Description of mild adult scene. Please skip if you are under 12.

This chapter is especially dedicated to Glory Bee, BrightWatcher and b5delenn.

Writ of Shadows and Phantoms

Chapter 23: Location Is Everything

Love and jealousy are sisters

~Russion Proverbs

April 3020 T.A. Helm's Deep.

She was confused and astonished by his words at the same time. A series of different scenarios crossed her mind. What did he mean by visiting her father? To return her to Dol Amroth for permanent cause or to revoke the condition of her stay in Rohan?

She would like to think the later. She was hoping he would explain it further but by the look of it, he made no intention of doing so.

And there was this deathly silence again between them.

"Are Édhere and Wynflaéth still alive?"

She felt she had to ask something to steer her mind away from what he said earlier. Something not about him or her. She recalled the two persons whom she remembered the most from the pit.

"Édhere is recovering in the healing chamber downstairs. You may go to visit him when you feel stronger. Wynflaéth has been reunited with Gamling."

She tore herself from his embrace and looked at him, frowning, completely confused.

"Wynflaéth and Gamling? Reunited?"

"Wynflaéth is Gamling's wife. They have been separated for fifteen years," he explained, slowly turning his glare away from her, "she thought Gamling was dead."

She found herself completely astonished by this news. Being Gamling's wife certainly explained her courage. Wynflaéth had always appeared and remained strong during their captive days in the hands of the Dunlendings. She had every trait that a soldier's spouse would possessed. .

Lothíriel noticed the emotions flashed in his eyes. Regret and more regret. She understood. Wynflaéth and Gamling were probably not the only couple separated by the wars. There could be more families and victims. Fathers that might have missed all the years of their children growing up. Siblings that thought their brothers were dead.

"Éomer…."

Before she could offer more consolation, their conversation was prematurely arrested by a knock on the door.

"My Lady?"

"Yes?"

It was Moriel.

Lothíriel felt Éomer shifted uncomfortably. He withdrew his hands from her and regained his guarded posture but she could see his jaw muscle was all buckled up. Was he upset at being interrupted?

Moriel pushed the door open and surprise was all written on her face when she saw Éomer sitting next Lothíriel.

"Moriel!" Lothíriel exclaimed. She was hoping to see her friend earlier.

"I am so sorry, my Lord! I did not know you were with Lady Lothíriel," she bowed immediately, trying to hide her face," I….I did not mean to interrupt. I am truly sorry."

Lothíriel heard the man near to her drew a breath. A disapproving one if she was not wrong. She thought she saw him narrowing his eyes but she could have misjudged.

Not getting a reply from Éomer, the young maid knew better to take her leave, "I shall come back later, my Lady."

She curtsied and left hurriedly.

Lothíriel turned to the Horse-Lord. Was it a defensive aura that she sensed from him just now? It made her hackles stand. But before she could open her mouth, he rose to his feet and said to her, "Be careful whom you trust."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Just remember my words," he threw her a reminder glance before leaving her chamber.

Lothíriel was even more flummoxed by his sudden warning which she only came to remember much later afterwards.

For the past few weeks, Erkenbrand had sent out many scouts to locate the still surviving families of the people they just rescued. When most refugees either were reunited with their lost families and friends, or, found their new roles and purposes in life. It was a merry day for most. A feast was to be held tonight celebrate the reunions of families and friends.

Wynflaéth watched the doors of the Hall close on one young woman and could not help but feel a little annoyed. She descended the stone stairs and pounded a wooden bucket of washed laundry on the patio. It was so loud that it startled Lothíriel who was sitting next to her bucket.

"Are you …..well, Wynflaéth?" The younger woman asked carefully.

"Not really," she grumbled, teeth gritted, while spreading the laundry on the airing line as if the wet clothes were her enemies that she wished to smack to death. Her eyes never left her husband whom she just reunited no more than three weeks ago. He was discussing the relocation plan with his King, Erkenbrand on the Outer Court.

She let out another disapproving snort when some women came up to offer tea to the Rohirrim trio. Truth be told, she never liked anyone near her husband, especially which anyone happened to be a woman!

