Chapter 13

Aldburg, May the 6th, 3018

In spite of his best intentions, it still took Éomer another further day to recover from his encounter with Fulor's vipers.

Not that he hadn't tried to leave Caerdydd at dawn – just like he had told Éothain, but his attempt had been short lived and ended up with him falling face first to the ground and earning himself a nasty gash on his brow. The only positive thing about the whole incident was that there had been no one there to witness it, but judging by the look Éothain had given him upon seeing his face, he suspected it was regrettably clear anyway. If anything, spending an additional day in Caerdydd had given him the chance to have a lengthy talk with Elffa: he regretted having left him behind, but the man was Lady Aldwyn's nephew and coming from a family with a long history of trading, he was the best candidate to temporarily rule a place of such prominent commercial relevance.

Éomer had also given some thought on how he'd approach Grima about what happened in Caerdydd and one thing was clear: he could not afford beating around the bush because the news of Fulor's death would surely reach Edoras in a matter of mere days. Coming to think about it, having Elffa with him had been a real stroke of luck: Lady Aldwyn was surely going to vouch for him and although her family did not have a seat in the Council anymore, it still held enough influence to convince its members that Elffa's temporary assignment was in the best of everyone's interests. Grima wouldn't be pleased, but he doubted he'd risk speaking openly against her: over the course of the past year, his uncle's chief advisor had progressively cut most of Rohan's ties to Gondor. Hiding behind the bogey of their Southern neighbours eying greedily their lands – a ridiculous idea to be sure, he had successfully managed to kill all but a few of the trading agreements they had with Minas Tirith and the consequences had not taken long to show. Rohan's market had grown empty and people had learned to live with less.

Bolstered by her family's reputation – and by the fact she controlled some of the Mark's largest iron mines, Lady Aldwyn had pretty much decided to swim against the tide and not only had she refused to cancel her longstanding agreements, but she had gone as far as negotiating new ones. Grima had tried to stop her, but through a thick net of favours and gifts, Lady Aldwyn had always managed to keep the remaining members of the King's council on her side. He supposed one might have called it bribery, but given that it was common people who benefited the most out of it, he was more than willing to close an eye – or even two, about it.

It was the mid-afternoon of an unusually warm day when his party finally came in sight of Aldburg and the moment the sounds of horns rose from the city, Éomer sighed in relief: home at last, he thought to himself as he spurred Firefoot forward, already savouring the moment he could get rid of those damn clothes and jump into an ice-cold bath. Just like Caerdydd's healer had predicted, he now felt much better: he wasn't dizzy anymore, his stomach had been able to handle a hefty breakfast and his head had stopped aching. What hadn't improved though, were his wounds: though the stiffness and the swelling was gone, the bites still itched terribly and the moment his feet touched the ground, he couldn't help but rubbing vigorously the one on under his wrist. Seeing Éothain approaching him, he shot him a guilty look: "I'm not scratching!", he defended himself.

But the man did not pay him any attention, his eyes fixed on an undefined point ahead of him, a dumb expression on his face: "I think I'll take Firefoot to the stables and unsaddle him".

"Having suicidal thoughts or what?", asked Éomer, knowing all too well his mount's temper.

Éothain grabbed him by the shoulder – the wounded one, which didn't help at all with the whole itching issue, and dragged him aside. With Firefoot now out of his line of sight, Éomer suddenly realized what the source of all that commotion was: "What the…", he started to say, staring in astonishment at Eofor coming out of the hall with Lothíriel in his arms. He put her down right at the top of the stairs, patiently waited until she had found her balance, then took a reluctant step back.

Éomer pushed Éothain out of his way, but the man's grip suddenly tightened: "If you are planning of getting up there and yell to her face how inconsiderate it is for her to be out of bed, may I urge you to reconsider your plan?".

