The next night was the Beltane feast. I woke early and went down to the gardens with Feleas to pick flowers for weaving into garlands. I thought about that night so long ago when my father had chastised me for not weaving my own welcome crown. So much had happened since.

We made some for my family and then one for Feleas' betrothed.

"I didn't know you were engaged," I said when she explained. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, my lady."

When we had finished the garlands we walked back to the house through the Spring Market, a short-term collection of vendors on one of the lower levels. They were selling everything from the first spring lilies to copper pots to tiny carved wooden ships. The stalls would be gone after the Spring Festival but for now the small square they had claimed was a riot of activity. I bought some extra silver thread to wind around my garlands, which were not as structurally sound as they would have been if made by a more practiced hand.

We had just reached the house and parted ways in the gravel courtyard (Feleas going to the kitchen and me heading back to my room) when I was accosted by another group of people. The three of them were coming down from the house. My eyes slid past my brother landing on the other male of the party, and for a moment I saw only him. Walking with her arm in his was a blond woman who was almost as tall as Éomer, strikingly pregnant and possibly even more famous. I curtseyed. "Lady Éowyn," I said with a smile. "Hail."

She curtseyed back.

"Éowyn this is Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," Éomer said, sounding pleased to make the introduction. "We feared we had missed you this morning. How fortuitous you returned when you did."

Amrothos smiled. "I hadn't thought you would return so quickly, Lothi."

Éowyn looked less pleased at the stroke of luck though she smiled slightly and nodded. "Hail, Lady Lothíriel. Well met at last. I have heard much about you."

I wondered what part of what she had heard made her smile stay fixed to her lips and travel no higher. But I laughed easily. "Truly? That is strange to hear from a woman who must be in so many tales that a bard couldn't remember them all," I said amiably.

She smiled at that, though again not entirely genuinely. Like her brother she was naturally averted to flattery.

"We were just heading down to see the archery competition and the tourney," Éomer said. "Would you like to accompany us?"

I nodded my head respectfully. "I could hardly ask for two better companions to a mock battle. Though I fear I will have nothing to contribute to the conversation, but I would be happy to learn all I can."

The change in Amrothos' demeanor would have gone unnoticed by anyone but me. His mouth twisted slightly, as did one eyebrow. "Truly? I've never known you to go to the Spring Tourney."

"Then it's past time for me to go."

Amrothos' dark eyes were unreadable. He had taken quite a bit of wine last night and looked slightly the worse for it. He had always been pale, as was fashionable, but now his skin looked sallow and stretched. His hair hadn't been combed nor his face washed, a rare thing for someone as vain as he. He had clearly been nursing a hangover when the guests had arrived. I wondered why he had bothered to come out, particularly to the Spring Tourney, which, as he had said, neither of us had ever taken an interest in. But he smiled. "I hadn't thought to go either but since you are three now I hardly suppose I can refuse and leave Lady Éowyn with no one to take her arm."

Éowyn looked as though perhaps she would have preferred to manage without his arm. But she took it and I took Éomer's. He had rolled his tunic up over his forearms in the spring sunshine (quite warm for a man from the North) and his bare skin was warm and unbelievably supple. Did my own skin feel this way, I wondered. It couldn't though, for when I touched it I felt nothing like the same warm wave of shivering sensation breaking over me.

As we walked, one set of siblings chatted about the contestants in the tourney and who they expected to win. The other set simply listened. I had never particularly cared for the lists but I had noticed that topics I had never found even remotely compelling suddenly became so when Éomer spoke about them. I resented my will being so overthrown.

The contest fields were outside the gates, near the paddocks where the horses were taken for exercise and practice. Later, after dark, the butts and stands would be cleared away for a big dance on the field. Bonfires would be lit and all the young lads and maidens would jump the flames for luck in love during the coming year. Even the nobles came down to the fields, though in general they didn't mix with the more common element. I had jumped over the flames every year since I was thirteen, but somehow I thought this year I might just skip it. Being in love had mostly put me off the whole idea.

Once outside the gate we made our way to the field and the pavilion that had been set up for the use of the nobility. My father and brothers were already seated, talking to King Elessar, so we went to greet them. My father looked at least as surprised as Amrothos to find that I had wanted to come to see the tourney but all he said was, "Hail, Daughter," as we greeted each other.

