Notes: My apologies for the delay in updating. This chapter really didn't want to be written and it was hard to get it done. Would love to hear your thoughts about the story. Eomer is off to fight the Easterlings after this so we'll see what happens.

The day after the wedding there was already talk of the King of Rohan's anger and the ruin he had made of his alliance with Gondor. If Ella had been speaking to Éomer, which she distinctly was not, she would have told him to be more subtle in his manner. She would have told him to keep his anger to himself and wait until the time was right to mend what needed mending and put those in their place who had wandered too far out of it.

That was not advice that she was taking herself, as she studiously avoided Éomer. Once, as he walked down the halls of the keep, Éomer caught sight of the princess with a mountain of books in her arms, and her nursemaid beside. Their eyes met for a moment and suddenly Ella turned on her heels, and walked back in the direction she had come, leaving poor Mirella to curtsey and try to catch up to her mistress who was swift even with the weight of a library in her hands.

Éowyn explained to her brother, with a patience he recognized as new in her, that Ella was not displeased at his anger at the wedding, but rather that he had not made amends with her nor asked her to dance even once as an act of reconciliation. Éomer, who felt that it was Ella who had made the break between them, did not recognize this was the accepted fact for repairing relationships, and he found his mood souring more and more as the day went on, turned into night and then became the pale light of morning once more.

Indeed the princess was everywhere in the keep around him. When he entered the rooms that belonged to her family, he could see her touch in every corner. The servants wore the colours of Dol Amroth and the women pinned their hair like her, and all carried a little notebook to write down numbers and thoughts to present to their mistress at the end of the day. Ella's favourite blooms, bright, giant sunflowers could be found in every room, either woven into tapestries or in large vases for the princess to enjoy. It was embroidered into her family's handkerchiefs. Her family too carried her mannerisms in ways Éomer had not noticed before. Amrothos twisted his mouth to the side when he was thinking, just as Ella did, and Elphir's little children had her lilting voice in their throats when they played and teased. Even Prince Imrahil's calm, steady gaze with his sea grey eyes reminded Éomer of Ella's stubborn expression. None of Prince Imrahil's children, nor the man himself seemed to think any differently of the King, and neither did they place Ella's aloofness at Éomer's feet, though he would have taken the blame if they had.

In every disagreement the two had had, Éomer had become used to waiting for Ella to extend an olive branch and let him know it was time for a reconciliation. This time, however, the branch did not come. He thought he could wait until one of them faltered in their resolve, but he knew his days in Minas Tirith were numbered and he did not think he wanted to waste that number. Had he been paying closer attention, he might have found that Ella was desperate for him to reach out, but not so desperate as to bend and beg.

He had hoped to find the princess in her rooms, but Mirella was the only occupant, her eyes full of judgement even as she politely led him out of Ella's chambers and advised him to look for her in the gardens, or in the library. Éomer knew the woman was more clever by half than she let on and that Ella trusted her without question. He wondered if Mirella knew what Ella's feeling for him might be, or if indeed the nursemaid knew of her charge's wilder impulses. It bothered him, he realized, that someone else might more clearly see the pieces of his life than he himself could and it made him surly to the woman, though he tried not to be.

The princess was in the gardens, stretched along a bench, her hair loose and touching the ground, and her face turned up and quiet. She was not asleep but close enough to it. He could see books and embroidery half spilling out of a satchel which had been abandoned on the floor.

"Lothiriel..." He tried to keep his voice quiet to avoid startling her, but he saw that her shoulders jumped anyway.

She would have snapped to sitting had he done the same even days before. Instead she shifted slowly on the bench to make room for him, drawing her hands over a tired face and rubbing at her eyes. She drew her knees up underneath herself and turned just slightly so she could see him. Without speaking, he joined her. He wasn't sure whether to reach for her hand or not but found that he wanted to. Ella pulled closer, and he found his arms around her, and her forehead on his shoulder. They were silent.

"I'm an ass."

He hoped that she would raise her eyes and laugh but she didn't. She groaned into his shoulder, and it took another few moments before she pulled away.

He wondered if this meant she forgave him. If having her wrapped in his arms meant that the events of the wedding were forgotten. He thought back to the ceremony, before the whispers had distracted him, when he had looked at her and thought 'she could be a wife', but he hadn't thought 'she could be my wife.'. That thought had not crossed his mind in that way but he had certainly looked for her in the crowd and thought, "she might be a wife soon.' and he had thought that he couldn't picture her marrying some faceless man, though neither could he picture her beside him.

"I had this odd idea." She said, and it sounded forced in his ears. "A bit of girlish stupidity, and I'm going to tell you about it and you'll remind me what foolishness it is."

"Yes?"

"You should have danced with me at the wedding, and you did not."

"Is that the foolishness?"

"No." She frowned, and he knew that mean she already regretted what she was going to say but was committed now to saying it. "You should have danced with me and I would have forgiven you your harshness, and you didn't and I wonder if it means you do not care how I view you at all."

Éomer was not sure he understood and he didn't want to ask her and so he was silent as he thought her 'foolishness' over. Ella waited on his words, but he found he had none and she turned colder and harder the longer it took him to answer. He could not be sure, but he thought perhaps the thing she was chiding herself over was thinking that he did care, and he did. He thought highly of Ella, and fondly as well though he found himself lost more often than not when it came to how he felt about her. Then he thought perhaps the foolishness was putting so much meaning on dancing, which might well have been it, but then she would not be so distant.

She broke his long silence by standing, flustered and starting to turn red. "It does not matter. I should go. You'll be in for dinner tonight, I hope? Father was hoping to speak with you regarding a trade agreement of some sort."

