The sun was rising when she came.

Wind from the sea, salty and brisk, tousled her long dark hair and caught at the hems of her skirts. The light blue garment painted the shape of her body against the golden light of dawn as she walked, and quietly he watched her, his heart swelling and trembling at the sight of her.

She had come. It could only mean that she was still willing to give him a chance.

Quietly, he put down the piece of wood he had been carving while waiting for her, and stood up from the rock he had used as a seat. But seeing her expression Éomer fell back to sit down again; he looked at her and hoped that his face showed how sorry he was... how ashamed he was for letting it happen. He should have known Lady Glosswen was not quite done with him yet... should have made her understand there was no point in competition now.

Lothíriel looked down at him, and her face was serious as she searched his eyes. After a moment of silence had gone by, he gently took one of her hands and pressed softest of kisses on the back of her fingers. Small, soft hand, so very well-fitting in his own... like it had been made for him... no, it was the other way around: like his hand had been made for her.

She looked at him and there was a question in those storm-grey eyes, capturing him where he sat. Éomer was not one to hide his feelings, and so he wondered: was it not obvious to her? Did she not fathom how he adored her – how he could see no other woman than her?

"Trust me", he told her gently. She seemed hesitant and she briefly bit her lip, and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze that he hoped was consoling.

"You meant what you sang?" she asked.

"Every word, my Lady Bluesleeves", he answered plainly. "I meant them then. I mean them now. And I will mean them each day and each night as long as I live."

He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but he couldn't tell for sure, because she suddenly fell down on her knees by him and lay her head on his thigh, and her long hair cascaded over his lap. At first, Éomer did not dare move, as though unnecessary movement could have scared her away. Then after a moment he relaxed and lay a hand on her head. His touch turned into a caress and he wove his fingers through her silky tresses.

It was a whisper when he spoke, so quiet that she did not hear him at first. Then he uttered it again, just for the sound of those words he had never said to anyone before now, not like this.

This time, she heard him. Lothíriel lifted her eyes and indeed, it looked like she was crying. But she didn't seem unhappy.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"Ic lufie þē", said the King of Rohan. Her eyes remained confused, but he had not expected her to understand his language. So when he spoke again, it was in Westron; in that tongue, it did not really feel the same to speak those three words... but it was her he was telling them, and so it did not really matter which speech he used. For in all languages of Elves, Dwarves, and Men, it was still true.

"I love you."


"You know, Father, I think it's a high time for you to start to think about the marriage contracts and dowry for Lothíriel", said Elphir that morning as he and his father made their way towards the study, where they'd meet with several noblemen and the King of Rohan.

"How so?" Imrahil asked. Well, it wasn't really that odd that Father wouldn't notice, Elphir decided. After all, the Prince seemed to have become ignorant of Lothíriel's ageing ever since her 13th birthday. Imrahil didn't really see his daughter as a woman yet, though she definitely was one already, and so what was happening under his very nose did not even occur to him.

"Father, it's obvious that Éomer has set his eyes on her and I deem the sentiment is fully returned. And Erchirion tells me that the air has been hissing with electricity between the two of them ever since she returned from Lossarnarch. Haven't you heard already about how our king serenaded her the other night? If you ask me, it'd be wise to get the formalities done before you find golden-haired children running about the palace and calling you 'Grandfather'", Elphir said dryly. His choice of words made his father wince.

"She wouldn't do that to her poor old father", Imrahil said and shook his head.

"Oh, I think she would, if they're kept waiting", Elphir said and smiled. "You know Lothíriel as well as I do, Father."

"Hmm. Perhaps you're right, son", agreed the Prince, though he looked thoughtful still. "Still, I must wonder. Éomer, of all people?"

"It is actually kind of obvious, when you think about it", said his son and a helpless little smile passed on his face. "He's probably the only man who's ever going to bear her, hmm, spirited ways. In fact, I think he'll love her all the more because of it."

That made Imrahil look just slightly worried.

"... I really should think about that dowry, shouldn't I?"

And just like Elphir could have told his father, after the meeting Éomer King of Rohan did approach Prince Imrahil to ask for the hand of Lothíriel in marriage.

Not that Imrahil was opposed to the idea, but he gave his consent just for the fact that the King's expression implied he might behead the Prince if he said no.


A/N: I know this chapter is very short, but the minimalistic approach seemed to suit it the best, and when I tried to write more, all of it just spoiled the atmosphere. So in the end I decided to post it as it was, even if it's short. The next chapter will be longer, however (once I get it done, which might take a while with all the deadlines that are falling on me currently).

Anyway, I hope you liked it, and thanks for reading!