"Wake up, Lothíriel! By Ulmo's beard... wake up!"

Lothíriel had been dreaming quite pleasantly of blonde hair and horses when she was startled out of her it by a loud and gratingly cheerful voice.

"Ah, hmm?" She sat up and opened one eye to see him standing at her bed, wearing his full Swan Knight armour. His helm was tucked under his arm, and his curly bangs were contained in a small braid at the top of his head.

"Amrothos? What time is it?"

Her brother laughed cheekily. "It is time for you to get up. Many people are anxious to see you."

Lothíriel frowned at his cryptic words, but she got to her feet. "What is the time, the actual time, Amrothos?"

"It is past 9 AM. Never saw you sleep until this late, Princess. Hurry up, Ada wants to leave in an hour." He looked at her for a beat with an odd expression. Then he reached out and pinched her in her side, causing her to yelp in discontent.

"Amro – Oh!" In a vain attempt to get revenge, she reached out to pull his hair – for everything else was covered in protective gear – but he gracefully moved out of her reach and out of the door, sniggering loudly.

With a groan, she pressed a hand against her temple, her brother's noise drumming on her head even as the clanging of his armour became steadily more distant. His loud voice shouted then, calling out for a servant to take his message and then he was out of earshot.

In the following silence, it was now her own body that began polluting her peace. Memories bubbled up to the forefront of her mind, of her dancing, laughing and crying on the dance floor. She was rid of Lord Forgammon at last, but…

Éomer, that beautiful, maddening man!

Heat crawled up her skin as she recalled being pulled into a storage room by his strong, broad hands while still wearing his decorative cape.

Lothíriel sat back down on her bed, overcome with the recollection of the sensations caused by the man she had lost her heart and mind to. Though her head throbbed with a vengeance – wine never did suit her, how much had she had? – she remembered the sweetness of his words, the violence of his jealousy, the hesitancy of his touch and his willingness to let her hands wander his body.

At once she looked down at her hands.

How boldly had she touched him!

The same hands she now pressed against her face and she threw herself back on her bed with a moan. She was supposed to be a role model to the rest of the unmarried women of the court, but her behaviour yesterday night was anything but exemplary. But Éomer was not going to tell -

"Lothíriel!"

It was Amrothos again.

"I am going ahead, but do hurry!"

"Yes, I shall be there soon."

She stood up and refreshed herself, absently going through the routine as her mind continued to overwhelm her with memories.

They had kissed. Many times. With bodies pressed against one another – oh, she had felt so alive and adored in his arms. There was nothing accidental about any of the times that he pressed his lips against hers, either. There were no mistakes, no confusion and no malice during that blissful time when he had closed the distance between them and kept her securely pinned against himself. He had even smiled during the kiss.

It was after that, that he broke down their fragile little moment of mutual contentment.

The warmth that she had felt now made room for the iciness of a third rejection. The way things had progressed between them she had been so sure that their kiss would be followed by a proposal.

Indeed, if being groped and kissed by her in a cramped and dark space could not induce him to marry her, then she doubted if anything else ever could.

What madness was this… And how stupid of her to allow him to reject her once more!

Lothíriel groaned and sobbed a few times as she finished putting on her clean garments. A comfortable dress of dark blue cotton wool would suffice for today, while her hair was pleated into a simple braid. Anything else would take up precious time when she knew she was already late.

After she quickly applied a few touches of face paint to brighten her face, she made her way out of the Dol Amrothian quarters, and after a short stop at the Kitchens, she hurried to the Citadel courtyard.

"Ada!"

Prince Imrahil had been standing beside his sons, apparently discussing something very serious. Upon seeing her approach, he turned to greet her with a smile and a kiss on her head.

"There you are, my beloved daughter. Your absence was felt most ardently."

At once Amrothos made a strange noise, a mix between a cough and a laugh, and Lothíriel looked at him curiously. When her gaze travelled to Erchirion, he was hiding a smirk behind his hand despite looking like he had not slept all night. Elphir, on the other hand, looked well-rested, bar the light frown marring his noble brow.

"Is there something the matter?"

"They are eager to leave," replied Elphir, glaring at his younger brothers, "it is time to go to the High Stables. I have the first meeting lined up at noon and I need to prepare for it."

Imrahil, Erchirion and Amrothos were set to leave for Osgiliath to meet with Sir Baranor, to make progress on the trade agreements with the Haradrim. Lothíriel and Elphir accompanied the three Princes down to the High Stables to see them off from there.

