But Lúthien was silent, and from that hour she sang not again in Doriath. A brooding silence fell upon the woods, and the shadows lengthened in the kingdom of Thingol.

- Of Beren and Lúthien

Chapter 7

June 3017, Dol Amroth

Summer was usually a beautiful time in the city by the sea, but even it could not colour the grey of rain and storm. Lothíriel didn't mind, though: she rather liked rain, as long as it eventually ended and let the sun shine and moon to grace the night. Still, it was easy to lose oneself to the rain and to watching how it pattered against the glass. She liked that place of forgetfulness, because there she didn't have to remember.

And there would have been many things to remember: eventually daring out from that secret chamber, facing Father's wrath, and then the inevitable exile in Dol Amroth... or other memories that were both sweet and bitter at the same time.

The feel of his golden hair, the touch of his lips, his voice when he had called her, the way he had filled her completely...

In Dol Amroth days merged to each other, and what had happened in Minas Tirith now seemed years ago rather than just two months. Strange, how time could behave like that. With him, moments had glimmered and been so full.

At least it seemed Cuileth had given up on her. Well, one could not blame the poor woman. Lothíriel knew she had been about as responsive as a rock when she had first come from Minas Tirith, and eventually even Cuileth's motivation had found its end when she had refused to play along, though it could also be in part because she was with child and much concerned by her approaching motherhood. Perhaps it had been wrong – or perhaps it was still wrong how she trudged through day and night like a sleepwalker... but Éomer had been right when he had told her that a cage was always a cage, even if it were gilded.

And she had never been quite as aware of her own cage as she was now.

Heavy steps distracted her then and she glanced about, only to see her father entering the old study of Prince Adrahil, which was more or less her realm these days.

Father had been angry in the beginning, but she had expected that. She had endured his scoldings quietly, and when he was gasping for air and rubbing his chest, Lothíriel had given him a sharp look and asked: "How old do you think I am, Father? Why do you still take me for a child?"

He had blinked and not known what to say, until eventually he had gathered himself once more.

"That is not how a princess behaves! What is wrong with you, Lothíriel? Why have you become like this?" he had asked and the hint of fear and desperation in his voice had nearly broken her will. But she had known she could not give in. She had promised to endure.

"Because the caged bird, once she has tasted freedom, will not be tame again", she had told him and left him there. She'd have locked the door of her room behind her had she not found it broken.

The next day, Father had sent her with Amrothos back to Dol Amroth, and there she had stayed ever since. Eventually, he had come to stay in the city for a while and brought her some new books, obviously as an attempt of making peace. Lothíriel had thanked him and even given him a small smile, but the relationship between them was not the same as it had been before. And sometimes when she was in his presence, Lothíriel felt like he trod around her as though she was a wild animal that might attack any moment.

"Daughter", he greeted her now, taking a seat across her.

"Father", she answered, though she didn't turn to look at him.

After a moment of hesitation, he spoke again, "Why do you hole up here in this chamber? Aren't you lonely?"

"It is preferable to the alternatives", she answered nonchalantly. He sighed.

"You are like a stranger these days, Lothíriel. Why can't things be like they used to be?" he asked sadly. He sounded so genuinely upset that it made her heart ache, but Lothíriel had hardened her will, and she knew she couldn't give in.

"You know why, Father", she told him and gave him a steady, unfaltering look. The Prince of Dol Amroth frowned, but then he assumed a gentler look and reached to place his hand on her arm.

"It'll get better. Someone else will come along, and you'll forget about that man", he said in a voice that was probably meant to comfort her. But it only roused cold and angry thoughts in her, and she gave him what could have been called a glare.

"Like you forgot about Mother?" she asked, even though she knew it was a cruel thing to say. And like she'd expected, his eyes widened in surprise and hurt.

"That is not – it's not the same thing..." he stammered. Seeing how her words had stung, Lothíriel felt guilty. It was wrong, to remind him of her mother like that... and she would have told her that she should not reward one slight with another. But she needed to make Father see her point of view.

"Love is love, Father. No matter where it happens. And I know my heart", said the princess, her voice softer this time. "I can't be your little daughter forever."

"I know that, daughter. But you must see he is not deserving of you", he said quietly.

"In my eyes he is worth the world. Shouldn't I be the one to decide who deserves me and who not?" Lothíriel asked. Intently she looked at him, "Father, I think you're saying this only because you're scared of letting me go. Because if I go, all that remains of my mother will go too."

