I dressed with exquisite care before coming down to dinner that night. Not for Éomer's sake, but for my own. Being in his presence made me feel like I was in slightly too hot bath water I couldn't escape. It made me want to writhe when I thought of what he might think of me, of how he might judge me. And the only cure I had ever found for the feeling of being judged was impeccable grooming.

I hadn't brought many fine gowns with me but I choose the nicest: a sleeveless emerald green frock with delicate silver stitching along the scoop-necked bodice and edges. With it I wore simple silver slippers and, though I had no maid to fix my hair and couldn't manage anything more than a simple braid, I accented it with a silver comb. I dabbed perfume on my wrists and neck and studied myself for a long moment in the mirror. My complexion was somewhat darker than was fashionable but there was no helping that, and on the whole I judged myself to look presentable.

"I see you've got your battle armor on." Amrothos leaned against the frame of the door, looking quite meticulously groomed himself in a black tunic and fashionable leggings.

I smiled softly. "You also look well tonight, Brother."

"I assume you haven't told your lover the truth about why you spurned his advances. I ask only because I wish to know if I can expect a tedious scene at the table tonight... if so, perhaps I should return to my chamber for my sword?"

"No, I haven't told him the truth. Though I suppose dinner will be quite tedious at any rate. We can't expect a merry table with my... spurned lover at it, now can we?"

"Well so far I've been pleasantly surprised at the companion Gænwyn makes, despite her incomprehensible Westron. I have high hopes for this evening, I confess it freely."

"You've never confessed anything freely in your life. And you complain endlessly about her Westron, despite the fact that she is a dear friend of mine and our host, my ungracious kin."

"And you never let even the most innocent lie alone, so I might think twice about tossing words like 'ungracious' around if I were in your well-coiffed skull."

"Oh, what a ghastly thought. If you were in my skull I'd think twice about just about everything."

"And you would be well advised to do so. But honestly, Lothi, if the evening is simply going to be some melodrama fit for the peasant class with the five of us in starring roles, I would just as soon have my dinner brought to me in my chambers."

I frowned. Not once in his life had Amrothos expressed displeasure at a scandal, particularly not one of which he would have such a prime view. Perhaps it was fear of Éomer, who would certainly thrash him in a duel if he were ever to demand satisfaction. Perhaps it was fear of what my father might do if the news were ever to get back to him. But he had never been one to fear material retribution much. He'd been beaten in duels before; my father had lectured, berated and reduced his means several times. One of the things that had made him such a formidable force in the court was that there was little punishment he truly feared. No...this was something quite altogether different.

I was one of the few people that evoked any sort of sympathetic emotion from him and he'd never hurt me before, rarely ever spoke unkindly to me in any real sense when I thought about it. Was it possible he didn't want to go to a table because he didn't want to watch me suffer?

I suddenly found it difficult to swallow.

"Gænwyn's table is hardly the place, and tonight is hardly the night, to try to being to explain myself. I will endeavor to play my part as the lovelorn, repentant seductress with a minimum of lingering looks and long-suffering sighs. And I'm quite sure that Éomer will hardly bother to look at me. We are saved at least from the lowest forms of drama."

"Long may you both be praised for it."

We were the last to arrive at table. The men both stood as I entered and Eadric pulled my chair out for me. We sat as one. Gænwyn raised an eyebrow just ever so subtly at my gown. Not once since I had arrived had I dressed in anything more than a fresh, simple gown for dinner. She herself had dressed slightly better than usual— her King was at table— but the transformation was remarkably less clear than my own.

"Take a glass of this wine," was all she said however. "The steward told me that you found the stuff, so surely you deserve at least a swallow before the food arrives and we polish it off."

"Yes please."

She poured me and Amrothos both generous portions and I took a sip. It was just as a wine should be: tart without being bitter, and so dry it seemed almost to encourage thirst rather than quench it. "Oh that's quite good!" I exclaimed at her prompting look. "You say this came from your own vineyard? I congratulate you!"

She looked pleased. "Not every year is as good as this but it's a rare season we can't put away something that's at least drinkable."

"You say Lothíriel found this wine?" Erchirion asked.

"She did indeed. She's been helping me out by doing a much needed inventory of my cellars and barns, getting them ready for what I hope to be an unprecedented crop of grain." She raised her glass as she spoke that last, making the words a toast.

We all drank deeply tothem, Amrothos a second behind because she was speaking Rohirric.

