Éomer was riding fast, the reins clenched, his brows knitted. The ride was smooth, the scenery was changing rapidly. No dangers laid before them. After many hours Éomer noticed that his companions were eyeing him with some strange curiosity. It was something new to him. When they finally had a halt to let the horses have some rest, Éomer lost his patience and finally asked Fraca, what his keen glances were about. The rider was a bit confused.

'You see, Éomer King, when we were riding the same places a week ago we were desperate and had but a feeble hope. You were unconscious at that time, and we were awfully scared. Scared to be late, scared to find foes in Khûr opposite to the King Elessar's expectations. Scared, that our last hope would prove futile. And... here we are, just some days later, and you are as good as new.'

He stopped and fetched a sigh.

'The most horrible moment was when we arrived to the palace at last, sire,' continued Dimbold, for his friend was busy, hiding his tears. 'The princess ordered to take you to the chambers and you stopped breathing abruptly. Your lips turned blue, but then... don't you remember?'

And Éomer suddenly did. That second... He saw nothing, he felt nothing, the darkness was clothing on him. The time stopped and before his closed eyes he saw distant stars. And the gap he was falling into was frightening, smothering... and then a voice came. Her voice. She said,

'Breathe, breathe! Do breathe!'

He did not know then who she was or where she was. But the darkness started to dissipate, and he was glad to obey.

'I will,' he said.

And he did not know that, but he started to breathe again, and his knights cried with relief, and soft hands started to undress him.

Éomer scowled.

'I do not remember anything.'

'Well, the pharadine laid her hands on your chest and whispered something to your ear. And in a minute you muttered "I will" and we knew that nothing was lost yet.'

The silence hung for a while.

'You should've taken her hand, sire. The princess's hand, at the parting. She did you no wrong.'

Éomer felt all his insides burning. Of course Dimbold was right, but he couldn't confide his feelings to his riders. He couldn't tell him that he was actually torn between kissing that grave-eyed girl or holding her little frame tightly, he couldn't tell about the urge he felt to take her with him.

So Éomer said simply,

'Hold your tongue, my friend. And she was just a Haradrim, nothing more. It is time to set out.'

And by saying that Éomer knew that the one he hurt was himself, and that he should accept he parted with Lûne never to meet again.

...

How glad was Éomer to see his dear friend, when they finally noticed Aragorn's camp in the grove the princess marked on the map. How happy was King Elessar to welcome the King of Rohan back! He observed him with satisfaction and embraced him heartily. But he said to Éomer nothing in particular till they came to Aragorn's tent.

There Aragorn poured them some drink and asked how Éomer had found Khûr and its princess.

'I liked the city well enough,' answered Éomer, trying to sound unconcerned.

Aragorn noticed his half-answer, but he didn't push. So they talked about everything that had happened and Éomer knew that Prince Imrahil stayed in the East to hunt the orcs on the way to Khand, but Aragorn decided to come back when he received a letter from pharadine.

'I longed to see if you are really well,' he said. 'Though I know that the princess can be entirely trusted.'

'You seem blinded by her wits and looks,' said Éomer stubbornly, but Aragorn smiled strangely, as if he knew Éomer's true feelings. Nevertheless his next words were unsophisticated.

'I knew her father, Éomer. And I know the princess herself and I was devastated to see her after the orcs had kept her for weeks.' He sighed. 'And the pharadine was the ambassador of Harad to make a peace treaty with Gondor. Her uncle thinks the world of her, she is the head of the vastest province and the best of his counselors.'

Counselors... that rang a bell. Éomer wasn't sure, that it was a matter of any consequence, but remembered what news came to Khûr today and told Aragorn, that some Ar-Radhi man had been found dead that morning. To his surprise Aragorn went white. Then he covered his eyes with his hands and sat like that for a while.

'Ar-Radhi was the only counselor besides Lûne to ask her uncle, the High Pharadin, not to enter the war. He was quite young and I am afraid, that his death is not accidental. And if I am not mistaken,m and the princess's cousins are behind it, that means they want to punish those who were working on alliance with Gondor. That suggests the thought... Lûne is the next on their list.'

Éomer felt that all his body turned to ice.

Aragorn stood up.

'I must go,' he said. 'I'll take a small party with me. I should see the High Pharadin and I should talk to Lûne.'

'What will you tell her?' asked Éomer, his voice cracking. 'May I come with you?'

He thought about the golden city of Khûr, about its white palace with high turrets and round domes. And about a woman who lived there.

Aragorn understood him, as usual, for his voice was soft.

'You go back to Rohan and take care of yourself and your people. And in six weeks I will be awaiting you at Minas Tirith, I hope that I'll be able to talk Lûne into coming to live in Gondor. Her own land is now dangerous for her.'

Éomer felt so worried that it was a difficult plan to accept for him. But he tried to hide how discomposed he was.

'And Imrahil?'

'I hope his march to be over by then too.'

Éomer didn't want to think much of the feelings in his heart and even less he wanted to discuss them with Aragorn. So he agreed to see the King of Gondor in Minas Tirith and that's how they parted on the Midyear's Day.

...

Four weeks later Éomer was sitting in his own chamber in Meduseld. Everything was so dark and quiet that he felt eery.