Chairs were brought and we settled ourselves by the Royal party. Éomer sat to the left of the King, a space which had been reserved for him, with Éowyn to his left and me to hers. I had gone to sit with my father on the right side of Elessar, but Éowyn, I suspect at the behest of her brother, had called me to her side. A chair was brought for Amrothos but he went to the table where wine and refreshments were being served to talk to Giril and Eithedis and pour a little poison down his throat after the bothersome stuff from last night. I hadn't seen the two sisters, friends of ours of old, since the night their teasing had driven me to exclaim that I would be going to Rohan after all. I almost went over to greet them but after searching my brain, found I had nothing to say to them.

"I am told that the Swan Knights are known for being formidable archers," Éowyn said to me, to make conversation.

"That's what I am told as well."

She jerked her head at that, to show that she was surprised that I could not truly know. I laughed. "Come, Lady Éowyn. You are good to look for common ground between us but surely you can't hope to find it on the battle field."

As I had done with her brother the morning I had met him in the stables, I had forgotten that great heroes of men are not made so by their ability to tolerate someone laughing at them. "I hadn't thought to impugn..." She began but in a tone which was anything but apologetic.

"When she was in Edoras Lothíriel became great friends with Lady Gænwyn," Éomer cut into our conversation, "who showed her the long run to the unmarked grave at the foot of the mountains. I remember that being one of your favorite rides as well."

The graceless transparency of what Éomer was doing caught us both by surprise but seemed to please Éowyn. She smiled genuinely for the first time since I had met her. When she did her mouth, which had seemed immovably stern, relaxed into a smile as mischievous as her brothers. Her cool grey eyes seemed to soften and glow and for the first time I began to think that there was some familial resemblance between them. "My brother, it seems, would like us to be friends."

"I would like us to be friends as well, Lady Éowyn."

"I am glad to hear it. If I know my brother you don't have much of a choice," she said, casting him an affectionate smile. "He has never seemed to have a problem getting women to do what he wants... myself included."

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "I seem to remember telling you that if you were a good girl and didn't weep too much for me I would bring you back a Mûmak' tusk from Pelennor. Remind me again how obedient you have always been?"

"Well, never in any of the songs or stories does it mention anything about her weeping on the way to Minas Tirith," I interjected quickly. "It seems to me that you might owe her a tusk."

Éomer roared with laughter at that. "And as you can see I do hardly better with Lothíriel. Tell me, just where are these mythical women who do as they are told?"

"Oh just over the next ridge I should imagine," Éowyn said with all the faux-sweetness she could muster.

It was strange, watching them I felt an unexpected wave of nostalgia. They were so different from Amrothos and me and yet there was something about their easy banter and teasing that was reminiscent of how we had been. For better or worse Amrothos had been my only close family (only close friend really) for years. I didn't miss what we did together, but how I felt when we did. Being on Amrothos' side had been fun and easy. What had we needed with other people, with honor, with the silly little trifles that other's worried about when we had each other and the court to play with? I turned towards the refreshments and found that he was looking back at me. I grinned at him, lost in my remembrances, but he merely stared back coolly, impassively.

"So you know Gænwyn?" Éowyn's voice jerked me back to the conversation at hand.

I nodded. "I hardly think it is possible to live in Edoras and not know her. But she and I were closer perhaps because I was a stranger and she is so curious about foreign lands. She was kind enough to introduce me to the ways of the Hall and the rest of Edoras and teach me about Rohan... whether I wanted to be shown and taught or not."

Éomer grinned. "Lothíriel lasted scant weeks before she gave up entirely and started to learn Rohirric at Gænwyn's insistence."

"You speak Rohirric?" Éowyn seemed surprised.

I shrugged, uncomfortable with the gratified look in her eyes. "I understand it quite well but I speak it like a barbarian."

"You speak it like a barbarian?" Éomer cocked a smooth, blond eyebrow. "What are you trying to imply my lady..."

He was back to making fun of Gondorian snobbery. "Oh, you know perfectly well what I meant. I can't be bothered to get my sentence right before I let it out of my mouth," I snapped. "Gænwyn and I understand each other quite well but we speak a pudding of the two languages mixed together. We know each other's weak points so we switch back and forth indiscriminately."

"Do you speak as well as Erchirion?" Éowyn asked.

