1st October 3021 T.A., Meduseld
"It has been so long."
"A mere six years, my love. I would wait another six for you, but I am supremely grateful your father did not insist on a long betrothal…"
Lothíriel laughed quietly, picking up a grape from the plate between them. The candlelight around them shone brightly, casting into relief the sight of her new husband, sprawled on the rugs in front of the warm hearth of the king's bedchamber, and staring at her with twinkling eyes.
"You may not think six years is a long time," she teased. "But you are positively ancient! You see, I am still quite young, and I feel the effect of every single year very keenly."
Éomer snorted, shaking his head. "Ancient? I have every intention of showing you just how young and spry I can be, my wife, as soon as you are done eating."
She flushed, ignoring his insinuation as she ate another grape as if she had not a care in the world. Of course, that she had been too nervous to eat supper at her own wedding feast had been a rather important care, and as soon as Éomer had entered the king's chamber and seen her pale face, he had immediately divined the cause and sent for a meal to be delivered. That kindness he had always shown her was one of the reasons she loved him so much, and she smiled at him. He returned it, reaching across to stroke the end of her loose curls, hanging across her breasts.
"I thought for so long that I had lost you forever...sometimes I wonder if this is merely a dream."
"'Tis no dream, husband," Lothíriel said gently, holding his hand tightly. "Else we have both given into madness."
His lovely green eyes darkened, and both nerves and excitement fluttered in her stomach. Éomer propped himself upon his elbow, leaning across the half-empty plate to brush his lips softly against hers. A sudden rush of yearning and desire made her legs tremble beneath her, and she sighed aloud. There was an answering groan from him, and she was pulled to her feet and swept into his strong arms. Lothíriel could feel his perfect warmth even through his loose tunic, and she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
"A little looser, my sweet; a man must breathe." There was laughter in his voice, and she looked up to see his familiar, handsome smile. "I have longed for this night," he murmured. "I would not wish to begin it by losing consciousness."
A thrill of excitement, of anticipation and unknown pleasure made her tremble, and she was set down gently upon the massive bed. Éomer hovered over her for a moment, kissing her nose quickly before drawing away. Lothíriel could not look away as he doffed his tunic, throwing it haphazardly over a chair. He held her gaze for an intense moment, and she bit back a smile.
"What is it, wife?"
"I am merely admiring my new husband," she said tartly. "A bride may do that, you know."
"I should think she might be allowed. And may the bridegroom do the same?" Éomer's grin was feral as he crawled over her, the bed dipping with his weight. Her heart thumped, and she placed her hands on his chest, savoring the heat from his bare skin.
"Kiss me first," she was able to mutter, and he obeyed. His lips were gentle for a moment, and then as his weight descended upon her she gasped into his mouth as he deepened the kiss.
Lothíriel's entire being sang with pleasure. Everything was unfamiliar but so, so exquisite; Éomer's body so intimately pressed to her, the heat rising between them, the eager yearning in her veins to have him closer. The taste of his tongue, his soft beard rubbing against her cheeks, his strong hands tracing her curves, down to where her nightdress was bunched as he lifted it, exposing her skin to the air. She felt his muscles ripple under her touch, and the vibrating groan from his chest.
The rapturous pleasure he gave to her could not be described. It seemed that every feeling of love and desire she had for him was multiplying, manifested between them in ways she could scare comprehend, and it was natural for her to respond with her own hands, her own explorations. When at last Éomer joined with her, there was only a moment of discomfort, and then the sensations overwhelmed her, and she felt as a ship might, tossed to and fro on a stormy sea—she was not ashamed to cry aloud, when the agonizing rapture peaked—
"I was too eager," Éomer muttered some time later, his face buried in her neck and his breath hot on her skin. She was blinking dumbly at the canopy of the bed with wide eyes, unsure how to respond to what had just happened between them.
"Umm?" Lothíriel managed a half-hearted mumble. He lifted his head at this, grinning even with his mussed hair and his dark eyes, and she smiled.
