Chapter 2

Aldburg, February the 2nd, 3018

Éomer breathed deeply in the cool morning air and allowed himself to enjoy the peace of that moment: the sun shining above his head, the sound of the ice cracking under Firefoot's feet, the White Mountains towering over them in all their snowy majesty… was there anything better?

"I swear I've never seen a man so happy of going on a patrol in the middle of winter", Éothain teased him.

"Maybe It's because this man had the wisdom to retire at a decent hour yesterday, without having indulged in too much food and in too much ale", he retorted, earning a collective chuckle from the rest of his men.

"Some may call it wisdom, others may call it old age. Who am I to judge?", Éothain rebutted.

"Would you please remind me again how old are you? I seem to recall that there is but a few months' difference between us, but it must surely be a trick of my old mind…".

"Yes, yes, you two are both disgustingly young", Gárwine stepped in, scratching pensively his bearded chin: "Though I must say Éomer, I was myself surprised about leaving for a patrol already today. I was expecting you to spend a few days in Aldburg to help your wife getting acquainted with the place…".

Éomer glared towards Éothain, hoping it would save him from another round of you should not have married her ranting. Luckily for him, it worked: the man rolled his eyes but kept from saying anything, stirring instead his horse towards the rest of the group and leaving him alone with the older rider.

"I am confident that Meregith and Runhild will be able to show her around even if I'm not there to supervise the whole thing".

Gárwine turned towards him: "Supervise? Éomer she is your wife, not a recruit you need to supervise before allowing her to join your Éored!".

"Come Gárwine, you know what I mean. And it's not like we will be gone for long: tomorrow or latest the day after we shall be back. She'll have time to rest and…".

"And how did she take it?", Gárwine interrupted him.

"How did she take what?".

"That you were leaving so soon and without a pressing reason to do so".

He shrugged his shoulders: "I don't know, I asked Runhild to tell her".

"You asked Runhild to tell her?", Gárwine echoed him.

Éomer shifted uncomfortably in his saddle: "I believe she was still asleep when we left. And since we will only be gone for a couple of days, I deemed it unnecessary to tell her in person", he explained, feeling somehow the urge to justify his actions.

"May I speak plainly, Éomer?".

"You know you can, Gárwine".

"Very well. Then allow me to say that you should be home with her. And that even if you had been forced to leave – which you haven't, then you should have at least told her so, whether she was asleep or not".

Éomer sighed: "It's complicated, Gárwine".

"Marriages always are, especially arranged ones. Take the advice of an old man who's been married for over twenty years: we can take care of this patrol, you don't need to be here. Just go back to Aldburg and spend some time with your wife".

Éomer rubbed his eyes: Gárwine was probably right, he should have been in Aldburg and he shouldn't have left that way. The problem was that just the idea of having to deal with that Gondorian harpy, made orcs look suddenly very, very appealing. "I did not want to be there with her and believe me, she didn't either", he finally admitted.

"I take it the rumours about you two not particularly liking each other are true then?".

He snorted: "Not particularly liking? That's quite the understatement, Gárwine. Go meet her and then we'll speak again about my marriage, if you still wish to".

The older man narrowed his eyes: "Is she really as bad as everyone says?".

"If you mean unbearably snooty and insufferably arrogant, then yes. For any detailed account, feel free to ask my poor squire or Éothain: he makes a great impression of our dear Princess".

Gárwine sighed: "I'm sorry to hear that, Éomer. I truly am. But that doesn't make my point any less valid: you should be in Aldburg with her".

"I don't think you understand how bad things are".

"I do, Éomer. The thing is: you may go on all the patrols you want but at some point, you will have to go back home and she will still be there. Avoiding each other won't dissolve your marriage nor will make it any better, so maybe it wouldn't harm if the two of you tried to find a common ground. Surely it would make both of your lives better…"

"You think I haven't tried, Gárwine? After her father introduced us I tried to speak to her, tried to get to know her, proposed to spend together the small time we had before the wedding, but you should have seen her: she barely spoke a word to me, she barely looked at me! And during the wedding? Same thing! Oh, and shall we speak about the ride to Rohan? She spent the whole time looking at everybody like she wanted to bite our heads off and mistreating Léod, just because the poor boy was trying to help her!", he hissed back, anger rising quickly at the mere thought of his wife.