"That is enough", he said sharply and stood up.

"Don't you see, Father? She wouldn't want any of this. Mother would not want me to become a prisoner just so that you don't have to bear the pain of parting", she pressed on, though each word brought a pang of guilt when she saw the effect of her words - she might just as well stabbed him with a knife for the agony on his face. Oh, her poor father...

"Lothíriel, you don't know what you're asking. What do you know of the Rohirrim? No, you're meant for something else – something greater than to just become a horselord's plaything", he said, masking his pain with anger.

"So you know them so well, Father? And you know Lord Éomer and the kind of man he is?" she asked heatedly. His words almost had her temper rising, but she was able to hold back her fury. Shouting and outrage would not help her, not in this matter. When she continued, she spoke more softly, "Please, Father. Let me go."

His face was unrelenting.

"When the right man comes, I will."

August 3017, Aldburg

In Aldburg, life went on as it ever did. There was something comforting about the routine of everyday life: as a Marshal, Éomer always knew what to do, even as the times turned more difficult and his waking hours were consumed by trying to protect the realm. But though life was filled with battles and concerns, she was always on his mind.

Upon his return from Gondor, he had not wasted time in Aldburg but hurried to Edoras. A report of the campaign in south was expected of course, and only when uncle was satisfied with his explanation of details of the quest did he dare to ask that question which had been in his mind since he had left Mundburg.

"My lord, during my visits in the White City I've met this young woman, and I have found myself falling in love with her. I'd very much like to bring her in Rohan as my wife. However, Princess Lothíriel is a lady of high birth, kin to Lord Denethor himself... my proposal of marriage was accepted by her, but rejected by her kinsmen. King, I'd ask for your help in this matter. You have greater authority than myself and they would be more inclined to listen to your word than mine", he had said carefully, all the while studying the face of his uncle. When Théoden had said nothing, he continued, "My lord, I believe it wouldn't be a bad idea. A marriage between myself and her would strengthen the bonds of alliance between our two realms."

His uncle said nothing for a while, but eventually he nodded slightly.

"Your idea indeed is not a bad one. I will have to think of this, sister-son. I'll send a word when I've come to a conclusion", Théoden said at last. In an ideal situation, he'd have agreed to it right away and written a proposal to the Steward right away, but Éomer knew he had to be patient. The last thing he wanted was to put off his uncle with his anxiety.

So he had returned to Aldburg and waited for a word from his uncle... only, the King more than took his time with the matter.

In the meantime, the Marshal concentrated on what he did best: fought orcs, rode to battles, protected his people. Perhaps it was a strange way of thinking but in a fight there was kind of a calm. He didn't have to think of anything except the survival of his men and the people he was guarding.

It was the long hours in Aldburg, the hours of night, that he feared. Those were the times he'd have to stop and endure the doubts and fear and yearning. Yet they were also times he'd see her, for she frequented his dreams... sometimes they were sweet, sometimes dark. And waking up was always hard.

To the great joy of Éowyn and Éothain he had tried to mend his ways at least: no more reckless dalliances with ladies of questionable reputation. Lothíriel deserved more than that, and he'd no longer dishonour her by trying to seek her from women who could not compete with her. But there were nights when he was weak, and long he'd sit staring into his mug of ale, even though he very well knew that drinking had never healed any broken heart or helped with such unfathomable longings.

And other nights he'd stand on the front of the Hall that had seen the rule of his ancestors and his long-dead father and was now his seat, where he hoped she'd live with him one day... he'd stare off towards White Mountains, imagine the lands of Gondor and the city in the Bay of Belfalas. If he closed his eyes, he could see her walking by the sea, even if he had never seen sea before. Well, the most vivid thing about that image was Lothíriel anyway, and the waters she traced with her white feet were not much greater than Entwash.

But the longing was bad, even worse than before his last visit. It was no wonder, for now he knew her name and so many other things: the taste of her skin, her warmth, the way she writhed in passion and pleasure... how she'd smile or laugh or cry, or how the syllables of his name rolled from her tongue, and how the very canvas of life was painted gold and silver just by her presence. How could one, having experienced this happiness, not yearn for its taste again?

However, it was not just Lothíriel and the thousand things that made up her that he remembered. There was also the stinging memory of Imrahil's refusal.

You're not worthy of my daughter.

