Farewell sweet earth and northern sky,
for ever blest, since here did lie
and here with lissom limbs did run
beneath the Moon, beneath the Sun,
Lúthien Tinúviel
more fair than mortal tongue can tell.
Though all to ruin fell the world
and were dissolved and backward hurled
unmade into the old abyss,
yet were its making good, for this –
the dusk, the dawn, the earth, the sea –
that Lúthien for a time should be.

- The Song of Parting. Of Beren and Lúthien

Chapter 6

The preparations for the departure of the Rohirrim were mostly done by next midday after the Steward's unpleasant request that they - and most especially their leader - should leave the realm. Men riding in an éored were efficient and fast and were used to taking leave on a much shorter notice than this. As a matter of fact, in this case time was plentiful, as they were only set to leave the next sunrise.

His men knew Éomer well enough to know something was wrong, but they did not ask as they could also see it was not something he wished to talk about. Had Éothain been along, however, the captain would no doubt have gouged the truth out of his Marshal. But he was back in Aldburg and in command of the men Éomer had left behind to attend to the duties of patrols and guarding the realm.

As for himself, he had his men ready and saw that the horses were set for the journey as well, and then he waited. As expected, no sight of Lothíriel was there for him to see, even though he sat in the stables for a while hoping she might find him there.

She didn't come... but someone else did.

The day was turning into an afternoon when he heard a knock on his door. The Marshal had been distracting himself by honing his sword and thinking of Aldburg when the noise lifted him from his thoughts. As he stood up and made his way to open the door, he wondered what it could be: no lord or servant had talked to him since yesterday unless necessary, with the exception of Boromir. The captain had seemed genuinely sorry for how things had turned out.

"I think they are wrong – Uncle and my father, that is. They didn't treat you right, seeing how you have helped us recently and in past. It is also insult as you are kin to King Théoden. It's more than that, because neither of them seem to understand Lothíriel. I think it's actually kind of beautiful, how well you'd suit her. I never realised it before but it makes a lot of sense", he had said and shook his head. At least he had offered some hope when he had said he'd talk about this with his father the Steward and see if there was anything he could do.

But now someone was there on Éomer's door and he wondered if it could be Boromir again... however, when he opened the door, there stood a young man he recognised to be Prince Amrothos of Dol Amroth. They had been introduced to each other in the ball and had exchanged some words on horses, but the Rohir didn't think any of that warranted this visit.

"My lord Marshal", greeted the prince with a smile, "May I come in? I'd have a word with you."

"Of course. Come in", Éomer answered, hiding his surprise. He hadn't thought any of Lothíriel's immediate family would want to have anything to do with him. But Amrothos made his way in and the Marshal gestured him to sit down. Once the prince was seated, he cast a searching look at the young man and asked: "How can I be of assistance?"

The prince grinned, "Oh, it's actually the other way around, my lord. You should ask how I can be of assistance to you. Because that is precisely what I've come to do here."

"I must admit I do not follow you", Éomer answered warily, wondering what this was about. Had Lord Denethor or Prince Imrahil perhaps sent him here?

"Mm, sorry. This is just the kind of thing Lothíriel is always complaining about – I have the brain of a hare, she tells me. Speaking of her, I'm here on an errand from her. She asked me to bring you this", Amrothos chatted, sounding a bit like he was talking to someone he had known far longer than just couple of days. Be it as may, he reached for his breast pocket and pulled out a small sealed scroll.

"What is that?" asked Éomer quickly. A word from Lothíriel! It was more than he had dared to hope for.

"She sent this for you – asked me to bring it, because Father has effectively imprisoned her in the house and she couldn't come here herself. Here you are", said the prince and offered him the scroll. Éomer snatched it from Amrothos' hand and tore it open, eager to read whatever it was she had written him.

The message read:

My dearest Éomer,

Meet me today in the old archives of the Citadel. Come as soon as you have received this message. In case you don't know the way, ask Amrothos for directions.

Yours always,

L

For the longest time, he stared down at the letter and a part of him was convinced this was either some plot or a dream. But when he looked up and took note of the grin on Amrothos' face, he wasn't sure what to think.

"It's real, my lord. I saw her write it on her own hand", he reassured, having guessed his thoughts.

"I don't understand why you are doing this. Delivering a message to the man who has been ordered to leave the realm because of her", said the Rohir doubtfully. He frowned, "Surely your father would be angry if he knew?"