"Seems like she really incarnates the worse stereotype of a Gondorian lady", Gárwine finally conceded, shaking his head: "What can I say… I only hope that given time, things will somehow improve and that the both of you will find some sort of…happiness - or contentment at least, together".

Éomer smiled: "Thank you, Gárwine. I think you are the first person who actually asked me how it was going, instead of directly complaining about my wife and questioning my decision to marry her".

Gárwine waved a hand in front of him: "Please, Éomer: only a moron would not understand why you married her. I was a boy when I started serving under your father and now here I am, riding proudly next to his son: these plains have taken much from you, you've spent your whole life with a sword in one hand and the reins of your horse in the other, and now you're willing to commit your future by marrying a woman you did not choose. All for Rohan. I believe we owe you at the very least some understanding and some respect for the choices you've made".

Éomer stretched an arm on the other man's shoulder: at nearly fifty years of age, Gárwine was by far the oldest rider of his Éored. And yet he was still one of the best ones: not only he was a brave soldier, but also his best tracker and a cunning strategist, whose sensible advices had often managed to compensate that innate impulsiveness he had inherited from his father. "You know Gárwine, I think from now on I should try speaking more often to you and less to Éothain and Meregith", he said with a grin.

"Éothain and Meregith? Is it them complaining and questioning your decisions? Come, Éomer: Éothain…well, Éothain is Éothain. He cares about horses, he cares about ale and he cares about which of the tavern girls he will bed tonight. You can't really expect him to give sensible advices about anything else. As for Meregith, we both know she had other expectations".

"Yes, yes…finding the right woman, marrying for love, and so forth. I've lost count of how many times she has told me over the past few months".

Gárwine gave him a sceptical look: "The right woman?". He snorted but before he could add anything else, a lonely rider rushed towards them at full speed, bringing news of yet another orcs' sighting.

So much for a routine patrol.

Lothíriel wearily opened one eye, confused: her throat was awfully dry, her neck hurt and she felt cold and so impossibly tired.

Kneeling in front of her, Runhild circled her waist with one arm and forced her on her feet, slowly guiding her towards the bed. She only had the time to briefly wonder why she had been sitting on the floor, before her eyes closed again and she fell back asleep.

It wasn't until much later that she awoke again.

Runhild sat on a chair next to her bed, a crochet in one hand and a dark brown yarn in the other. The moment she stirred, her head snapped up towards her: "My Lady, you are awake!", she told her with a smile. Putting aside the piece of clothing she had been working on, she hurried to the door and exchanged a few quick words with whoever was on the other side, before closing it again.

Lothíriel sat up on the bed: "How late is it?", she asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Almost supper time, my Lady".

"I've slept the whole day?!", she asked incredulous.

"Yes, my Lady. But don't worry, what matters the most is that you feel better", Runhild reassured her, looking way more at ease in her presence than she had the evening before.

Lothíriel tried to remember what had happened and slowly, the events of the previous night came back to her. Nervously, she glanced towards Runhild: "You found me… sleeping on the floor?".

The girl nodded: "I did, my Lady".

Lothíriel stared at her, her mind racing and desperately searching for a possible explanation to her behaviour. Sleepwalking maybe?

Someone knocked on the door and after a few more whispered words, Runhild came back with a fully-loaded tray. She placed it on the nightstand and carefully passed her a cup of hot-steaming tea: "It's alright, my Lady. We don't have to talk about it, if you don't wish to".

Lothíriel took the cup with trembling hands, unsure what that meant: had Runhild seen her before she had eventually fallen asleep? Could it be that she had not heard her entering the room? If so, had she realized what was happening to her?

Runhild took a small jar from the tray and held it in front of her: "Hot porridge and cheese is normally served for breakfast. But I remember from my time in Minas Tirith that Gondorian ladies prefer fruits in the morning. There isn't much more than apples and pears at this time of the year, but I thought you might have liked this".

Confused by her maid's odd behaviour but still unable to come up with something sensible to say, Lothíriel stared at the jar for a moment before hesitantly dipping a spoon into what looked like a dark-red gelatine. It was clearly a confiture but of what, she did not know: it tasted sweet but also tart at the same time, with tiny seeds inside and there was something almost…almost floral about it.

"And?", Runhild encouraged her.

She nodded and the girl took a thick slice of dark bread from the tray: "With or without butter?".

"With, please", she answered in a whisper.

She grinned: "Everything tastes better with some butter on it, doesn't it?".

