusly devoted to her, and it seemed impossible to comprehend, yet it was true. She washed his hair, finding some amusement when he let out little grunts of pleasure when she massaged his scalp. Then she trimmed his beard, and was relieved to find him resembling more of the Éomer she knew. Hope sprouted in her heart and she kissed him softly on the lips.

"You should not have loved me so, but I know you had no choice in the matter," she whispered to his sleeping form as she brushed his hair, applying oils in his hair to soften it. She braided his hair and sang to him softly, noticing the lines on his face and how aged he had become. Somehow, this face that had appeared constantly in her dreams was both familiar and strange. She had changed in the past year and a half and a part of her wondered if Éomer had also grown different while she had been away. Would she recognise him? Would he? Growing weary of her contemplation, she sighed and crawled to his side to curl beside him. His warmth banished the distressing thoughts in her mind and she fell asleep.


She rose early the next morning and began preparing breakfast, checking briefly on the horses who were satisfied to graze on the grass and wander unchained. They did not stray far from the cave and Ithílwyn was glad that they were behaving their best now that she had to devote her time to tend to Éomer. While the porridge was cooking, she prepared some dough for the bread and allowed it to rise as she collected some oils and towels. That morning was surprisingly warm, and Ithílwyn surmised she could bathe in the lake. Winter would soon be here, and there would be no bathing unless she wanted to freeze. Éomer was still asleep and she gave stern orders for Firefoot to guard him. The war horse responded with a nonchalant expression and Ithílwyn thought he would have shrugged if it was possible.

After her refreshing bath she returned and found Éomer reclining by the fire, lying on a stack of pillows while he looked around, disoriented. "Ithíl?" he called, his brow furrowing as if deciding whether he was dreaming or not. He stared at her as she approached him, flinching when she reached out to cup his cheek, eyes fixed on her.

"It is not a dream," she whispered, her tone even but calm. Gently, she reached out to take his hand and gave it a small squeeze. "Can you feel me?" she asked, her heart beating wildly. He gave a small nod in acknowledgment. "Close your eyes, tell me what you feel," she said softly, watching his face carefully. He sniffed the air and was conscious of the scent of something cooking, dried lavender. She guided her hand to her chest and his eyes flew open as he felt her heart beating.

"Ithíl," he breathed, her name escaping her lips.

"Éomer," she replied, her eyes growing wet. He looked at her, and smiled.

"I thought I had lost you."

"You became very ill, and your sister brought you here. Do you remember what happened?"

"Hm," he replied, staring up at her instead of answering the question. "You look well," he commented approvingly and he tried lifting his arm to touch her but he was still weak.

She sensed his body growing tired and she laid him back down. He stopped her before she could remove the pillows, and she understood that he wanted to remain seated. "Your strength is returning, soon you shall come out of the cave and watch the stars with me," she said softly. Éomer nodded and settled into the cushions, falling into sleep.

With the assistance of a cane which he whittled from a sturdy oak branch, he managed to walk short distances, often accompanying Ithílwyn as she foraged for their meals. He rested while she picked berries or collected herbs and though he had needed her help to stand on his feet initially, he soon found himself ambulating without her assistance. Each day he woke up feeling stronger, and Ithíl made sure he ate whenever he could, often leaving tidbits like tarts, nuts, berries, fried pieces of dough covered in sugar for him to munch on during the day. His appetite was improving quickly, and he often finished the food she portioned for him, at times requesting for more. On the fifth day, he was able to sit upright without feeling fatigued and could hold his own bowl without feeling his arms tire.

One morning, he helped her prepare breakfast and she informed him that it was sunny and warm outside. "Do you think you could walk to the lake? We can bring the horses along if you feel weary," she said to him. He nodded, and after he had rested a little while, he saddled Firefoot slowly while Ithíl packed. Though he had been worried that his strength would wane, Ithílwyn made sure that they travelled at a leisurely pace. His cane provided sme assistance, but he realised with delight that he would not need it much longer. The trees were a canopy of yellow, orange and red patches, the forest air keen and thrilling. When they arrived at the lake, Ithílwyn set the bundles she had packed down, laying a large sheet of cloth for Éomer to sit on. She took the reins off the horses and let them graze in the warm autumn sun.