"I really haven't been doing much more than making a nuisance of myself climbing all through the steward's business." I said when we'd put our glasses down.

She shook her head. "That's not true at all. I'm more than grateful to have someone who can do sums totting them up for me. And so is the steward I'll have you know."

I blushed. "I want to hear more about what you've been up to, Erchirion and about how the harvest goes in the rest of Rohan."

The news was good. I had suspected it might be given how well Gænwyn's lands were doing but it could have been an isolated occurrence. I was pleased to learn it wasn't. As the harvest drew nearer and the grain grew taller, people were beginning to whisper furtively, so as not to call bad luck down, that this would be a harvest like none that had been seen in a century. Rohan would be able to pay Gondor back easily, keep enough to last them through the next winter and still have some left over to sell. It wouldn't wipe out the effects of the war entirely of course but it would certainly be a step on the road to recovery.

I listened with rapped attention as Erchirion described the fields bursting with wheat stalks so laden with seeds they bent even in still air, and the tense, expectant joy of the people. I thought back to all the exhaustion and hard lines on faces I'd seen on my own rangeing and realized, with fresh fury, that Harra had stolen something else from me: the chance to ride back over that same country and see it transformed. It would have been such a gloriously different experience than the hard, harsh, winter rangeings and, rashly, the desire to ask to go with them when they left Dunharrow rose up in me.

I felt a gaze on me like a brand and glanced up at Éomer, to find him staring at me with a strange, piercing look. He jerked his gaze away from me quickly, a flush rising his cheeks. I wondered what he had seen on my face.

I took a sip of my wine to cover the flush in my own face. I wanted to say how much I would have liked to see what he was describing with my own eyes but I was afraid to beg the question why I hadn't. I didn't think anyone at the table would ask but it could bring nothing but an awkward silence. Instead I said simply, "It must be gratifying to see your work come to such fruition."

"I must say it is. It's ridiculous of course for me to take credit for fine gentle rains and an early spring but I find I cannot help myself."

Gænwyn waved him off. "It is not ridiculous. Good rains and a short winter would have meant nothing if we hadn't had enough grain to plant our fields."

Erchirion almost blushed, but looked pleased. "For that you will have to thank my father and King Ele..."

Éomer broke in, smiling. "In the Mark it isn't good manners to contradict your host, Erchirion, particularly not when she speaks so wisely."

"If I ever meet your father, Lothíriel," Gænwyn said to me with a little wink, "I shall ask him why he never taught any of his children to accept a compliment."

After dinner Gænwyn announced that she was walking down to the village. There had been a marriage that afternoon and, as was her habit, she was going to the celebration to bestow some small gifts on the bridge and groom and congratulate them on the happy occasion. She invited us all to accompany her and even Amrothos consented when he realized that he would be left alone otherwise.

The single tavern in the village was awash with light and the noise of laughter and chatter and even a few musicians picking out a lively jig in one corner for the lads and maidens to dance to. Again I was surprised with how comfortable the Rohirrim were in the presence of their King. Both he and Gænwyn made speeches, both speaking at length about the hopeful prospects of the harvest and the rebirth of the nation and drawing roaring approval from the crowd. But once they were finished and Gænwyn had given her gifts, we were led to a small private table in one corner and were mostly left alone as the revelers returned to their merriment. Except for one particularly forward, particularly fetching maiden who asked Éomer for a dance.

For the first time since we had met on the steps I allowed myself to really look at him as he swung her around by her waist and lifted her up in time with the music. Again I was struck with how poor a substitute his memory had been for the vibrant, living man himself. I had forgotten the leonine elegance of him, how the set of his jaw softened when he smiled, the way his broad chest expanded when he breathed and uncountable thousands of other details that all came rushing back as I watched.

But my pleasure at the sight of him was mixed in with something painful. It was such an unfamiliar emotion to me that it took me a moment to name the discomfort I felt. Jealousy. It was a bodice cinched too tightly across my chest, making every breath a struggle. The girl was only a farmer's daughter, not someone he could make his queen, but she was making it clear that she would come to his bed that night if he asked. And for all my lineage, my fine dresses and education, I hadn't managed to steal even a kiss. Imagining them together—blond hair tangled on the pillow, long, muscled legs twined together— made me feel like I was suffocating even as some organ, unmentioned in any of my anatomy books, throbbed deliciously below my stomach. Heat spread across my skin, equal parts misery and longing.