Lothíriel nodded again and though she did not feel particularly hungry, she found herself enjoying the taste of that strange confiture: "What is this made of?".

"Raspberries, my Lady".

"Raspberries?".

"Yes, they look a bit like blackberries, but they are red. I am sure you will like the fruit even more than the confiture, but I'm afraid you will have to wait until the summer for that", Runhild explained, already preparing a second slice of bread. "So: what would my Lady like to do today? We still have an hour of light and it has stopped raining for the moment, so if you wish to go for a short stroll to see the town…".

"I will stay in my room", she cut her short, sounding way harsher than she had meant to.

"Of course. I bet riding all the way from Minas Tirith in this awful weather has been anything but pleasant", Runhild told her with a smile. "Then, would it be alright if I unpack your belongings or would you rather do it yourself?".

Lothíriel glanced at the small chest she had brought with her from Dol Amroth: "I only have a few things with me…".

"It shall be quick then!", Runhild said, snapping up from her chair.

She dragged the chest until the bed and kneeled in front of it as she started going through its content.

At the top were a few gowns. Not the most beautiful ones she possessed, but rather those Gaeril had thought more appropriate for life in Rohan: a dark grey one with black embroideries, a purple one with white sleeves, a scarlet one that she didn't particularly like but that was definitely the warmest dress she had ever owned. To her surprise, the fourth dress was the silk blue gown that her father had given her as a present for her last birthday. Runhild lifted it up and stared at it wide eyed: "Oh my, this is beautiful!".

Pushing the blanket aside and ignoring the biting cold, Lothíriel stood up: "I had no idea it had been packed".

"Why not? I mean: sure, it's not a dress you can wear everyday, but if I owned something so beautiful, I'd never accept to be parted with it: n-e-v-e-r!", Runhild said, putting a great deal of emphasis on the last word and shaking at the same time a finger at her direction.

In spite of all, that got her smiling: "To tell you the truth, I only wore it once. I am always so afraid that it might get soiled or damaged if I wear it too often...".

"Ah, I can't wait for you to wear it! Hopefully next summer you'll be able to and... oh, now that's one audacious neckline, my Lady!", Runhild declared, nudging her with the elbow as she admired the back of the dress.

"I know and I would have never thought about wearing something like this, but my mother… she had a dress just like this", she said, gently brushing her fingers along the smooth skirt.

"She died?", Runhild guessed.

"Yes".

The girl placed a hand on her arm: "My mother died as well, almost four years ago. There isn't a single day that goes by that I don't think of her".

"At least you remember her, Runhild. You remember what she looked like, you remember what her voice sounded like, you remember what her touch felt like. I…I have no memories of her, I was only four years old when she passed away and I can't even remember her face", she admitted, feeling an overly familiar sense of guilt growing in her chest. "My father has a beautiful portrait of her in his study and so whenever I think of her, I see the young, beautiful woman in a blue dress that is portrayed in that painting".

"This dress?".

She shook her head: "Not exactly the same, no. My mother was a small woman and no matter how much I'd have liked to wear her dresses, they have never fitted me. This is a present I got for my birthday, the perfect replica of the one she had once had".

"A beautiful gift, my Lady. I can't wait to see you wearing it: I'm sure Lord Éomer will…".

"Lord Éomer will nothing", she hissed back, her mood suddenly turned upside down by the simple mention of her husband's name and only barely managing to keep herself from blurting out all the disdain she felt for the man.

However, seeing the way Runhild blushed and lowered her eyes visibly embarrassed, she found herself regretting her words. Not because she had not meant them, but because of all the Rohirrim she had met over the past two weeks, the girl seemed to be the only decent one, the only one who hadn't looked down upon her nor made her feel like an unwanted guest. Not even on the evening before, when her husband behavior and the one of all those people looking and staring at her as if she was an exotic animal performing at the local fair had made her so absolutely livid that she had ended up blowing off the steam on her, treating her in a way that had been anything but kind: she had complained about everything she could have thought of and even though the girl had been clearly on edge in her presence, all she had done was smiling and trying to accommodate her every wish.

Sure, maybe she was just being very good at hiding her true feelings; maybe she hated her just like anybody else around there. But somehow, she felt like that was not case: she had been very considerate after finding her sleeping on the floor, she had presumably spent the whole day by her side just to ensure she was fine, she had gone the extra mile to prepare her a breakfast that would have suited her palate better than a Rohirric one and she had been empathetic enough to understand she did not wish to speak about what had happened the previous night.