"I am going to swim," she said, a faint blush tinging her cheeks. "Would you like to join me?" He nodded immediately, his vigour renewed. While he removed his clothes, Ithílwyn had already stripped and ran into the water, laughing. He watched her dive into the water, and smiled to himself. Ithílwyn averted her gaze as he walked into the lake, waiting patiently for him. She handed him an odd object. "Lottie, Princess Lothíriel gave it to me while she was teaching me to swim. She said the children in Dol Amroth use it so they do not fear the water. It is made from cork, so you need not fear drowning." She rested her chest on it and clung to the top with her hands, paddling with her legs.

"Do not look so terrified," she said, trying her hardest not to laugh. "Try, it is not as difficult as it seems." Gingerly, he reached out and took the float away from her, his eyes straying to her breasts. "Paddle if you have the strength, it is good for your legs. If you grow tired, you may rest at the shallow edges, there are oils by the water that you can use to bathe. I am going to practise my swimming, once winter is here the lake will be too cold." She waded away, diving once she reached deeper waters. He paddled languidly in the shallow waters, drifting on the float when he wanted a brief reprieve. Then he grew adventurous, and paddled away for a while until his legs grew weary.

Returning to the shore, he spied Ithíl's head bobbing in and out of the waves. She waved at him, her face radiant with joy and his heart ached. Nearly a week had passed, and they had made no mention of their past. Éomer suspected that they would speak soon, but Ithílwyn's demeanour suggested that her priority was for him to regain his strength. He bathed while he watched her swimming and then he dried himself with a towel and fell asleep, weary from the paddling and the hike to the lake. The quiet lapping of the water and the warm sun on his skin lulled him to sleep, though he had intended to rest briefly and prepare some food for Ithílwyn.

He dreamed of a mermaid with a familiar face and dark hair, swimming in circles around him and singing strange lullabies. Ithílwyn shook his shoulder to wake him, and he followed her to the fire where she was swatting Firefoot away from a bag. "That is enough apples for one day," she chastised, laughing when the horse trotted away dejectedly. Éomer chuckled at the sight of the crestfallen horse. She turned to look at him and cast a warm smile.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" she inquired.

"Yes," he replied too quickly, realising his face had grown hot as he stared at the mermaid he had dreamed of. Ithílwyn raised one of her eyebrows, an amused smirk on her face.

"Were your dreams entertaining?" He choked on his sausage at her accurate guess and coughed violently.

"I suppose some dreams should remain private," she murmured, handing him a cup of water.

"No, it was not anything like that," he replied once he could breathe properly again. Taking another sip of water to compose himself, he explained, "I was underwater, and you were a mermaid. That is all I dreamed of."

"Mermaids lead men to their demise, according to myths."

"You were a kind mermaid, your singing was very beautiful," he said and coughed in his hand, feeling sheepish. Ithílwyn burst into peals of laughter, and he wondered how long it had been since he had heard her laughing. He simply stared, absolutely mesmerised by her joy.

"Thank you, I often entertained thoughts of being a kind mermaid," she said, placing her hand on his knee, "but it is merely a fantasy." His stomach growled, interrupting the lovely conversation and he scowled. She handed him a plate of sausages, fried tomatoes and grilled vegetables and fixed herself a plate of food. "Swimming is hungry work, especially during the winter." Éomer was too ravenous to speak, and he listened as she told him about her time in Dol Amroth, and the coral garden Queen Arwen had told her about, how Princess Lothíriel taught her to swim and the hot springs that everyone claimed had healing properties. She put some more sausages and mushrooms to cook when both their plates were empty.

"I made some drawings in my journals, would you like to look at them once we return to the cave?" She got up to pack their things while he finished his meal. Éomer found the hike back to the cave a paltry task, and did so without his cane. They arrived at sundown and Ithílwyn unpacked their things then called him to follow her. She ran up a hill, then raced down to help him up. When he arrived at the peak, he stood with his mouth agape at the view. Ithílwyn was equally transfixed, marvelling at the splash of purple, blue, red and orange hues blending harmoniously in the evening sky. He felt her hand in his and he turned to her, awed at how beautiful she was, her face glowing in the dying sunlight. She must have felt him staring and turned to look at him, surprised at the heat of his gaze.