"Better I should think, though we don't speak it together much," I said honestly. "He was always with the riders, who spoke passable Westron. Most of the ladies of the court spoke almost none. But come now, Lady, tell me about your baby. Have you chosen a name yet?"

In Gondor the tradition held that it was bad luck to speak of a babe unborn. Even appearing in public with a belly as round as hers, concealed as it was in a loose, billowing gown, was slightly scandalous. But the Rohirrim I had seen cooed and doted on their pregnant mothers, asking questions that would have horrified any Lady of Minas Tirith. Questions like – when the baby would be born – what would its name be – did she prefer a son or daughter. Even, between ladies – did the infant kick at night or give trouble?'

She smiled at that, running a hand over her gown. "Faramir was horrified at the mere idea of naming a child before he is safe in the world and sure not to die. I have been forbidden from choosing a name for him until a week after he is born." She laughed at the folly.

"So it is a boy?" I asked.

"I believe so." She sighed. "Though a girl would be lovely, too. I am surprised you are willing to speak of him. Most Gondorians believe it chases off the spirit of the child to talk of it."

I laughed, and glanced at Éomer as I said, "Most of the Rohirrim I have met have spirit to spare."

The rest of the afternoon and evening passed pleasantly. Éowyn warmed to me very slightly, though I still sensed an ocean of cool reserve under her friendly exterior. Éomer was strangely studious about husbanding our relationship. He praised us to each other so often during the afternoon that Éowyn accused him of being – 'the kind of flattering courtier he had always despised.' I don't think she meant to, certainly hadn't meant for me to notice, but she glanced quickly at me when she said it. The Lady of Ithilien had clearly heard some fraction or some fiction of the things I had done at court and she was too intelligent to let one afternoon of pleasant conversation change her mind about me. I liked her for that. Her brother was too open with his heart and he would need someone to guard it for him.

When the bonfires were lit I looked around for Amrothos and found he was nowhere to be found. That wasn't so surprising. The tournament was over and dark was falling. He could be at any of a dozen fires that had sprung up around the city gates and it would be difficult to tell which one in the falling dark. That he hadn't told me he was leaving didn't surprise me either. Having spoken with the King of Rohan and his sister the whole afternoon, I could hardly expect Amrothos to speak to me much. Since he knew I wasn't likely to tell him anything useful about Éomer, we really had very little to talk about.

My father, Elphir and Erchirion were still in the pavilion though, so I went to give them their flower crowns for the festivities. Being that it was my first time they were hardly excellent but Erchirion smiled when I laid his on his head. "You certainly lived up to your name today, Lothíriel," he said touching my own crown of flowers. "And you look lovely in your blooms."

Perhaps because I had had some wine; perhaps because Beltane had always been about abandon and renewal or perhaps because I really had changed I felt suddenly bold. "I wove these myself, Father," I said softly as I laid his crown on his head. "Do you like them?"

He seemed surprised by that. "Did you?" He took his off and turned it over in his hand, studying it. Having not been woven well, one flower had already come off and another was hanging by its stem. He smiled at me genuinely for the first time I could remember and pushed the flower back into its place. "It is lovely, Lothíriel. You do us all honor."

I kissed his cheek. "Thank you."

Erchirion began to take off his boots and roll up his trousers. "Come, Lothi. Let's jump over the flames before they get too high."

I looked out at the flames for a moment. Though I had done it since I was thirteen, as did most nobles, for the thrill the true meaning of the fire jumping was to signal a willingness, even an eagerness, to be married, I couldn't really say that was true of me. Before I had met Éomer the idea of being wed to some unknown, boring idiot my father dredged up and forced me on had been, if not something I looked forward to, at least palatable. Now that I knew what it was like to long for someone body and soul, I dreaded a marriage of convenience as a death sentence. I would have to force my marriage vows out between clenched teeth.

But it was tradition. "All right."

The trick of the thing was not to hesitate. Erchirion ran full out toward the leaping flames, hurtling them in a single, graceful gesture and landed well on the other side, looking pleased and elated. I managed the jump as well, but when Erchirion hoisted me up from the dirt on the other side his face twisted slightly in concern. "Lothi... what's wrong? You look so sad."

I forced my face into a smile. "Just concerned, I almost stepped in the coals on the far side."