"Why…why don't you hang the dress in the closet, so that then we can finish going through my things, Runhild?", she suggested, trying to ease the atmosphere.

The girl smiled but before she could say anything, a resolute knock on the door interrupted them. Meregith strode in the room, looking even more stern than the day before, however that was even possible: "I see my Lady is finally awake", she drily noted.

Runhild jumped on her feet: "We were just going through my Lady's belongings, Meregith. I am afraid it will take us a bit longer to take care of everything, so...", she hurried to say before being abruptly interrupted by the housekeeper.

"One person is more than enough to hang a few gowns in a closet. You may finish what you have started while I introduce Lady Lothíriel to the household and to her duties", she said, already walking back towards the door as if giving for granted that she would have ruefully followed her.

Lothíriel glared at her: the nerve of the woman! First, she knocks and without even waiting for an answer, she storms into the room. Then, she makes clear in a not so subtle way how disappointed she is by her sleeping throughout the day. Finally, she starts bestowing orders on both of them! "As you can see we are very busy, Meregith. Whatever plan you had for me, it will have to wait", she growled back, wishing the woman out of her room as soon as possible.

"I'm afraid I have to insist, my Lady...".

"You may go now", she cut her short, hoping the old crone would not choose to ignore a very clear dismissal.

Meregith stared at her, unabashed: "Getting acquainted with the household is one of your duties. You are the Lady of this hall and it is expected of you to become familiar with it and to take decisions when the Lord Éomer is absent. Which, as you may guess, happens rather frequently during these times".

Lothíriel felt anger mounting fast inside here: how dared she speak to her in that way? Who did the woman think she was to tell her what she should - or should not do? "If and when I'll decide to visit this…place", she spat out opening her arms, "it's none of your business, Meregith".

The old woman stepped forward, totally unaffected by her outburst: "This is not Gondor, my Lady…".

Lothíriel laughed then: a sneering, mocking laugh. "As if I could ever mistake this place for Gondor!".

Meregith turned red and for a moment, Lothíriel thought she would have actually stricken her: "A man like Éomer is wasted with someone like you!", the woman hissed through gritted teeth.

Lothíriel towered over her but the old hag did not back off: "I am a Princess…".

"You ain't no Princess anymore. And even when you were one, it was but a title!".

Lothíriel gasped: "How dare you speaking to me like that?!".

Suddenly, Meregith chuckled: "As I said, this is not Gondor. You don't want to see to your duties? Very well, lock yourself in this room and never come out! Worry not: Runhild will see that all your needs are satisfied and that you are granted all the comforts you wish for. But if you think your former title or the fact that you are the Marshall's wife will buy you our respect and loyalty, you are sorely mistaken".

"I don't care for your damn loyalty, Meregith! I did not want to come here! I did not ask for it!", Lothíriel yelled, her voice sounding almost hysterical, her hands closed in tight fists.

"Nor did Éomer wanted to marry you", Meregith retorted.

"He did not have to leave his home, his family, his friends. I had! I had to forsake all I had, all I was to marry him!".

Meregith stared at her up and down, a strange look in her eyes: "Do you expect any of us to pity you? Do you have any idea how many women…", her voice almost cracked then, but she recovered swiftly, "…how many women would have liked to be in your place? A maid to see to your needs, a soft bed to sleep on, warm meals served to your room, a bath readied whenever requested, guards at your door. And above of all: a man like Éomer as a husband, a good man, a brave man, an honorable man".

"They can have him any time they want for all I care!", she yelled before forcing Meregith out of her room and slamming the door shut, feeling tears too dangerously close to debate any longer.

Runhild still stood by the bed, her hands clasped together, her eyes fixed on the tips of her toes. Lothíriel opened the door again: "I'd like to be alone, Runhild".

The girl nodded and without uttering a word nor daring to raise her eyes from the ground, she hurried out.

Éomer sighed as he stepped out of Frumgar's hut: a rider with a broken leg, one with an arrow stuck in his thigh and one with a concussion. Still, things could have gone worse, much worse than that.

Slowly, he made his way towards the hall: after ten days spent chasing a group of orcs with barely any chance to get a decent rest, after having fallen into a carefully planned but - luckily for them, poorly executed trap, after a bitter fight which had left three men with serious injuries and many more - including himself, with an ample variety of bruises, he felt utterly spent. Yet, he could not stop thinking about what had happened, about how those filthy creatures were becoming bolder, smarter and better organized than they had ever been before.