As they went, she noticed Amrothos looking about several times as if he was in search of something. Indeed, there was something off about her entire family this morning. She could not put her finger on it, but it did put her on edge. However, they all assured her that nothing was wrong and they were merely managing their hangovers. Her own sore body protested against her inquisitive nature and she thus relented, uncomfortably accepting her brothers' truth as her own.

Ten minutes later, the three Princes had led their mighty steeds out to where she and Elphir awaited them. Lothíriel opened the linen bag she had fetched from the Kitchens and gave each horse their favourite snack.

"You spoil them," Elphir said beneath his breath, and though his tone was grumpy, he could not hide the little quirk of his lips. They shared a look and she knew that he was thinking of all the times as a teenager he had snuck his baby sister his share of the sweets that their Uncle had brought from Linhir.

Then, as was the custom to their household, she kissed her two brothers and father farewell and gave them each a fresh loaf of Dol Amrothian travel bread. In the same tradition, Amrothos folded back the wrapping of his loaf and took a large bite. He grunted appreciatively and mumbled his thanks, earning an indulgent smile from his sister.

"Good morning, cousins. Are you ready to leave?"

When the young woman turned towards Faramir intending to greet him, the view that she beheld froze her in her tracks.

It was indeed her dear cousin Faramir who was coming their way, but he was not alone. Next to him was the kind High King Elessar dressed in his royal fineries, and joining them was none other than Éomer King himself, similarly dressed in rich maroon and gold raiment. His baldric was strapped over his shoulder with his scabbard at his flank, and he had chosen not to wear his trademark cuirass. He looked no less intimidating to her, though. His hazel-green eyes were heavily fixed upon her, and a tremor shot through her body.

Lothíriel hastily averted her eyes, shaken by his unexpected appearance and even more by his unwavering stare. She had been so wrapped up in the warmth of her brothers that she had not realized that her father's departure from Minas Tirith would warrant a farewell by not just the Steward, but the Kings as well.

The three men came to a stand near them and Lothíriel greeted them with a curtsey before she slipped away and hid behind her father's horse, grateful for the sheer size of the noble animal. Her heart thumped loudly in her chest while she struggled to steady her breath. The need to flee was mounting, but there was yet no way that she could make a covert exit. Instead, she peeped below the horse's barrel to look at whatever was visible of the men, to await a moment of escape.

In a typical manner, the men had exchanged greetings and spoke of their day's plans. Then, much to her dismay, she watched how one pair of legs - wearing boots embroidered with the traditional motifs of Rohan - began walking towards Lothíriel's hiding place.

She bit her lip and looked about nervously, her agitation causing Loborros to shift in place.

He was very close now and about to turn past the horse when Faramir called out his name.

"Éomer," She heard her cousin say, "I think I saw Firefoot on the other side of the stables."

His footsteps had halted. "Firefoot?"

"Did you not say that you were coming to see us off at the Gate?"

"Ah, I did say that," Éomer replied with audible reluctance and walked off in the opposite direction.

Lothíriel heaved a sigh of relief and smoothly stole from behind her father's steed to rejoin her family. Erchirion and Amrothos had put their helms on and had already mounted their horses. Again they were grinning about something and it irked her to no end.

"What is the matter, Erchirion? What has put you in such a good mood?"

And it was a valid question. His grumpiness had been quite worrisome for her and while she was happy to see him in better spirits, she could not help but be curious. But he only shook his head and shrugged before leading his horse away to the water troughs to avoid further inquiries.

Amrothos, however, beckoned his sister closer with a clandestine raise of his arched eyebrows. "Our dear brother was seen leaving the quarters of Lebennin early this morning."

Lothíriel's jaw dropped and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. "Do not repeat this information to anyone else," she hissed, "if Ada hears this –"

"He knows already," he whispered, clearly enjoying this kind of furtive discourse with his sister, "I suspect that he sent him there in the first place."

That did not make sense. "He sent - why would Ada do such a thing?"

However, he was unable to answer, because at that moment Imrahil appeared at their side, leading Loborros by his reins.

"Write to me, Amrothos," she quickly said, widening her eyes at him insistently.

"No, I shall not," he replied and the smirk he sent her unsettled her once more, "you shall have other things on your mind, in any case."

Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he stuck out his tongue at her and led his horse away from her to stand ready to leave.

She turned to look at her father, who was regarding her soberly. "My daughter, I trust you to look well after yourself..." A thoughtful glint then came into his eyes. "Remember, my support is with you always."

He kissed her brow and thanked her for the bread she put into his saddlebag. After a final embrace, he bid her farewell once more and mounted his steed. Lothíriel patted the horse's neck affectionately and moved aside. "Fare thee well, Ada."