We found our shoes and walked back to the pavilion arm in arm. In the late afternoon a small lighted clearing had been constructed between the King's seat and the tourney grounds for the spring dance. The small lanterns around the edges made it look like an elven garden, casting warm, forgiving yellow light over the denizens of the court, making them appear magical and not at all like the treacherous snakes they were.

But before the dancing begun the Maiden of Spring – generally the most simpering, sugar-sweet young noble virgin to be found – would be crowned with a wreath of golden flowers. Usually it was easy to guess who the Maiden would be: Winweld this year unless I missed my guess. The musicians were just beginning to gather on the far side of the clearing, one of the harpists tuning his instrument.

"I wonder if you'll be the Maiden this year," Erchirion said as we reached the edge of the floor.

I laughed. "Don't be ridiculous. In general popularity contest are won by people a little more..."

"Popular?" he prompted.

"Palatable," I said with a little grin.

He laughed. "Word has gotten around how palatably you behaved in Rohan. King Elessar might just be grateful enough to you for the ties you built for him to push to make you the Maiden this year..." He pulled me to his side with one arm and pressed a little kiss to my forehead. "You deserve it, Sister Mine."

"Just because you like me now, Erchirion it doesn't mean everyone else does." I said coolly, though secretly I was more than pleased that he thought I was even a possibility.

It was stupid to care about a silly little thing like being the Maiden of Spring. But as Elessar mounted the stage and made a short speech about renewal and rebirth I couldn't help the hope that slunk in, like a mongrel dog hoping to avoid a kick and perhaps for a table scrap. Being crowned the Maiden would be like an acknowledgment of my own rebirth, a public one from the King of Gondor and in front of the King of Rohan. If Éomer saw that I had changed in the mind of Elessar, in the mind of my father, would he start to think differently about me too? Would he start to think of me...?

My heart beat high in my throat as Elessar beckoned Arwen forward, with the little laurel of silver flowers that was the Maiden's mark, and finished his speech. "The Maiden of Spring is a symbol of rebirth, of spring. She is not the Queen but the Princess of everything that is new in our time. The War took a lot of from our land and our people, which makes the innocence and opportunity of spring all the more valuable. Therefore I am proud to announce that this year's Maiden of Spring is Colfindel of Southern Poros. She has been working tirelessly with the victims of the war in the lower..." His voice seemed to fade to a distant buzzing.

Erchirion must have seen something of my disappointment in my face. "I shouldn't have gotten your hopes up, Lothi..." he began.

I forced my most brilliant smile. "Don't be ridiculous, Erchirion. The Maiden is always such a colossal, boring pet of a girl I would have been ashamed of myself if I'd won."

But even as I spoke, I felt as if I'd been kicked in the stomach by Firefoot. I tried to tell myself that I'd never really had a chance, that I had been silly to let myself be so vulnerable. But that only made me feel worse. Not only had I not gained the new status I found I suddenly craved, I had lost the apathy that had been my shield from disappointment.

I began to calculate how much time I would need to spend at the dance before it would be remarked upon if I slipped away. I had been somehow putting off the knowledge that I would, over the next week, likely see Éomer fall in love with his future wife. He had put off choosing a queen long enough, and if I knew Minas Tirith like I thought I did, it wouldn't let him escape twice. It would tempt him with one of its best blossoms—some sweet, charming girl like the one mounting the steps so that Elessar could put a crown on her head. Someday Éomer might put a crown of a different sort on this girl's lovely head, or some other lovely head, and Edoras would have a new dark-haired southerner to get used to. It hurt more than I would have thought possible to imagine her going down to the stables with Gænwyn, taking tea with Lithoer or hunting blackberries with the other ladies.

The musicians struck up the first number and Éomer stepped forward to partner Colfindel for the first dance.

"I think I would like a glass of wine," I said, slipping my arm from Erchirion's. "Shall I get you one as well?"

"Please."

I went to one of the small tables where refreshments were being served and asked for two goblets of wine. "Well, you'll always be the Maiden of this year in my mind," a voice like silk cooed in my ear.

"Hello, Harra. Enjoying the evening, I hope?"