"Éomer," she whispered, her eyes wide as his head descended, capturing her lips in a kiss. A hand crept up, resting on the back of his neck and he deepened the kiss. She pulled away, slightly breathless. The sun was disappearing into the horizon.

"We should get back, it will soon be dark. I need to prepare the evening meal," she said hurriedly and sprinted off before he could point out that they had just eaten a hearty meal.


For the first time that night, he stayed awake after dinner and offered to help Ithílwyn clean up. She was surprised to find him awake and offered him some tea. A cup was set before him and she stood up to rummage in a big chest. She returned with a leather bound book and leafed through it. He sipped his tea carefully, pleasantly surprised at the familiar taste.

"It tastes familiar," he remarked.

"You sound as if you have not drank the tea in a long time," she observed, "did I not send you enough to brew your own?"

"Yes, but it never tasted like this, even after I followed your instructions. It grew frustrating after a while, and I stopped trying."The air grew awkward at his confession, for there was much that was brought to light by the words he did not say. "Sorry, I think you meant to show me your drawings," he spoke, attempting to change the subject. Ithílwyn appeared grateful for this and handed him the journal, showing him the illustration of the coral garden. "Prince Erchirion taught me to paint with colours. This is one of my better ones, it took me a while to learn."

"It is beautiful," he remarked, and wondered what it would be like to view more scenic wonders like the sunset earlier with her. He felt the ghost of her touch on his hand.

"They are not, look," she pointed to the next page, revealing a more elaborate, detailed illustration. "Prince Erchirion drew this at my request, and he captures its likeness better. Can you see this...," she pointed to a creature and though he was interested, he gazed at her lips and remembered how lovely it was to have her in his arms, the softness of her skin under his touch and the warmth of her embrace.

"You look happy," he blurted out, interrupting her explanation of how seahorses produced their babies. She drew back, closing the book.

"Yes, I suppose," she replied quietly. A flash of guilt crossed her fair face. "I am glad to have witnessed such beauty in the world, and returning to life in the cave has brought great peace to my heart. Travelling was delightful, and often times I open my journals and relive my days in foreign lands but my heart longs for home. This cave is where I belong, and though I once believed we could make a home together, it was a fool's hope. I was a stranger in Meduseld, there is no place for me amongst the noble lords and resplendent ladies of the Mark. It is lonely, that I cannot deny, but the future is uncertain. Perhaps I may never bear children, but I do not need a child of my own flesh. Finríel loved me greatly, as if we were of the same blood. She would not approve if she knew I should hide myself, concealing the gift of healing she has passed on to me. Not just now, but when I am ready to leave, I shall find a quiet village near the cave and settle there." She finished her tea and refilled her cup.

"It brings me joy to see you happy," he said, though it was an understatement, not quite able to express how grateful and delighted he felt to see her at peace, hear her laughter, watch her in the glowing sunset. She blushed but said anything, knowing he was reminiscing on their tragic past.

"It is time for bed," she murmured quietly, stoking the fireplace with her back turned to him. Their furs were laid out and she fell asleep, though Éomer half-suspected that she might be pretending. He could not sleep, his gaze fixed on her back. Then after a while, he crept over to her, lying by her side to watch the even rise and fall of her frame as she slept. Unable to resist, he tucked a stray lock of hair away from her face, noting how silky it felt between his fingers. With her face so close to his fingers, he grew bold and brushed his knuckle against her cheekbone lightly, careful not to wake her. His heart thumping wildly in his chest at her beauty, tempting him to trace the contours of her lips, remembering how pink and swollen they had been earlier when they had kissed. Béma, she was a feast for his eyes.

Her eyes flew open and he drew back in shock, abashed at his trespass. Despite wanting to run out of the cave, he remained frozen next to her staring into her dark eyes.

"Keep touching my face," she whispered suddenly, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheek as she shut her eyes and swallowed nervously.

"Ithílwyn," he protested, wondering if he was dreaming.