Éomer shook him off and unable to take his eyes off Lothíriel, slowly climbed the stairs: she was pale and worryingly thin, but Bema help him if she wasn't the most beautiful sight to come home to! She wore a plain red gown, her hair was loose on her shoulders and though obviously nervous, in her eyes Éomer saw a glint he had never seen before. When Ides passed her the traditional welcome cup, she took it with trembling hands, inevitably spilling half of the content on the ground. She muttered something then, something that sounded suspiciously alike a Rohirric curse, but of course he must have been mistaken. He picked up his pace and in three long strides, he was standing right in front of her.

Leaning with one hand on a walking stick, Lothíriel lifted the cup in front of her: "Welcome home, my Lord", she greeted him, staring at him with apprehensive eyes. And he stared back at her, his arms hanging by his side, unable to utter a single word. Perhaps mistaking his silence for anger, Lothíriel turned a bright pink and rushed to explain herself: "Frumgar says I can stand, provided I don't put weight on the injured leg. And please don't be mad at Eofor: I forced him to…".

The rest of the sentence was lost as he pulled her abruptly to him: "You have no idea how good it is to see you out here, Lothíriel", he whispered in her ear, holding her firmly against his chest and planting a soft kiss on her brow. He knew that public display of affection was probably embarrassing her beyond measure, but it couldn't be helped: after dealing with Grima's veiled accusation and threats, after all the awful things he had uncovered in Caerdydd, after the guilt for returning home so late despite what he had promised her, to be welcomed that way was something that not even in his best dreams he'd have dared hoping for!

When he felt her hands slowly creeping up between them, Éomer instinctively held his breath: the walking stick fell to the ground and he was only vaguely aware of his tunic being soaked wet with was left of the mead. Lothíriel's arms locked around his neck and though she was panting and shaking, she held onto him with a strength he didn't know she possessed. "What did you say?", he asked, unsure she had just mumbled against the filthy fabric of his shirt.

"I said I read your letter and wish father had given it to me".

Éomer smiled and held her a little tighter: "I take it you didn't find it too disappointing?".

Lothíriel pulled back and looked at him with a deep frown: "It was a beautiful letter. I don't know why you'd think it disappointing", she told him, leaning lightly on him for balance. Realizing only then that the welcome cup was practically empty, the blush on her cheeks deepened: "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I managed to spill the mead all over the place… and on you as well", she added, staring mortified at his clothing.

"My tunic was already so filthy that a little mead will hardly make things any worse", he told her with a wink, snapping the cup from her hand and gulping down the few remaining drops of mead.

Lothíriel smiled but then, something behind him caught her attention: "Oh dear, what is she doing already here?", she asked, her cheeks growing visibly pale.

Éomer turned around but aside from an overly smug Éothain, he couldn't see anybody else headed their way: "Who?".

"Runhild!", Lothíriel shrieked, bringing a hand to her face: "She'll murder me – and you, and Eofor too!, when she sees me here!".

"Where is she? I can't see her…".

"She just left the stables, she'll turn around that corner any moment now!", said Lothíriel, pointing at the smith's workshop located a the far end of the square: "She left a few days ago to go help her aunt and wasn't supposed to come back until next week. She has no idea I'm out of bed!".

"I thought you said Frumgar gave you his approval…".

"Oh, and you think Runhild will care about it?".

Fair point, he had to admit. Lothíriel was by now as pale as a sheet while behind her, Eofor looked like a man on the gallows: "Has she seen you already?".

"N-no, I don't think so. I bet we could already hear her screaming otherwise…".

Éomer grinned and with no warning whatsoever, he whisked Lothíriel in his arms and hurried inside the hall: "There are times when a strategic retreat is the best tactic!", he told her as he climbed the stairs leading to the upper floor.

On her part, Lothíriel was at least no longer pale. Indeed, she was as red as a cherry and it took her a while to find her voice again: "No, wait!", she told him when he had almost reached her room. "Can you bring me to your study, please?".

"To my study?".

"I'll explain once we are there", promised Lothíriel, prompting him back the way they came from.