He'd look around himself and the town of Aldburg. He'd see the familiar houses, built of wood and decorated with it, carvings and rugs and tapestries of wool... it was nothing compared to the fine palace he had visited in Mundburg. If by some twist of fate Imrahil should ever visit here, he'd look around and be happy that he had not let his daughter come to live in this place.

And yet... even as Éomer knew the seat of his ancestors was but a small thing compared to the splendour of the stone cities of south, he was proud of it. It was not much, it was no palace, but it was home. What was important was knowing that Lothíriel would not have scorned it.

Time went on and though he visited in Edoras Uncle never spoke of what Éomer had suggested upon his return from Gondor. Couple of times he asked if the King had given it any thought, but Théoden just answered he was considering it... and the Marshal had understood that for now, pestering his uncle would not help the matter at all.

All he could was to just wait.

November 3017, Minas Tirith

Eventually Father agreed to let Lothíriel come back to the White City. She suspected it was more because he was feeling lonely than actually thinking she had learned her lesson, and she tried to be on her best behaviour. Sulking and silence had not changed anything... but perhaps if she gave in at least a little bit, Father would in turn relent and reconsider what he had decided when it came to Éomer.

But though she behaved as well as she could, it was obvious Father didn't quite trust her like he had before. Instead, he insisted she now take a guard with herself whenever she went out of the house, be it for the markets or the royal library or just a ride. She wondered if it were because he thought she'd escape otherwise... the thought was tempting, but she knew he'd assume it was to North she'd head for if she made any move as to try and set herself free. Lothíriel even suspected there was a rider ready at all times, prepared to hurry to Rohan and demand the Lord of the Rohirrim to surrender her the moment she made an appearance. Obviously, Éomer and the idea that she might try to seek him by herself had scared her father.

Often she did dream of doing just that – taking a horse and riding away, looking for a way to the Mark of the Riders, and find Éomer there... but though her heart had these wild longings, her head knew that in truth the only thing she'd ever find was death. Living so close to the Citadel and overhearing the many things her father was concerned with had long since alarmed her that shadows were growing and all roads were now full of dangers. Perhaps with Éomer she'd have dared to defy the fates... but alone she was too weak, too scared.

That day was ordinary as any other, and she had busied herself with sewing a new pair of leggings for her riding skirt. Sewing was not her strongest skill but like she had told Cuileth she knew the basics. And anyway, Lothíriel had long ago decided she'd rather learn to make her leggings herself rather than continue to shock the Gondorian tailors and seamstresses with such a request.

There was a knock on the door and she nearly stung herself with the needle, and she looked up from her work.

"Come in", she called and Father stepped in.

"Hello, daughter", he greeted her. He was smiling, but as usually on these days, his smile seemed to have a kind of an edge.

"Father", she answered, nodding her head. "What is it?"

"Your uncle asked us to join him on a dinner this evening. I hope you don't have anything planned?" he said, and she refrained on making comments on how she never had anything planned these days.

"It's fine. Of course we should go", she said softly, laying aside her needlework.

"Good. I'll send him a word we'll come", said Father. He fell silent then, and studied her silently for a moment. He asked, "How do you feel today, daughter?"

She shrugged.

"Not any different than usual", she said dismissively. It wasn't hard to guess what was on her father's mind, but they had already had too many conversations about that.

He frowned, apparently not too happy about her answer. But he didn't pursue the matter, and after hovering awkwardly at the doorway for a while he turned and left. Lothíriel sighed and looked down on her hands. She hated how things had turned out with her father, but she had no idea of how to fix this, unless she was to succumb to his will. But that she could not do, not as long as there was a sparkle of fight left in her.

When the day turned into evening, she bathed and picked up one of her better gowns. Even if he were kin, one could not attend a dinner with Lord Denethor looking like she had crawled from the gutter.

It was around sunset when she and Father left for the Citadel. The way was made in silence, and with some unhappiness she noted how uncomfortable the silence between them had become. But though she had done her best to be there for him after the passing of her mother, she didn't have enough of her in herself to know how to handle him in a situation like this.

Uncle Denethor received them in his private dining chamber. It was considered a great honour if he invited one for a dinner, especially with how many concerns to take his time he had. Still, the table was laden with fine silverware and porcelain already, and after the greetings had been exchanged they settled down to eat.

During the main course Uncle finally dropped that fire-bomb Lothíriel had not known to expect. Up until then, he had been talking with Father about everyday matters of the realm – nothing of which had prepared her for what he did say when he finally focused his sharp, blue-grey eyes on her.