With inconceivable effort I tore my eyes from them, and turned my attention back to the conversation at the table. Gænwyn was pumping Erchirion for information about his wedding plans.

"Her family has been absolutely charming, more than happy to defer to the Gondorian tradition of holding the wedding at the bride's home. We had initially imagined something quite small but King Elessar has hinted that he might come, so now Éomer has asked if we would mind folding it into the Harvest Festival at Edoras, which means of course that it has to be rather more grand." He sighed. "May she be blessed; Lithoer is being quite understanding about her marriage being turned into an occasion for diplomacy."

Gænwyn smiled. "You may have imagined something small but I doubt Lithoer ever thought marrying a son of the Prince of Dol Amroth at the height of this frenzy to renew our bonds would be a private experience."

"I suppose not... though I'm only a second son, hardly the heir."

"But you are a hero in Rohan. People know your name here and they know what you did to help us as well. And now you're marrying one of us. It's understandable that we want to celebrate... even if it's at the expense of your wishes," she added with a laugh.

He blushed. "I hadn't meant to sound so ungrateful! I was only thinking of the inconvenience to Lithoer..."

She held up a hand. "And so you aren't... it's not in your blood to be ungrateful."

Amrothos quirked a grin at me from across the table and stood abruptly. "I'm going to get another pint. Accompany me will you, Lothíriel? Else I'm sure to be reduced to hand gestures before I can make myself understood."

I rose to my feet as well and we crossed the tavern to the bar, weaving in and out of the crowd and skirting the dance floor. I placed his order for him and while we waited for the barkeep to fetch it, he considered me.

"Your lover isn't quite what I was expecting."

"Oh? In what way?"

"I wondered for months what drew you to him, what about him could have possibly interested you. He is exactly as he should be—stern, noble, quite obsessed with horses and land and honor... all those passing trifles. And yet somehow he has won your love despite all those disadvantages."

I laughed. It made sense that Amrothos would see it that way; that Éomer had conquered me somehow. I could only wish it were so simple. "Yes, he is isn't he?" I mused. "Exactly as he should be."

The dance was ending as we walked back to the table and we crossed paths with Éomer and his pretty partner. She gave us a shy smile and bobbed a curtsey which I acknowledged with only the exact measure of courtesy. His face, flushed with exertion, hardened slightly at the sight of me and my heart throbbed painfully.

"You dance uncommonly well," I said to the girl.

"Good of you to say, Mi'lady."

There was an uncomfortable silence. We stood together, an odder quartet never conceived, unsure of what to say or do next. Amrothos finally said, "Lothíriel has just been helping me find myself some more mead, Lord Éomer and I declare that it has a distinctly different taste from the ale I am used to. Quite sweet in fact. I wonder whatever I shall do when I return to Gondor and am deprived of it."

He spoke as he always did to our father— choosing his words for elegance rather than content and accompanying them with a small smile that was imperceptibly mocking even as it was overtly sycophantic.

"I am gratified it is to your taste. It is brewed with honey which accounts for the sweetness."

"And the dancing is charming as well, quite different from what we do at home. Lothíriel did you ever learn to dance in the Rohirric fashion while you were here last?"

My jaw clenched, seeing his aim. "Not at all well," I said shortly.

"Oh I am sure you are too modest. I shall have to search high and low for a proper partner for you. I'm sure Erchirion would never do however, he lacks your natural grace."

As he had done the first night I'd met Éomer (Valar it felt like an age of the earth had passed since), Amrothos was forcing him to ask me to dance. As our host, in country if not in keep, he could hardly refuse so blatant a hint without giving grave insult to manners. For a second I wondered if he would anyway.

He looked at my brother for a long moment, taking in the mocking smile, the slight challenge obscured but still visible in his eyes, and then clenched his fists. "I should be most obliged if I might offer my services in that regard. Lady Lothíriel will you do me the honor of the next dance?"

The list of things I wanted more in the world than to dance with him was incredibly short and mostly involved him in one way or another anyway. But if he wouldn't take me in his arms voluntarily, I didn't want to manipulate him to do it anyway.

I had begun to love him unselfishly. I had always desired him as one might covet a possession. His wit amused me, his passion inspired me, his body inflamed me, his temper provoked me and I had even glimpsed in him something more fundamentally... not similar but harmonious in him to the deeper rhythms of my own mind and spirit. All of this had woken in me, for the first time, an unfamiliar longing both to posses and be possessed by him. And that part of me screamed out to show the girl still at his elbow that I could move together with him just as well as she could.