Though hesitant, Éomer did as bid and descended to the ground floor: his study was located in the opposite wing, which meant they had no choice but crossing the main hall if they wanted to get there. But as he suspected, they were too late for that: "Good afternoon, Eofor", he heard Runhild saying, to which Lothíriel gasped horrified.

Éomer swirled around and went up again, rushed inside the first room he came across. The door closed with an annoyingly loud squeak and then, they were left standing in pitch darkness, listening with bated breath to the sound of Runhild's approaching footsteps. The ridiculousness of their predicament becoming suddenly hard to ignore, Éomer felt mirth bubbling inside him: "Don't you dare!", warned Lothíriel, her finger tapping insistently against his chest. But there was laughter in her voice too and it took Éomer all his self-restraint not to burst out.

Runhild passed their room and walked further down the corridor. The sound of her steps faded and when someone suddenly knocked on their door, they got both so spooked that Éomer almost dropped Lothíriel: "The way is clear for now", whispered Ides before hurrying away. Éomer stepped cautiously out the room and for the fourth time that day, he found himself climbing those damn stairs: concerned that upon finding Lothíriel's room empty Runhild would rushed back towards the hall, he sprinted ahead and by the time they had made it to his study, they were both laughing breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, Éomer. I should have probably simply spoken to her", said Lothíriel and he'll be damned if she hadn't the most beautiful, infectious smile he had ever seen!

"Where shall I sit you? On the sofa?", he asked her, trying not to stare too bluntly.

"By the desk, if you don't mind".

Éomer nodded and it was only then that he noticed a few subtle changes: though still messy, the room appeared slightly tidier than usual and between the piles of papers he had accumulated on his desk, a small empty space had been carved: "Have you been working here?".

Still giggling from their narrowly successful escape, Lothíriel took her time to adjust her position on the chair: she smoothened the skirt of her gown, shifted her leg until it was comfortably resting on the stool, pulled back her hair and fixed them in a loose tail. The realization that she had practically stolen Éomer's place only occurred to her when she saw him taking a seat on the other side of the desk: "I am the one who should be sitting there I suppose…", she apologized with a nervous smile.

Éomer waved her concerns away and stretched his neck to peek at the paper in front of her: "May I?".

Lothíriel nodded and passed him the document she had been working so hard on for the past two days. She had honestly been terrified of that moment: what if he overreacted when finding out she had stuck her nose where it didn't belong? What if following his confrontation with the King, he'd be upset to see there was something else she had managed to mess up? Meregith might have hated her, but that didn't mean her allegations were baseless and as she observed Éomer scrolling quickly through the content of the first page of her report, Lothíriel couldn't help but fiddling anxiously with the quill in front of her: "I worked on it together with Gárwine: we used last year's account as reference and tried finishing what you had already started", she explained with a trembling voice. Éomer flipped through the remaining pages, his brow furrowed and his head shaking: "I-I didn't touch your version, so if what I did is wrong you can restart from there. I also noted down how you split the various accounts", said Lothíriel, waving a paper in the air, "and I can re-arrange them the same way if…".

"Do you have any idea how long it took me to fill that half- page? Days – if not weeks. And now you are telling me you did all of this over the course of what, two or three days?".

"Less than two, actually".

Éomer's brooding expression rapidly melted into one of pleased disbelief: "When I saw you out there I thought the day could not possibly get any better, but I obviously stand corrected!".

"You're not mad then?".

"Mad? What for? For sparing me the agony of a week-worth of paperwork? For cutting the delay with which I'll send this out?", snorted Éomer. Reaching across the desk, he gently took her hand: "Just promise me you didn't tire yourself out to do it".

"Gárwine will tell you that I did, but it's not true", she laughed softly: "I actually found it interesting: I learned more of the East-mark in these past two days than ever before!".

"Like what?", asked Éomer, obviously amused by her enthusiasm.