It was not just the fact that they had just reunited after fifteen years of separation, nor that some maids were not pretty nor the tea they made. No, what made her hackles raise the most was the smile that every woman seemed to offer whenever she passed by her husband. Wynflaéth had just been with him for three weeks and everywhere he was seen without her, there was always another opposite sex trying to demonstrate the ultimate art of flirting in front of him. It was enough to make her blood boil. She knew her husband was not the most handsome man in Rohan, but in his mid forties and being a rider, he was pretty fit and toned. The thought of someone unashamedly projecting a deliberate embarrassed smile on their faces grated on her nerves.

And then there was this shy and timid look.

Sure, it might just have been a courteous response but she hadn't not prepared herself for it and she hope never to see anything like that again. Maybe that was why she suddenly blurted out afterwards, "they have no shame!"

"Is there anything I could…..help?" Confused, Lothíriel titled her head enough to get a look at the older woman's face and inquired cautiously. She could feel the rage radiating from Wynflaéth as every word from her appeared to have been forced out from her tight-clenched jaw.

"Yes! Come to the training field with me!"

Lothíriel looked at Wynflaéth wide-eyed as the Rohír woman dragged her down the stairs to The Deep where the novice found fun torturing the straw dummies.

"Wynflaéth, are you…. angry?" Lothíriel clung her left bandaged arm close to herself and tried carefully not to sound too nosy. She learned about the history between Wynflaéth and Gamling but she had never seen the advisor's wife in this kind of temperament before.

"No. I am NOT!" Although in strong denial, Wynflaéth struggled to suppress the anger fuming from her voice. Of course, she was not. To stay calm and turn a blind eye, she would have to be a goddess which she was not! Yes, she had to show them what a rider's spouse was made of.

They continued to push their way through the soldiers, busy wives and mothers. They crossed the Deeping Stream and came to an archery training field just before the Rear Gate of the fortified keep.

"Stay here. You should not come any closer." Wynflaéth turned around and parked the confused young Gondorian woman next to the weapon stands before collecting herself a bow and a quiver.

"Wynflaéth, what are you doing?" asked the concerned younger woman, grabbing her arm not letting her go.

"To show people some of my qualities! What a rider's spouse is capable of!" Wynflaéth unwrapped Lothíriel off her arm. She wore the quiver across her and stepped forward and positioned herself fifteen yards before a straw dummy.

Her fluid motion of retrieving an arrow from the quiver, fitting it onto the mallorn bow in her other hand, pulling it against the bow string earned her more admiration from the stunned young woman behind. She squinted at the target in front. She paused for a moment, trying to stabilise her unsteady breathing and to focus her mind. Telling herself that the dummy was now her enemy, a hiss went past too quick and short from her right ear as her curled fingers on the spring released and her first shot pierced through the head. The dart sprout from behind the straw man.

Good, her skill had not become too rusty. The aim could have been more centred but that would do for now. Wynflaéth took a quick glimpse and saw Lothíriel watching her in overflowing bewilderment.

"Wynflaéth! I did not know you could do this!"

The younger woman was completely overwhelmed by what she saw.

"Only to hunt and….." she loaded another arrow, "…..to vent my grudge," she murmured, still upset.

Another quick shot went with great precision. The fleetness and endurance in her shots soon earned her some whistles and praising applauds from some new recruits and old grizzly riders who had gathered around.

"Good shot!"

"Well done!"

"Way to go!"

More and more gathered around to watch her, that of course including her targeted audience – the serving maids whom she saw flirting with her husband. They were muttering lowly to each other, covering their mouths with their sleeves. Anxienty and worry displayed on their faces – exactly what she wanted to achieve today. She beamed a victorious and satisfied smile at Lothíriel before resuming her torture game on the straw man.

"I am not just some woman whom you thought you could get away flirting with my man!" Teeth gritted, she fired another precision shot.

This little happening soon made its way into the ears of many and was the subject on most every lip by the time the feast began in the evening. So everyone now knew Gamling's wife could shot.

And she could shot very well.

And she could shot even better when she was angry.

And of course that was not the end of the story. The event that followed made such a deep impression in everyone's mind that Gamling ultimately became the idol of many young esquires and his peers.

So it began that evening when everyone was seated in the dining hall. Gamling, Wynflaéth, Erkenbrand, Lothíriel, Éothain and his knights were all sitting at Éomer's table. The smell of roasted meat filled the air. The atmosphere was quite merry with people singing and dancing. Food was served continuously with trays going back and forth between the kitchens and the tables.