She looked well in a gown of violent, blood red with a necklace of many ropes of gold and more gold scattered in her hair. She didn't answer my question, threw in another snide remark, "If Elessar was looking for a symbol of the new spirit of Minas Tirith he certainly missed an opportunity when he skipped over you. I heard that you arrived last night in a pair of those Rohirric riding trousers the Lady Éowyn seems to think are suitable."

She peered at me coyly over the lip of her own wine glass, a small, nasty smirk twisting her thin lips and for a moment I simply looked back, wondering why I had ever cared what this woman thought of me. It wasn't a big, crashing moment of change – a heroic breaking of bonds forged. Instead it was a quiet recognition of something already come to pass. I felt as if I looked down for familiar chains only to find that they had been worn away by some subtle attrition months ago.

I smiled and turned to take the wine glasses from the server. "You know what? I think I am a rather good example of how the court is changing. I hope you enjoy the dancing, Harra."

I didn't wait to hear what she had to say but the expression on her face as I turned away was one I had never seen before. She looked as if a chair she was sitting on had suddenly gotten up and moved away.

Back at Erchirion's side I passed him his wine. "You look a little more cheerful," he said. "What is it?"

I smiled a little. "Just a very good party. I'm glad we came back to Minas Tirith."

He smiled down at me. "Me too, Lothi."

The first dance wound down and I was so busy scouting around in the throng for someone I knew who might ask me to dance that I didn't notice Éomer approaching until he was in front of me. "Will you do me the honor of this dance, Lady?" As usual with him, it was only a question grammatically speaking. I let him lead me out onto the floor, suddenly not caring a fig for who had won Maiden of Spring.

"You are going to raise quite a few eyebrows, choosing me for your first chosen partner." I warned him as we waited, five paces apart, for the music to begin. He had been practically obligated to dance first with whoever won Maiden of Spring. I was the first he had chosen to dance with.

"Oh? Who should I have chosen?" He asked.

"Almost anyone would be more suitable."

"Suitable for what? I've seen you dance and you're more than capable."

"Don't be obtuse, you know what I mean. Someone you want to get to know..."

He opened his mouth to reply but the music began, a fast, frenetic number and we had no more time to talk. We whirled in and out of the other couples, dodging and chasing each other as the pattern dictated and then finally catching each other, hand in hand in the final crescendo. When the music stopped he didn't let me go. "I want to get to know you, Lothíriel," he said so quietly that only I was sure to hear him. "Not any simple, sweet, suitable Maiden of Spring. So dance with me again."

We danced five times that night, which was four times more than either of us danced with anyone else. I felt breathless with a nervous elation unlike any I had ever known. The wine had never tasted sweeter, the light had never looked more beautiful and my cheeks burned from holding a smile so much longer than they were accustomed too.

I wanted the party to last all night, perhaps the rest of my life, but all too soon the guests began to disperse. My father had gone back hours before and Erchirion and Elphir wanted to go to a tavern for a quiet conversation. I guessed Erchirion wished to inform his elder brother of his plans to marry a lady of Rohan, perhaps seeking support for when he informed our father. And so, to almost no one's surprise, Éomer offered to walk me back to the house.

"I would like you to come riding with me tomorrow morning," he said when we reached the gate.

"I would be delighted."

"I'm glad. I have something I want to ask you."

I barely heard him. It was a moment that would have satisfied any bard. The moon was full and high in a cloudless, warm spring night and we stood together in the arch of the stone gate. I could hear my heart beating so hard against my lungs that I thought one of them would burst. Perhaps, because of the wine or because it was Beltane, brazenly I stepped forward towards him and tilted my head up. It wasn't proper but Valar I wanted him so badly it was all I could think of.

One large, warm hand slid up my arm, gripping just above the crook of my elbow and the other went to my waist. But instead of kissing me he simply looked down at me for a minute that felt like an eternity. When I felt his hand slacken slightly I knew he wouldn't. "A kiss on Beltane is good luck," I said, trying not to let it shown in my voice how desperately I wanted one from him.

He smiled. "Yes, but it doesn't mean anything, Lothíriel. When I kiss you I want it to mean something."

"When you kiss me?"

"Yes, my little viper, when I kiss you. Now go to bed or you won't be fresh for the ride in the morning."

I dashed up the stairs and to my room with my heart pounding hard from the feeling of his hands through the thin material of my dress. I was barely able to breathe, so intoxicating was the joy. I pushed open the door to my bedroom, sure I wouldn't sleep a wink.