"Yes, he'd be mad. But has his anger ever prevented me before? Not at all", Amrothos said lightly. Then his expression became more serious, and his brow furrowed, "Someone has to help her. And I was there yesterday – saw and heard how she cried after you had gone. I've never seen her cry like that, my lord, and I knew this is not a passing fancy. Lothíriel knows her heart and she would not lose it idly... truthfully speaking it broke my heart."

He sighed and the frown on his face deepened as he continued, "You see, she's never been too happy. Not here, not in Dol Amroth. She's all awkward and thinks herself more stupid than she is. Doesn't have too many friends, you see how it goes. Ever since our mother died... well, it wasn't easy for her. And Father certainly didn't help it, the wreck he became. Little Lothíriel decided to put aside her own grief and help our father any way she could, forgetting about herself... she did it to help him of course, but I fear it didn't ultimately do too good for either of them. She has lost her wings and Father can't bear the idea of letting her go. But she deserves to be happy, you know. And if you're the thing that would make her happy... why shouldn't I help you – both of you? I want Lothíriel to be free, use her wings, and see that she's strong after all. I want her to breathe. Would you help her do that, Lord Marshal?"

"There's nothing I want more", Éomer said gravely, staring at the prince with wide unblinking eyes, as if he only just now saw him. It terrified him, to hear what kind of a life Lothíriel must have lived. More than anything he wanted her to be free of it.

Amrothos smiled.

"Then go to her, my lord."

When Amrothos had gone, Lothíriel pulled up the hood of her cloak and as quietly as she could, she opened the window of her room. Lightly she climbed out and fled through the garden, and no one saw her escape.

The guards only knew that the princess was not to be let out of the front gate... and Father knew she had locked the door of her room, where she remained moping and sulking. It'd be a while before he'd try and call her through the door. No answer would come, and at first he'd give up. But he'd try again, and again, and eventually he'd realise something was wrong.

By then, she'd be long gone... to what end, she didn't know quite yet.

As she made her way up towards the Citadel she kept her pace even and calm, trying to suppress the desire to run. She didn't need anyone wondering just what she was up to, and she seriously hoped that Uncle had not commanded the guards to keep a close eye on anyone that might be the Princess of Dol Amroth... but then, no one ever stopped her, and she thought perhaps Uncle had thought it was enough to trust her father to guard her.

She often visited the archives, even the older parts, and so her appearance there should not alarm anyone. Today luck was with her, for the elderly man in charge of the archives was fast asleep at his work station and never took note of her passing by.

It was dark down in the vault, but Lothíriel had descended the stairs often enough to know her way and the steps even without light. She had brought a candle, however; light was needed for what she was planning. Once she was down there, she called: "Éomer?"

One moment long as eternity she feared he wouldn't be there – that something had gone wrong and Amrothos had not been able to deliver the message. But then he appeared from the shadows, and there was dust and cobwebs on his hair, and sweet Elbereth, the sight of him was like balm for her aching heart.

"Here I am, beloved", he said softly and reached for her.

"We have ways to go yet", she said firmly but with gentleness. Her words seemed to surprise him – there were no other doors in the vault as far as he could see – and she smiled at him. Carefully, she offered him the candle, "Would you hold this for me?"

He took the light without questions and she looked about. The book stand was on its place; though someone had piled more scrolls and parchments on it than the last time she had been here, it didn't seem like the stand had been moved. As carefully as she could she moved the fragile thing... revealing the stone plates under it. They differed from the rest of the tiles and were of a slightly darker colour, and in the middle of them was a small round one that almost drowned in because of all the dust. But she knew what it was and pressed it, and the awaited sound of stone creaking and grating echoed in the vault. When her Marshal saw the source of the noise, his eyes widened.

"An actual secret door? I didn't see that coming", he commented as he studied the door. It was hidden behind a bookshelf, which had effectively been built into the stone. With all the books and scrolls and pieces of parchment, one would never have known it was actually a door. Pleased to see that the ancient mechanism still worked, she put the book stand back on its place to hide the button.

"Neither did I, when I was six years old and shuffled about here in the search of a treasure. It's amazing what things you might find out when you're small of size and have the ingenious mind of a child", Lothíriel said with a smile. She offered him her hand, "Come."

He followed her and they slipped through that door – he had to crouch and walk sideways, what with his height and broad shoulders – and she pulled the secret door close behind them.