"Shall I touch you then?" she teased. Her smile faded, and she reached out to touch his face. "I found the letters you wrote while you stayed in the cave," she murmured, her fingers brushing softly against his cheek. "You hid them well, but this has been my home since I was a child. Éomer, I apologise for causing you such pain," she spoke, kissing the back of his hand. "I never meant to, it was such a ridiculous notion; that you could love me, truly love me and it was easy to deny, but my disbelief has caused you to suffer. If not for your sister's meddling, you would be-" she paused, blinking away tears.

"Shh," he hushed, trying to comfort her. She drew closer to him, allowing him to envelope her in his embrace. "It is not your fault, dear Ithíl. All my suffering was just punishment, I do not hold you accountable for my misery." Smiling down at her, he lifted her chin and placed a tender kiss on the lips he had been dreaming about.

"I love you," he murmured against her hair, his heart filled to bursting. To his surprise, she wriggled up to kiss him passionately. Delighted at her display of affection, he returned her ardour with the many months of pent up desire.

"Oh Ithíl," he moaned, his teeth grazing against her collarbone. Her scent was intoxicating and he was beyond rational thought.

"Are you certain Éomer?" she asked, her pupils dilated with lust.

"If only you knew," he chuckled, shaking his head. "If only you knew how much I want you, dear Ithíl." He watched her cheeks turn bright red and all his fantasies paled in comparison to her warmth beside him. This was more than dreams, more than he could imagine.

"I will try to be gentle," she said cautiously but he was willing to risk his life for one night of pleasure. "Do what you wish," he murmured, nuzzling against her. She hesitated, and he reached down, pulling up the hem of her skirt and caressed her thighs, his fingers trailing higher and higher. Her breaths grew ragged and a satisfied smile bloomed on his face as he watched her. "Shall I continue?" he asked, bracing himself to move away should she refuse.

"Yes," she sighed breathlessly, relaxing under his touch.

"Can I touch you?" he asked, realising that it was her pleasure he truly desired. She nodded, her eyes pleading for him. Casting aside her furs, he traced a trail from her thigh to her folds, glistening with Ithílwyn's arousal. He pleasured her with his fingers, watching with fascination as she writhed against him in ecstasy.

"What do you want?" he murmured against her neck, his breath hot on her skin. As he planned, she could not reply coherently, moaning his name instead. "Yes, I see," he replied and inserted his finger inside, shuddering when her walls tightened around him. His cock was aching with need, and he was torn between torturing Ithíl senseless or taking his own pleasure. Briefly, he registered Ithíl's hand drifting lower, disappearing into his breeches and wrapping itself around his cock. Barely able to think with her hand caressing him, he surrendered to her.

"Relax," she instructed, straddling him as she stroked his length. He wanted to watch her making love to him but he could not withstand the overwhelming sensations surging within him. "Oh Ithíl," he gasped when she felt her slick folds rubbing against his cock. Ithílwyn cried out, her head thrown back, her breasts heaving with exertion. He lay helplessly, too weary to take control over their lovemaking. It was not unwelcome however, nearly fainting when she sheathed him within her. Ithílwyn groaned as she undulated her hips, and Éomer could do nothing but grip onto the furs tightly, muscles tensed as they approached release. Despite his best efforts, he exploded within her, crying out her name, using up his remaining strength to buck against her desperately. She cried out his name moments later, her hips still rising and falling as she rode out the ebbing waves of pleasure. Then she collapsed beside him, and though he had so many things to say to her, his tongue lolled heavily in his mouth, completely exhausted. Ithílwyn purred next to him, kissing his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. This was heaven, he thought to himself, drifting off to sleep.


Their lovemaking had been like the bursting of a dam, and since both had abstained during the time apart, it meant that there was little else to do but quench their thirst for each other. Initially, his weakened state meant that Ithílwyn had ample opportunity to educate him on the sexual aspect of marriage discussed in ancient Harad, where there were many ways in which male and female, and otherwise as he discovered, could take their pleasure in themselves and with each other. Aware that time was limited, they eagerly explored the teachings, and Éomer asked Ithílwyn how she could have drawn such seemingly lewd illustrations without blushing her face clean off. She blushed, and mentioned she was no virgin. He knew she desired intimacy as much as he did, and he wondered if she would find a husband for such a reason. Perhaps she would take a lover? He had, he thought to himself rather regretfully, and it was common for men to do so. She expected him to marry and have children, but a life without her was difficult to imagine.