Everyone was acting so peculiar, she mused as she walked to stand next to Elphir, who had been conversing with his brothers in low tones. Moments later, Aragorn, Faramir and Éomer appeared astride their steeds. As they rode past, Éomer made no effort to hide his stare at her, and Elphir coughed oddly, earning a strange look from his sister.

Together they watched the party ride out of the High Stables until they were out of sight and the Princess released her breath. She had managed to avoid being alone with Éomer. Now she only had to maintain her distance from him today and tomorrow morning she would be on her way back to Dol Amroth.

"What is your plan for today, sister?" Elphir asked as he offered her his arm.

Avoiding Éomer King at all costs, she thought to herself.

"I shall take along some breakfast and work in the herb garden, and perhaps then I shall spend time with Alphros and Siloril," answered she and they set off towards the Houses of Healing, "is there anything I can help you with, Elphir?"

He glanced at her and patted her hand on his arm lovingly. "Not at all, my dear. Let us strive to have dinner together tonight."

Elphir escorted her to the herb garden, where he took a moment to ask her about its latest additions. Then he left for his meetings and Lothíriel put on her gloves and set to work.

An hour later, she was sipping a cup of sage tea while admiring the blooming plants and shrubs, satisfied with the effort she had put in after her arrival. Working and sitting in the herb garden always filled her with peace, and fortunately for her, the worst of her hangover was gone as well.

With a sigh, she stretched out her limbs and closed her eyes to enjoy the fledging heat of the spring sun on her face. In a few days, she would feel the sun in its full radiance paired with the refreshing salty breeze blowing from the shore. It was the closest thing she had to her mother's touch, lightly and lovingly brushing aside her child's curls.

After another deep breath, she finished her tea and freshened herself up a little ways off the seating area, using a towel and the remaining water she had brought along for her gardening.

When she returned to the bench, she gathered her belongings in her trusty linen bag. She had only just gripped its loops when, from the corner of her eye, she saw some movement in the distance on the far side of the garden.

Instantly, her senses warned her of imminent danger, and rightfully so.

It was Éomer, coming up the stairs and approaching her with great speed, his eyes affixed upon her figure.

Panic took hold in every fibre of her being and only one thought came to mind.

Run.

She let the bag fall back on the marble bench, picked up her skirts high and ran into the doorway to the House of Healings, the very same she saw him first appear from, more than a year ago.

"Wait!"

She heard him and his rapid footsteps catching up with her, and so she ran even faster. She came into the High Hall of Healing and ran across the open space, startling a few patients and a Healer's assistant. She turned into the House of Rest and climbed the stairs to the resting rooms meant for the Healers and their assistants, hoping to hide there.

"Lothíriel, stop running from me!"

His voice echoed up the stairs and she winced. He was skilled at chasing and hunting. But of course.

She looked around and saw the door to the changing rooms. In she went, and immediately she put over her clothes the clean grey Healer's outer robes that were hanging on the hooks nearby. They were thin enough that she could wear them without much discomfort. Much to her relief, the head cover that she had grabbed had a full veil, as well. After draping the veil over her face and adjusting the robes to fully hide the blue of her gown, she exited the changing rooms, just in time to hear Éomer's heavy steps come up the stairs.

"Lothíriel, are you in here?"

Quickly, she entered the hallway leading directly into the House of Remedies, her breath coming in rapidly.

It was preposterous, a grown woman running and hiding from a man - a King no less! However, she had very little choice in the matter. It was a sweet torture to be around him, and though she still loved the sight and thought of him, it was best to steer clear from him.

If only he understood that - stubborn man!

The Hall of Remedies was currently full of partygoers suffering from hangovers or small injuries caused by uncoordinated movements due to inebriation. Several Healers were wearing their veil, to shield themselves from the unpleasant smells and states of undress from some patients. As casually as she could, Lothíriel walked up to where a middle-aged man was lying on a cot, groaning ever so often.

"Good morning, sir, what seems to be the problem?" She kept her voice down, knowing that her Dol Amrothian accent could betray her. As he answered, she kept her eyes trained on the hallway, anticipating the horse-lord's arrival.

True to his tracking skills, Éomer appeared at the main doorway of the Hall of Remedies not a minute later. With a scowl he surveyed the space, focusing on each Healer for a few seconds before moving on to the next.

Lothíriel forced herself to breathe normally to keep her nerves from fraying. While she tended to her patient, she remained aware of the King as he slowly walked around the hall, his loose blonde hair swaying gently with every step.

"Your symptoms indicate that you are dehydrated," she softly said, "I recommend you have the herbal drink the Warden has prepared, and it is best that stay away from wine, ale and mead until you have recovered. Have a hearty luncheon as well, to ease your recovery."

