It was a disheartened Lothíriel that was escorted back to the palace by her brother. He said nothing as they navigated the streets, and neither did she. She was given to a ladies' maid with no ceremony, and Amrothos stalked away without a word.

The sun was just descending from its peak, casting shimmering rays of yellows and oranges through the west-facing windows of the palace. Lothíriel sat in the hot bath with her back towards the window, unwilling to face the light as the maid washed her hair. She would not expected at dinner, it had been explained to her. Her father wanted to her to rest and recover.

But she knew she would never recover; not completely.

A morose mood settled on her, which intensified the following day as she received no visitors, wanted or unwanted. Lothíriel did not leave her room, fearing confrontation from a still-angry Amrothos or any demands to recount the entirety of the adventure to anyone else. The only comfort she had, cold as it was, was that the majority of her father's guests had left in the wake of the 'terrible tragedy' that was the loss of herself and Éomer. So there were fewer to witness her humiliation at having the gall to fall in love with a man she had rejected, apparently just because he had kissed her, and kissed her well.

Why had Éomer followed Amrothos's orders to stay away from her so willingly? Why had he not sought her out upon their return? Did he care for her, even at all?

The memory of their sojourn on the island, was both painful and beautiful. Lothíriel began to hate it, and with all of her rebellious thoughts darkening her scowl, she answered her father's summons two days later with little grace.

"Good evening, Father," she said stiffly, surrendering to an embrace and feeling littler than ever. She wished, for the hundredth time, that she might have inherited even a fraction of his height…

"Lothíriel, I am glad you are well," Father said, and escorted her to the balcony of his study, where several torches twinkled with the stars and cast a dim light over a meal. "Please, eat."

"I am not hungry," she said, which was mostly the truth. The sight of sliced ferna and buti made her stomach twist with unpleasantness.

"Hmm. So I have heard."

Of course, Father would have been told by the maids that she had been returning all her meal trays untouched. Lothíriel sat, her back ramrod straight, on the cushions of her chair, looking her father in the eye from across the small table.

"So. So, so so." There was a hint of a smile playing around his lips, and she bristled. She did not like being made a fool, and so waited patiently, her hands wringing together, until he spoke again. "Éomer has spoken highly of you, daughter. He said he would not have survived without you."

"He was going to eat fresh dayig," Lothíriel said blandly. "So...right. He would not have survived."

"More than that," Father said. "I did not realize I had raised such a naturalist."

She laughed then, genuinely amused. "You are to thank, Father. You encouraged me to learn the ways of the land with Erchirion and Amrothos."

"A rare spot of wisdom; I do not know where that came from!"

"Oh, Da...do not be so disparaging of yourself! You must have known it a good notion." Cheered by his company, and glad that nothing else had been said of the King, Lothíriel reached for a slice of bread, which tasted strange after naught but fruit and fish. "All is well, Father; truly. I know that no lasting harm has occurred from these past days. There is no reason to dwell on it."

Father was leaning forward in his chair, studying her face intently. "Do you remember last spring, when you were eavesdropping on a certain, sensitive conversation regarding—"

"Yes," Lothíriel interrupted, her face hot. "What of it?"

"Have you…perhaps reconsidered?"

She stared at him, and then lowered the remainder of her bread to the table with trembling hands. "Reconsi—why...why should I? What has changed? I am still the same, and my desire not to wed a man I barely know is still as sure as ever, I promise you."

His eyes narrowed into shrewd slits. "Lothíriel, do not try to deceive me. I will tell you plainly, then, as you are determined to be unforthcoming: Éomer rushed to my study nearly the moment you docked, practically begging for me to allow him to try to woo you once more. And," Father added with a relishing grin. "He even asked for advice as to how he might succeed. That, if nothing else, has convinced me that he is thoroughly besotted with you."

Lothíriel scoffed, blinking several times as she looked anywhere but at her father. "He should have come to me, then," she said. "I make up my own mind, and Éomer—and you—would do well to remember it."

"Oh, I have not forgotten. That is similar to what I told him."

"Then what is his excuse for not seeing me?"

Father leaned back in his chair. "I am not so convinced of your feelings, Lothíriel. I have withheld him to allow you some peace these past days to learn your mind and your feelings."

She gaped at him. "How could I! When I have been thinking he forgot about me as soon as we—"

He was smiling wryly, which only annoyed Lothíriel more, and she snapped her mouth shut.

"There it is, then," Father said, and sighed. "An old man's mistake. You overestimate my wisdom, daughter. I apologize that I have not allowed the two of you to reconcile yourselves. I only thought...well. I thought wrongly. I will miss you terribly, when you are in Rohan."