But now he had added another novel emotion. For his own sake, I wished his happiness.

I smiled wanly. "Nothing would give me more pleasure but I find that I'm quite worn out. You would quite have to carry me around the dance floor and I wouldn't want to burden you so. Not after such a long ride."

He bowed shortly and we returned to our table.

Amrothos and I walked home together that night, trailing the group far enough to be out of earshot when we used hushed tones.

"You aren't going to tell him at all are you?" he said when we had left the outskirts of the village and had begun making our way up the winding path to the keep.

The truth was I didn't know if I would tell him. I had never wanted anything as much as I wanted him and everything in my selfish nature screamed out for me to do everything I could to bring him back to me. But cowardice held me back.

What I would have to do—lay open my emotions, reveal my plot and how I had been manipulated, expose my double weakness to him and then ask him to forgive me—went against every carefully cultivated instinct I had.

And what reason did I have to think I would be successful in my plea?

By necessity he would marry soon and I was sure that he would choose well. Once he was bound by honor to some noble, vibrant woman, once he had fathered a few strong sons, would he think any more of me than he did any of his numerous brushes with death on the battlefield? Perhaps he would look back on that morning and thank Bema that he had been spared the fate of being my husband. In his mind I would become a snake he had chanced across in the road which had sunk its fangs into his flesh, but whose bite hadn't proved lethal.

I forced myself to smile, though I'm sure it was a pained expression. "I doubt he would believe me."

"Why wouldn't he?"

I sighed. "There are a million reasons I could have changed my mind. If I had decided that I did want to be Queen of Rohan after all, if father had found out and insisted I accept him, if I had fallen out of favor in the court... all of those would be reasons that I would come crawling back to him. He's…well…he's a very proud man. He would disdain me all the more if he thought I would accept him out of necessity or need."

"You think he wouldn't believe you?"

"Why should he? He knew my reputation and he disregarded it once but he saw what he got for his trouble. What's the expression...'once bitten, twice shy?'"

"Shy is an interesting adjective for him."

"You know what I mean. He's no fool and he builds his regard slowly enough with people he hasn't any reason at all to distrust." Besides, I added privately, I've seen his anger and it's enough to unmake a mountain. "To regain his good opinion once it has been lost I'm afraid would be beyond me. To try and to fail would simply prolong both our suffering... and I don't wish that for either of us."

His brow twisted slightly. "Based on what you did I assumed you had some trick in mind to win him back... Some sort of proof of what I made you do."

My laugh was mirthless. "He isn't some courtier I can trick into thinking what I want him to. And what proof could I have except my misery, which he's already seen?"

"Has he seen your misery? You let your love for him show but pain is something you have quite a bit more practice hiding. And you don't have the knack for the high drama of anguish anyway. You're much too proud for it."

"Perhaps I am," I agreed wistfully.

We were silent then until we had passed through the gates. As we did, hurrying slightly to catch up with the group he mumbled, "And so much the better for me, I suppose. If you continue to languish away in silence I need never atone for my actions."

The next morning I knew before I'd opened my eyes that something was wrong. There was a sick, queasy feeling in my stomach and my head felt as if it had been stuffed with wool. The tenor of the keep had changed somehow. The normal bustle of breakfast being cooked, stables being mucked and rooms being cleaned was replaced by more intense, chaotic noises.

My feet hit the cold stone floor and I was splashing water on my face, pulling on the first, wrinkled gown from my closet before I'd had time to think. I pushed my feet into slippers and ran down to the main hall. It was deserted but there were the remnants of a hasty, cold meal. The next place to look was obvious. My feet had turned towards the stables without pause.

The noise of the stables, ever a busy place in a Rohirric keep, was abundant. Not a confusion of sound however. The men moved with purpose in a familiar, if rushed, routine. Amrothos, standing at the far end of the stables, was conspicuous because, as well as his mop of black hair, he was the only calm spot in the storm of preparations. Next to him Erchirion saddled his own horse, looking grim and not speaking much with our brother.

I searched for another man in the crowd for a moment but I knew before I started there was no need to search hard. Even in the thick of his men, all as tall and blond as he was, he stood out to me like the moon in a background of stars.

I crossed to my brothers and put a hand on Erchirion's shoulder. "Trouble?"

"Word came in the night that the Wildmen have come back to the Westfold."