When she turned back after fetching a phial of the hangover cure, Éomer had disappeared. Tensed, she peered around the Hall of Remedies and when she realized he was truly gone, she released a sigh of relief.

He had been very close to discovering her and if it were not for her extensive time spent wandering and working in these Halls, he would have caught her.

Caught her and then what? A thrill went through her body as her imagination offered up images of their passionate embrace just last night. She shook her head, trying to get rid of the visions in her mind.

"Milady, are you well?"

The man was looking at her, slightly concerned.

She nodded her head and thanked him for asking. "I suppose I am feeling a bit warm."

After giving two other people their hangover potion, and tending to the bruises of a young nobleman, she decided to refresh herself by the drinking fountain situated adjacent to the Chief Healer's office. Trying to escape from a Rohirrim King while wearing more than the usual layers could make one feel quite overheated.

With an appreciative hum, she washed her hands and moved aside her veil. Cupping her hand, she drank her fill and then washed her face and neck, enjoying the cool sensation of fresh water. After drying herself, she pulled the veil back over her face.

And then it happened.

As she was walking away, a large hand wrapped itself around her elbow and pulled her backwards and into the Warden's private office. The door was slammed shut and locked, and she was pushed against the door. In the next moment, a rough hand took off her entire head cover and she was forced to look up at her captor.

Breathing heavily, Éomer King was leaning over her, his hand and lower arm resting his full weight on the door. His nostrils were flared and his jaw was set. His exhalations fanned on her forehead while she gaped at him, perplexed.

"What on Arda," he said through clenched teeth, "has possessed you to flee from me, Lothíriel?"

She was unable to form words, so overwhelmed was she by his proximity, his scents, his sounds and the sheer heat that radiated through his velvet tunic. It was as if she had been thrown back into the pool of attraction and desire that she had climbed out of yesterday night with great difficulty. Was she so truly weak for him, that his proximity made her lose control of all her good senses?

Whenever she tried to look away from his hard gaze, he insistently met hers again. She opened her mouth and closed it again, still scrambling for the right words to say. Or any words at all, because her mind was blank. Yes, for all her pride and wilfulness, she had become quite content with being hopelessly in love with him.

"Well?" He demanded. "I know you saw me coming in the herb garden, Lothíriel. You turned and ran from me like I was a band of Orcs."

Even though her position was quite precarious, the unintendedly amusing vision he had conjured caused her to bite her lower lip to suppress a smile from blooming on her already pink face. His eyes flitted to her mouth and back up, and longing mixed with frustration in the hazel-green gaze under his furrowed brow.

"I, ah..." Her voice was small, though it was a marvel at all that she was able to speak. "It is best I stay as far from you as possible."

"Why?"

"Because of how you make me feel."

"And what is that?" He moved his body closer to hers, leaving only a few inches of space between them, as he loomed over her with a peculiar expression. "How – how do I make you feel?"

She let out a strange sound – a mix between a sigh and groan, unable to believe that she was once again stuck between a door and a hard man, being questioned about her feelings for him. "Insufficient."

It was his turn to stare at her in shock, his eyebrows raised high. "No, Lothíriel, you..."

Éomer moved away from her and rubbed his face with both hands, his frustration tangible as he paced a few steps here and there before turning back towards her.

Then, much like he had in the herb garden a long time ago, he took her hands in his and he spoke, softly and imploringly.

"To me, you are the finest woman in all of the West. There is none like you. Indeed, if anyone is lacking, it is me, a makeshift ruler chosen by chance, with little education and –"

"No," she interjected, annoyed by his tendency to put himself down. His praise of her meant nothing if it was followed by his own, unjust disparagement. "Do not speak ill of yourself, you know that I cannot stand it."

And again he silently stared at her, no doubt turning over and examining his words before saying them like had always done when they were alone. As if impulsive words would bring him nought but a dishonourable death – felled by the blade of his own tongue.

It seemed as though an age passed when he spoke once more, his voice gruff and low. "Please. Might I be so bold as to hope that your affections toward me are yet unchanged?"

Enough about her feelings. Could he not speak of his own?

"Éomer, do not be cruel to me. You desire reaffirmations, but you have no qualms – "

"Please, Lothíriel! Just - forgive me?" Éomer exclaimed as he squeezed her hands, meeting her gaze earnestly.

The intensity made her mind stutter and she had to take a deep breath to stabilize herself. "For what?"

"For everything. For taking from you without giving a thing in return, for denying your feelings," he had started rambling, a mannerism that never left her foolish maiden heart unaffected, "for my indecisiveness, for – for being a fool! For taking advantage of your intoxicated state-"

"You did not take advantage of me," she protested immediately, "I was a willing – an eager participant!"

