PROMPT: Things you said when you thought I was asleep

PART TWO

Dimly Lothiriel is aware that she should move, that dozing on a bench in the middle of Meduseld with her head on her husband's thigh is likely not something a queen should do.

But she is so warm, and so comfortable, and she has missed him more than she can possibly express. More than she ever expected to, if she's honest. Their marriage, unlike so many that had occured in the wake of the War of the Ring, had not been for love.

Lothiriel had not minded that-in Gondor, love matches were rare, and she knew her father would never suggest that she marry a man who was not at the very least a decent one.

And Eomer has proven himself to be much more than decent.

Brave, of course, and a surprisingly considerate leader. She had thought him gruff, serious, at first, but now she knows that is merely part of the mask the War had forced on him. He is funny, her husband, if in a less obvious way than her youngest brother, and kind. And handsome, that too. Was it any wonder that she had fallen in love with him?

Of his own feelings...she is less sure.

She is a woman grown! A wife! A queen!

And yet the thought of asking her husband if he loves her makes her feel as if she is a little girl again, standing on the cliffs of Dol Amroth. Exhilarating, to be sure, but frightening, also.

Eomer's fingers carding through her hair relaxes some of the tension such thoughts have brought.

How does he do that, she wonders, comfort me without a word?

"Now, that's a sight to see," comes a familiar voice.

"Erkenbrand," Eomer greets, quietly. His fingers continue their steady motion through her hair, and she has to fight a shiver when he brushes the shell of her ear.

The bench creaks as the older man sits across from them-or Lothiriel presumes so, as she keeps her eyes shut.

"She ran things admirably in your absence," Erkenbrand says, and Lothiriel could blush for the almost fatherly-tone of pride in his voice. "If not for her hair, I would think her a natural-born Eorlingas."

"I would expect nothing less from Lothiriel," Eomer answers. "She is the best queen I could ask for."

"I am glad to hear it, sire," the counselor says. "For I do not think you could get another one."

"There is no other I would want," he says.

Lothiriel forces herself not to stiffen in surprise.

Erkenbrand is silent for a moment. "I am happy for you, Eomer. I admit, I have long hoped that your marriage was more than a purely political union-"

"It was, at first," Eomer interrupts. "But now...I do not know when it became something else-"

"I would imagine around the time she told Torfrith to stop knocking on the doors to your rooms unless he wanted to see his queen in an indecent state of dress."

Eomer chuckles and Lothiriel is glad to be still feigning unconsciousness. Poor Torfrith still would not look her in the eye, and somehow Eowyn had found out about it, and had sent her a robe for her last birthday.

"Perhaps. I think it might have even been before," he shifts, his hand stilling in her hair. "Bema, Erkenbrand, I...she..."

"You love your wife," Erkenbrand says. "Hardly an unusual thing, Eomer King."

"Love," Eomer murmurs in a nearly dazed tone of voice.

Oh, she wishes more than anything that she could sit up, fling her arms around him, and say she loves him too, she loves him so much she can scarcely breathe for it-

"If you truly love her, though, I would suggest carrying her to bed," Erkenbrand says. "She's worked awfully hard while you've been away. She deserves the rest."

Lothiriel forces herself to remain limp as Eomer shifts, somehow lifting her into his arms as if she weighs nothing at all. The beat of his heart is fast, thumping heavily against her ear-

"Erkenbrand," he says, quietly, "what if she-"

Erkenbrand's laugh is gentle. "Sire. On that front, I think you have nothing to fear."

She somehow manages to stay still and pliant in his arms on the walk back to their rooms. She even remains still as he lays her on their bed, brushes the hair back from her face. She opens her eyes slowly, offers him a small smile as he stares down at her.

"Hello, husband," she says.

He leans down for a kiss. "Wife."

"I have something to tell you," she says, stroking her thumbs across his dear, dear face.

"Hm?"

"Erkenbrand is right," she says, watching as realization dawns, "you have nothing to fear."

He gulps, voice hoarse, "Lothiriel-"

"Your Queen wishes to tell you she loves you," she says-or starts to, because then he's kissing her again, with so much passion her head spins.

He only lifts his head to say, "Lothiriel, I love you so," before his mouth is back on hers and all rational thought stops.