"Well", she started to say, unrolling a map of Rohan in front of her, "To start with, I learned that the East-mark encompasses portions of various other regions. There's the Eastemnet over here, from which you've received only four – rather short, accounts: I asked Gárwine about it and he explained that this region is mainly populated by herdsman living a nomadic existence. Then there's the Eastfold, which lies between thee White Mountains and the Entwash: most of it consists in tall grasslands, but there are also a few hilly, wooden areas. By comparing last years' accounts to the most recent ones, I noticed a sharp decline in population in this cluster of villages", she explained, her finger tapping on an empty area located halfway between the Entwash and the Folde. "Gárwine told me there has been a fever outbreak last autumn that claimed many lives – especially among children and elders, and sadly, many settlements have been abandoned. Last but not least, most of metal extraction takes place in this area at the foot of the mountains, where several iron mines are located".

Éomer stared pensively at her, then stood and began rummaging on one of the shelfs behind her: "Here", he said, passing her what appeared to be another map of Rohan.

No, not of Rohan - realized Lothíriel as she unrolled it, but rather of the East-mark. And a detailed one at that! "Oh my, I wished I had known about this. It would have made my life so much easier!".

"I know, only larger villages are flagged in the other map but this", said Éomer, leaning with his arms on the desk, "has everything: down to the tiniest little settlement!".

Lothíriel pulled it a little closer and examined closely the area around Aldburg, her eye drawn immediately by five familiar letters: "This is the village where Harn and the Gondorian merchants stopped for the night. I remember passing it shortly before noon", she said, pointing at the little town of Lewes. She traced with her finger the Great West Road, headed South and towards the Mering Stream: "You must have found me somewhere around here", she guessed.

Éomer took her hand and pulled it further west on the map: "A couple of miles south of Lewes, there's a fork", he explained. "On the left, the Great West Road heads South while on the right, there's a path that leads to a number of isolated farms".

Lothíriel paused, her mind wrestling with the meaning of those words: "I… took a wrong turn", she realized. "That's why I never met Harn and the others, that's why the landscape looked nothing like what I recalled from when we ride from Minas Tirith. Valar, how could I possibly be that stupid!", she snapped.

She felt anger mounting but when Éomer spoke, his voice deep and his gaze as warm as the touch of his hand upon hers, her heart almost missed a beat: "That wrong turn almost got you killed. But it also saved Dúnor's life, Lothíriel".

Her eyes fixed on the unmarked spot on the map, Lothíriel held Éomer's hand a little tighter: he was right. Had she managed to stay on the Great West Road and catch up with the Gondorian merchants, she'd be in Minas Tirith now, planning how to get to her aunt and totally unaware of the scheming that had taken place behind her – and Éomer's back. And as per Dúnor, his lifeless body would lay next to the remains of his parents, a life torn away too soon.

Encountering those wargs, seeing with her own eyes those dismembered corps, falling down that ravine and even stepping into that trap and losing Rohiril… it seemed impossible to believe, but perhaps some good had come out of it. Dúnor was alive and yes, she might have lost her chance of getting back to her blithe Gondorian life. But what was that life if not an illusion, a lie, the privilege of someone having no other merit than being born into royalty: "Listen Éomer, there's something I need to ask you. Did you… did you have any problems in Edoras?", she inquired him.

Éomer seemed taken aback: "Problems?".

"Yes. You said you had an audience with the King and since you were delayed so, I thought perhaps you had to deal with unexpected troubles. Troubles caused by me, that is", she admitted.

"Why would you think so?", asked Éomer, staring at her with a suspicious face.

Lothíriel chewed nervously on her lip: "I heard…things".

"Such as?", he prompted her.

"Such as you been called to Edoras to answer for what happened to me".

Éomer snapped up, his hand abruptly deserting hers: "Where and from whom did you hear that?".

"N-no one!", she hurried to say: "It was just…bits and pieces I heard around the hall. Gárwine refused to talk to me about it, so I'm guessing it must be true…".

Though her vague explanation was obviously unconvincing, Éomer chose not to press her any further. He went back to his chair and when he spoke next, his words felt like a punch in the guts: "It's true". She made for saying something, but he raised a hand to silence her: "I don't want to hear you apologizing. I only want you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say, ok?".