They did little else the next few days and took their pleasure everywhere they wished for there was no need to muffle their cries of pleasure for fear of shame, no danger of being caught while engaging in inappropriate behaviour. As Éomer regained his strength, he participated more actively in their lovemaking. Ithílwyn remarked saucily that he seemed to recover quicker after she had seduced him. It was true, he was using more of his muscles, and ravishing Ithílwyn, or rather, being ravished by her gave him a ravenous appetite. She had wakened him from his stupor and now he hungered for all life could offer. He swam with Ithílwyn, hunted and cooked their meals, savoured the food he ate and made love to her as often as he could. To his delight, she was as insatiable as he, and they lost count of the days spent, too occupied with their pleasure to attend to other matters.

That night, they made love under the stars and after their lusts had been satisfied, she lay with her head tucked under his chin, her fingers drawing circles lazily on his chest as she tried to catch her breath. He too was panting, wiping away the beads of sweat on his forehead. He thought back to the morning when she had pushed him against the bole of a tree, ddropped to her knees and took his whole length in her mouth, and in the afternoon, when she had her legs wrapped around his waist as he emptied himself in her while they were swimming. He shivered at the delectable memories and Ithílwyn asked him if he was cold.

He shook his head. "I was merely thinking about today, and how it has been perfect."

"The sun has been especially generous, it may possibly be the last warm autumn day."

"Not the weather, silly woman. You are perfect, and your body is," he grunted, his fingers kneading the mounds of her backside as he showed her what he meant.

She laughed and kissed him softly on the lips, so tenderly Éomer felt his eyes prick with tears, deeply humbled to be loved by the woman of his dreams.

"I know we have much to say, and that we may not see each other again after tomorrow. You are,"she paused, taking a deep breath and Éomer knew she was doing her best to refrain from crying, "the man I loved first and still do, though it cannot be denied that our time together has been," she hesitated, choosing her words carefully, "tumultuous, you have given me many happy memories, all of which I will treasure in my heart forever. My home is not in Meduseld, but I cannot have you die on my account."

"Then surely you can understand that I cannot allow you to come with me. I cannot allow anyone or anything to break your spirit Ithílwyn. It has happened once, and it shall never happen again. If you die-" he choked, the vivid, horrifying images that had been his penance flooding his mind.

"I do not have to return as your queen," she said softly. He stared at her in confusion. "I could be your mistress."

"No!" he shouted almost violently, drawing away from her as if she had uttered a vile curse. "It was a terrible mistake to have asked that of you and there is not a day that I do not regret my folly, that I have dishonoured you by taking your innocence and given you naught in return. You are my wife, and though I was born into kingship, it is you in possession of kindness, grace, modesty befitting a queen. You deserve to be held in the highest regard, and I will not accept anything less for my beautiful wife. I know it has brought you great suffering, and I am too ashamed, too guilty to ask you once more. You have decided to pursue your happiness, and I am overjoyed to know you are content, and at peace. As for me, I know in my heart that I will love you until my last breath, Ithíl of the forest," he smiled tenderly, gazing into her eyes.

He knew she would give him her left leg if he requested for it, indeed she had already given her life twice. Could he survive without her? It was the question that had plagued him ever since Ithílwyn called his name and woke him from his stupor. Try as he might, there was no answer. Would he permit Ithílwyn to be humiliated and scorned to the point of despair and helplessness once more? Absolutely not, he would rather die. "Ithíl, my dearest, fairest Ithíl," he murmured affectionately, caressing her cheeks tenderly, "seeing you smile and laugh has been my salvation. I have been more harm than good, even as your husband, though it was not my intention. So I promise that I will live a full life and find happiness in the days to come."

She stared at him, and for a moment, he thought she perceived his untruth, but she said nothing and kissed him again. "I love you," he whispered as she settled in his embrace, and fell asleep. His lower lip quivered, and he wished that circumstances had been different, that he could tell her just how much he loved her, that his heart ached and hurt without her. She was his soul, his love so profound that he could not explain with words. It mattered not, he thought to himself wryly, gulping as felt a lump form in his throat. An image of Ithíl sprawled lifelessly in a tub of her own blood flashed before him, the scars on her arms and legs that represented her inner turmoil. The sound of his own harsh words borne of impatience returned to haunt him, giving him no rest while Ithílwyn slumbered peacefully beside him.