Sure, orcs had always used to set ambushes on them and his own father had died in one of them. But what he had seen over the past few days was something totally different, something that must have taken a lot of planning, a lot of organization and a lot of patience.

First, they had intentionally allowed a scout to spot a small group of orcs moving towards a village. Then, as soon as him and his riders had shown up, they had fled East, making them confident that a small, unorganized group of orcs was all they were dealing with. They had lured them deeper into the wilderness, exhausted them and their horses, before eventually driving them where a much larger - and rested, group of orcs had been waiting for them.

Éomer stretched his neck left and right, trying to relieve his muscles: he had not expected the chase to turn into an ambush. Nobody had, not even Gárwine. There had been no track on the way to indicate that more orcs had passed by, which could only mean two things: either the main group of orcs had come from another direction or it had been waiting there for long enough for the weather to erase all the tracks. Either way, it spoke in volumes about their level of organization and commitment.

Things were changing, their enemy was evolving, growing in strength.

And them? Did they have the force to face it, to contain it?

Had they asked him a few years back, he'd have had no doubt about it. Now, he did not know: he forced himself to show confidence and optimism in front of his men, but behind closed doors the weight of a future which had never looked more uncertain, burdened him and kept him often awake at night. He'd have liked to give more to his people, to build a better future for them, but the more time passed by, the more he felt like simply surviving to see another day was kind of a great victory itself. Over the past year he had lost more men than ever before, seen villages - whole villages, not just small settlements, being burned to the ground and their inhabitants slaughtered and even travelling along the Great West Road was becoming more and more dangerous. He knew what they needed to better protect their borders: more horses, more riders and better defenses for their villages. His cousin knew it too and yet all their pleas had fallen on deaf ears with the King.

His mood considerably darkened, Éomer climbed the stairs leading to the hall. As usual, Meregith was there to greet him: "Welcome back, my Lord".

He had told her a thousand times that she did not need to welcome him so formally after each patrol, that she did not need to wait for him in the cold while he took care of his men. But nothing was ever going to make her change her mind and ultimately, he was glad for it, for coming back home without seeing her there wouldn't have felt the same.

He drunk his cup and wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they made their way inside the hall: "It's good to be back home", he told her with a smile.

"And it's good to have you back, my dear. How are the men?", she inquired him.

"Reasonably well: Adwig broke his leg after his horse fell on him and will need a few weeks before being able to ride again; Baldric was wounded in his leg by an arrow and Edgar was thrown from the saddle and hit his head on the ground. They will both need some days' rest but otherwise we are all fine, just very, very tired", he reassured her.

"Thought so, which is why I had dinner – your favorite stew, just so you know, served to your study".

Éomer sighed in relief: he was in no mood to sit in the hall with the rest of the household just to explain over and over again what had happened, pretending all was good and there was absolutely nothing to be worried about. "Ah, Béma be praised! Whatever will I ever do without you, Meregith?".

"You'd be lost, of course!", she told him with a grin.

He laughed and once they had reached his study, he gladly accepted her help to remove some of the layers of his armor: that stew she mentioned smelled delicious and the sooner he could get to it, the better! He almost winced as he unbuckled the upper plate of his armor and of course it did not go unnoticed to Meregith's keen eye: "Are you alright?".

"Yes, just a few bruises: nothing that a good night sleep can't heal", he lied, masking the pain in his chest as best as he could so that she would not worry about him. "Anything happened here? All good?", he inquired, trying to change the topic.

"Moderately".

Éomer narrowed his eyes: "Moderately?".

Meregith sighed: "All is good, Éomer. A few more families moved into the city but not that many that we need to concern ourselves with food stocks, a stable boy injured himself while trying to impress a lass and a letter from Éowyn has arrived yesterday. Normal routine one could say".

"Good...".

"However, we need to talk about Runhild", Meregith interrupted him.

Finally freed of the weight of the armor, Éomer sat by his desk, ready to enjoy his meal: "What about her? I spent the last few hours with her father and he mentioned she was doing just fine".

"Probably she doesn't want him to worry, but I would urge you to reconsider her assignment with your wife".

Your wife. Béma, with all that had happened he had almost forgotten about her! "What did she do?", he asked, knowing all too well that the woman must have put in some remarkable effort if Runhild already wanted to quit.