"So, Lothíriel, how are you faring these days?" he asked at last.

"I'm fine, Lord Uncle, thank you", she said in that demure fashion she knew was expected here.

"Your father tells me you have been on a better behaviour lately" - she had to hold back a grimace - "and I am quite glad to hear that. The unfortunate episode with that Rohirric fellow left me worried for you", said Uncle.

"It was unfortunate, yes", she said evenly, though Lothíriel knew their reasons for thinking so was entirely different.

"Well, I'm happy that it is all put behind us now", Denethor said. He continued, "Speaking of Rohan, I have been as of late in correspondence with an adviser to King Théoden. This Lord Gríma of Rohan has made an attractive proposition in his letters, and I have thought of it much lately."

"What does he write?" Father asked. Lothíriel held her breath and tried to keep her face blank - Éomer had said he would speak with his king, ask for his help... had he succeeded to get Théoden's help on their side?

"He suggests renewing our old alliance by the way of marriage. I admit I was doubtful at first, especially remembering the incident with the Marshal, but the developments in the lands have made me reconsider Lord Gríma's offer. It would be wise to take this to account, I believe", Denethor said, picking up his glass of wine. Father frowned.

"And whose hand does he offer in marriage, and to whom?" he asked. Lothíriel could tell he didn't like this topic, and neither did she. What was happening? Why would there be an offer of marriage if Éomer were not part of that deal?

"The bridegroom would be Prince Théodred. And the bride our own Princess Lothíriel here", said the Steward calmly.

Father looked just as shocked as Lothíriel felt. For the longest time, neither she or him could talk, and eventually Uncle spoke again.

"I know this comes as a surprise. Perhaps it was wrong that I have considered this in silence. But I do not think it is a bad idea at all... even though I do understand your aversion, Imrahil. However, this is not quite the same as the situation with the Marshal. For one, a marriage between Lothíriel and Prince Théodred would mean one day she'll be established as a queen. That day may be soon, as King Théoden is not getting any younger", Denethor said, offering a smile to his two relatives.

"Denethor, you know I do not like the idea of sending my daughter so far away", Father said at last when he had recovered from his surprise and shock.

"Yes, I am aware. But Imrahil, this is not a time for us to consider our personal happiness and sensibilities. The marriage of your daughter to a Rohirric prince could do much good. Moreover, giving a hand of a princess in marriage to the heir of their throne would, I believe, smooth any ruffled feathers caused by the Marshal's bold proposal... no doubt he has given an unfavourable account of ourselves to his King. He's a relative of Théoden after all, so he may very well have a strong idea of his importance. We shouldn't give an impression that we think the nobility of Rohirrim, hmm, unfit for our high-born ladies", said the Steward in a thoughtful voice.

"But Uncle, if a marriage should be, then wouldn't it be wisest if it were between myself and Lord Éomer? Like you said yourself, he too is related to King Théoden. It means he's a powerful man in his land. And I've met him already and I'd be happy as his wife", Lothíriel said quickly. Here was her chance, if she could just sway him!

However, Uncle shook his head.

"No, Lothíriel. That man is trouble. Lord Gríma has written me of him and tells me that though Lord Éomer is indisputably a great warrior he is also unreliable. Lord Gríma says he is aggressive and reckless and hungry for the position of Prince Théodred as the heir to the throne. Not only that, but there is also a word of his reputation of a drinker and a womanizer. Altogether this Marshal sounds like a dangerous rascal", Denethor said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I'm quite happy your father refused his proposal, as your married life together would have no doubt lead into your disgrace."

"He's not like that! He's a good man, and whatever this Gríma is writing about him is not true!" Lothíriel said heatedly. No, that was not Éomer at all! She had seen him, the true him – the brave and considerate man who looked at her like she was the most precious thing he had ever seen.

"Lord Galdegir did report this Marshal assaulted him on the night of the ball. Does that sound like a good man to you, Lothíriel?" Uncle asked. That nearly had her jumping up and screaming.

"He only touched Galdegir because I was in trouble! Or didn't Father tell you of how Galdegir drugged me and Elbereth knows what else he'd have done if Éomer hadn't been there to stop him?" she seethed. Her words had little to no effect though, and Denethor frowned.

