Over the following days, Éomer merely caught glimpses of his flower-crowned lady. He pondered over what her real name was. It was highly likely she gave him the definition of her name, but that was not much to begin with. The Gondorians seemed rather fond of their elvish roots, so it was very possible that the lady's name was elvish. He could most certainly read Westron, but the elvish language was beyond his comprehension. Maybe there is a book about names in Westron in the library.
The day before he was to leave for home, Éomer finally had a free moment for himself. With the help of a servant, he found the library. The ceiling was nearly as high as that of Meduseld's. Several vast windows lined the southern wall. The north and west walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. There were also many other rows of bookshelves, filled with colorful covers. Close to the door was a large fireplace, empty of warmth, with a large couch of leather and matching loungers in front. The cold hearth was covered with a fleecy rug for those who read books on the floor. In one corner, a small table with two chairs stood for those who liked to discuss books. A spiral staircase in another corner led towards what he guessed to be another room of books. Éomer then noticed a little man sitting by a window with a large book on the table in front of him.
"Pardon me for interrupting, but I am looking for a book," Éomer said after standing in front of the man's desk for a few minutes.
"You interrupt nothing," he said warmly, "for there is nothing I am doing right now. I am the bookkeeper here. Now what kind of book do you want?"
"An elvish dictionary or book of elvish names in Westron," Éomer said politely.
The little man thumbed through several pages before stopping. Scanning the massive page before him, the bookkeeper said, "Row 3, shelf 10." Looking up to see Éomer's uncomprehending eyes, he mumbled gruffly, "Follow me."
Éomer followed the man until they came to one of the many bookshelves. The librarian pulled out a book, commanding, "Make sure you return it in its proper place, or leave it on my desk."
Éomer nodded his thanks and scanned the book for the right area of the first word. It was a dictionary, which probably would have been more useful than a name book. He searched for the word flower. As soon as he found the translation, he immediately returned the book in its place. He did not need it anymore, for the realization struck him. His mystery girl was none other than the daughter of Prince Imrahil! He heard much of her, but he never dreamed that it would be her. As he left, he wondered, "Then what magic caused us to meet?"
He did not have time or the chance to seek Lothíriel out. He also did not dare write her a note lest it should cause her some trouble. At least he intended to return as soon as he could to bring his uncle to his final resting place.
The next two months, Éomer spent much of his time traveling throughout Rohan, assessing the damage and beginning the recovery process. The area around Helm's Deep was barely fertile, but enough vegetation grew for animals with hardy stomachs. The farmlands lay in the east, and they were largely unharmed by the orcs. Saruman's minions damaged much of the grazing lands, which lay in the west. The horses and men slain in battle were an even greater loss. At least five thousand horses and horsemen were killed in battle, and that number was half of Rohan's strength in arms.
Eventually, Éomer set Rohan on a plan for recovery. By late July, everything was prepared for King Théoden's return. Éomer set off to Gondor with the finest riders of Rohan. After a week and a half of riding, they arrived in Minas Tirith. To his surprise, he found many elves lingering in the city.
Aragorn introduced him to his elven wife. She was tall and fair with eyes of wisdom. She reminded Éomer of a more serious version of Lady Lothíriel. That night, he also met the Lady Galadriel. Soon after, he sought out Gimli to settle an old score.
Éomer thought bringing Théoden home would be a simple matter. During a meeting the following day, the high elves elected to accompany him to Rohan before each continued to their respective realms. Éomer turned a shade paler. He and his sister were not quite expecting such a high…honor. As soon as the meeting was over, he immediately wrote to Éowyn because she would have berate him if he brought unexpected guests to Edoras.
The next day, Éomer spotted Lothíriel heading towards the library. He followed her. When he entered the library, it was largely the same, except the bookkeeper must have been taking a midday break. Éomer found Lothíriel standing on a ladder with wheels attached to a rail on the top and bottom. She climbed down and leaned against the bookshelf, flipping through the pages.
"Greetings, Lady Lothíriel," he said after realizing she probably would not notice him if he remained silent. "What book is that?"
Looking up, she gasped and almost dropped her book. Her face turned slightly pink, which Éomer found rather attractive. She stammered, "An adapted history of Gondor. My nephew is learning to read, and he needs to better learn his country's history."
"Do you enjoy books?" He questioned, trying to help the lady regain control of her nerves.
She answered, "Yes. They are dear friends who say nothing more than what is written within them."
Having enough of trying to make small talk, Éomer went straight to the question he wished to ask. "Do you think some stroke of fate caused us to first meet all those years ago?"
She leaned against the bookshelf with a strange light in her eyes. She replied, "No, I do not. I believe it is something greater." Her voice grew softer, "Maybe, you could see and might understand." The mask of deep contemplation covered her face.
Éomer waited patiently until she questioned, "Do you know where the High East Tower is?"
"No, but I can find out."
"Morning after tomorrow, meet me there at least half an hour before dawn. I must ask to be excused now, for Alphros will wonder about his book and start a chain reaction if I stay much longer."
"Then you must go to him," said Éomer, bowing as Lothíriel curtseyed before hurrying off.
Lothíriel said not a word of her encounter with Éomer King to her family. She still did not know how she felt about him, but that did not keep her mind from wondering.
Perhaps he has some regard for me, she thought that night. He figured out my name and sought me out. I cannot explain to him how we met, but I can show him. The questions is: will he see?
Author's Note: Sorry I have not updated in a while! My mind reached the climax for this story and began maxing out.