'This palace is like a tomb,' he said to himself. He always felt lonely here, but most of his life he was so tired and drunk after the long days of battle or labor that fell asleep immediately. His youth was passing away and for the first time in his life he felt it and was terrified at the prospect of more nights to come and go with the same grey loneliness about them.

'Lûne was right. We were robbed of our youth. And we were left crippled and lonely. Does she ever feel the same way? Does she feel it now, looking at the same moonlight?'

He closed his eyes. He should have had less wine and ale, and definitely not both of them the same night. He looked at his own body, clad in plain linen. He saw his arms and legs, strong and tanned, and then touched the scar beneath his heart. That quiet Haradrim princess cured him and used all her powers to keep him alive, but does he really live? Or is he wasting the life that she brought back to him?

How he wished that a woman was now with him. To touch her soft skin, kiss her body and face, to run the fingers through her hair... no, not a woman, or some woman. Éomer imagined only her in his embrace. He went red in the darkness. He had no such desires for more than a decade, the war deprived him of that. Moreover, he never felt it was appropriate to flirt with girls, he'd never even danced with one — just like Théodred he didn't want to mar his day with affairs and encourage girls he never cared about. But now suddenly it came to his mind indivertibly how happier his life would be if he'd taken the princess with him. And those nightmares... how many times he woke in the dead of night and stared at the ceiling, panting, trying to understand what was true and was false around him. How he longed for the princess to be with him, to help him fight his demons, to help her with her own. She must have bad nights too, oh, how he wished to be there for her, to hold her close to his warm broad chest, to hear her heartbeat under his palm.

Whether it was for such musings or not, but that night Éomer had most unusual dreams.

...

He was walking through the battlefield, like many, many times before. But the dead bodies lying everywhere looked differently. He touched one and turned it over gingerly. It was her, his princess. Her blank eyes stared through him and it made his heart explode with pain. He took off the helmet and saw dark braids tarred with blood. And he looked closely and saw hundreds of slim dead bodies with dark braids and pale thin faces, bloody tears running down from their sightless eyes. He wanted to escape from there but couldn't leave the body of his beloved one, so he cried, and cried, and tried to walk, but his legs were weak...

Éomer wept in his sleep and felt that he was choking.

'Breathe. Do breathe,' said the familiar voice in his ears.

And he answered in his sleep again, 'I will.'

He resumed breathing and the tears dried out eventually.

Suddenly the scene changed.

...

He was lying in his own bed in Meduseld and it was a bright early morning. The first rays of sun wandered through the air and he could hear the chirping sounds from the outside. His big white bed was not quite so roomy as he was used to, for he wasn't lying alone there. On his shoulder there was a woman, heavy with sleep, the most beautiful one for him in the whole world. Lûne was breathing evenly, soft and shining masses of her dark hair everywhere about her, on her pillow, on his chest. Her slender arm entwined his waist, her lips were on his skin, so he felt her breathing with a little shiver. Éomer watched her peaceful face with long dark lashes casting shadows under her eyes and he knew he couldn't wait much longer for his new bride to wake. He kissed her dark lips and eyes, stirring a bit, and she finally opened her eyes wide and welcomed him with a smile so warm, that he felt the urge to bury her under his body at once. And he did that, for she was his and she loved him. He started kissing her violently and her laugh became a moan, but he couldn't get enough of her, of taste of her mouth, or smell of her hair. In fact she smelled of him already, because yesterday he wouldn't let her sleep and caressed her way past midnight. He tried not to hurt her with his weight, but still she was confined between his massive body and the soft bed beneath. The princess — or a queen to speak the truth, for in his dream she was definitely his queen — closed her eyes dreamily, as if still clinging to her sleep, but when Éomer entered her, slowly at first, she opened her eyes again and looked at him from under her lashes so ardently that he started thrusting vigorously. He undid the buttons on her shift and touched his queen's breast as lightly as he could. Her legs were spread and the covers and furs were pulled up to his waist, the intimacy that was between them hit Éomer and made him go mad, he was hardly thinking about being careful, but his wife seemed to enjoy it immensely and was kissing him back, leaving no place untouched on his face, neck and collarbones. He watched her soft creamy cheeks go crimson and her eyes dim with pleasure. Her silky hair, usually neatly brushed and braided, was spilt all over the pillows. Éomer still couldn't believe how well two of them fit together, how readily her body answered his loving. He wished this could last forever, but his hips were moving faster and faster and he was unable to check his lust. When he spurted into her, Lûne gasped and her whole frame started to shake, and though his mind was free from any thought or feeling in that blessed moment, Éomer was conscious enough not to collapse onto her little numb body. Again he felt tears on his face, but these were happy ones...

...

Éomer opened his eyes and saw the usual outlines of his huge carved bed. Somewhere in the distance horses neighed. He was confused to find his breeches damp and woke up completely, bewildered by his visions. There were still many hours before dawn, but he couldn't sleep any longer. He changed his clothes and went out. The king walked past his dark halls, gates, right into his grounds. The grass was dewy and small yellow flowers made the air fragrant. Éomer touched the grasses with his hand and sighed. For the first time in his life he wished his dreams to come true, though he was embarassed to the core. He caressed in his hand a ring, a beautiful sapphire ring the princess gave him.

It was there in the meadows that the King of Rohan met a messenger from Aragorn, with a letter saying that Lûne is coming with him to Minas Tirith.