She woke to find him staring at her with misty eyes. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with his hands.

"I have to remember," he explained, then turned away awkwardly, fiddling with an already packed bag. A simple breakfast was spread out, coddled eggs, toasted bread slathered with jam and tea. "Thank you," she said, grateful for his effort. "You have made all my meals thus far," he reasoned, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at her gaze but pleased nonetheless that she was delighted. He poured her some tea, wondering why he felt like an idiot, tongue-tied and nervous. She sipped at her tea and stared at him with wide eyes. "I thought you did not know how to brew it?"

"I have been watching you while you prepare the tea. Do not fret about me," he said, smiling at her assuringly.

"It is a habit of mine. You are still not yet at full strength, so do remember to eat and exercise as often as possible. The people of the Mark need you, Éomer Eadig. If you should need me, just send word. There will be no more missives between us, and I am no longer your wife. An estranged friend perhaps, but one who loves you, and will be at your service always."

Gúthlaf arrived not long after, and found the king ready to depart. He loaded the cart they had left behind with the little Éomer had packed, mostly his clothes and bedding. The food had long been devoured, and he nearly forgot about supplies for their travel as he had been occupied with surveying the forest, committing it to memory until he returned again. Perhaps he could learn how to paint like Ithíl had done, then he could preserve his memories, yes, he would paint many pictures of her.

He put his thoughts away and went to look for her, remembering that she had packed some food for the journey. It did not take long for him to find her, and he was horrified to see her fully dressed and packed, her horse saddled.

"No!" he shouted, causing Gúthlaf to run over at the commotion. She calmly instructed him that there were several chests that need to be loaded onto the cart, ignoring Éomer's displeasure.

"Listen to me, I was," she pasued, thinking for a while, "I am your wife. Did you think you could deceive me? It will only be until I am certain that you will be well. You have evidence of my happiness, I need to know you will find happiness without me. When that is accomplished, you may publicly divorce." He cried out, disgusted by the thought, but Ithílwyn held up her hand, "or you may renounce our marriage, proclaiming it had never been legal before you marry another."

"Never," he spat out, forgetting he was to convince Ithílwyn that all would be well even if she was apart from him.

"Never?" she echoed, "you are the king, your duty to your forebears and your people is to produce an heir."

"Éowyn is young, and in love. It is reasonable to expect her to produce enough heirs for both Rohan and Ithílien," he replied stubbornly. Ithílwyn smiled patiently, drawing closer to him.

"I know this has been repeated many times, but beyond an heir to the kingship of the Mark, I wish you will know the joys of being a father. Do you not deserve happiness, my love? If not happiness, then contentment at the very least?"

"One can be content without a wife, I know many a man who would rather live without theirs." Ithílwyn sighed, suddenly remembering how obstinate Éomer could be when he chose to. "It is not possible to love another like I love you," he confessed mournfully.

"You did not think it possible that you would ever marry, was that not your wager with Aldric? Some things may seem impossible, until you find they are indeed possible and the world a better place for it. Do not give up yet, certainly it will not be the same, but it may still be good and wonderful with a different woman. Éomer Eadig they have named you, and aptly so, for you are a man on whom many blessings are bestowed, and many more to come."

"You are a blessing," he insisted.

"Blessings," she stressed, emphasising the plurality.

"I do not feel blessed at this moment," he grumbled immaturely, causing Ithílwyn to hide her amusement.

"You have not upheld your end of the bargain. And from what I have seen when you first came to me with your unkempt appearance, I see you have been making little effort. It is no wonder you have not attracted any ladies."

"Only you," he whispered under his breath.

"I am hardly a lady," she scoffed, "and that is why I had to leave," she muttered, the conversation taking on a sombre tone. He could make no reply, no argument in the face of her suffering. "You need to heal too, Éomer, and when you are well and content, I shall embark on my happiness."


