I'd like to thank all of you for your persistent interest in my story, and hope that at least one of the questions that sprung up in the last chapter will be answered in this one, though I'm not promising that there will be no new ones arising. ;-)

Chapter 13

Right before entering the passageway that led to the stairs Lothíriel stopped, her hand gently pressing his arm. "Éomer, would you give Erchirion a chance to come to Rohan, at least for a while?"

"If he wants to, he shall be welcome." He smiled at her ensuringly, though wondering, why she was so concerned about it.

Sensing his lack of understanding, she defined her request. "I wished for him he could. He has never felt quite comfortable in Dol Amroth after … well, when Father sent him to Tol Falas seven years ago. But he was not very content on Tol Falas or in Minas Tirith either. Only when he came back from Rohan last summer after King Théoden's funeral did I have the impression that he finally had found a place that would do him good, and where he would like to stay."

Éomer frowned, looking at her concerned face. He could not help the feeling she was hiding something from him. But why? He did not believe she would do so to deceive him, but rather thought, there might be something she had difficulties to talk about. "Why was he sent to Tol Falas?"

She gave him a sidelong look. "Has he never told you?"

He shook his head. "I certainly don't know what you are aiming at, Lothíriel, but he has never talked to me about his stay on that island or in Minas Tirith. All I ever knew was that he came with Amrothos and your father to aid Mundburg when it was attacked by the Shadow."

"I see." She drew her hand back, fidgeting for a moment with the hem of her sleeve, before looking up again.

"I wasn't sure, but somehow I had expected him to have talked about it to you. He seems to be so close to you." She shrugged. "And there is no use of trying to hide it, as the whole of Dol Amroth and probably half of Gondor knows … but perhaps there are certain things no man likes to talk about even to his closest friends."

"But you think I should know, before I invite him to Edoras?" Watching her closely, he saw her mouth clamp for a split second, but then she she sighed.

"I don't know, Éomer. It was quite a scandal then, but that was seven years ago, and with his valiant deeds on the Pelennor and in front of the Black Gate surely nobody will reproach him for it anymore, and I can't believe he avoided talking about it just due to hurt male pride, that does not really fit with Erchi." She shook her head, seemingly lost in thought.

Éomer lightly touched her elbow, willing her to look at him. "Lothíriel, don't you think you should tell me what exactly happened?"

Her grave grey eyes found his gaze, and she solemnly nodded. "Yes, I certainly think I should. I believe you ought to know about it, if only to understand him better. And I suppose it might cause you some embarrassment if he stays as the King's guest in Rohan and then you are confronted with rumours and gossip you had no information of beforehand. But it feels so wrong to talk about it with him not being present."

Eomer frowned. Her indications did not forebode anything good, so he decided to be prepared for the worst. "Lothíriel, are you trying to hint that Erchirion committed some kind of serious ... crime?"

"Crime?" She looked up truly shocked. "No, certainly not. He rather made a laughing stock of himself, the whole town sneered at for quite some time."

After a moment's hesitation she continued. "You see, his previous behaviour was one of the reason's father could not act as drastically as he would have liked when Mardil..."

"Lothíriel," he interrupted her, "just tell me and let's have done with it. You yourself said, that everybody in Dol Amroth knows, so it can hardly be Erchiron's personal secret."

"You are right, and yet..." Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, and with her gaze firmly set on the stonework of the nearby wall she said, switching to a matter-of-fact tone: "Well, it can't be avoided. The whole affair started because Erchirion had fallen in love with an elderly baker's young wife, as fluffy as a loaf of wheat bread and unfortunately just as stupid."

"He fell in love with a married woman?" Éomer felt as if his whole world had been turned upside down.

She nodded. "Don't ask me how and why, nobody of the family, not even Amrothos knew, until finally the scandal blew up."

Her hands fidgeted nervously, but nevertheless she talked on. "He was totally smitten with her and in his reckless madness went regularly to visit her at night, once her husband had gone down to the bakery. It's just incredible."