He did not heed her words, though. " – And then I left you so abruptly afterwards. Lothíriel, I could go on forever naming how I have wronged you, and you may defend me or punish me however much you wish to - yet I must know right now if I have your forgiveness for all of it."

His barrage of words had been passionate, and Lothíriel, as soft as she was despite all her frustrations, had already forgiven him. Only she did not understand why he needed her all-encompassing benevolence.

So instead of answering, she studied him for a moment. His hair was half-tied, his maroon clothes were luxurious and soft-looking, and his beard was neatly trimmed. There were bags under his eyes, though, as if he had not slept at all, and the strain in his face spoke of urgency and desperation.

Lothíriel's hand twitched with the need to caress his cheek and to rub the frown from his brow, but it was still being held in a firm grip by his hands. Pressing her lips together, she cast her eyes to the ground. Surely he would have understood by now how much she loved him and just how willing she was to do anything to make him happy? To beg for forgiveness was not necessary. What she truly wanted from him, was -

Her train of thought was interrupted by his pained and confused voice. "Does this mean you will not forgive me?"

Affected by his apparent hurt, she hurried to assure him. "No! I mean, yes. Yes, I forgive you, Éomer."

She could see the tension ebb from his body as he took a large breath of relief, before tightening his grip on her.

It was apparent that he valued her goodwill, given that he had begged her forgiveness many a time for matters big and small. Yet to what end?

Lothíriel sighed as well as she gazed at their enjoined hands, unsure what to think or feel at this point.

"Marry me, Lothíriel."

Instantly her eyes snapped onto his, unsure whether she had heard him or whether it was a figment of her imagination.

"What?"

With a gentle tug, he pulled her close and replied, impatient and keen, "Tell me you will marry me, quickly now."

This was real?

Lothíriel could only gape in silence as it dawned on her. Then a single word managed to break through the bubble of her astonishment.

"Why?"

He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily before pulling her even closer, his face now only inches away from hers. Then he placed a hand delicately just below her ear and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Lothíriel, please. I shall happily spend the rest of my life explaining to you why, as long as you agree to spend it together with me."

Éomer's frown deepened with desperate hope as he searched her face for a hint of her thoughts, suddenly looking young and vulnerable.

She saw then that he was holding out his heart to her, almost fearfully. His glass heart – artlessly transparent and unexpectedly fragile - was chipped, scratched and fractured in a few places. It was for her to have and – if she wished it, for her to shatter this very moment.

When all she truly wanted to do was carefully repair the cracks and polish the glass so it would shine anew.

And he finally would allow her to do so.

At this realization, Lothíriel's tempered bosom clenched with gladness, and then it pushed out the words in her throat with great violence - as if it feared that Éomer would lose his patience and change his mind about her.

"Yes." She said, firmly. "Yes. If you shall have me, then I shall marry you, Éomer Éomundson."

A large, disbelieving grin broke across his handsome face and he rested his forehead against hers as he softly laughed, his breath fanning over her face.

"Lothíriel," he muttered under his breath as he studied her face, "my beloved Lothíriel."

Then, before she could react to his endearment, he pressed his face into the curve of her neck and breathed deeply into her hair. His sudden weight on her made her shift in place before she tentatively wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

The hair of his beard tickled her skin and she was not able to suppress a giggle. Did this beautiful, formidable man just say he wanted her with him for the rest of his life?

After months of trying to convince herself that she could bravely carry the weight of one-sided love, she no longer needed to uphold that farce. She was his to have and he was for her. Indeed, there was no sweeter victory than this, no greater joy and no brighter day.

Éomer wrapped an arm around her waist, very gently. She sighed again as she rested her head on his shoulder.

At last, he was hers.

For a few minutes, they stayed in that clumsy and sweet semi-embrace, their senses heightened and their hearts beating rapidly as they absorbed the reality of their futures henceforth entwining.

And it was a delicate embrace, warm and comforting. Nevertheless, Lothíriel had been anticipating something more after agreeing to marry him. It seemed that she would have to be a bit more assertive.

"Éomer."

He lifted his head to meet her gaze with curiosity. His skin was pink and his brow was relaxed.

"Yes?"

She wanted him to kiss her, but outright asking for one seemed rather embarrassing, so she glanced at his lips meaningfully in the hope that he understood.

He brought his face close to hers and when he saw her eyes full of love, he swallowed hard. The hand that had been at the back of her neck was again now cupping her face. "You have my heart, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

The Princess pressed her lips together before giving him a brilliant smile. "And I shall gladly keep it, Éomer of Rohan."