Wynflaéth eyed every serving girl that came to their table with a guarded look. There was always one who would come every five minutes to replenish the empty tankards and cups with meads and wines. The very same one who she saw in the afternoon would come to refill her husband's empty tankard. She was surprised that the young girl did not get her warning in the afternoon with all those killing shots that she had demonstrated.

It was a happy evening for almost everyone. She did not wish to ruin it. But her patience was at its edge. She had been jealous for the whole afternoon and thought it would not continue to trouble her in the evening. But she was wrong. Some people just won't get it until you show them your true colours.

Here she came again with her ever bright smile that stretched from one ear to another.

Her stupid husband was even smiling back at her. Wynflaéth drained her wine, refilled it and drained it again. She looked away in disgust and sulked.

Gamling, sitting next to her and being all merry and happily chatting with his comrades, continued to bury his nose in his drink.

"Wynflaéth, are you feeling unwell? Did the practice tire you too much?" Lothíriel asked, sensing the change in the older woman's mood.

"I am fine," she drained another cup and pushed herself from the table and announced, "excuse me, my Lords, I wish to retire early tonight."

That certainly caught the attention of the whole table.

"Wynflaéth, are you not well?" grabbing her hand, her insensitive husband finally threw her a concerned look.

Her heart wrenched at little at his inobservance for the whole evening. Could he not see that she was not happy? That she was angry every time some maids came close to him?

"I am just a little tired. I wish to rest now. Enjoy the rest of the evening, my Lords and Lady!" she shook off his grip and bowed.

All the eyes on the table followed the figure of the blond woman until she finally disappeared across the hall.

"Gamling," Lothíriel pushed the old rider with her elbow and whispered in his ear, "I don't think Wynflaéth has been very happy at all today. Maybe you should talk to her."

"She is not happy? Nah, Wynflaéth is always happy! She is just a little tired!" he waved his hand to shake off her worry.

"But she-"

Before she could finish, she saw Éomer signalling at her. He shook his head and gestured that she should leave it to him. So even Éomer noticed Wynflaéth was unhappy.

How could Gamling be so thick?

It was almost midnight when his King called off the party and urged everyone to bed. There was still much preparation needed before they went back to Edoras. By the time, Gamling returned to his bedchamber, he found Wynflaéth already asleep in bed. There were piles of folded clothes on his dresser. They were his torn clothes that he wished to throw away. But now they were good as new. He ran his fingers on the stitches where the tears and holes used to be. A smile touched his lips. Wynflaéth had repaired all of them like she always did when they were still in Westfold.

He dabbed a towel into a basin of warm water and cleaned himself before allowing himself in bed. He had had a few pints tonight but he was nowhere near as drunk as he was when the three Princeses of Dol Amroth managed to get every Rohír, including Éomer, pissed that night. That was a painful lesson, waking up with a massive hangover and no clue of what happened the night before. It took him days to recover and he promised himself that he won't get drunk again.

"Wynflaéth?" he whispered after he sneaked into their bed.

No response.

Good, she must be sleeping. Good.

With a sigh of relief, he dropped his head onto a fluffy pillow and pulled the quilt onto his shoulders. Perhaps it was the alcohol, he dozed off very soon.

Her eyes flew open as soon as she heard his breathing became deep and steady. No, she was not asleep. She could not sleep. She sat up and looked into the empty air.

She was angry and upset.

Fifteen years that they had lost and why was Gamling treating her this way? So polite?

He would kiss and hug her but no more. For the three weeks together, it was no moment of intimacy. Had she grown so old and ugly that he despised her? Or had he found new interests in younger women? That could not be either. He did not take a new wife for fifteen years. Why did he not touch her since their reunion? Did he regard her as a tainted woman?

As all these haunting thoughts swirled their way into her mind, her body began trembling uncontrollably and she wept silently. She did not know how long she had wept before her husband noticed.

"Wynflaéth?" he asked, noticing the empty space next to him, "what is wrong?"

She just kept her back to him and shook her head. Her sobs became a little louder.

"Wynflaéth?" he asked again. This time, truly concerned, he sat up and wrapped his arm around her, "are you crying?"

She flicked his arm away rudely, "if you don't want to touch me just don't touch me, Gamling!"