"You ride out as well?"
"With every available man or boy. Éomer intends to crush them."
My eyes flicked to Amrothos and he met them evenly. Not every available man, but I doubted it had crossed anyone's mind to even ask him. It stretched the limits of grace for Erchirion to go. If he was slain in battle my father would understand but the debt it would put on Éomer to him would be enormous. I wondered if he hadn't had to beg to be allowed.

I fell silent after that as well. Amrothos and I watched our brother carefully and quickly prepare his gear as if under a spell. I felt the pressure of an internal and external turmoil without cause or release. I wasn't riding into battle but my heart beat as quickly as it might have if I'd been the prey in a long hunt. My head ached with a kind of dizzy anticipation that made sitting still an agony. But there was no action to be taken.

When I looked up there was a man standing squarely in front of me. No...not yet quite a man. Eadric stood in a boiled leather tunic and riding breaches, a cheap blade slung at his hip and a shabby helm cocked on his hip at an affected, jaunty angle. It was such a ludicrous impersonation of a hero from a song it almost made me laugh. He was beaming with joy.

"I've come to say goodbye, Lady Lothíriel," he said, trying for solemnity but unable to keep the excitement from his voice. "I'm riding out."

My eyes widened. "You're riding out? To the Westfold?"

He nodded. "I am going to do battle."

"But you're not yet sixteen!"

He frowned at my tone. "My lady, in times such as these a boy must grow up rather faster than that. I've been practicing with a sword since I was eight and I assure you I will do myself credit."

I rubbed a hand over my face, suddenly feeling exhausted. Of course there were no older boys to go. So many of the grown men had been slain or maimed in the Ring War that Eadric would, by necessity, be considered fit to do battle even before he'd reached sixteen, the traditional age of manhood. "Forgive me, Eadric, I forget myself. I am sure you will acquit yourself admirably."

He considered my slight for a second and then remembered his joy. "Of course one must not expect a lady to understand such things. But I've come to ask you for a favor to wear into battle."

I swallowed back the rising lump in my throat. "Of course, Eadric. Let me go to the keep and fetch you one of my handkerchiefs."

He bowed, and I stood. "I'll be back in a moment, Erchirion."

He smiled at me and tossed his head slightly at Eadric. "Oh take your time. I'm sure the party won't leave before this strapping young lad get's his token of your affection."

I didn't go to my rooms right away. I walked down through the length of the stables as if to exit by the path that led down to the gate and then circle back up to the keep. As I passed each stall door I peered in. Éomer was in the second to last, putting the last touches to Firefoot's tack and speaking with Gænwyn's steward. I let out the breath I'd been holding. It was a relief to see him but I had to force myself to step inside the stall.

They were discussing the supplies that were being made ready for the men to ride out with and I waited quietly until they finished. For a long moment after the steward had left Éomer simply looked at me without saying anything.

Though he looked none the worse for drink or the late night, his face was drawn with strain in the pale morning light. He was worried that he wouldn't arrive in time with reinforcements. He was mad to be in the thick of the battle that waited for him. And, though it made my jaw clench with furious fear to imagine him in such danger, it also made something in me throb with pride and love for him. It made no sense for me to be proud of his bravery. He had been brave long before I'd known him and I had no claim on him anyway. But as Erchirion had felt for the good harvest, so I felt for his goodness.

Finally he said, very quietly. "What are you doing here?"

I swallowed. Ever my easiest defense, I answered blithely, "You can't imagine the clatter you're making this morning. If there aren't a few people in Edoras riding up to see what the fuss is about, I will declare myself surprised.

"Don't play the idiot. It doesn't suit you."

I swallowed again. "I hardly know how to answer you."

"Try."

I glanced nervously at the door. "My lord..." I began.

With a noise of frustration he stepped passed me and closed the door of the stall. It was a violation of propriety and brought him rather closer to me than was polite but I didn't protest. I didn't speak, staring up at him with what I was sure was evident fear. He was so close I could smell him (oh how had I forgotten his smell?) and it made me want to lean against the wall to support myself.

"Why did you come back to Rohan?"

I shook my head defiantly. "I had no way of knowing that you would be coming to visit Gænwyn... I only wished to see her again. I didn't wish to cause you pain, my lord, truly I didn't."

He gave a little snort of derisive laughter.

"You have asked and I have answered as honestly as I am capable. I cannot make you believe me," I said sharply.