This couldn't be! Incredible was a much too weak word for that. His whole body tense, Éomer stared at the princess, grateful that she was not looking at him as she continued her tale.

"Well, I don't know for how long that went on, but it did not remain unnoticed by the neighbourhood, and so one night the husband caught them at it … in his own marriage bed."

Disgust and horror shook him, imagining Erchirion able to behave in such an abhorrent way. Erchirion, his friend, his brother in arms, nothing but a knave. He swallowed hard to keep his bile down. Having avoided his gaze while telling the tale, Lothíriel did not notice his repugnance, and speaking faster tried to come to an end.

"I don't know if Erchirion had been recognised, but being the idiot he is, he went for the poor husband, stark-naked as he was."

Not able to hold back anymore, it took Éomer all his strength to keep from yelling. "How can he live with the blood of those people on his hands?"

"What?" Her head shot up with a sudden jerk, and seeing his appalled mien, she raised her hands to placate him. "You got that wrong, Éomer. Nothing happened to them. Erchirion was not armed. You see, as a matter of fact, when Erchirion went to pommel the baker, his wife threw herself in between, protecting her spouse from her lover's wrath."

She gave a half smile, somewhere between wry and helpless. "With the uproar all that caused, there was no chance to hush the whole affair up."

Was that all she was concerned about? How could she talk about such an abominable crime in such a light-hearted way? Was that the way Gondorean nobles treated commoners? He mentally shook himself. Her behaviour did not fit in with what he had seen of her that day. It had to be yet another misunderstanding. He wished he could kick something, someone, or at least groan out his anger and despair. Forcing himself to restraint, he finally managed to ask, his voice coarse with subdued wrath: "So what might be the outcome of this?"

Giving him a sidelong look that clearly showed her incomprehension, she continued hesitantly. "Well, the baker complained to my father, as the Lord of the Land, and Father tried his best to compensate the man. Erchirion was sent to Tol Falas for one year and after that he did not want to come back but joined the army in Minas Tirith."

Something in him snapped, and grabbing her by her shoulders, he shook her, howling out his abhorrence. "But how can he live with the responsibility for that woman's death?"

She stared at him with her mouth dropped open, paralysed by the fury and despair of his outbreak. "What do you mean?" she finally stammered.

Now it was Éomer's turn to feel baffled. Slowly letting go of her shoulders, he cleared his throat, before he asked doubtfully: "Well, was she not put to death?"

"But no!" The shock about his assumption clearly showed on her face. "Éomer, I would never take it that easy if anything like that had happened." Breathing deep, she tried to steady herself. "Certainly, if a husband comes upon his wife in a situation like this and kills her in a fit of rage and jealousy, he would not been taken to justice, but normally a thus disgraced husband demands divorce and casts his infidel wife out."

"I'm not talking about the husband's actions, I mean ..." Éomer suddenly had the definite feeling she would not at all understand him.

Frowning she alternately massaged her mistreated shoulders. "Who else should have any interest to interfere?"

He swallowed and averted his gaze. What had possessed him to jump at her like that? Assaulted by a feeling of guilt he realised that it had been disappointment. Disappointment that his image of Erchirion had been ripped apart, and fear that he might lose not only his friend but … He shook his head. He had to stop dreaming and get this right first. Struggling to sound objective, he finally said: "The law. Certainly you have laws, traditions concerning ..."

"Adultery?" her voice was snippy now. "We certainly have. If a spouse is caught in the act, the betrayed wife or husband can demand divorce, reclaiming everything he or she brought into that marriage, be it a dowry or a morning gift. Anyway, our baker was a wise man, he loved his wife and he knew she was easily impressed, especially being courted by a Prince of the Realm. He forgave her and kept her, and they are said to have led a very loving marriage ever after, having two children in the meantime with a third one on the way."