Éomer gave the candle back to her, and she lead the way. Almost immediately a round staircase started, circling up and up towards heavens. Or at least that was how it had felt like when she had first climbed these stairs years ago. Though a secret door and treasures behind it were probably every child's dream, Lothíriel had not come here too often. If she did, someone would have found out about it sooner or later. And you never know when a secret haven might prove useful.

The climb up was long, but eventually the light of day penetrated the shadow, and they came into a small round chamber. It was small indeed: had he stopped to stand in the middle of the chamber and spread his arms, both his hands would have touched the walls. There was only one very old chair, but at this point it looked like one just had to sneeze towards its general direction and it would fall apart. She had brought here some pillows and on the narrow window board there were still some of her childhood treasures, like peculiar rocks, a chipped cup she had liked so much she hadn't wanted to throw it away, some dried flowers, and other small objects like that. The window was narrow as well but let in some light. As it was afternoon already, it was dim but it was enough. If one looked out, one would see the mountains to the west, and she believed the little chamber was so located one could not spot it from outside.

"What is this place?" asked the Marshal in wonder.

"I don't know for sure", said Lothíriel as she gestured him to sit down with her on the pillows, "though I have my own story. I used to imagine there was this old grumpy librarian long ago who didn't like people but loved his books and scrolls. He had this place built so he could study the past in peace. But eventually he died, and like so many things of years of old, this place was forgotten."

"And no one has ever discovered it before you?" he asked as he settled there. She shrugged.

"I know not. At least there's enough dust on the floor to imply that no one has been here since my last visit", she said softly and looked at him then, and suddenly all this seemed idle and unimportant... for he was there, and this might be their goodbye for ever. She put her hand in his.

"Take me with you when you go?" she asked quietly.

He looked down and sighed.

"As much as I'd love to do that, I can't allow you to come with me. Not after what happened... your father would know it was me who stole you, even if I were able to smuggle you out of the city. Perhaps our horses could take us as far as Rohan, but your father and uncle would still send men after us, and demand me to give you back. Maybe they'd even come themselves, with the power of Gondor behind them. And my uncle would have no choice but comply. He won't risk the alliance and peace between the Mark and Gondor, not even for my sake", he said and his voice was sad and heavy. Lothíriel saw he was right, hard as it was to admit that.

"Then let's go somewhere else. North, south, west. Wherever we want", she said desperately in a brief bout of madness, and the mere idea of leaving all this behind with him was intoxicating. "Just the two of us... alone and free."

Éomer looked up at her then. The sadness was still there, and now he pulled her closer to himself so that he might hold her.

"It sounds wonderful", he said softly, resting his head against hers, "But I don't think that's an option either. Lothíriel, the world is becoming so dark, and so many dangers are out there, not just in east. If we travelled all alone... I dare not think what might happen. We could very well come across something so bad, so tremendous, that I would not be able to protect you. And I would never forgive myself if something happened to you because I couldn't guard you. It's not only that, though - I am needed in my land. I cannot forsake them in this time, for so many lives depend on my vigilance."

"So you say we should just give them what they want? We should just give up?" she asked, trembling even as she spoke those words.

"No. We'll never give up", said her dear Rohir heatedly, holding her a bit tighter. "Dear one, this is not the end."

"What should we do then?" she asked, fingering the front of his plain coat.

"I'll go back to Rohan. I'll speak with Uncle of all this, and I'll ask if he could arrange something... he's a King, after all. He has authority I don't. He could suggest forming a stronger alliance between our realms, and present as a condition our marriage. It makes more sense than your father and uncle seem to be willing to admit – though I doubt their rejection was entirely because of rational reasons... still, if we have the support of my uncle, it could be easier to make your father understand that a marriage between the two of us would be a good thing. This way, we don't need to destroy your relationship with your father", he explained. And what he said did indeed make sense. At last, a smile dawned on Lothíriel's face and she felt some hope.

"Yes. You're right", she said softly. "It's just... when will I see you again? Will I have to wait yet another year to see you?"

"We can do this, if there is a promise of a future behind it", he told her gently. Tenderly, he lifted up her face so that he could look at her... and the light of love shined in those dark eyes, and she loved him. For him, she could endure.

He then seemed to remember something, and he reached for his pocket.

"I made something for you last night, when I couldn't sleep. Perhaps it could help you endure... to remember me when I'm far from you", he said softly and opened his hand. There lay a bracelet, woven of leather strings in elaborate pattern. From one string hung a small horse carved of light wood.