She moved her hands to his hair to ever so gently bury them in his golden waves. She then pressed his forehead against hers, noses bumping into each other, and she was pleased at how she was only a few inches shorter than him. It was quite convenient for kissing. However, he did not seem to realize that.

Again she stole a look at his lips but in a more obvious manner than before. Fortunately for her, this time he understood her gesture and with a small grin, he quickly pressed his lips against hers.

Lothíriel hummed in enjoyment as his moustache grazed against her mouth. There was no better feeling than kissing one's future husband, she decided as her eyes fluttered shut.

It was thrilling and comforting at once, knowing that she would get to do with him as often as she would like. And perhaps he felt the same way about it because he tightened his hold on her waist. But perhaps it was too comforting for him, for as she leaned forward to deepen it, Éomer moved his head back and yawned.

"Forgive me, I was not able to hold back," he said and he blinked rapidly a few times.

The poor man was exhausted.

"Did you not sleep well?" Lothíriel noted that though he seemed at ease, the bags under his eyes had not lessened. "Did you sleep at all, Éomer?"

"Hmm?" He had placed his head back on her shoulder, careful not to burden her with his weight. "Barely slept a wink."

"You should not neglect your rest, mil – I mean, Éomer."

Éomer's breathy chuckle hit the skin of her throat and she closed her eyes.

"I could not help it, time was of the essence."

"You were in a hurry last night after our – " she paused to search for the right words, "after our moment alone together in the storage room. What was so urgent?"

"Yes, ah…" Éomer straightened up and relinquished his hold on her. He cast a look around the Warden's Office. "I forgot about it, again."

Curious as always, Lothíriel watched him pick something up from the desk of the Warden and then he gestured for her to sit down on a chair. Obediently, she sat down and he crouched down before her, holding out the item – a small but beautiful wooden keepsake box.

Nimbly she took hold of it, but instead of opening it, she looked at him expectantly.

"Go on. It is yours."

A gift for her from Éomer!

Eagerly she undid its latch and pushed the lid up. Nestled in green velvet lining lay a beautiful gold and silver hair ornament and Lothíriel uttered a gasp at the sight of it. The fastening was round, with Rohanese motifs surrounding the fashioning of the horse emblem of the Mark. Its pin was a miniature of a sword of which the hilt was shaped like the Rohanese Sun.

"Oh, Éomer. It is beautiful."

Connecting the two parts were three fine chains, each distinct in their design.

Her breath caught in her throat when she recognized one of them.

"But... But that is Amrothos' bracelet!" whispered she as she glanced at Éomer. "How comes it here? I do not understand."

"It is the ceremonial hair ornament worn by the betrotheds of the Kings of the House of Éorl. Morwen Steelsheen was the last one to receive it but she refused to wear it and had Thengel King return it to the Treasury. There it lay forgotten until Éowyn found it and sent it for me to give to you. Last night, after you left, I went back to my room to get this box brought to me from Edoras by Faramir."

She thought back to when Faramir had returned to Minas Tirith. "That was the day of the Closing Debate. You had already decided to propose to me then?"

With a sheepish grin, he shook his head. "No. As far as I knew, you were the one who would be engaged soon, not Erchirion. Therefore I had no expectations – "

Hearing this, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"Is that why you looked so upset the entire time? You thought..." Her voice trailed off as she sunk into her thoughts. His surly moods and heated glares had been because of his misunderstanding. No wonder he had looked so stunned after Erchirion's engagement ceremony.

"Oh, you sweet soul!" Lothíriel pressed a hand against her mouth to stop herself from laughing at him. She tried to choke back the sound, but when she met his timorous gaze, she was unable to contain it. "Poor, poor Éomer King!" She said between giggles.

She needed a minute to collect herself. To his credit, he took it in stride, opting to regard her with lightly raised eyebrows. When her laughter had subsided, she touched his bearded jaw affectionately. "Erchirion took us all by surprise, I shall tell you that. Come, do not kneel. Sit with me and go on."

He moved a chair facing hers and sat down. "To call it a surprise is to put it mildly. I thought that I had no chance at a future with you, but Éowyn insisted that I keep it with me. So after retrieving it, I went to Aragorn and I showed it to him – "

"Was this to get his approval of the union?"

He nodded. "All courtly unions need to be approved by the highest authority. Yet another matter complicated it... Back in Edoras, several nobles have been insisting I marry their daughter, sister or ward. To waylay them, I told them I could only marry someone approved by the High King of Gondor himself. Now that some of these nobles have come with me to Minas Tirith to attend the Feast – no doubt they hope to petition for their own matches - I had to ensure his approval before asking you – "

"So that is why you had to leave so suddenly?"