Only then did she seem to grasp Éomer's line of thought. Staring at him totally aghast she spluttered: "Why, Éomer are you telling me that adultery in Rohan is punished by death?"

There was no way for him to back out of this, no way he could lie. And why should he? True, he was the King of the Mark, but this had been ancient law from before the times the Éothéod had crossed into the vales of the upper Anduin. It was not as if he had made it. Yet he avoided her eyes as he explained. "If a wife commits adultery she is put to death."

"Even if her husband forgives her?" Her voice was filled with incredulity.

He stared at his fingers without seeing them. "Lothíriel, she is not executed for seeking pleasure outside of marriage, but for breaking her oath, and that is a matter that might destabilize the community."

She did not react, and so he tried to clarify the background. "At the wedding the bride swears to uphold her husband's honour and bear his children. So if she lays with anybody else she breaks the oath."

She shook her head in disbelief. "A marriage is between two people, nobody else should have the right to interfere."

He did not reply, knowing whatever he said would only worsen the situation. The silence stretched uncomfortably, but Éomer would have preferred any length of awkward silence to the question the princess finally asked.

"I notice that you very pointedly speak about infidel wives, so what happens to an infidel husband?"

"The deceived husband will challenge him to a duel," he answered lamely.

"Just wait a moment." She at once saw the weak point in his answer. "You are again talking about the woman's part, the woman's husband avenging himself. What if a husband commits adultery with an unmarried woman? What do your ancient laws say about that?"

Béma, he was in for it now! He breathed deep and looking concentratively at his hands, he said in a voice as even as possible: "Nothing."

"Nothing! My Lord Éomer, are you telling me that an infidel wife is put to death and a likewise infidel husband goes free if he is good enough a swordsman to kill his challenger?" Her anger and contempt were obvious.

"You misunderstand. The oath a husband takes differs, there is nothing about restricting him ... though a wife can demand to be divorced if her husband keeps a permanent mistress without her consent. He vows to protect his wife and her children – if he fails at that willingly, he is cast out, free to anybody to kill him." He raked both hands through his hair.

"Lothíriel, I did not make these laws, they are ancient," he finally added haltingly.

She nodded. "You certainly did not make them, but stand for them. You are the King."

Stung by her remark, he felt his anger rise. "And as the King I am the first who has to obey the rules. One does not easily cast aside the traditional laws of the ancestors."

"No, on certainly does not, but neither should one cling to traditions only because they are traditional! Being King it is your task to lead your people to a better future, not back into the past. You don't live under the same circumstances as your ancestors any more."

Angrily she turned her back on him. He gritted his teeth. He had wanted to strengthen her confidence and here they were, discussing the different laws of their countries concerning adultery. It was madness!

She finally slew round, her arms crossed in front of her breasts, her grey eyes dark as slate in the light of the single torch besides the passageway. "Éomer, there once was the custom along the Falas to sacrifice the first-born to Osse, to soothe his temper. We do not have this tradition any more, because at one point in the past people started to refrain from it, understanding it to be cruel and a matter of superstition."

Meeting no immediate resistance from Éomer's side, she lowered her arms before she continued with emphasis: "We, who live today, to following generations in the far future will be ancestors one day, lost in the haze of myth. Why should not our generation, the one who conquered the Shadow, be the one to abolish an old and cruel law and replace it by something better?"

He could not help but slowly nod. What she said made sense to him and sounded uplifting at the same time. Her proud stance, her head held high, her eyes blazing challenge... Béma, he admired that woman! To have her speak in front of the Council would be a spectacle to behold. Unaware of his approval she continued to speak, pacing up and down the close space in front of the passageway, her hands clutched behind her back.