Trying her very best to resist the urge to bite on her nails, Lothíriel gave him an anxious nod.

"The situation at court is… complicated. Over the course of the past couple years, the King has grown weak, so much that at times even I have troubles recognizing him. It's as if his mind is gradually drifting away from his body and there's nothing we can do to keep him with us". Éomer paused then, his eyes fixed on her but away at the same time: "One of his Councillors – Grima is his name, has risen to a position of power. He has been my uncle's chief advisor for many years but now, he's practically ruling the country in his stead. Long have I wondered what his motives are and even though I have no proof of foul play or treason, one thing I know for sure: he's no friend of Rohan. He cares not for our country, he cares not for our people and he would do anything to eliminate those who stand in his way. He keeps my cousin and I on a short leash: he denies us the help we need to better protect our land and when things start going south, he puts the blame on us. Had I not been the King's nephew, had my cousin not had my back, he'd have already gotten rid of me. But that does not mean he has given up and when he heard about what happened to you, he tried to use it against me. He accused me of having deliberately sabotaged our marriage to compromise our alliance with Gondor, which is of course ridiculous", he told her with an unexpected little grin: "I did because I'm a moron and an idiot!".

"Guess that makes two of us", whispered Lothíriel.

Éomer circled around the desk and moved her chair just enough so that he could kneel in front of her: "Holding me accountable for what happened it's fair, Lothíriel".

"But it's not your f…".

"No, it's not my fault your father chose to marry us that way. But this is my home, and I should have cared better for you: not because of the political importance of our marriage, but because you are my wife", he told her, his hand cupping gently her face. "Don't feel guilty for Grima's words and machinations, Lothíriel: had you died in those woods, the man wouldn't have batted an eye. Actually, he might have just thrown a party and yes, he tried to use your escape attempt against me, but guess what? He failed. I am still here, I am still Third Marshall of the Riddermark and I don't know about you, but I have no intention whatsoever to give up now".

Lothíriel gave him a watery smile: "I don't want to either. But I also don't want to be a burden and if you think you'd be better off without me…".

"I don't know where you got such silly ideas from, but no: I wouldn't be better off without you. I mean, look at this place: I might just drown in papers if you don't lend me a hand!".

Feeling like a great weight had been lifted off her chest, Lothíriel found it surprisingly easy to return his mischievous grin: "To tell you the truth, I was rather shocked when I first came here".

Éomer leaped on his feet then and stuffing all the papers on – she suspected, randomly chosen shelfs, he managed to clear his desk in a shockingly short time: "Much better. And now, I hereby declare that half of the desk to be yours, and this to be mine. This way, you shall be able to work more comfortably!".

Lothíriel re-arranged quill, maps and accounts in front of her, then nodded in satisfaction: "I think I'll work even faster now!", she declared. "I should be done with the report latest by tomorrow evening. Could we then check it to ensure I got everything right?".

"It's a deal", said Éomer, solemnly stretching a hand towards her. "Now if you don't mind, I'll take my leave and let you work in peace: I'm in dire need of a bath and clean cloths, but perhaps you'd like to join me for supper later today?".

"Gladly", agreed Lothíriel but before he could leave the room, she remembered there was something else she wanted to ask him: "Wait, you still haven't told me what kept you away for so long. Nor what happened to you", she said, pointing at the gash on his brow.

Éomer hesitated, the smile on his face momentarily faltering: "This has been the best return home I had in a very long time, let's not spoil it with a sad tale. I'll tell you all there is to know: just, not today".

In spite of that last request, Éomer left his study with a broad smile on his face. Lothíriel was recovering quicker than he had expected and it was refreshing to see her up and out of her room, keeping herself busy with his paperwork; not because of the help she was giving him – though he was immensely grateful for it, but rather because there could never be any happiness in spending one's life locked between four walls, mulling over the chain of event that have brought you there in the first place and consumed by the hatred for the people who had taken part in it.

He knew things between them were far from being settled but for once, he dared trusting the hope.