He didn't seem to notice my insolent tone. The stiff mask of fury seemed to lose it's hold slightly too and he ran a hand over his face, suddenly contorted with an emotion far more painful for me to see there. "As honestly as you are capable," he echoed. "And perhaps that at least is true."

"Can we not at least be cordial with each other?"

His jaw clenched, but he stepped back from where he had been looming over me. "Forgive me... of course, my lady. I forget myself." My hand twitched involuntarily towards him, to pull him back towards me. I forced myself to pull it back scant inches before I touched him. That wouldn't be fair.

He sighed. "Whatever was said between us I still owe you respect."

"Because of my father? My brother? Éomer that's no reason to..."

"Because you are a lady and a guest in my lands."

"It's not formal courtesy that I want from you."

Now his hands at his sides clenched as well as if the tension in his body was beyond his capacity to contain. "If you mean to ask for forgiveness... I will not make myself say words which do not correspond to... I will not make a liar of myself and a dupe of you. Would that it were different but forgiveness is beyond me."

My throat tightened. I had always loved the uncompromising part of him, flaw though it was. Harra would have found it silly, a weakness all too easy to exploit. But even now that it was turned on me it made my heart beat a little faster. How had he ever fallen in love with me? How, even for a second, had he judged me worthy of him? And how had I allowed myself to be coerced into hurting him so badly? I wanted to run into his arms and lean against his chest. But I couldn't scheme this away, and neither could he fight his way out. So we stood, separated by such an insignificant space—crossed between two breaths or two hammering heartbeats if it could be dared—and unable to reach each other.

"I don't mean to ask for forgiveness." I would have begged if I'd thought it would have done me any good.

"If you are offering pity of any..."

"I have never pitied anyone in my life. I'm hardly likely to start with you." I took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. If I didn't ask and Eadric was killed in battle, I would never sleep soundly again. "I've come to ask you not to take Eadric, one of Gænwyn's stable hands with you."

"Why?"

"He's not yet fourteen and he has been particularly helpful to me these past weeks with my work here. I would be sorry to see him go."

"You wish to keep him from harm?"

"I know I have no right to ask you a favor but..."

He was already shaking his head. "He isn't a damn pet, Lothíriel. He's a man grown, or will be once he's ridden into battle. And I cannot spare any riders for your whim."

I blushed. "I understand. I hadn't meant to add to your burdens this morning, I just..."

The sharp, piercing look in his eyes stopped me. "How can you be the same woman?"

His words, though spoken almost without inflection, stopped me dead. "What do you mean?"

"From your own lips I've heard you claim to love my country only a little. And yet here you are back in it as if you had never left, dashing about Gænwyn's Valar-cursed keep as if you hadn't a sense of propriety. How can a man reconcile the two women who seem to share your skin? My sister writes almost weekly from Minas Tirith to tell me some fresh tale of the lives you destroyed when you lived there. And this morning you come to me to beg me not to take a boy into battle because you've grown fond of him as if you were the most tenderhearted maiden."

Most of my consciousness demanded that I push him away from me with some insult. He was in through the wit and indifference I used as defenses: an intruder in my innermost keep. Only a small voice insisted, if you fail to tell him here how you feel for him you will die a coward's death every day of the rest of your life. The agony of indecision crushed breath from me.

His eyes were almost gray in the dawn light and he looked down at me as one might look at the shaft of an arrow protruding from ones chest. "Which is your true self?"

I could have more easily swallowed ground glass but I forced myself to speak in pained but precise words. "The mistake you've always made when it comes to me Éomer is assuming that I'm more complicated than I am. There is only one of me and you've seen her through and through. You have seen how... how I feel about you and you know my past. Can you imagine that something in Middle- earth might have convinced me to be dishonest to you when you asked for my hand in marriage, even if I wanted to accept?" I swallowed. "Desperately."

"Are you saying that you wanted to be my wife?" His mouth was a hard line.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?"

"Answer the damn question, Lothíriel!"

"I did... I do."

"And you were coerced into refusing me?"

"I was."

"By who?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes! Of course it matters!" I looked away from him and he let out a long breath through clenched teeth. "I suppose I'm meant to simply accept your story without question then." When I said nothing he swore loudly.