Back in autumn, he remembered that when Imrahil had informed him that Lothíriel wouldn't have brought any handmaid with her, he had considered carefully his alternatives, and choosing Runhild had been an almost too obvious choice: sure, she spoke fluently the common tongue and was at least familiar with the Gondorian etiquette after having lived in Minas Tirith for a few years with her father. But even more importantly than that, or maybe because of that, she was a very open person who cared little - if nothing at all, for prejudices. As such, he had felt confident that if there was a maid who could have helped his wife in transitioning from life in Gondor to life in Rohan, that was Runhild. Of course, at the time he had not known what his wife would have been like but still, he was surprised that Runhild was giving up so soon.

"I don't know from where I shall start, truthfully!", Meregith said, pacing back and forth: "Since she has arrived she has never - never!, left her room. She sleeps for the most part of the day and by the time she requests breakfast, the kitchen is already busy preparing supper! She pretends almost a bath per day and spends her days in the bed or sitting by the window, doing absolutely nothing. I went to her after you left, offered to introduce her to the household and as a response I was unceremoniously ushered out of the room, but not before she had her chance at making clear how much she despises us, naturally!", she blurted out, her face turning visibly red.

Éomer laid back in his chair and put down his spoon, his appetite suddenly lost. He was simply too tired to take care also of his wife's tantrums: "What would you have me do?".

"I've had more than enough of her arrogance and her insults, Éomer!", Meregith hissed.

He stared at the ceiling, trying with all his might to keep calm: "You all speak to me as if there was an easy solution to all of this. We are married, Meregith: no matter how difficult she is, it's not like I can write to her father that sorry but we didn't get along and send her back to Gondor". Meregith made for saying something but he stopped her before she could get a word out: "And do not start telling me again that marrying her was a mistake!".

"Marrying her was a mistake, but that's not what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say is that if I have had enough of her, think about that poor girl who has to cope with her all day, every day! Béma knows what happens behind those closed doors, Béma knows how that Princess treats her!", she spat out.

"She still needs a maid though".

"And why would that be? She anyway never leaves her room...".

"She is a noble Gondorian Lady, I can't possibly refuse her the right to have a handmaid", he explained, feeling he was quickly reaching the end of his - notoriously not so big, patience.

"Me and the other women working in the household could take her of what she needs. I just don't see why we have to ask Runhild to take it all on herself: she is a young smart girl and she deserves better that!".

Éomer stared pensively out of the window.

Runhild had been working with the horses for the past year and a half and the stable master had always spoken very highly of her. It was a job that normally only lads would do, but she was no less talented than any other boy and, in addition to that, she had more than enough temper to keep in line anybody who would dare questioning her presence there just because she was a girl. Because of that, he had been skeptical that she would have accepted leaving her job in the stables for one as a handmaid and at first, she had proved him right. However, after only a few days she had unexpectedly approached him and explained that she had changed her mind. He had been so relieved that he hadn't even asked what her reasons were but at this point and judging from Meregith's words, he felt rather confident that she was regretting her decision.

His wife did need a maid, but maybe Meregith was right that Runhild was wasted for that job: "Have Runhild to come here tomorrow early morning and I'll see what I can do", he conceded.

Meregith sighed, visibly relieved: "Thank you, Éomer. I suppose I shall better leave you to your meal now and ensure that a bath is readied in your room".

Éomer observed her as she walked towards the door: Meregith was a woman of great temperament - even by Rohirric standards, but also one who wouldn't hesitate to sacrifice everything she had for those she loved.

Life had beaten her hard, harder than the most he knew.

Orphaned at a young age, she had been raised in Aldburg's hall. Through the years, she had become his mother's best friend and had ended up marrying one of his father's men. But after only a few years of marriage he had fallen sick and died within a few, atrocious weeks, leaving her alone with their two young children. The older one - Léofa, a boy who was the spitting image of his father, died in a cart's accident when he was only fifteen. And then there was Dawyn: born only two years after him and three before Éowyn, the three of them had grown up together and for many years they had been inseparable.

Although they had shared the same looks, Dawyn couldn't have been any more different from her mother: a sweet, quiet girl, he had never heard her rising her voice or arguing with anyone. She had had many suitors but she had never paid them any attention, living instead a rather secluded life in the hall. And then all of a sudden and without providing much explanations, a few months back she had informed him that she had decided to move to her father's hometown in the Westfold and start a new life there.