"I know it's not much. It's no jewel fit for a princess... I should have brought something from Rohan with me", he said and sounded a bit embarrassed now. But Lothíriel looked up at him and smiled.

"Dearest, I think it's wonderful. I love it", she told him. Really, his craftsmanship and the fact that he had made it himself with her on mind made this bracelet more precious to her than any piece of jewellery she had ever owned. He seemed to recognise her delight and he let out a breath; ever so gently, he fastened it around her wrist.

"You should have something from me too... I wasn't as clever, though, so I can't give you anything made by my own hand... I hope this will do", Lothíriel said then and took a ring from her finger. Seeing his large hands, she bit her lip, "It doesn't look like you can wear it..."

"It's fine. I'll find a string and wear it around my neck", he said, his fingers closing around the silver ring she had given him. She placed a hand on his, feeling the hard strength there, and hoped she could have been just as fearless and tough as him.

"Éomer, I..." she began, but none of the words she knew seemed adequate, and suddenly she hoped she had read more of those romances about knights and ladies, because they always knew what to say. But how to put in words what moved in her heart when she looked at this golden-haired man who had only just entered her life and yet he already meant so much to her?

So, in lacking the right words, she kissed him. She lifted herself up, sought that space in his arms, tried to get as close as it was possible... and she kissed him, like this was the last time they'd ever kiss. The fire roared inside her blood and he answered the kiss with equal passion and ardour.

How she ended up laying on her back on the pillows, with him above her and her very being screaming for more, Lothíriel wasn't so sure. She knew it wasn't something princesses ought to do, but she was past caring, because she had never wanted anything in her life like she wanted him – and really, she had never had anything like this. She had always lived for others, so was it so wrong for this one golden afternoon to live for herself?

"You do not know how badly I want you. For my own to keep. Mine, always", he said, and his voice was hoarse and he didn't seem quite coherent, and in his eyes was an invitation... a dangerous invitation, one that would take her on a road she couldn't turn back from. But perhaps... perhaps she had already stepped on that road, by letting him so close, and bringing him here with her, into the only place in Minas Tirith no one would find them?

"Yours alone. Yes. I was yours the moment you first answered my kiss", she told him, for that was the truth.

It was the truth. She was already his and always would be, even if there were no place in this world for them together.

Éomer let out a trembling breath, and for a moment he held close his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet, "I should not ask this of you."

"But I'd give this to you gladly and without regret. If something goes wrong... this could be our only chance, ever. And I'd like to have this one sweet moment, if it's all that is set aside for us. For the sake of it I would bear a lifetime of loneliness and disgrace, because I know what I have already had with you will outshine all else", she told him as she caught his face between her hands. "It may be only for now, and it may be forbidden, but it is true."

"I love you", was all he could say, and he kissed her again, and there was no turning back.

And so it happened that the Princess of Dol Amroth followed her wild heart, and gave herself to a man of the North in a secret chamber full of dust and felt no regret for doing so. Uncomfortable it was at first, but the great tenderness of his touch and kiss made it easy, and the feeling of being so close to him made up for whatever pain she felt. There were no boundaries here, nothing to part them, and in each kiss and caress there was a world of freedom; she was flying, high in the gardens of stars, and he flew beside her. But it was bittersweet as well, for it was a freedom and a flight that would have to end.

"Shh, my love. Don't cry. Forever is ours, if only for today", he told her as he buried his face in her hair, though she could hear the same grief in his voice. So, to rid them both of the sorrow of parting for one moment more, she pulled him into another kiss... for there in a kiss of lovers is a light and a comfort and immortality.

Afterwards, they lay there in silence, but it was not empty at all - it was filled with emotion and love of this short moment. Lothíriel was curled up against the chest of her beloved, and as she idly ran her fingers over his side, she watched how her own dark hair tangled with his golden mane. Laying there and wrapped in this one shining moment, she thought of how much it made sense. How could not her father see that?

She sighed and a strong but sheltering arm wrapped about her.

"How do you feel?" Éomer asked softly.

"I'm fine. I feel good... for now", she answered and looked up at him. "I am going to miss you."

"Likewise", he answered, planting a kiss on her brow. She snuggled closer to him and trembled.

"They're probably looking for me already. Father will be mad with worry", she murmured.

"What are you going to tell him when you go back?" he asked, sounding a bit worried.