There were tears in her eyes and on her cheeks.

"Wynflaéth? Why are you crying?"

"Why?" Enraged by his question, she flared, "you know why! Fifteen years has gone and I thought you had not changed! But you have! Am I so ugly, so dirty that you don't even dare laying your fingers? You have smiled at every serving girl tonight and for the past three weeks you did not even want to spare a moment of intimacy with me!"

"No, Wynflaéth," he tried to pull her in his arms but she shook him off, "it is not what you think."

She sniffled and turned her tearful face away, "if you wish to divorce me, just tell me, Gamling. I will grant it."

He waited for a moment for the peak of her anger to pass.

"Wynflaéth, listen to me," he came to sit next to her, brushing her tears away with his rough thumb, "would you listen to me, Wynflaéth?"

Her attitude softened a little. She nodded reluctantly.

"I love nobody else more than I love you, Wynflaéth. Words could not describe the joy I felt the moment I found you again. All my life I just to keep you with me," he took her hands in his, touching the blunt fingers, and stared into her watery eyes and forced a weak smile, "Only Béma knows how much you mean to me. My heart aches whenever I see the bruises on your arms and legs. I have restrained myself from touching you because I thought you were not ready. I wish not to bring back the trauma and nightmare," he caressed her face fondly and held his eyes on her for a long time.

"You don't know how difficult it is, being in the same bed, and, not being able to touch you. To feel so close and yet so afraid to touch. There is not one day that I did not regret not taking you to Edoras with me that day. I was a fool to have left you in Westfold," he added bitterly.

His words just sprang more tears from her eyes. Eyes closed, she clasped his hand that was on her face and squeezed it. He loved her. And he still loved her. She furled her arms around his neck, sobbing.

"I'd missed you so much, my Gamling!"

"I'd missed you too, Wynflaéth," he slid his fingers through her fine hair, "more than you ever imagined."

She unfurled her arms and looked at her husband. Age had slipped its way silently onto his appearance. There were lines on his forehead. His beard had grown long. The weather had seasoned every patch of his skin. There were bags beneath his eyes.

"I am your wife and will always be. Until death does us apart," she smiled and embraced him and kissed him on the mouth.

He kissed her back.

He smelled and tasted like she remembered. She felt a strong sour sting in her throat. It had been so long! So long! And she still remembered.

She let her hands slide under his shirt, running down his muscled front. She felt his breathing becoming heavier. Their kiss grew more passionate. She could feel his tongue intertwining with hers. She let out a small moan. Her fingers worked their way swiftly to remove his shirt. She could feel his chest moving exited under her touch.

"Wynflaéth," he called her. His voice was rough.

"Gamling," she lifted her eyes at him and she could see raising hunger in his eyes. Perhaps it was the alcohol but she cared no more. All she wanted was to feel him tonight.

He pulled her back into his embrace, one hand around her neck and another around her waist, and continued to kiss her. It became more passionate and more longing than they ever knew. She felt him pressing himself tightly against her. Just beneath the cotton fabric, she could feel his desire building up. His body was burning. Years did not seem to affect his body – a distinct advantage being a rider. It was still the same muscle, the same line that she longed every night.

She threw her legs around him. He slid his mouth down onto her neck, kissing and smuggling, burying his head on her shoulder and inhaling greedily the scent that he had missed for so long.

"Wynflaéth," he whispered under loud bating breaths, pushing away all the obstructing fabrics.

Their passion grew beyond control. She tightened her legs around him, forcing herself down. It made both of them moan. She threw her head backwards and dug her fingernails in his back.

The union between both of them, she could not deny that the pleasure it brought was overwhelming. His deep motion inside her drew the air out of her lungs.

"Gam….ling….Gam…ling…."Her speech became stuttering.

They still belonged to each other. That was all that mattered tonight.

Wynflaéth could not remember how long they dwelled in each other. It might be long. They became so exhausted that they fell in a deep sleep short after. And of course, little things that you don't remember always manage to find their ways to remind you the day after.

And how others would remember you for the rest of your life…

The first light of dawn escaped through the slits of the heavy curtain. It was a weak ray. His room in Helm's Deep was westward-facing. There was only direct sun light after noon. Éomer called for a servant. But none came after several tries.

