A week passed after the celebration of Elboron's first birthday, but Aragorn insisted that Éomer wouldn't even think of leaving Gondor for another two or three weeks at the very least. Each day was joyful and full of laughter and excitement. That year the harvest was ample and for the first time in many, many years the peoples of Middle Earth were waiting for the oncoming autumn and winter without any fear. Éomer felt no inclination to leave Minas Tirith, he kept telling himself that it was his sister who made these days so happy for him, but every night, lying in the darkness with his eyes open and looking at the high, intricately carved ceiling Éomer saw the face of the princess, heard her voice and tried to remember every little thing that was said or done. They spent much time together. Éomer was no longer shy, he now sat by Lûne's side every meal, welcomed her in the morning in the gardens and was the last to bid her good night before retiring to their chambers. Her eyes shone bright with pleasure every time she saw him and he didn't know that, but his own face was also betraying his thoughts, and everyone was astonished to see that lately the King of Rohan looked much, much younger without his usual frown. The Rohirrim, who came with their King, were already in awe of the princess, and they followed Lûne every day when she spent her usual hours in the Houses of Healing. Éomer's companions were by no means silent about what they saw in Harad and what its princess was capable of, so many of the Rohirrim sought healing and they were given it; however, some warriors came just to admire the beauty of the healer.

'I am surprised to see the Rohirrim pay reverence to the Haradrim princess,' said Éomer one night, looking at the crowd surrounding Lûne after the dinner.

'They appreciate the true kindness and nobility when they see one,' responded Éowyn, leaning closer to her brother. 'You have high regard for her yourself.'

It was not a question, so Éomer chose to remain silent.

'I see that you distinguish her from everybody else and value her company,' she continued, reassured. 'Do you like her, Éomer?'

Éomer's face darkened. He answered, but his voice sounded muffled.

'It is of no consequence, sister of mine.'

'Hardly so. You are a King in a need of a wife, she is a princess who is seeking a shelter in the North, and her dowry is bound to be royal. Just as her looks and ways are,' Éowyn winked at her brother, but he remained sullen. After a long while he said finally,

'It is not going to happen, though I must admit I like her immensely.'

Éowyn's look at Éomer was sharp and disappointed. He sounded so determined and dour! Then she cast a glance at Lûne, who was now talking to Queen Arwen and King Elessar.

'Do as you please, brother. But, perhaps, if you have no notion of marrying her, you should stop scaring off other men from the princess,' spoke Éowyn bitterly.

Aragorn was now approaching them, smiling brightly, so she managed to look serene.

'I hope that you were not thinking about leaving the hall, my friends,' he said, his eyes twinkling. 'My dear wife finally reasoned princess Lûne into singing with the elves tonight. She is said to have a marvelous voice, now we shall have a chance to appreciate it.'

Éowyn smiled quietly as she watched Éomer getting up and coming with Aragorn to the center of the Hall, where the servants were already taking out the tables, arranging the chairs and refreshments on the side boards. But she didn't notice that her brother scribbled quickly some note and slipped it secretly in the hand of a servant, who walked immediately outside.

...

After his encounter with Éowyn, Éomer tried to act casually and didn't seek to get closer to Lûne. She stayed near the Queen and the King, and eventually was surrounded by elves with their harps, who already started playing softly the tunes of the days long gone. Their looks became dreamy, their eyes were misted — with tears or remembrance?.. Éomer tried not to stare at the princess, but it was quite impossible and his eyes turned to her as the flowers lean towards the sun.

The stirring air hung in the hall almost visibly, and at that moment the pharadine began to sing. At first her voice was so soft, that it mingled with the tune, but several moments after it grew more intense and clear. It was some ballade, Éomer thought. He didn't understand a word of it, but he could see the visions standing before his eyes and suddenly realized, that it was a song about Gondolin, and Lûne sang in Quenya. Her voice ran up and down the scale elaborately, but it wasn't her skill that overwhelmed Éomer. It was pain and love, courage and grief that were so audible in her voice and moved him deeply. He didn't know whether it was the princess who was singing or his very soul on its own accord. The ballade seemed to be quite known, for all the elves joined into the chorus from time to time, and when Éomer suddenly looked at Queen Arwen, he saw her weeping silently, her eyes brilliant and wistful, her chest heaving.

The pharadine sang, and when the first stars became visible in the sky through the high pointed windows, the music went on and on in nearly a complete darkness, because the servants forgot to bring the candles in and stood near the doorways, transfixed. Éomer saw only a thin figure, clad in purple, so fragile and so dear to him. He couldn't see anything else, he wouldn't see anything. Only after the moonrise the princess ceased singing, but the silence hung some time still, for nobody dared to move, left dazed. Éomer hardly took his eyes away from the princess and looked at his sister, who sat with her head on Faramir's shoulder. The servants began scurrying with lights and dishes, the people started talking gradually; and in this commotion Éomer stood up and left the hall, unnoticed.

...

'I was glad to receive your note, my friend,' said Prince Imrahil, standing near the white parapet. Éomer observed that his eyes were still wet, perhaps, the ballade was even more touching for him, since the elvish blood ran in his veins.

'This evening is one of the best in my life,' continued Imrahil and sighed. 'You... you seem to spend much time with the pharadine,' he added hesitantly.

'It is irrelevant,' retorted Éomer and heard his voice raspy. 'I summoned you to say I am ready to proclaim our agreement, as we intended.'

'So... you still mean to marry my daughter?' Imrahil sounded astonished and relieved at the same time. 'I admit, I was ready to hear a different thing from you.'

'I can't see why you expected the King of Rohan to take back his word.'

Imrahil watched Éomer's dark face and smiled demurely.

'If that is the counsel you took... I'll share mine with you. I am going to propose to the pharadine.'

Éomer jerked his head and balled fists at these words. For a brief moment he looked so frightening, that Imrahil stepped away involuntary. But the next second Éomer's expression mildened and he looked almost meek, though the color of his face changed to ashy-gray. This was an encouragement enough to continue, the Prince leant over the parapet, musing.

'I am a widower, Éomer. In many a year I haven't met anyone who touched me so deeply, but this southern girl is everything my heart desires. In the last few days I watched you two closely and I was confident that she is your lady of choice. Now that I know there is but a mere friendship between you and the pharadine, I am almost certain I will hear her consent.' Imrahil looked at Éomer timidly.

At that moment the harps twanged in the hall and the Prince made a restless movement.

'We should return, my friend. You words gave me hope beyond measure, I thank you heartily.'

Imrahil strode back to the hall. Éomer stood near the parapet still, motionless, and when the rain started to pour, he didn't move an inch. He said to the Prince exactly what he intended, and there was nothing unnatural in his reaction. Éomer was not blind, he was aware of the effect Lûne had on men — oh, wasn't he the one himself to be infatuated! There was no surprise that Imrahil fell in love with her. And if Éomer was true to his word, and he was to marry Lothíriel of Dol Amroth anyway, why was he so miserable at the time?