"I was too eager," he repeated in a soft voice, reaching up to stroke her cheeks, her jaw. "I was going to admire you thoroughly, and see?—you still wear your nightdress."
So she did! Lothíriel laughed a little at this.
"Did I hurt you?" Éomer's inquiry belied a deeper concern, and he frowned, searching her face as if for a hint of pain.
"Not at all!" Lothíriel said, her hands tracing upwards on his bare arms. "I feel—quite good."
"Quite good? Is that all?"
"Very good, then. I will admit to your being spry enough, for a man of your advanced years."
He burst into laughter then, sitting back and taking her hands to lift her to a sitting position. She winced; she was slightly stiff in some regions that she did not expect. Éomer drew the now-damp nightgown over her head and it was tossed away. She could hardly feel embarrassed to be completely without cover in front of him now, and she smiled up at him. He returned it in a joyful beam, and gently lifted her face in his hands to kiss her tenderly.
He tipped her back onto the bed, holding her close as he drew the covers around them. Now that she was spent, she felt exhaustion creeping through her limbs; it had been a long day, and the comfort of the chamber—now her chamber, too—was more than enough to make her yawn. Éomer kissed the top of her head, pulling her close. She quite liked the feel of his strong arms around her, it made her feel safe and thrilled and loved, all at once.
"My wife must have her rest—good night, Lothíriel."
His wife. Lothíriel was dizzy with happiness. "Can we have a baby straightaway?" she asked impulsively. "We have delayed long enough to start our family, I think."
"We are certainly well on our way," Éomer said with a chuckle. "But you must know that those sorts of things take time. I certainly will not complain if I have you to myself a while longer!"
But as 'those sorts of things' invariably happened, almost exactly nine months to their wedding day and in the selfsame bed, a wrinkly, red-faced, squalling babe was placed in the arms of his mother. He had not liked the washing he received nearly straightway after his entrance into the world, and he did not care who knew it. There was commotion all around as the chamber was cleaned post haste, but the queen hardly noticed, being too absorbed in her baby and crying her own tears, though these were of joy. At her sweet smell and her warm touch and her already-familiar voice, the new prince quieted, and she was crooning when the proud father was summoned—
I often go walking
In meadows of clover
And I gather armfuls
Of blossoms of blue…
Éomer could not take his eyes away from his son—his son! —as he sat beside Lothíriel, careful not to jostle her too much. When she looked up at him at last, her eyes were shining with exultant tears, and she was smiling.
"He is perfect, Éomer. I am sure of it."
He laughed, drawing her close and pressing a kiss to her damp forehead. "I do not doubt it," he said. "For he looks very much like you."
"Oh, pah. He has your temper, I am afraid; did not you not hear him wailing down the corridors?"
"Aye, I did. He will be a handsome boy, then, and struggle with self-mastery 'till he be grown. A hard life we have laid out for him, you and I."
Lothíriel was laughing, and she passed to him the wrapped bundle. Éomer took his son, feeling the slight weight and warmth of the small babe. The boy's eyes blinked open at this sudden change, and he stared up at his father with dark depths. Éomer's heart thumped oddly at the sight; he had held few babies in his life, and none of his own—it was a strange feeling, one which was coursing through his veins; fierce love and protection towards this child he had known for only a few moments. His wife leaned her head against his shoulder, and sighed happily, reaching over to stroke the baby's rosy cheek with a finger.
The afternoon sun was setting through the window to the king's chamber, now tidy and no longer bearing the signs of the feminine battle for life which had so recently raged. Only a family, content in this moment of peace, stronger for the trials they had passed through for this singular happiness, and facing their bright future with joyful anticipation.
Well, that's all folks. Hope that most of you enjoyed. Based on some of the reviews I got, there have been a few unhappy readers. I haven't addressed this earlier because I mostly don't care (it's been a lo-o-o-ong time since I wrote this story lol), but I'd like to point out something both brief and succinct: I did not write this story for you. I shared it with you. That is all.