A little frustrated, even after a year, he was not used to live a life of being an inept man, more precisely a King, having to wait for people to bath and dress him. He had been content with taking care of himself but somehow his council thought it was unkingly.

Then came a light tap on the door.

"My Lord Éomer?"

"Éothain, come in."

The young Marshal stepped in with an extremely tired look on his face. There were dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Wha do you wis? Aaa ..washh?" Éothain asked his King weakly in a monotone.

Resting his forehead on his fingers, Éomer shook his head helplessly before throwing a frowning look at the younger man, "I told you so many times not to get drunk. Béma's sake, you look like a drained horse!"

"It wasss not te wine…." His bodyguard protested, giving a big yawn, "di you not har it last night?"

"What?"

"Neever min…" Éothain waved off the subject, "I'll tell you after you are drezzed."

So, after Éomer had finished with his wash and got dressed, he was accompanied to the breakfast table by the continuous brabbling morning feed from his young Marshal.

"You cannot be serious, Éothain!"

Éomer would very much like to think that Éothain was pulling his leg.

"I am not! You can go and ask Marshal Enkerbrand!" the younger Rohír, now completely awakened by the disbelief demonstrated by his King after listening to the complaints he received this morning, defended himself.

"Are you saying everyone? East Wing?"

"I think most of them are, well, save you and those over here!"

"I certainly need to clarify this with Marshal Erkenbrand," Éomer continued to work his mind around the situation, approaching the table, he called out without looking, "Marshal Erken-"

Of course he did not finish his sentence.

Nobody was bloody at the breakfast table! The cups and cutlery were there. The bench was warm with the rising sun but the dining hall was empty!

It had been a norm that Éomer always dined with his people either it was main meal or tea break. But to find nobody at the table was something more than unusual this morning. Erkenbrand was popular as a man never to miss his breakfast. But even the red shield of Erkenbrand could not be seen.

Éomer turned his questioning gaze to Éothain. The young Marshal just shrugged and said, "I told you so."

Éomer pinched the bridge of his nose, a little frustrated, he gestured at Éothain, "Just go and get me breakfast, would you please, Éothain?"

"Lack of choice this morning obviously. The kitchen is temporarily incapable of producing your normal daily selection of breakfast because we suffer some severe breakdown of manpower…do you wish to downgrade yourself with just bread and butter, Sire?"

"Éothain!"

"Yes!"

"Just go and fetch whatever you can find!"

"Aye, aye!"

Éomer pulled a chair out and sat himself on it. So how would his Uncle handle the situation? It was tricky one. He pulled his lips into a flat line, trying to think of a better solution, without causing much offence.

Tapping his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface, his other hand supporting his forehead, he closed his eyes trying to recall how Théoden would have solved the complaints. His brows squeezed together as he failed to remember if there was any situation as such during the reign of his uncle.

"Gooooo morninnng," another ghostly voice rang in the hall.

He took over his shoulder to follow the source of the voice and found Lothíriel standing against a rock pillar, looking very tired. He was not surprised to see her here. Since the mention of his intended visit to Dol Amroth, the tension between them became gradually milder yet not completely gone. They could talk without tongue-lashing each other. It had changed for good but it did not matter today. There was something else more urgent o deal with.

"Have you not slept?"

He asked her as she yawned.

"Nuuu enough," she answered, trying to blinking always the tears in her eyes. She came over to the breakfast table, pulled the chair out and sat and rested her head on her right hand and said lazily, "I see. Not everyone is here for breakfast. Marshal Erkenbrand is not here so it might be true."

She then let out another yawn and stretched her free hand above her head.

"You don't look tired," she titled her head to look at him, envied at his well rested state.

"I slept well."

"Good for you. You don't have Hannor knocking at your door at two o'clock in the morning," she said with her eyes closed.

"Why would he come to look for you at two o'clock?"

"Oh! Lady Lothíriel, you are awake too! Lord Éomer, look! I've found more than just bread and butter! Enough for three of us!"

Éothain came back from the kitchen with a tray full of food in his hands, probably having raided everything corner in the kitchen. He placed it on the table and laid out several loaves of breads, some biscuits and cookies, butter, jams, a jar of milk and a huge teapot.

"Thanks, Éothain!" He accepted the oat bread from his bodyguard and turned to pour everyone some tea. "So?" Éomer asked, pouring Lothíriel tea in her cup, reminded her that she had not answered his question, "why did Hannor knock at your door?"