He had almost reached his room when upon rounding a corner, he found himself face to face with Runhild. The girl didn't as much as looked at him and headed down the corridor he had come from, an expression on her face that meant only one thing: troubles. Lots of them. Éomer grasped her arm and placed it under his': "Hello Runhild. Why don't you walk with me?".

She shot him a glare that would have killed a boar but was left with little choice but to follow him. His study being off the table, Éomer led her to his mother's solar: "Lothíriel mentioned you've spent a few days with your aunt. Is she alright?".

"Aside from the fact she claimed she had broken her leg and had me riding in all haste to her aid when in fact, she had simply twisted her ankle and was playing her usual dramatic piece just to get some attention, yes: she's alright", she growled. "Now perhaps you'd like to explain what in Bema's name was Lothíriel doing outside?".

"So you saw us after all…".

"No, I didn't: your ridiculous retreat saw to that. But the whole town is buzzing about it and those idiots might find it sweet to see Lady Lothíriel standing out there, but it's not!", she yelled to his face: "She should have been resting in her bed, not playing the good wife for someone who clearly doesn't deserve it!".

"Your father allowed her to leave…".

"And he shouldn't have!", she cut him short. "Lothíriel must not leave her room – not until the stitches are removed. And if you care one bit about her, then you should start making arrangements for her return to Gondor!".

Now that, took him by surprise. Runhild was way more than a handmaid to Lothíriel, just like Lothíriel was way more than her lady to Runhild. The two of them had bonded in a way that had greatly surpassed his most optimistic expectations and their friendship had ultimately saved Lothíriel's life. He knew earning Runhild's forgiveness would have been difficult, but he hadn't expected her to take that stance towards Lothíriel: "Why would you want her to leave?".

"Why would I want her to stay?", she shot back.

"You think she'd happy in Gondor? You think she'd be happy to go back to her father after what he did to her?".

"Happier than here anyway. And surely much safer", she mumbled, her lip quivering, her eyes darting away from him.

Suddenly, it all became clear: I should have known, Éomer thought to himself as he approached her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and took a deep breath: "Look at me", he ordered. The girl reluctantly returned his gaze and he wondered how it took him so long to see it: Runhild was angry, sure. But above all, she was scared, terrified: "Whether Lothíriel will choose to stay or not, it's her decision. But I swear to you I'd have never asked her to stay, had I not known in my heart I can be the husband she deserves. And no matter what her decision will be, no matter how things will turn out between the two of us, I give you my word I will care for her and I will never let anything bad happen to her".

"Then why is Meregith still here?", she asked, her hands closed in tight fists.

"Runhild I…", he started to say, before being abruptly cut off.

"A man like Éomer s wasted with someone like you", she hissed. "Do you know when she told her so? On her very first day in Aldburg. A more decent wife would deign Lord Éomer with her presence in the hall, but we both know you are not, she spat once after you had just returned from the umpteenth patrol. You're good for nothing, she repeated her countless times. Oh, and remember that disastrous dinner in the hall? Do you want to know why Lothíriel reacted so weirdly when presented with the food? Because had she taken a bite of it, she'd have emptied her stomach in front of everyone. And guess who knew about it? Guess who insisted on having liver pies cooked? Why, Meregith of course!".

Éomer took a step back and rubbed tiredly his face: "Why didn't you warn me? Why didn't you tell me anything?".

"Because Lothíriel made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone!", yelled Runhild, throwing her arms in the air. "I was her only friend and I didn't want to betray her trust. Besides, I thought you'd have soon realized what was happening and taken action. Instead, months passed by and even after Gárwine finally warned you, what did you do? Nothing!".

His good mood evaporating like water in the sun, Éomer kicked his boots off and walked in circles around the table, careful to avoid the rugs and keep his feet on the cool floor instead. Was Meregith beyond saving? Was he making a mistake at giving her a chance to redeem herself? Should he simply banish her from his household instead? A part of him shouted that that was exactly what he was supposed to do while another, clung desperately on the hope she could change.