"Éomer, I can well understand that in the royal family it is important for the peace of the country that the line is kept pure, that the royal blood is inherited undilated and that there is no bastard born. I know that even the suspicion of anything in that direction might cause civil disturbances. And I therefore believe that any woman born and brought up noble should know her responsibility and duty, no matter what else she feels for her husband, but of what political consequence is infidelity in case of a commoner? Why should there be a law to punish a wife for something that does only concern herself and her husband? Is not the disgrace of being divorced enough punishment?"

Stopping right in front of him, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet like a fighter ready to charge, she looked straight into his eyes. "Laws should be for the benefit of the commoners, the people, who are the backbone of every realm, and therefore a responsible sovereign will study the way of his people to adjust the laws to their needs."

What a Queen that woman would make! Perhaps her point of view, though more than qualified in his eyes, was considered naïve by some, due to her youth, but he was sure she would argue them out of their shirts. How he admired her fire and determination! She would bring the gales of the Falas into Meduseld. And let the gods have mercy on his councillors, once she spoke the language of the Mark! He could not help a grin. "You sound like the King's Councillor. How old are you, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth?"

Seemingly just short from scratching his face she bristled at him, all of a sudden looking as young as she really was. "Don't you dare to tell me just because I'm eight years you junior I can't think! It's enough to hear such blatant nonsense from my brothers!"

"Nay, I never would," he assured her. "I just imagined you holding this speech in front of the Council of the Mark. You would certainly leave Eáldread speechless."

She shook her head. "That wouldn't be a good idea: Some snotty Gondorean princess turning up in Edoras to tell the Rohirrim how to better their legal system."

"Lothíriel, during this one short day I have been in your company, you have been quite a lot of things, but never snotty."

She smiled at his remark, but again shook her head. "No, Éomer, any change that is supposed to be really accepted by the people has to be rooted in their awareness. It might be that they won't voice any desire for things to be changed, even though they think or feel it should happen. To find that out, to know the people's request, that is the basis of righteous leadership."

"Imrahil certainly has been an apt instructor," Éomer smiled, "and there certainly are values that are the same in every country inhabited by Man, be their traditions and way of life as different as may be."

With a happy grin she assented, but he cringed inwardly as she absent-mindedly rubbed her shoulder again. "I'm sorry, Lothíriel, I never should have tackled you. I ..."

"That's nothing." Waving aside his apology, she interrupted him."Growing up with three brothers I got bruised more than once, though..." Her grin deepened. "I must admit I kicked their shins, and I'm quite good at it."

Stroking her left shoulder lightly with his index finger, he murmured: "I bet they deserved it, though perhaps not as much as me." He just could not tell her about his despair, his fear, it would sound like some kind of justification, and for him there was none.

Sensing his mood, she turned serious. "A bruise doesn't matter. What really hurts is the thought, that you believed me able to skip a woman's death lightly, just because one of my brothers was involved, and worse, that you thought Erchirion would not care for the woman he bedded."

Éomer gasped. "But that was why I lost my temper! I saw you, heard you talk, I misunderstood and yet I did not want to believe that you or Erchirion ..."

Her hand touched his forearm, tugging at his sleeve in the attempt to get his entire attention. "He loved her, Éomer, he was mad! He quarrelled with Father, he raved he would marry her once she had got her divorce, made plans about leaving Dol Amroth, about abdicating all his privileges, and living with her somewhere else in Gondor as a soldier or a horse-breeder."

She shrugged in a helpless way. "When he was about to leave for Tol Falas some days later, he asked her to come with him, but she declined, telling him that through him she had realised how much she loved her husband, and how wrong her behaviour had been. She stayed with her husband, and it took Erchirion years to get over it."

Éomer sighed. "As bitter as that is for him, he still can be happy it didn't happen to him in Rohan."

Cocking her head, she looked at him appraisingly for a moment, before she asked: "Éomer King, tell me, how many wives have been executed these last years?"

He paused. "Why, none... I don't remember any such thing to have happened all my life-time."