She responded with a disbelief sigh and dropped her shoulder.

"Because of that! If you have not been told already?"

It was an embarrassing subject to discuss.

"I didn't think you would recognise it."

That statement earned him a puzzled look from Lothíriel.

"Sorry? Why would I be incapable of doing so?"

Éomer straightened his back slightly and resumed the task spreading some butter on his bread and said in a casual tone, "I meant, given that you are rather inexperienced, I am surprised that you could actually tell."

"Inexperienced? You said I am inexperienced? You are the one who nearly-"

She covered her own mouth with a hand quickly and buried her face in her tea cup after realising what she was about to blurt out in front of Éothain. It would be absolutely unwise to bring their exchanges up at all.

The young Marshal eyed both of them suspiciously. "Nearly what?"

"Nothing."

Lothíriel looked at Éomer, having a strong urge to throw her milk-soaked biscuit at him, and then she turned her head and saw Éothain who had his nose almost in his tea but eye rolling, trying hard to formulate the last part of her unfinished sentence.

"I am not certain you were able to tell, that is all."

"For the sake of Valar! Two of my brothers are married and one is engaged AND my family is overpopulated with men! I am not twelve, Lord Éomer!"

"I am not so sure."

That came from Éothain and rewards came in the form of milk-soaked crumbs.

"So, he asked you about it?"

Éomer could not hold back his interest at finding how Lothíriel handle the situation especially when the subject was a young boy. It might be able to shed him some light on how to handle his later.

"Not exactly," she answered, nibbling her biscuit, "he thought it was a dire situation. He pulled me out to the court."

"The poor boy must be sssscared to deathhhh!" Éothain inserted, a bite of cookie in his mouth.

"He insisted that I should go to the…," she threw a deep breath and continued to explain, "….rescue….I told him that it was not dire, that nobody was hurt….soooo…there was no need to go to the rescue."

"Did he buy it?"

"If he had bought, I would not have spent two hours trying to convince him, my Lord! Are you blind?" She responded by pointing at the dark circles below her eyes – proof of lack of sleep.

"What did you do then?" Éomer asked, sipping his tea.

"I told him to ask…."there was a long pause before Lothíriel could answer and she stared at Éomer who was still sipping his tea, and said with ever decreasing volume, "…you"

"You told him WHAT?"

Éomer thought the world just fell on him. He tried to swallow the volume of tea in his mouth but it felt like it had just become a huge piece of solid gum. He was not expecting this. This was not going where he thought it would. Grabbing a napkin from the table, he forced down the liquid and let out a heavy breath.

"Like you have just said, I am rather inexperienced. I thought if it was a man to man talk, it would go down easier…" She raised her hands up defensively.

Damn, how was he going to explain to a ten year old? It was not a simple as horse riding or changing a shoe.

"You could have directed him to Éothain instead of me! He has a ten-year-old brain anyway," Éomer's excuse was a weak defence.

"Oh! No way! Not in a thousand years that I could catch up with your reputati-"

A sharp glare shot at his direction and Éothain clamped his lips as tight as Farmer Barwick's milk barrel and swallowed his words back into his stomach.

"Tell Erkenbrand to give everyone a halfday break, Éothain, and send a note to fetch them," Éomer wiped his mouth clean with a napkin and pushed himself away from the dining table, "I will see them in my study."

Headache, headache! This was far worse than fighting mûmakil in Gondor.

"You might want to fit Hannor in somewhere between your busy agenda today," she threw him a quick gaze before sipping her tea again, "the boy is very excited and is looking forward so much to talking to you."

"In that case, Lady Lothíriel, you shall join me in my study then."

She pulled a face at him. Great, now they were all involved.

Wynflaéth woke up late in the morning. To be exact, she did not raise until an hour before noon. Her head ached and other parts of her body were sore. Turning she watched Gamling, still sleeping wrapped in the feather quilt. She continued to watch her husband for some time.

The sun light softened his features significantly. He seemed so young again in his sleep. Forcing herself to look away from him, she searched for her robe and quickly wrapped it around her before the chill took her.

She tried to flag down a passing maid and asked for some bath water. Then her glance fell on a piece of paper under the door. It looked like there was a matter of utter urgency that their presence was required as soon as possible.