Even after moving to Edoras following his parents' death, Meregith had remained an important part of his life. Through the years they had kept a close correspondence and in her letters, he had often found the strength and hope he had so desperately needed. Reading them had felt like savouring once again his sweet childhood life: suddenly he could remember the happiness, the love of those days. Without her, the angry boy who had left Aldburg on his uncle's saddle would have turned into an angry, spiteful man. Without her, that boy would have never found the courage to forgive his mother for the way she had abandoned them.

Meregith had never given up: not after her husband's death; not after her son's passing. And maybe he felt like now he was the one who could not give up on her, he was the one who could not abandon her: "I need to give her a chance, Runhild. I need to do it".

"Even if that will cost you Lothíriel's life?".

"I told you already: I won't let any harm come to her", he told her slowly, emphasizing each single word.

"What about Dawyn? Why did you have to tell her about her? Do you have any idea how she felt, after learning of her death? Awful, that's how she felt! And guilty!".

"She needed to know".

"Why? So that you can use her guilt to convince her that Meregith deserves a second chance?".

"No!", he shouted back. "One of the reasons we got ourselves into this mess, is that we never spoke to each other and allowed other people's scheming to get in our way. I'm not doing the same mistake again, Runhild: I'll be open with her, I will allow no secrets nor white lies. Lothíriel would have eventually found out about Dawyn and it's better she learned it from me than from someone else. Besides", he added with a little grin, "I believe you are not giving her enough credit: Lothíriel is stronger than you think and even though it hurt her to learn of Dawyn's death, she won't let it bring her down".

Runhild gave him a sarcastic pout, the corner of her mouth slightly twitching: "Are you implying you know her better than me?".

"Most definitely not!", he hurried to say, earning himself a reluctant smile. He walked back to her, took both her hands into his': "Thank you, Runhild. For everything: for being a good friend to Lothíriel, for your loyalty to her, for saving her life. Thank you for your honesty too: I know at the time it might have not looked like, but your scoldings have been very much appreciated and should you think I need some more in the future, by all means I'll be at your mercy".

Runhild solemnly bowed her head: "It'll be my pleasure!", she declared with a wicked smile. "Now, can I finally go see Lothíriel?".

"Only if you promise you won't get mad at her for being out of bed".

"Agreed", said Runhild, rolling her eyes in an impatient way.

"And", added Éomer, "if you promise you won't take it out on Eofor".

Runhild snorted and made for the door in quick, short steps: "Too late for that!", she announced before vanishing into the dark ally.

Author's notes: a little faster update this time. I was honestly quite stuck with the previous chapter and didn't particularly liked the result, but I felt much more inspired once I got it out of the way so hopefully this installment was a little more enjoyable.

Also: a minute of silence for poor Eofor who found himself at receiving end of Runhild's wrath.

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: yes, she finally found her strength!

pzacharatos: I surely will.

Luinwen-2013: seems not, which is actually quite sad for Éomer.

Beancdn: as Lothíriel said, she had been a spectator of her own life for too long and finally, she snapped and tried to change things one little step at a time. Life with Meregith will be hard and we shall see whether Éomer's gamble will pay off or not.

Catspector: I think is everyone's gut feeling, but for Éomer there is more at stake than just banishing a housekeeper – and I tried to give some depth to his reasons in this chapter. Lothíriel did the right thing by asking about her concerns instead of simply brooding about it, but her reluctancy at admitting it was Meregith who had instil them in the first place could be misleading for Éomer.

Guest: sorry to hear you don't like the story. I guess to each its own and it's normal some people might find it disappointing. While there are plenty of "evil" characters in this story, I tend to disagree about the lack of redeeming qualities – especially given we are a chapter 12 of a story that will be much longer than that. Lothíriel and Éomer themselves are far from being perfect, yet they are trying to be better persons. In any case, I'll take your review in a constructive way and perhaps in the future, I'll try handling things a little differently.

annafan: glad you're enjoying it! :)