Surprised he looked at her, unsettled by the faint smile tugged away in the corners of her mouth. He shook his head pensively. "As a matter of fact, the only cases I know are very old ones, passed down by the minstrels, telling of the tragedy of a man having to hand his wife over to justice and fight his best friend, though loving them both, he would rather have stepped down to see the two of them happy."

"See!" Triumph blazing in her eyes, she jabbed her forefinger into his solar plexus. "Things have already changed. You just have to adjust the laws to the actual habits of your people."

She beamed at him. "I don't know enough of Rohirric law to say what can be done, but listening to the people will give you the necessary information to base your decision on."

As much as he enjoyed her eagerness he could not but shake his head. "Lothíriel, there are so many urgent and fundamental things to be done at the moment, there..."

"I'm sorry, Éomer," she interrupted, blushing furiously. "You are certainly right, there are other things much more important for your people right now, and as well perhaps in the years ahead. But when there comes a time, fit for a change, you should not hesitate to try and enforce it."

He didn't like being lectured, not even by her. Raising his eyebrows he nodded ironically. "Oh, I surely have been noticed up to now for reluctance towards action, a bias towards hesitation and a tendency not to be able to make up my mind."

Laying her hands on his forearms, she stopped him. "Don't try to misunderstand me on purpose! You know I never would doubt your decisiveness and truly I know you would not sit on the sand till the incoming tide wetted your..."

She stopped abruptly, realising just in time what she was about to say. An impish grin slowly crept over her face, curving her mouth, crinkling the corners of her eyes, making her nostrils twitch and her eyes sparkle like grey pools in the sunshine of a glorious day, until laughter bubbled forth, clear, fresh, joyous, like a brook, splashing over rock and moss. "Sorry, " she exclaimed between ripples of laughter, "three brothers, you see."

He had not realised that he had been grinning himself, staring at her face, his own mirroring her cheerfulness, but hearing the sound of her laughter, he felt swept away. Something evolved deep inside him, unknotting all his former anger and uncertainty, sweeping away carefully arranged plans, as laughter rose in his chest, like the faint rumbling of some sheet lightning at the horizon of the plains, promising rain, fertility and life to the Mark. He bent over, his midriff convulsing, laughing for the sheer joy of it.

Their arms locked in the mocking of a warrior's embrace they laughed, looking at each other, rejoicing in their mutual mirth. Out of breath they finally stopped, and brushing a strand of his still damp hair away that had fallen over his face, Lothíriel sighed happily, exhausted with glee. "Uinen's mercy, Éomer, you should laugh more often. It is becoming to you."

"Is it?" What a daft answer! Hanging between mirth and seriousness, he covered her hand with his own, pressing it to his cheek.

She smilingly nodded. "Yes, it does. It makes you look … boyish."

He again snorted with laughter. "Boyish! Exactly what every man wants to hear from the woman he woos!"

She chuckled softly, while her fingers trailed down his cheek, caressing his bearded jawline, and finally came to rest on his shoulder. He held his breath, fighting the urge to pull her close, wrap her in his arms, press her against his tensing body. She seemed totally unaware of the effect she had on him. Her face still flushed from her laughing fit, she looked into his eyes, started with surprise for a split second and then her gaze hazed. His heart beating in his throat, he bent his head, breathing a kiss on her brow. Out of their own volition his hands moved to her waist. She tightened her grip on his shoulder, while her other hand crept up to his chest, and closing her eyes, she tilted her head backwards, as if to give him better access to her mouth. How her lips beckoned to him! Dropping a trail of kisses across her forehead he moved to her temples, before his lips gently touched a corner of her mouth.

"Oh, here you are. Thought I would find you here."

The brisk voice ringing across the battlement caused Lothíriel to tense and step back, out of his arms. Turning to face the intruder, Éomer clenched his fists at his side, trying to appear as unconcerned as possible.

Don't lapidate me, I know that is a mean way to stop a chapter, but I felt I had to retaliate upon LBJ for her latest chapter of "Swan-song"! ;-DDD