Her return caused an uproar amongst the lords, but she was unfazed by their hysterics. Instead she beckoned them to behave respectfully as was expected since they were lords of the Mark, and glanced respectfully at those who treated her with dignity. She spoke to them, reasoning that her previous departure proved that Éomer needed more time and guidance, assuring them that she was not there to rule over them or to assume her role as queen although he insisted later and forced the council to acknowledge her status as queen consort. The council made their own stipulations, and agreed that it would be made known Queen Mildred had returned, fully recuperated from her illness while in Gondor. She was not permitted in his bed, and they were to behave formally at all times, no gestures of affection in public. Ithílwyn promised to ensure that he would meet with eligible ladies and nudged Éomer to nod in agreement.

It was entirely unfair, but Ithílwyn did not contest their decision. A truce was agreed upon, and they seemed satisfied that her presence and influence were temporary. He saw her only at breakfast and they were watched by members of the council, wary of her witchcraft. Concerned for her welfare, he talked to Mathilde, instructing her to watch for any signs of melancholy. Unable to decide whether her absence was preferable to seeing her once a day without being able to touch her, he grew increasingly frustrated and summoned the council, worried that he could not provide any consolation for his wife. He took to sneaking into her room, and she permitted him to hold her, but would pull away even if his only intention was to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

Still, it was a comfort to listen to her and he took some comfort that their physical separation was equally trying for her. She seemed content, filling her time with her hobbies and other interests. Mathilde told him she often rode out into the plains, practising her painting. On other days, she busied herself with managing the large household, occasionally visiting villages to offer treatment to the sick and injured. On one of these travels, she discovered her father's sister and requested his permission for her to be brought to live at Meduseld. The elderly lady was weak and Ithílwyn tended to her patiently, often talking to her for many hours, sharing her father's journals with her only remaining blood relative.

She learned much about her childhood, and how she regretted alienating her brother in his time of need. Hildegard and Ithílwyn spent many days in the queen's solar, and she grew devoted to her aunt, for she could picture the man her father was from her memories. The weeks passed, and Éomer was relieved that Ithílwyn's spirit remained intact. She was allowed much freedom as long as it did not concern him, and the council were kinder to her as they noted he was meeting different women and sharing meals with them, believing her influence on him was waning.


One night, he knocked on her door as was his custom was every night. Some nights she responded with two sharp raps, indicating that she would not see him, and some nights the door opened and let him in. He had not seen her in six days, not even at breakfast. There was no reply, and he wondered if she had fallen asleep already. He waited a while longer in front of the queen's bedchambers, deciding to return to his bed dejectedly after hearing no response. Just as he was about to turn on his heel, the door unlocked and Ithílwyn's pale face peeked out from her chambers. His heart began to beat erratically, growing fearful. She greeted him softly, and offered him some tea. He accepted as was his wont, noticing her hands trembling as she handed him a cup.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked, noticing her pensive behaviour. Her feet were tapping against the floor anxiously.

"Oh, err, no," she replied shakily, looking towards the fire.

"You look worried," he spoke, and she turned to look at him, deliberating on an issue. Then she sighed and mumbled something incoherent to herself. She hesitated again, exhaling through her nose and put her cup down.

"I-," she paused, her eyes blinking nervously as he waited patiently. "It has been two months Éomer, and I-," she cleared her throat, her voice faltering, "have not bled," she blurted. She appeared so fragile, as if she could break apart that he longed to pull her into his arms to comfort her. "I do not know," she confessed shakily, her hands trembling, "I would have lost it by now," she added, choking on a sob, and he rushed to her side, embracing her. He said nothing, stroking her back as she cried on his chest, staining his shirt with her tears. Her sobs died down, but she clung to him, and then in a quiet voice she admitted, "I want it to stay."

"Me too, Ithíl," he echoed softly, squeezing her hand.

"It seems different somehow," she murmured, her tone ambiguous, "but I dare not hope, what if-" she whimpered, unable to finish her sentence, eyes filled with such sorrow his heart broke.

"Oh Ithíl," he cooed, wiping her wet cheeks. "Thank you for confiding in me." He offered her a consoling smile, and she nodded weakly. "I love you Ithíl, whatever happens, I love you," he said, kissing her forehead, half expecting her to pull away, but she sank back in his embrace and allowed him to cuddle her, feeling her breaths fall back into a steady rhythm as he sang to her softly.