"But—"

"I am going to retire," Father stood, and bent to kiss her forehead. "Good night. Stay and eat your supper—whatever your appetite, I do not wish you expiring anytime soon."

Lothíriel huffed as he left, the thud of the door closing behind him enclosing her in absolute silence. She was alone, the laden table in front of her taunting her with fruit. There was fish, too; silvery, fire-roasted fish, and she stuck her tongue out at it.

"And what did the meal do to you, Hleah?"

A sudden voice made her jump, and Lothíriel turned in her seat to see Éomer standing behind her, wearing a forced smile though his eyes were glum. "Your father sent me," he told her. "He would not say if you had agreed to...to marry me. I suppose that means I must hear my second rejection from your own lips."

"But—" Lothíriel began to speak, and then swallowed nervously. Éomer sat in her father's abandoned chair, watching her. She only managed a whispered, "Why?"

"Why, what? I am sure I owe you a dozen explanations at least; you will have to be more specific of what you wish to know."

Her voice grew stronger. "Why did you let Amrothos bully you?"

"I wanted to do the right thing," Éomer said, his eyes not leaving hers. "You had refused me before; I did not wish a repeat of the same. I thought that going along politely with your family would put me in your good graces."

"I do not even go along politely with my family, at least not always," she pointed out, feeling a great deal of weight lift off of her shoulders. "But that reason is sound, I accept it."

"Good," he said sardonically. "What next?"

"I—er...why did you want to marry me in the first place?"

Éomer shrugged at this, though his expression looked uncomfortable. "It was suggested to me, by my counsellors and your father. It seemed to me that it would save myself a great deal of grief over choosing my own bride, and so I consented. I did not believe that you might refuse...token of my arrogance, I suppose."

Now knowing him as she did, Lothíriel did not think him arrogant at all. Even had he expected her to agree to marry him without so much of a courtship, it did not fit the man she had grown to know...and love. Her skirt was rumpling in her hand as she wrung it, feeling awkward.

"That is all I wish to ask at present," she said at last. "I no longer feel so slighted."

Éomer's face relaxed somewhat, and she received a small smile. "I am glad to hear it! Now—I do not wish to be demanding, but before I leave for Rohan, I would like to hear, plainly, why you are refusing me this second time. That is all, and then I will leave you be."

"I am not refusing you a second time!" Lothíriel burst out. "You are underestimating my pride. You ought to know by now that I would never submit to an arranged match, yet you have gone about doing that exact thing! Why did you seek to convince my father of your affection, and yet give me none of the same assurances?" She gave a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "Gods, how can I refuse something you have literally never asked me?"

He blinked at her, his mouth a small O of surprise. Then he leaned forward and said in a hoarse voice, "Marry me."

She sniffed, flushing red. "If you insist."

A moment of astonished silence (had she really just agreed to wed?), and then a shout of laughter. "You are a minx," Éomer said with an unabashed grin, and stood to pull her to her feet. "My Hleah...the woman who makes me laugh most."

"I am afraid you will have to truly commit yourself to teaching me Rohirric now," Lothíriel said severely. "No more of that half-hearted nonsense."

"If you insist," he teased, and brought her knuckles to his lips.

"And while we are on the topic—no more eating buti with strange women on deserted islands."

"Only with you, of course." Éomer's eyes were alight with happiness, not unlike her own feelings, and she could not help smiling despite herself. "Do you know," he said thoughtfully. "I think I fell in love with you the moment you stuck your tongue out at Elphir on the boat. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," Lothíriel said, unblushing.

"I liked your spirit then, and I like it now. May I kiss you?"

"Do not waste time asking," she said coolly. "My answer will always be the same: get on with it, then! Otherwise I will be forcing buti through your teeth."

He chuckled, holding her close, and her skin began to tingle and her heart race. "Benevolent woman," Éomer mused.

"Oh, that is rubbish and you know it! Are you going to kiss me or will you take the buti?"

Almost to her disappointment, he kissed her, and no sound but the rushing of sea waves against the cliffs below was heard for quite some time. But eventually curiosity sunk into Lothíriel's mind, and she pulled away, looking him in the eye.

"I have been wondering," she said. "What is it that you said in Rohirric, which you told me I was not allowed to know?"

"Oh!" Éomer laughed, holding her close. "I was only being silly; I said that I had never laughed to much with such a beautiful woman in all my life."

"Is that so?"

"It is!"

Lothíriel stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment more, and then chuckled too. "I am going to believe you," she told him. "But perhaps only because I wish to. I think...I think Father is nearby. Do you think we ought to tell him that we've made up?"

"Not yet," Éomer said, and lowered his head to kiss her again. "I am sure Imrahil can wait a bit longer…"