Something hot and salty, a wineskin of unspilled tears but warmed by something entirely unlike sorrow, seemed to burst open in my chest without warning. Of its own volition it seemed to me that my body turned to his as naturally as a fire turns into the wind. My hand found itself grasping a handful of the tunic over his hip and just as suddenly his hand had grasped my upper arm and pulled me roughly towards him, as if for a kiss. He glared down at me. "Bema, Woman! Why cannot you simply speak truth like a decent creature?"

I tilted my chin forward, defiantly.

"No one here has ever accused me of being a decent creature, Éomer." My voice was rough and low. "But I am trying to do the right thing for everyone involved here."

The look of mixed fury and desire might have sent me running if I hadn't been so happy to see anything other than stony indifference on his features. "How..." he began.

But just then the stall door opened and a rider stepped in. "Oh! My lord I apologize..." he stuttered. It might have been difficult to tell if we were about to kiss or strike each other, even from my vantage point, but the scene we had made must have been vivid.

Éomer released my arm and stepped back very slowly, not taking his eyes from mine. "No need, Elfhelm," he said firmly. "The lady was just leaving."

My legs shook only a little as I dropped a curtsey. "Safe travels, my lord."

He caught my arm as I stepped towards the door but I didn't turn towards him, unable to tolerate the sight of him. "In three weeks your brother and I will needs return to Edoras for his wedding, whether this conflict is resolved or not. I will take Eadric as my squire when I return. I expect you to be in a... forthcoming mood, Lothíriel."

At his words the roaring noise in my ears that had been there since I had woken up (or perhaps since I had found Amrothos in my chambers after Beltane) seemed to quiet at his words. I glanced at him cautiously and he rewarded me with a small smile which I returned with one of my own. I almost didn't dare speak for fear of breaking some delicate balance. "Shall I save you a dance at the wedding?"

"I think you had better."

"I look forward to it."

I knew that it wasn't possible that I physically was breathing easier as I walked out of the stables and to the keep and then allowed myself to run in a frenzy of joy and relief to my rooms. Already three weeks seemed like an impossibly long time to wait. But the promise of a talk, the small sliver of hope he had offered me, was glowing inside me like half a bottle of the best wine I'd ever tasted in the light of a sunrise more glorious than I had ever seen. I tossed through my trunks for my finest handkerchief and then dashed back down to the stables. Erchirion and Eadric were right where I had left them but Amrothos was nowhere to be seen.

I pressed the handkerchief into Eadric's hands with an enormous grin. "May it bring you luck when you need it and then safe back to me," I spoke the traditional words and pressed a kiss to his brow.

I wondered as I did for how much longer I would even be able to reach his forehead if I wanted to bless his ride into battle without his bending down to allow it. It had never seemed strange to me that he was shorter than myself until that exact moment.

"Thank you, my lady."

Erchirion came forward then and I kissed him as well. "Come back to me, Brother. And come back to Lithoer as well."

He grinned. "I will see you in a few weeks sister. If not before."

"I love you."

He seemed surprised at my words. I hadn't said them to him since the morning that I had refused Éomer. But he only smiled and drew me into a tender hug that I returned tightly. "I love you too, Sister."

It was only a few moments later that the men were ready to ride out. I went out to mount the steps for a better view of the column. Gænwyn was already there, looking a little out of breath and with some strands of hair slipping out of her braid. I could imagine her duties had been extensive that morning. Her smile as I mounted the stairs was a little sad. "It never gets easier to watch them leave."

Amrothos joined us shortly after that and we stood together on the steps watching as Éomer rode the length of the line once and then led the way out of the gate. As he passed through it he raised his horn to his lips and began to blow and almost as if in answer a sudden wind picked up, blowing out the cloaks of the riders and making me shiver on the steps. Or was I shivering from the clear, silver sound of the horn ringing off the high mountain passes? Or the thought of the man at the front of the column and how he smelled like horses and sun-baked leather and spruce trees broken as he made camp?

I watched until the last rider had passed through the gate. And only did then it occur to me to wonder where Amrothos had been when I had walked back to the keep.

TBC

As usual the changes LBJ made to this chapter were spot on and brilliant. One of my favorite things about the story is how authentic to the original world it is, and that all comes down to her awesomeness!

I was also overwhelmed by the reviews for the last chapter! I'm so glad you guys liked it so much! Thank you all so much for your kind words! I know I've been bad (life, fictional and real, just got so hectic) but I've chosen to try to buy back your affection with an extra long post. Let me know how well I did with that in a review? Because to be frank this chapter would have taken much, much longer if I hadn't felt so much pressure not to keep my readers waiting!