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll tell him I was angry with him and hid myself somewhere to teach him a lesson, or something like that..." Lothíriel muttered. She didn't really look forward to confronting her father, but this was worth all reprimands he could ever come up with.

"They will assume you were with me", he said quietly.

"What can they do about it? It's not like they can put me in a prison", said the princess, trying for an unaffected tone.

"Oh, but they can. Not all prisons have bars, and some of them are gilded and grand", he said, his voice sorrowful. Realising how right he was about that she shivered and pressed herself closer to him, as though he could have sheltered her from a fate like that. He noticed her discomfort and held her tight, "If only I could somehow take you away from here... Nightingales were not made to live in cages."

"But they can endure it, if there's a promise of freedom", she said, lifting her head so that she could kiss him. Looking at him, she knew the unavoidable had come. It hurt, but she still said those words: "We must say goodbye – the way we didn't the last time you left."

"Aye", he agreed and let out a sigh. Resting a hand on her cheek, he looked at her gravely, "I promise I will find a way back to you. Somehow I'll find you again. But it may take some time – maybe years even. So you must stay strong."

"But what will I hold on to when you're gone?" she asked, her voice trembling, "If they put me in a cage and tell me to forget you?"

"Hold on to the knowledge that even if the mountains fall and the sea rises to swallow all lands, my heart will still remain here with yours. No matter what, our hearts are together always", he told her gently, and then he claimed her lips in a kiss.

"Always", whispered Lothíriel into this one last moment of light.

Leaving her that day was one of the most difficult things Éomer had ever done. But seeing how she fought to be brave he found his own strength, and with one last kiss his took leave of her; she'd stay in the secret chamber for a little while more, to try and make it look like they had not spent the afternoon together. However, as he quietly made his way from the vaults, he knew he couldn't stay in this city one moment more. Instead, he decided he and his men would depart immediately. He had said goodbyes to his beloved princess, and now there was nothing more to hold him back.

But as he made way out to give orders for his men to get them ready (he'd have to go and fetch his armour still), he took note of a servant practically jumping at the sight of him and dashing away, and as he expected it was not long before Prince Imrahil came striding from the palace. The man's face was red with anger and he looked positively outraged, though behind this outburst Éomer could still recognise the concern for his daughter that caused it.

"You! What have you done with my daughter, you fiend?!" he exclaimed as he came striding, a hand on his sword and two of his men just behind him. For a moment, the Marshal even wondered if the Prince would attack him here in the very Citadel of Minas Tirith.

"I have done absolutely nothing with her, my lord", answered Éomer coolly, straightening his posture and meeting the man's eyes calmly. Nothing that she didn't want me to do, at least...

"I know she has been with you this whole afternoon! How did you ensnare her? Where is she?" Imrahil demanded to know. But Éomer felt he could comprehend this outburst much better than before. What Amrothos had told him before certainly explained a lot of things... and Lothíriel had the gift of love. He could very well see why the apparent loss of her would be so hurtful.

"Uncle, I don't think Lord Marshal has hid her in his pockets", said the voice of Captain Boromir as he too came from the palace. Éomer was quietly grateful for his interference, as he was more likely to be able to reach Imrahil in this moment.

"My lord, I'm sure your daughter is completely fine, wherever she is", said the tall Rohir. He lifted his eyebrows, "If I had her with me, do you think I would parade around like this?"

"Lies! I know you have done something to her – you've somehow stolen her, haven't you?" Imrahil ranted angrily. His indignation only seemed to grow, which Boromir understood too.

"You need to calm down, Uncle. We'll continue with the search – I promise we'll find her sooner or later. There are only so many places a little princess can hide in", he said in a soothing tone, as though a man taming a wild beast.

"Then I want to know, Marshal, where have you been this afternoon?" asked the Prince, looking a still like he might draw his sword any moment.

"I was under the impression that in this city the free men of the west were not held accountable for their comings and goings", Éomer answered as calmly as he could, though he knew if the Prince started to really dig for details, he would have hard time explaining himself. But even as the older man looked like that was just what he'd do, came the voice of Amrothos.

"Lord Marshal was with me. I was showing him around in the lower levels", he said lightly as he strode to the scene. His father sharply looked at him, seeming a bit like he was intensely disappointed.

"You were needed here looking for your sister", he said. He still sounded angry, but to Éomer it appeared like the man's indignation was starting to lose its edge.