Amrothos was sitting on the chest at the bottom of my bed where I kept books and oddments, drinking a glass of wine.

"Oh!" I started, almost jumping in surprise. "Hello, Amrothos."

"Hello, Lothi."

I could tell he was drunk. Not stumbling drunk, he was still in control, but even more dangerous for it. Wine had a strange effect on Amrothos. Most people I knew who loved spirits, loved the elated, jubilant feeling it brought them. But since he was seventeen, my brother had enjoyed nothing but a focused hatred for everything around him and that cut all the clearer when he was drunk. The only cure he had ever found for his misery was to destroy something or, more often than not, someone.

The joy began to drain out of me, inexorably even as I tried to tell myself I was being silly, there was nothing for me to be afraid of. I took off my garland, threw it on the bed and went to go and wash my face in the sink. I freshened up and went behind the privacy screen to take off my dress. Amrothos was silent. If there were any sound in the room at all, I couldn't hear it over the pounding of my heart in my ears and throat.

"Lady Winweld is with child," he said finally.

"Oh? I hadn't heard she had married." That at least explained why she hadn't been named the Maiden.

His laugh was slow and deep. There was a joy in it, but a black, heartless joy. "I never said she was married."

My head shot up. "She's going to birth a bastard?" I gaped. Winweld was an idiot and I could imagine her letting herself fall in love with a scoundrel but I had always thought her far too obedient to get into that kind of trouble. "Who is the father?"

"A hedge knight from the south. He rode in just long enough to woo her, then be caught by her father and sent away before he could hear the happy news. No one is sure where exactly he went, though you can imagine Lord Winweld is searching high and low for him."

I closed a robe over my shift and came back out into the room, though I stayed by my closet, not approaching the bed. "Do you think he'll marry her when he finds out with she is with child?" I asked, sitting at my glass and beginning to braid up my hair for the night.

Amrothos shrugged. "It depends."

"On what?"

"Well, recently, I've been toying with the idea of spreading the rumor that it's your barbarian king's doing that put the little thing into her belly." He spoke casually, as he might tell me what he was considering doing the next day after the noon meal.

I had been expecting something awful from the look on my brother's face when I had come in but that took me wholly by surprise. For a moment my vision swam and I clutched the edge of my closet desperately for support.

"The timing isn't exactly right but what's an extra month too long anyway? With any luck the little bastard will be born premature and if not...well maybe barbarian babies take a little longer in the womb."

"It... it... it won't be blond," I managed to stammer.

He shrugged. "By the time I'm done with the court Lady Winweld herself will think the little tyke has the features of a Rohirrim. I hope it's a son... a rumored heir to Rohan born out of wedlock would be quite the interesting tool to have toddling about the city, don't you think?"

I tried to keep my shoulders straight as he spoke and not to bend over and throw up. My gorge rose but I swallowed it down fiercely. "Éomer will know..." I began. "And Winweld too..."

"Oh, a denial from both the Lord and Lady?" He laughed. "As if that isn't as common as dirt. Besides, I'm not so sure Winweld would deny it. The bastard of a hedge knight is one thing, but a King's bastard is quite another. And quite a bit more useful. Besides, for all she knows the real father is dead... it might be sorely tempting to find such a convenient explanation for her little mistake presented to her."

"Winweld would never..." I began.

He shook his head. "You haven't seen her since she found out she was pregnant. Her fall from grace has hit her hard. Her father won't look at her, and she's burst into tears twice at parties. I think she'd do anything these days for a little taste of her former glory."

I swallowed hard and fought down a wave of emotion.

Accusing a noble of having a bastard was one thing, many men did by the time they married, but accusing a foreign king of impregnating the virgin daughter of a highly-ranked noble was quite another. I didn't think King Elessar would believe it, but the courtiers were idiots and they would. It would breed a lot of angry sentiments towards the Éomer and the Rohirrim, stirring up old prejudices. And Éomer couldn't afford that right now. Rohan was just getting back on its feet. It needed the trade and goodwill of Gondor and a scandal like this would be just the thing to kill that.

"What do you want, Amrothos?" I said finally with as much cool resignation as I could manage.