Once the bath arrived, she woke Gamling up and tried to get both of them ready in an impossible short time. It was rude to make the King wait for them.

On their way to Éomer's study, they met some riders and their spouses, almost everyone grinning at their sight.

Wynflaéth thought she must look awful to have attracted so much attention. Did she not wear her collar high enough? She quickly checked her dress and realised that the collar was almost up to her chin. And it was not winter anymore. And the weather was mild.

Half-way down the hallway, they met Éothain who was smiling rather overly warmhearted to them. Some riders with their wives were passing the company, whispering and shooting glances at her. They giggled and muttered among themselves whilst their husbands' eyes shone with unusual respect to her husband. There was a distinct difference between the response directed to her and those to Gamling. Wynflaéth thought that was rather impolite of their spouses to react in such a silly manner. She never liked to abuse her position as the spouse of the King's advisor but she hated the response she was getting this morning. Was it the archery practice? Or the death glare that she had been shooting at each serving maid last night?

She grabbed Éothain and stopped him, "Have I done something wrong that Éomer King wishes to see me so urgently?"

"Nothing….. in particular," Éothain's glance darted between her and her husband. He knew he could not lie. Men of the Mark would not lie. So he was trying the best to express it in a different manner. "I am sure he just wants to find out how well you are doing."

At last they reached Éomer's study and Éothain, immediately, took his leave.

"Good morning, Gamling. Good morning, Wynflaéth," he turned, standing full body.

They found Éomer looking out from a window. They were also surprised to see Lothíriel present. She was sitting on a long chair, slipping some tomes that Helm Hammerhand had left.

"Good morning, my Lord. Good morning, Lady Lothíriel," they both curtsied.

Lothíriel returned it with a polite bow.

"What is the urgent matter, my Lord?" Gamling obviously was concerned with the message he received this morning. He understood Éomer and knew he won't send a note unless it was really urgent and required immediate attention.

There were still some low mutters and glares coming from the hallway where the door to it had been left open.

"Gamling, if you could close the door, please?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Wynflaéth watched as her husband pushed the door shut, she could not help but remarked, "How inconspicuous of them!"

"Wynflaéth!"

Gamling heard her.

Éomer gestured at the pair to sit. Only after they sat that he pulled a chair in front of them. He looked at them with the best neutral expression he could put on and explained in a very low and calm tone.

"You two were loud enough last night. You almost woke up the whole East Wing."

TBC

Éomer and Lothíriel's story continues in next chapter right after Éomer cracks his brain trying to explain to Hannor about what the young boy had heard last night! The boats shake in Dol Amroth + Lothíriel's decision

Footnotes:

East Wing: East part of Helm's Deep including the The Deep, Deepening Stream, The Wall and basically the half of the Keep. Most riders and their spouses dwell in this wing.

West Wing: It consists of Hammerhand's bedchamber (which is now Éomer's when he visits), a study, a few healing chambers. Hence when the morning comes, Éomer does not see the direct sun light.

Helm's Deep Map is described according to Middle-Earth Map by Karen Wynn Fonstad.

Author's note:

A bit on the light scene between Gamling and Wynflaéth - I figure the need for something lighter after all these heavy drama. The romance between Mr & Mrs Éomer would, of course, continue, but I have a strong urge to insert some non-Éomer stuff in between. And this bit has been extracted from a draft for Mr & Mrs Éomer and reedited to make it milder. Now I am not sure if it was a good idea at all to include bed scene because my original draft for Mr & Mrs Éomer was described very much in detail. Hmmm... thoughts, guys and girls?

(Yes, Wynflaéth, in my own little world, is supposed to be incredibly attractive. I did not give much insight into her appearance because I wanted this chapter to come from a woman whom wants to feel loved again! Not Gamling's thoughts on how sexy his wife is, yet! But...don't worry some juicy bits are kept for Éomer and Lothíriel!)

And how do you explain that to a ten year old? Though I have my draft ready, I would still welcome back all sort of ideas!

Sorry again that it is not much Éomer and Lothíriel in this chapter. I need a break from them! They are driving me mad!

Once again thank you for everyone who has been following this story. I would not have gone this far without you all! *tips hat and bows*

Please review and I still welcome any sort of comments regarding my grammar or spelling etc! Thank you!