"Why? She's not a child anymore. I'm sure she's just sulking somewhere, hoping to prove a point or something. She'll come home sooner or later, and you'll feel like a fool for raising this uproar, Father", Amrothos said unaffectedly. He smiled at the Rohir, "Walk with me to the barracks, Lord Marshal?"

"Gladly, my lord", he answered, grateful for this interruption. They left behind the still fuming Prince of Dol Amroth, and as soon as they were an earshot away Éomer glanced at the young man beside himself. "Thank you. I'm not sure how I'd have got myself out of that one."

"Oh, it's fine. I did tell you I'd help you, didn't I? And Father can be a bit senseless sometimes when it comes to Lothíriel", Amrothos answered. But his expression became then grave, "You're about to leave, aren't you?"

"Aye. I was just on my way to have my men ready", sighed the Marshal. He glanced at the prince, "and it is thanks to you that I was able to tell her goodbye."

"Don't mention it. I'd think you both needed it", said the young man, shaking his head.

When they got to the way that lead into the barracks, Amrothos stopped and laid a hand on Éomer's shoulder. His expression, so cheerful before, had now become solemn.

"I know not where your road takes you from here, and if we should meet again. But I wish for the best, and hopefully you'll come and find Lothíriel again. I'll try and look after her until that day comes", he said quietly.

"Thank you. Remind her sometimes that I love her – especially when she's sad. I should be here to tell her that myself, but..." Éomer's voice trailed off.

"Yes. I know. Well, maybe Boromir can change Lord Denethor's mind, and I'll talk to my father. We mustn't lose hope", Amrothos said, his voice comforting. He smiled, "Goodbye then, Lord Marshal. May Elbereth watch over you."

An hour later they were on the road. Some complaints had been voiced out for this early departure, but considering all was ready for the journey there was not a real reason to tarry in the city any longer. And so the Marshal and his riders left behind this place where they had come as helpers and left as unwanted guests.

There was a hill to the west, not far from the city itself. From there you could regard Mundburg, standing proud and unfaltering as it had since the Sea-king had built it. A little while Éomer remained there, holding back Firefoot as he looked back the city... his eyes sought the Citadel and the Steward's pennant flying in the wind. Somewhere in that settlement of stone and boundaries and pride there was a young princess. Perhaps she was already listening to her father scold her for disappearing and courting wild northmen.

He sighed and thought of her, of when he'd see her again. Maybe he never would.

Farewell, my heart.

A/N: Here's an update! Hope you enjoy it.

I think there's an unwritten rule somewhere that if you're writing from "forbidden love" angle you also must include at least one amorous encounter of passion. Well, what can I say? If there's a place for fanservice, secret doors and chambers, and fulfillment of fantasies, it is fanfiction.

So, Éomer has once again taken his leave of Lothíriel. Originally I thought they might not see each other in a long while, but now this another thing is forming in my mind and it'll probably add one extra chapter to the story, but I think we can all agree that it's painful for them to be apart so long. I know that the idea of Lothíriel running away with him is attractive, but like Éomer explains it's not really possible at this point. Perhaps, if he had not asked for Lothíriel's hand and they had instead kept it secret, there could have been a chance. But he fears what it would cause if he did steal her and what he might unleash by doing so. If they ran away together there would be little chance of ever making a peace with Imrahil, and knowing how much Lothíriel loves her family Éomer wouldn't want to cut her ties to them. So for the moment he's willing to play nice, and he plans to ask for the help of Théoden. After all, as Théoden does have different resources and authority.

There has been some talk in the reviews about the political workings of this situation. In the answers section of this Author's note I answer those matters (why Éomer doesn't go and challenge Galdegir, what reasons make up Imrahil's rejection and the outright impolite treatment of Éomer), though I hoped they'd come clear from the story itself. But to summarise my thoughts on these matters I'd like to emphasise that the dynamics and conflicts of this story revolve a lot around the idea of cultural difference, the history of High Men and Middle Men, and prejudices not only in mind but also in action. However, as Amrothos and Boromir show, the sons don't necessarily always share the prejudices of their fathers.

I've tried to work on House of Sun but this piece keeps interfering with it. For the moment I'm even considering putting HoS on a hold until I can finish this. I don't think I'll ever learn not to write two stories at the same time...