"Yes, I am afraid so."

Sweet, foolish man. He could have easily avoided distressing her so by simply explaining this to her.

"I could have," he agreed, "but it is apparently against Gondorian etiquette to have imbibed while proposing. I did not want to risk any accusations against either of us."

"You could have explained that to me as well. I was drunk, not stupid."

Not entirely stupid, no. But she had been behaving outside of what was considered proper, and though she had no regrets, if Éomer had shared with her his intention to marry, she probably would have crossed some boundaries with him in that storeroom.

"Aye, but..." He paused. It was a strange sight to see a powerful and revered King chagrined. "I was not sure if you would be receptive to any of my explanations."

He required some reassurance from her, which was silly, considering the intimacy of their kissing last night. She wove her fingers with his and squeezed them gently. "What gave you that idea?"

He did not reply for a long time as he stared at their interlocked hands. Then his reply came, soft and sullen. "My insecurities, I reckon."

"You could have relied on me to understand court politics. And as for receptiveness..." Lothíriel paused meaningfully. "I would have listened. I recall vividly that I was quite receptive to all your other attentions last night."

"Huh." Éomer had been looking vulnerable only moments before, but now he gazed upon her in awed amusement, unable to form a coherent reply to her bold statement.

So she took hold of his collar and pulled him into a kiss.

A grin broke against her lips, causing her to smile as well. When they moved apart, both their faces were flush with happiness and love.

His golden eyelashes looked especially charming against the pink of cheeks. Just as she was now admiring his handsome facial features, he too raked his eyes all over her face, taking the time to study the curve of her mouth and the shape of her brow. After staring at one other quite foolishly for a spell, they once more turned their attention to the contents of the box.

One of the chains was of delicate silver and had seven tiny stars linked to it. Gently she picked it up and held it between her fingers. "This is from High King Elessar then?"

"Yes, High Queen Arwen fastened it for me, it represents the blessings of the House of Telcontar." He then pointed at the golden and silver chain from which a small golden horse pendant hung halfway. "This is from the House of Éorl."

"From Éowyn?"

"Yes, she had this arranged very quickly, as she had been trying to convince me to ask for your hand for the past few months."

"Truly?" she asked, with eyebrows raised. "So she succeeded where I failed?"

Éomer laughed softly and he shook his head. "No, though her efforts were valiant."

"She shall be glad to hear the news of our betrothal, then."

"Indeed." He lifted their enjoined hands and pressed a kiss on the top of her hand.

Her stomach fluttered happily.

"So how did you come by Amrothos' bracelet?" she asked, still rather breathless.

"After my visit to Aragorn, I went to speak with your father - "

"This was last night?" Imrahil was very particular about his sleep. "He was awake?"

"Aye, he was just about to retire when I went to ask for your hand."

Lothíriel cast her fiancé a playful look. "I am surprised you felt the need. He never once pretended to deem anyone superior to you. Not even Lord Forgammon."

She could tell that he was gratified by her remark, yet he rubbed his beard with a rueful smile. "He is my dearest friend to whom owe a debt beyond my life. As for Amrothos, he was there when I went to meet him."

She winced. "Did he give you much trouble?"

But Éomer merely stared at her in surprise. "None at all. When I asked for a token to add to the hairpin, he immediately took off this bracelet and attached it himself."

If Lothíriel had not known that Éomer was an honest person, she might have denied his words. A lump formed in her throat and she let out a small sigh. For Amrothos to agree to this match so willingly, he truly was her fiercest protector and greatest ally.

"To be fair, I was not expecting any trouble when he was one of the people who tried to convince me that you were better off with me than with Forgammon – "

"He did what?" Lothíriel interrupted him again, unable to contain her shock. She had been interrupting Éomer a lot, but he did not seem to mind it at all.

"Yes, he came over with drinks, got too quickly in his cups and then cried himself to sleep after complaining about Lord Forgammon. That was the night before yesterday."

A wave of love and sadness crested in her chest and she pressed her hand against it as she sought to reconcile her brother's recent actions with the ones roughly a year ago. He had been shouting, kicking and moping then. Yet the same young man had willingly given his mother's bracelet as a blessing of his sister's union with the King of a distant land.

Again Éomer brushed his lips against her knuckles and she stared at him while she gathered her wits about her. To think that he had been smirking and gossiping with her this morning, keenly well aware of the imminence of what he had been fighting against tooth and nail the past few years – Lothíriel marrying and moving away.

"The drinking," she eventually said after clearing her throat, "that occurred when the Warden I found you and him, hungover in the Rohanese commons."