"Accusing a fine and high-born lord like Galdegir of drugging you is a serious thing. I'm sure you're just exaggerating what happened, Lothíriel. You had both had too much wine and he behaved improperly, but that is the extent of it. In any case Lord Éomer's reaction was out of line", he said calmly, as if talking to a child.

"No! You weren't there, Uncle – you didn't see him! Galdegir did drug me and he did have ill intentions for me!" Lothíriel exclaimed. She looked at the Prince opposite herself, "Please, Father! You must believe me. And you must tell no! I don't want to marry some man I don't know, Prince or not!"

"Daughter, your uncle does have the right to decide about your marriage, considering he's the highest authority in the land", Father said awkwardly. "And he's right that politically thinking it would be wise to strengthen the ties between our realms..."

She almost thought that was all he'd say about the matter, but he continued, "However, I have to voice my objection, Denethor, if Lothíriel herself is unwilling. We are not he heathen lords of old who sold their daughters like they were nothing more than goods to be exchanged between men of power."

"Well, that is most grievous, for I have already sent an official invitation to the Prince Théodred. I've called him here, to get acquainted with the Princess. He's due to arrive in next spring", said the Steward with a tone of finality.

At that, Lothíriel finally lost it. She jumped on her feet and screamed from the top of her lungs: "You can't make me do this! And I swear to you most solemnly, if you try to make me marry a man I don't want, I will go mad and jump in the sea, with the grave purpose of drowning myself!"

She didn't know if the shock on the faces of her father and uncle were because her voice had deafened them or if it were her words, but they sat frozen. As for herself, she turned around and escaped the chamber like a bird trying for freedom.

There was really only one place in the Citadel she could even think of going to.

At this time of evening there weren't many servants around, and the library and archives were quiet when she dashed through the space, her skirts gathered for her run. Into the old vault she sped, and then as soon as she had the secret door open, she began climbing the staircase. She made fast way – so fast that she was gasping for air when she reached the chamber on the top. But the stinging feeling in her side was a welcome distraction.

And there she collapsed, on those pillows she had last lain on with him... she hadn't come here since, because she had thought the sight of this place of their secret passion would hurt.

Well, it did hurt. That she had expected. But somehow it was also a comfort, because it reminded her of the truth. They had been together here, and here she had understood that no distance and no boundaries could ever tear her heart apart from his. Here she had been his own... perhaps it was just her imagination but she thought his scent still clung to the pillows.

The tears came then, born of anger and frustration and hurt. Lothíriel saw it now: she was nothing but a pawn in that game her father and uncle played against terrible forces, and her life and her feelings mattered not. Oh, how unfair it was!

Of course she should have known something like this would happen sooner or later. She was a princess and Uncle wasn't going to let her stay in the pocket of her father forever... but why did any of it have to go like this? Why did she have to fall in love with someone whom the fates ever pushed away from her?

And those things Denethor had said about Éomer... none of it could be true, could it? For a moment there was a horrible dread in her mind, that it had all been just a play and an act because he wanted to bed the delicate, gullible princess... and the next time she'd see him he'd laugh at her and ask what she had expected.

No, he wasn't like that. There was no such treacherousness in Éomer – he was honest and genuine and he loved her. She knew it, when she pulled away the sleeve of her gown and looked at the bracelet she had worn ever since the day he had fastened it there. What Denethor had heard were lies, she knew it. Why someone should spew such untruths she didn't know... and it worried her to know that King Théoden's own adviser would write things like that. A sense of foreboding came to her: something bad was brewing in the land of Rohan. What would it mean for her beloved, then? Was he in danger and did he know of it?

The ache of not knowing what was the truth and if the one she loved were safe was bad, and she felt weak and helpless for having no way of trying to fix this... of helping him.

But as Lothíriel sat up and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, she knew she had to soldier on. Giving up was not an option, and she had to trust him to take care of himself.

Moreover, what Uncle had planned for her was not something she could change by escaping from it. No, she had to face the beast and hold her ground. Prince Théodred was Éomer's cousin, after all. Surely the man would understand why the plans of King's adviser and the Steward could not come true? If the Prince were at all like his cousin, he'd do what was right – he'd help them, somehow.

One more moment Lothíriel took to gather her strength and calm. Then she rose from the pillows and rearranged her skirts.

They would see this princess did not yield quite so easily.

March 3018, Minas Tirith

"Béma's beard. Now there is something you don't see every day."