They were careful to avoid the subject completely, and Ithílwyn busied herself all the more to occupy her thoughts with other matters. Even when her breasts grew, becoming noticeably tender, they kept their silence but she welcomed his company every night, allaying her worries though she elaborated not for he knew, and he could understand. He would never know the extent of her anguish, being a man but he too had suffered when he had buried his unborn son in the snowy ground and when he had learnt of Ithíl's miscarriages.

One night, she listened to him as he talked about the lady he had shared the evening meal with. Amused to find her falling asleep, he chuckled as her eyelashes fluttered, fighting sleep off so she could hear more. Mathilde reported that she often took short naps during the day, sometimes falling asleep while handling the household affairs. He remembered his mother often taking naps when she was pregnant with Éowyn, but he made no mention of it.

"You should go to bed," he whispered in her ear. She mumbled a protest, then sat up on the chaise suddenly, staring at him wide eyes, her mouth agape. Her hand flew down to her stomach and she gasped his name. He panicked and sat down next to her carefully, inquiring if she was hurt but she put her hand to her lips. Her eyes closed, then a wide smile bloomed on her face and then she looked up at him and steeled her expression.

"Éomer," she breathed, a look of wonder in her eyes. She bunched up her skirts, pulling them up to her chest, exposing her stomach before him. There was a small bump and though he longed to reach out to stroke her, he stayed his impulses and waited for her to place his palm on her belly. He remembered when she had been round with his child as they lay in her tiny cot in his aunt's home, feeling the small kicks from within her womb. She scanned his face eagerly for a reaction, but he felt nothing. Her face fell, biting on her lip, eyes closed as she cursed herself.

"Maybe it is still small yet," he said softly.

"Perhaps I ate something disagreeable," she countered disappointedly, smoothing down her skirts. Éomer's shoulders fell, seeing his wife look so defeated.

"I love you," he said softly, pressing his lips to the back of her hand, unsure on how to console her.

"I know," she replied, casting a small smile. "I love you Éomer," she whispered, squeezing his hand. Then her smile faded, and her jaw dropped, brow furrowed as she reached down to her middle again.

"Is the fish bothering you?" he asked, attempting to jest. She smiled up at him, her eyes moist.

"It feels familiar, like before."

"Perhaps we can hope for the better," he suggested, his vision growing unclear as he blinked away tears.

"Just a little," she agreed, kissing his cheek, her eyes shining brightly as his heart soared with joy.


As the winter days passed on, Éomer finally persuaded Ithílwyn to announce that she was with child. Her middle was expanding quickly, and Mathilde had chastised her when she discovered Ithílwyn had been roaming around the fields in her condition, and though she had been irritated at her deception, she could not remain cross for long and enveloped the queen in a warm embrace.

The council was befuddled at this development, and he had to explain they had been indulging in passions the week before their return and that was when the queen must have conceived. Some accused of her of witchcraft, and others of adultery. Éomer was glad he chose to speak with the council without his wife's presence, incensed at the baseless accusations. He reminded them that she was the queen, now carrying his heir and child and above them in rank, and power. Furthermore, he demanded that they bring forth evidence to prove the queen's transgressions, warning them further that slandering the queen was an act of treason. He suggested that they wait until the baby was born before passing further judgment, and they agreed. They made no protest when he declared there would be no restrictions barring them from displaying their affection in public, nor were the council to interfere in their affairs.

He marched straight to the solar and kissed his wife square on the lips, startling her aunt and Mathilde. When she pulled away, her mouth open to protest, he pressed his finger to her lips.

"You are my wife, and everyone shall know how much I love you. The council agreed that they were behaving like stupid children and repealed their foolish demands." Ithílwyn laughed, swatting him playfully.

"Can we...?" he questioned, gesturing to the door, licking his lips as his hand snaked down past the curve of her waist and onto her backside. "I promise to be careful," he vowed, looking down where her belly protruded. She smiled and nodded eagerly, excusing herself politely as Éomer escorted her into his chambers and after waiting nearly two years, made love to his queen in their bed.