"Yes, the very same morning you made me drink that horrid potion. Despite your gift with herb lore, dear Lothíriel, I am afraid that one was neither effective nor palatable." There was accusation in his voice, but the grin on his face was evidence of good humour.

"I am well aware." A smug smirk accompanied her reply and Éomer laughed out loud.

And how she loved the sound and sight of it. After another smile, she lifted the ornament from its container and held it out to him. "Will you help me put this in my hair?"

Swiftly he stood up and stood behind her chair. Then he took the pin and carefully affixed it at the beginning of her braid. The tips of his fingers lightly grazed the skin behind her ear. She shivered at the touch.

With a coy smile, she looked up at him. "How do I look?"

Though he did not smile back, she could tell from the squint of his eyes that he was pleased. Gently he rested a hand on either of her shoulders and leaned over to press a kiss on her temple. "Like you are my bride."

His simple and earnest acknowledgement made her blush fiercely, and she looked down at her hands, the prospect of being his bride both frightening and wondrous.

Then Éomer yawned again, a loud one that ended with a grunt.

Lothíriel stood up to look at him with the eye of a Healer's assistant. "Have you not slept at all, Éomer? Not even after meeting with Ada?"

He rubbed his eyes and then shook his head. "Nay, I could not. I lay in bed tossing and turning awaiting the news of your waking. You are an early riser and I wished to speak with you without delay."

"Oh!" The young woman pressed her hands to her mouth in mortification. "And to think, today of all days, I overslept!"

And then she gasped once more. "I kept you waiting and everyone knew! They knew you were intending to propose to me."

Her consternation was entertaining to him because Éomer was regarding her with a small grin. "Your brothers were quite cooperative. Amrothos notified me the moment you awoke and Elphir told me that I could find you in the herb garden."

"Oh."

"And I did..."

"Oh, no!"

"Until you fled at the sight of me!" The young King of the Riddermark let out a soft chuckle. "Running away like that? You were faster than I expected."

She hid her face in her hand. "What a fool I must look."

"No bigger fool than I." Éomer took her free hand and kissed it. "A well-matched pair in more ways than one, as Éowyn would put it."

It would take a while for her embarrassment to subside but she was glad that Éomer was not upset with her. Gladly she pulled his hand towards herself and kissed the top of it in kind, earning another fond little grin from him.

He then glanced at the desk. "Which reminds me, I should write to her immediately. And Imrahil as well."

Without relinquishing his hold on her, he moved to the desk of the Warden. There he quickly penned a letter, and then another.

As he wrote, Lothíriel took the opportunity to look around the office. She had been here often enough, studying or assisting the Warden, thus she felt quite at ease in the room.

Her gaze then fell on the cot near the window, causing the memory of tattooed skin and blonde body hair to resurface. Heat crawled up her cheeks and she looked back at Éomer. He looked perfectly handsome dressed as he was, yet she was unable to stop herself from recalling the sight and the feel of his bare upper body.

Unbidden, a thought came to her. As his wife, that view would be solely for her to enjoy - and hopefully often, too. It was a riveting prospect, no doubt, and one quite unwise to consider it in this particular situation. He was hers, yes. But not yet to that specific capacity.

She clenched both her hands in an attempt to dispel the thought. However, one of them was still interlinked with Éomer's, and she advertently roused his attention.

He glanced up, his frown momentarily giving way to a smile just for her. "Yes?"

With a wordless shake of her head, she motioned for him to continue his task. Quietly she watched him finish writing the two letters, after which he put them in their respective envelopes, and then sealed them before stamping them with his signet ring.

Tucking the letters and the empty box into one of his pockets, he gestured towards the door.

"We should leave from here. The Warden shall want his office back and I do not wish to see him gloat like he did with Éowyn."

Agreeing with him, she walked up to the laundry basket in the corner of the room and took off the shapeless grey upper gown, which she then placed inside the basket. After she had adjusted her dress, she checked her appearance in the small looking glass hanging near the basket. Absently Lothíriel cast a glance at him through the mirror and froze when she met his gaze.

He had been watching her very closely with a heavy, heated expression. She had seen that look before, countless times, yet seeing it now in the light of their engagement, its meaning ran deeper and wilder than before. A current shot through her body before it liquefied and pooled deep in her belly. With a shaky breath, she tucked a curl behind her ear and then turned to him, smiling nervously.

"Come." He bid her, his voice warm as he held out his hand to her. She wasted not a second in taking hold of it.

Swiftly they went out the door, and before long, Éomer had found a messenger to deliver his letters.

Then he surreptitiously led Lothíriel out of the Houses of Healing, through the herb garden and up the stairs of the Apothecary wing into the familiar old stillroom. The door shut behind them with a soft click.