He laughed out loud at that. "My, how you have changed, my little flour-garlanded maiden." He affected a lighthearted jest but I could clearly hear the hard sneer beneath. "Just look at you standing there with your straight back and your stubborn little determined lip, trying to defend the innocent. And so fetching! Someone should write a ballad about you, Sister, I do declare!"

"What do you want, Amrothos?"

This time the sneer was undisguised. "You know what I want."

"You want things the way they were before I left."

"Oh, Lothi...it can't go back to the way it was before and you know that as well as I do. You were a great little assistant to me but you changed in Rohan. I have no need of someone with a soft heart in the middle of my plans."

He sighed. "And it is your heart that is the problem. Tell me...how long have you been in love with the King of Rohan?"

"I'm not..." My voice came out in a dry rasp, so ineffectual that I didn't bother to finish my sentence.

Amrothos laughed. "You are never boring, I will give you that, Sister. I never would have guessed that you would be stupid enough to fall for a spear-toting, barbarian with barely a civil tongue in his head. Tell me, can your lover read?"

I said nothing.

"And try as I might I can't imagine him bedding you. I would be careful if I were you. I said Winweld would die from the trauma of being ridden by him and you won't do much better, I imagine."

"What do you want, Amrothos?" I repeated.

"I don't want anything." His words came out like a sigh and a moan both. I would realize only much later that it was a much more honest statement than he intended, and was something I should have noticed. But in a moment he was back to the smiling, vicious Amrothos I had always know. "The question is what do you want? A herd of little blond foals? A warrior between your sheets and legs?"

I said nothing.

"I always thought you would find some boring little sop of a husband whom you could push around and intimidate, but you always did love to prove me wrong."

For a moment he considered me as I stood in my robe, perfectly unmoving and expressionless, waiting. He let his eyes move over my face and for a second I was sure I knew what he was thinking. As painful as our separation had been for me, at least I had chosen it. He had spent the last days of the war in a fishing cottage owned by one of our distant cousins, drinking, terrorizing the servants and complaining to me in long-winded letters that arrived two weeks after he had returned to Minas Tirith (he had been outraged to find no one willing to ride into a raging battle to deliver five pages on how boring country nobility was and the idiocy of the peasant class). When he had come back and found me so changed it must have been as if I had died suddenly in the night. The version of myself left behind—the one who didn't want to play his games or share his jokes – must have been hateful to him, a mockery of the companion he wanted. Despite himself Amrothos wasn't inhuman and it must have hurt when his best friend had suddenly decided that she had found the moral high-ground and he wasn't on it. Worse still, I had abandoned him for it.

"I am sorry Amrothos," I said finally, voice cracking unexpectedly with emotion. "I really am sorry that I haven't been... the same since the war. I didn't mean to... I'm sorry, Amrothos, please believe me that I'm truly sorry."

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Tell me."

"You can't have him, that's all," my brother said quietly. "I forbid him to you. He can't look at you the way he does and you can't look at him the way you do. He can't hold you and you can't be held by him. No letters, no conversations, no jumping over the flames with him in your thoughts, nothing. Go to him tomorrow and make him hate you."

My surprise was complete. "Why?" I managed to mumble.

"Because no one gets away from Minas Tirith, Lothi," he said, voice suddenly dreadfully honest. "No one gets to just ride off to Rohan and pretend like they never did what we did. I will drive you insane before I let you do that." His eyes were like dark pools and his mouth was harder than I had ever seen it.

"But you don't even want me back," I said, nonplussed.

When I was a little girl I had once found a dog some children from the city had thrown rocks at until his head was smashed in and bleeding. My father hadn't let me near him, a dog in that position will bite any hand that approaches, and had bundled me away from it quickly. But I still remembered the look in the hound's eyes and the sound of his ragged breath. Amrothos reminded me of that dog. He wasn't breathing heavily but he gave the impression of panting and there was a tortured, near-insane look in his eyes. But then his face contorted into a hideous mask. He laughed. "Have you forgotten what I do to the things I can't have, Lothi? I burn them."

TBC

So sorry about the delay in updating. I went on vacation and had less time to write rather than more! Who would have guessed? I hope to get back to updating fairly regularly now. As usual a huge thanks to those who reviewed and an even huger thanks to my wonderful beta LBJ who did a wonderful job on this chapter, as is her habit. Drama, drama, drama this chapter! Let me know what you think please!