Prince Théodred of Rohan was marvelling the sight of the White City of Kings, his grey eyes wide and full of wonder. He appeared to have forgotten they had been on road for a week now and the men and horses were in the sore need of rest and food. But Éomer could not blame his cousin, for his own reaction when he had first come to this city about two years ago now had been similar.

Granted, he did feel enthusiasm for the prospect of seeing a beloved face here... but the yearning for his sweet Nightingale was shadowed by the many concerns and doubts. Not smallest of those was the web spun by Wormtongue: this travel had in grand designs but one purpose, and that was to engage the Princess of Dol Amroth to the Crown Prince of Rohan. Moreover, Éomer knew he would not be a welcome guest here.

However, his cousin had given his word neither of those concerns should turn out worth all the time he had spent worrying about them.

"I know you have great love for this lady, and I don't want to come in between the two of you. I'll speak of it with Lord Denethor as soon as I get a chance. But I couldn't really refuse this invitation, not when Father insists on it as well. Anyway it's an opportunity for you to see again your lady love... and don't worry about what they'll say when they see you. I'll say you're here on my personal request, and we come and leave the city together", Théodred had said calmingly.

Still, the Marshal wondered how it all would turn out – even if he were happy to know he had at last an ally in his cousin.

Théodred had been on his side from the beginning. He and Éowyn had been there to restrain him when he had gone slightly mad at hearing what Gríma Wormtongue was planning, for which Éomer was thankful as soon as he calmed down. The Prince had no wish to marry a stranger and even less he wished to interfere with the relationship of his cousin with the Princess, and so he had insisted he'd do all he could to change the course of things. Lord Denethor's invitation had to be accepted, however... and so one day of early March they had left for the White City, and the Marshal's heart had beaten an unsteady pace when he had thought of all the things that could go wrong... and all the things that could go right.

And now they were here, and Mundburg stood there before them. Théodred was still admiring the sight of this ancient city, lost in the might and beauty of it.

"I suppose it is beautiful", said Éomer quietly, so that only his cousin heard, "but I have found it cold and unwelcoming."

"But she is there", Théodred noted. They urged forward their horses again, but rode side by side as to be able to converse, "So not all of it can be so appalling."

"Aye", Éomer had to agree, smiling at the thought of Lothíriel. "She's the fairest thing in all of Gondor."

The older man smiled at that and the expression on his face was fond.

"She must be, to have you so bewitched. I must say I'm curious to see her now – the woman who conquered you", he said. He couldn't suppress a grin, "The ladies of the Mark will no doubt think her a magical thing, considering she so easily achieved what an entire generation of maidens have failed at so far."

The Marshal snorted at that but couldn't help a small smile.

"You are being ridiculous, cousin", he told his kinsman, and Théodred chuckled.

It wasn't long after that they arrived to the great gate of the city, which was readily opened for the riders. From there they made up towards the Citadel, travelling through the paved road that was now more or less familiar to Éomer. As they rode he took note of the sense of foreboding that lay heavier here than before, and he thought there were less people than during his last visit. He wondered what it meant and hoped perhaps he could find Captain Boromir after their arrival. The Steward's son would hopefully tell him what was afoot in the realm.

At last they reached their destination, and arrived to the Citadel. Surrendering their horses they continued towards the palace, where Lord Denethor awaited them. Observing the faces of stable-hands and couple of servants they passed by, Éomer saw he was recognised. Briefly he wondered if coming here had been a bad idea and if much trouble would follow... but then, he knew he couldn't have stayed behind.

He let Théodred take the lead, as was the older man's right as the Crown Prince. With the easy grace of a man who had grown in the knowledge he would be king one day, Théodred went forward, and his closest men followed.

The Steward received them in the great hall of the palace, sitting on that plain wooden chair at the foot of the throne. A year had passed since Éomer had last seen Lord Denethor and the man remained mostly unchanged, though it seemed new lines of worry had carved their paths on the noble face. But Denethor's eyes burned with the same sharp fire he remembered.

"Prince Théodred", called the Steward as Théoden's heir approached him, "I bid you welcome to Minas Tirith. I am most delighted that you could come, busy as I know you are in your own realm. You are-"

But then he fell silent, for his eyes had fixed on the Third Marshal and the look on his face was not friendly. Yet Éomer met his gaze as dauntlessly as ever, refusing to be dismayed by this man. Only briefly he looked at the Marshal however, before turning his eyes again towards Théodred.