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Inspiration for the chapter: Katherine Jenkins - Who Wants To Live Forever (cover)

Talia119 - She'll probably regret it this time too, but like I tried to explain here she and Éomer both realise it would probably just end in a disaster.

Where do you think all the stories come from? The birds nesting in my beard tell me these things. :D

Kiiimberly - That it certainly was. But even high lords, men as great as Imrahil and Denethor, are not infallible or flawless.

not paranoid enough - Thanks! I was a bit wary at first how they'd be received, but in retrospect I'm happy that I have included them.

Borys68 - Yet, as Éomer thinks to himself: a man's worth is not measured by where he was born or the grandeur of his home. This is what I love about the Rohirrim.

I have a feeling if this bit of defiling became a common knowledge Imrahil might come after him with an axe.

anna1991 - Thank you for your kind words! I'm glad to hear you enjoy my stories so much! :)

Covered in Bruises – Alas, Rohan letting Gondor go down would be unwise for their own survival. And I'd say Éomer is enough of a man and a Marshal to understand what insult he suffered from Denethor and Imrahil is not worth letting the world of Men burn.

As for whether he should have challenged Galdegir, I don't think it's that simple. If Galdegir had called Éomer savage publicly that would have been one thing, but he did so in some suspicious circumstances and just after he was roughly manhandled (however justified) on the front of a lady. Moreover, Éomer is high enough on the ladder of society to understand he can't just go and challenge every man he doesn't like, especially in Gondor where he is but a guest. At that point he's trying to behave anyway, and engaging in single combats would not help his chances of getting Imrahil's consent (remember – at that point he had not been rejected yet). And finally as I've tried to illustrate this piece does emphasise the differences between Gondor and Rohan and especially their prejudices. That the Rohirrim are wild savages is a common prejudice in Gondor, so if Eorlingas got offended every time someone mentioned it, they would have no time for other things than single combats. They're down-to-earth enough that from their point of view it's a mild insult anyway, which they usually answer along the line "as if those powdered, perfumed snobs knew anything".

Le Pleiade - Lothíriel certainly would run away with him if it was just about her. But she happens to have an overprotective parent who could effectively command all the forces of Dol Amroth after her... so, running away would be a great risk and unleash things unforeseen and terrible. We'll see how this develops. :)

Ranger – You are right that Éomer is indeed of royal blood and that he's actually very eligible suitor for Lothíriel. As a descendant of Eorl he is definitely more than suitable and it's not too sensible of Imrahil or Denethor to treat him like they do.

However, that is actually very much the point here. I've tried to show that despite their alliance there are prejudices between the two realms, that there hasn't really been that much interaction between their societies and so they don't perhaps have – at the moment – the best and the clearest image of each other. With this approach I've also tried to engage the cultural history of descendants of Númenor, the High Men, and the Rohirrim who are Middle Men. There's a whole history there, where Númenorians came to the Men of Middle-earth first as teachers and gift-givers, and then became rulers and even oppressors. I think some of this heritage that High Men are "better" than Middle Men is still alive and that is what I'm doing here. So even if Éomer is of royal blood, it's "just" the blood of a House of lesser Middle Men who supposedly aren't as great and fine as the Gondorian descendants of Númenor. Even in fandom you sometimes see Rohan referred to as "not as good as Gondor". In other words what is true for the real world history doesn't necessarily always agree in Middle-earth, especially when there's a cultural history like this behind it.

And as far as the matter of the inheritance of the throne goes, we must think of this from the point of view of the characters, not our own. Of course we know Théodred dies in the canon and so leaves Éomer the sole heir, but at this point the characters don't know that. Théodred is very much alive, he is probably going to get married and have children of his own for all they know. In this piece Imrahil (and consequently Denethor, because he listens to a lot what Imrahil says) deems it would be a drop in status for Lothíriel to marry Éomer: she's about the most high-born unmarried woman in Gondor, so should she become a wife to a Rohirric Marshal, thus making her "the second best"?

Moreover, like Éomer asks Imrahil: "Are you then saying you are not judging with your heart?" I was hoping this at least, if nothing else so far, would make it clear to the reader that Imrahil doesn't think of matters concerning Lothíriel with pure reason and that his judgement is emotional and biased. Like I promised this will be explored more, as soon as the next chapter I hope.

So, in essence the impolite treatment Éomer receives from Imrahil and Denethor is a compilation of prejudice, the legacy of Númenorians in Middle-earth, and personal feelings. I did hope this would be more clear than it apparently is.