"Ella..."

"Oh," she said with a hint of her own anger, "It has a tongue!"

"Ella-"

"Good. You've found my name again, that'll be helpful. Next you can learn 'sorry' and then you can go, I think."

She was silent then and still, and Éomer could see she wanted to leave and was trying desperately not to do so, because she wanted to see him stay. Ella, he thought, tried to best to stay when she needed to, but her instinct was to run. Her instinct was to leave when things hurt too much. It struck him that he had been the one to hurt her and he didn't like the feeling.

He wondered how best to explain the hours he had filled with meetings how those distractions lessened her distance. He had hoped to come back to the keep and find he did not look for her. It worried him that he had spent a ceremony looking for her smile, and that he had heard her speak and thought 'this woman could be a good queen'. He wanted to explain, he would marry someone of high status who held lands and title in Rohan. He imagined that Ella already knew his obligations. So it was best he did not make amends in such a way that their lips might touch again, or that he would be tempted to mix together 'she could be a wife' and 'she could be a queen' with 'she could be my wife' and 'she could be my queen'. Those were dangerous thoughts to have when you were a fresh made king.

"I should go." He stood abruptly and they were chest to chest. She had her arms folded and her expression was distinctly sour. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "I am sorry. I was angry and you were angry and we were not very good at being angry together. I wish I could be angry with you."

"You want to be angry with me? I-" she grew redder and seemed ready to shove him away or hit him, or both.

"No. I- I want to be angry with you. I want us to be angry together. At others. Not between us."

"Must it be anger? Surely we could find another emotion that could do just as well."

"I should go Ella. I- I am still very fond of you."

But she turned her back to him and he saw her face fall, "You don't seem to understand, Éomer, it isn't enough to be fond of me any longer. You can't say, 'I'm fond of you' and leave as if you must justify why you keep me around you. I don't want to be your queen, but neither do I wish to be your pet. 'I'm very fond of my hound. It is a good hound. It's a bit silly, but I'm fond of it.'. I have better things to do than follow you. Fond is fine, but it is not enough."

"What would you like to be?" His eyes found hers, but she turned away again and gathered her things, she began to walk away from him, and her words turned into murmur he barely heard.

"I don't know. I had hoped we could decide together."

"I do not think so, Princess."

"No." She said. "Neither do I." And then she was gone,

Éomer grew nervous as dinner approached that Ella would tell her family that she had broke her friendship with the King of Rohan and he would no longer be welcome at their table. He felt a hardness in his throat when he thought of it that made it difficult to swallow. Ella's family had become his own in feeling, and now even in marriage, and he did not think he would handle a divide between them with grace. He respected her house, and held close to him the evenings spent in their company. He might have called them his true family had he chosen his words more carefully, he thought, but quickly threw that thought away. It was a dangerous one to have.

The girl told no one, Éomer knew it to be the case as soon as he sat to dinner. Éomer had thought that Amrothos and Prince Imrahil would be cold to him, or that Éowyn and Faramir would question him silently. It was not so, all followed it's usual path except for Ella's delayed arrival at the table. The princess almost missed the soup, her favourite lemongrass broth and though her air was of one with too much to do and not enough time to so it, she had obviously made an effort to look put together and as striking as she could make her features be. Éomer noted, and it surprised him most of all, that even Mirella did not shoot him an angry look, she did not even spare a glance his way when Ella dismissed her. He kept waiting for something terrible to happen but it did not. The food was good and the conversation was quick and easy between them, full of Faramir and Éowyn's plans, King Elessar's plans for battle with the Easterlings, and Prince Imrahil's subsequent return to Dol Amroth.

Ella was thoughtful and quick, a little spark at the dinner table. She ate little and making her fair share of jokes at their expense. She was as she always was, too loud, too quick to speak over someone. It was her way. She smiled brightly at Éomer and asked him and the table how their days were. She apologized for her lateness and promised them news. Her smile didn't reach her eyes and it bothered Éomer that no one else seemed to notice. Her mask was very good. As good as it had been when first he had come for dinner. Perhaps better now, since then he has easily seen who was the pretend girl and who was the real one then, and had found it harder now. He waited for someone to ask why she was upset, or why she was so odd, for the more he saw the break between her disguise the more he wanted to comfort her. He could not, it was not his place any longer and it had never really been. He never should have let himself reach for her.

He wanted Amrothos to say something or to see Éowyn brush Ella's hand or cheek for a moment, but no one did. At one point Éomer grew so desperate that he reached for a dish just as Ella did, simply to touch her hand. She noticed only at the last moment and snatched her hand away, her lips turning down for a moment and her eyes growing dark and sad before she caught herself and brought her smile back. It was accusing. I've never been unkind to you. How could you hurt me like this?

He wasn't sure how he had managed to get himself so knotted and unsure. He had been certain of himself earlier. Certain of his choice and certain that Ella was not for him. He had been certain that he could not be right for her. Now, she treated him like a stranger, and he did not like it. Was it easy for her to stop whatever she had felt? Was it easy for her to turn him back into a foreign prince? It was not easy to un-see her dancing on a high tower, nor was it easy to forget the way she drew her knees up underneath herself. Those who knew her best knew she did it to think. They knew it meant she was not calm, was not centred, was not herself.

It struck him most that he would never again know her secrets. Ella would no longer tell him her fears in confidence. She would no longer trust him with her silly thoughts, nor with her ideas for the future or her decisions on the past.

He knew he would miss her. Would she miss him nearly as much?