He had been surprised to say the least but, at the same time, he had thought that it would have done her good to finally leave Aldburg. She had left on a crispy morning of October and he remembered him promising to visit her, together with his sister, in the following spring.

But Dawyn did not live to see another spring.

Her party had almost reached their final destination in a remote area of the Westfold, near the border with the Westemnet, when they had been attacked by a group of Dunlendings who had left none alive.

When he had been informed of what had happened, he had of course taken it on himself to inform Meregith. He had called her to his mother's freshly renovated solarium and held her in his arms for many long hours as her body shook with desperation, with rage. Her hair had since grown gray, her shoulders curved, and though she pretended everything to be fine, he knew nothing would ever be alright again for her. Not after all she had lost.

"Stay, Meregith", he called her.

She turned around and looked puzzled at him.

He nodded towards the chair on the other side of his desk: "You can take care of that bath later. Sit with me and embarrass me some more with one of those childhood tales of yours".

Author's notes: oh my, I'm so sorry for the awfully long delay at posting this chapter! Work is crazy these days and I can't really manage to write any faster than this at the moment.

I hope this chapter managed to add something to most of the characters introduced so far and that you've found it enjoyable. I'm not sure how long it will take to have some direct interaction between Éomer and our dear Princess, but I'm thinking some when within the next two chapters could be a good time (can't promise what the outcome will be though!). If you liked the chapter or have any suggestion, feel free (-obliged? :P ) to leave me a review: reading them always makes my day!

AmandaBaker852: I had you waiting long but here we are!

silverswath: true, I think I could not have come up with a more different Lothíriel. I suppose I feel bad for both of them: for Lothíriel, for the way her life was turned upside down without her even having a say in it, and for Éomer who has to deal with her (although so far he hasn't dealt much we have to say...). One is young and knows little of life, the other is a season soldier who has seen too much. Clearly, they have very different takes on life, but that doesn't mean a sweet ending is not possible! :)

Guest: thank you! hope this chapter hasn't disappointed your expectations!

Elo: ahah, your you are marrying a horselord, start packing had me laughing, but that's a great way to summarize it! I am myself a shy person and when I was younger, I found it very hard to get out of my comfort zone. I did it eventually - out of my own free will, and I still do it because I think it improves me as a person, but I believe it can be very traumatic if someone forces you (especially in such circumstances!). As for panicking, I know it can differ a lot from person to person. A dear friend of mine suffered from panic attacks for many years and I remember she once told me that the only thing scarier than the attack itself, was the idea of being exposed while having one. Hence Lothíriel's angst during the ride. Let us see what it will take for these two to change...

TheLoner: I don't think anybody expects her to fall in love at this stage (although most of us would:) ). And while Éomer should be more patient with her and keep in better check his men, Lothíriel could also try a little harder to fit in and escape an otherwise miserable future. Unfortunately, there are times in life when it can be hard to see things for what they are, especially when our mind is clouded by strong emotions. Faults rarely lie on one side only and to find a solution one need's the help of both sides. Hope you enjoyed this chapter, even though it was long in the making!

rossui: aaaw thank you so much (especially for overlooking the many mistakes I must have surely done)! It seems like you share Gárwine's opinion that Éomer should be spending some time with his wife instead of riding out, but he is a stubborn one and, to his defense, life in Rohan is not that easy. Also: having had his good share of women doesn't necessarily mean that he understands what a relationship needs in order to thrive. On her side, Lothíriel is totally self-absorbed. And even though that's understandable - especially given how young she is, that can't really justify some aspects of her behavior (or the way her behavior is perceived from outside). Hope you enjoyed this chapter and that the agony wasn't too unbearable! :)

Catspector: yes, you summarized the situation perfectly! And so far, things aren't improving I'm afraid!

ckara: this chapter gave some insights on the background of a few of the characters involved. Not that we got to know them a bit better, let's see where things go!

Guest: I will try my best! And if I start losing realism, give me a shout! :)

Guest: thank you!

tgo62: long overdue update but here we are! :)

EugeniaVictoria: of course I'm planning to write more! Just at a very, very slow pace! :P Lothíriel does have strength but I don't think she knows. She is young, insecure and has had - by choice, a very sheltered life. This normally doesn't really help building one's confidence, but hey: we live to learn, right?

alia00: thank you! :)

BlahBabe: now that's quite the compliment, thank you! Hope this chapter didn't disappoint!