"My lord, I must voice my surprise. I did not know to expect that the Lord Marshal should come with you", said the Steward. True to his smooth manners, his voice did not betray any displeasure. But the keen gaze of the Marshal did see that flicker in the grey eyes of Denethor, and he knew he wasn't welcome.

"Lord Steward, I deemed it only appropriate to invite my cousin along, considering he has been here in Gondor before. He is here at my personal request, as my lieutenant and an adviser", Théodred said calmly and with the authority of born royal.

The Steward frowned, but had his reaction quickly under control and masked.

"Of course", Denethor said then, evidently recognising this was something Théodred would not make compromises about. However, he did rest his eyes on Éomer and the Marshal read the malcontent in that gaze – something this great lord only tolerated because he still thought Théodred was actually compliant when it came to the plan of engagement.

"Your chambers will be ready in a moment. I imagine you'll wish to freshen up after your long journey?" said the Steward, rising up on his feet. "I'd be honoured if you would join us for a dinner tonight, Prince Théodred. Prince Imrahil and his daughter Lothíriel will be present as well."

"That would be my pleasure, Lord Steward", said Théodred, now offering the Steward one of those easy smiles of his. "We thank you for your hospitality."

When they followed a servant to their chambers, the Prince glanced at his cousin.

"Don't look so grim, old fellow. It's probably for the better you're not reunited quite so soon... this way, I should have a chance to tell her you are here. If you just appeared on the front of her at the dinner, you might both go mad", he said softly. Seeing the sense in the older man's words, Éomer nodded and felt better.

"Aye. You're probably right", he agreed, at which Théodred smiled.

"I am about most things", he said I light tones and the Marshal snorted. But inside, his anxiety was starting to turn into joy.

I am near, Lothíriel.

A/N: Here's an update! I swear I have a new chapter of House of Sun in the works and I'm hoping to get it ready either tomorrow or the day after it.

I know this chapter moves pretty fast and it's not my favourite piece of writing, but I'd still like to emphasise how this is supposed not to turn into a long story. Of course the time of separation is actually a year-long time but this would soon get out of hand if I spent more time on it, and I believe we're all anxious to have our lovers reunited.

Some of you wondered if the events of the last chapter resulted in a conception of a child, but this did not happen quite obviously; they knew to take their precautions because a child would indeed be a very difficult thing to explain.

As for this chapter, I should note that Denethor has developed an aversion towards Éomer, partly because of what happened the last time he visited Minas Tirith, and partly because of Gríma's lies. Galdegir too has made a very convincing case of Éomer's manhandling of him. Wormtongue's influence has certainly not been the best one in this matter and Denethor's distaste may even surpass that of Imrahil. In case you wonder why Gríma would propose a marriage between Théodred and Lothíriel when it wouldn't politically even be the worst idea, I would point out that some of it certainly is because of his personal hatred towards Éomer. But even if such a union would come to take place I don't think Wormtongue would really plan on it to be a long marriage (not to mention Lothíriel's death in suspicious circumstances would do nothing for the alliance between Gondor and Rohan)... and considering the years of war are getting closer now the possibility of Lothíriel giving birth to Théodred's heir is not perhaps as worrisome. In his view, what can a young princess and a toddler of a prince do against Saruman, after all?

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Anonymous - Yes, he definitely supports Éomer/Lothíriel! :D

Borys68 - Well, Lothíriel does know it would be unwise to keep noise of what she did, so her father has no idea. In the end (and after calming down) he wouldn't probably even know what to do. But one thing is for sure and it's that even if he didn't love his daughter he'd never sell her as a slave. That would be completely out of character for him.

Kiiimberly - Oh, he'd give them hell no doubt.

I'm not yet crazy enough to actually do that. :D

Ranger - For the moment it seems like promising to be a very, very uncomfortable situation.

Talia119 - Nope, no complications this time. That would perhaps be an interesting twist but it'd also completely change what I've planned to happen later in this story.

As for why Amrothos helps them it's precisely because he doesn't realise that Lothíriel would go so far. He thinks her innocent enough to not go down that road. And why Imrahil would be disrespectful towards a comrade-in-arms it's simply because he values his daughter beyond most things. His reactions in her case are just so emotional.

anna1991 - I hope the scene in this chapter answers to that wish! They're both pretty stubborn about this matter, so Imrahil has yet to comprehend her point of view. But perhaps that might change in the near future.