Chapter 2

Éomer, King of Rohan, had to admit it: Ithilien was a beautiful land, even though he had been determined to judge it as a strange wilderness unfit for his sister's efforts. A part of him even feared that she wouldn't find what she had been looking for, and that her despair would return. But the woods were green and fragrant and beautiful, although one distinctly knew there was still a shadow here, lingering after the Dark Lord. Instinctively he felt his doubts were unnecessary, and as soon he saw her, he knew so for sure.

It was no surprise he ran into some trouble during his journey to his sister's new home. He was more than prepared, thanks to Aragorn's frequent reports, and truth be told, he was a little bit glad to get some action after weeks of arguing incessantly with his council about this and that issue. The battle was quickly over, though: the orcs were a pitiful rabble out of their depth, quickly dealt with by Éomer and his more than capable knights. None of them took wounds by that encounter, and after a quick piling of the bodies of the fallen they swiftly continued their journey. He was aware Éowyn was expecting him and in fact, he was already late.

At last, much later than he had intended, they came to Emyn Arnen and saw the manor house of his sister and her new husband. It was a beautiful place in its own way, and clearly Faramir had made great effort to include Rohirric touch and vision where he could. Grudgingly, Éomer had to concede that Éowyn would be happy here, in between memories of home and glimpses of Gondor.

Meeting her there, he was more reassured than ever that she was indeed on the right path. Seeing her from now on would always be bittersweet in certain ways, because he was alone and she was never coming home, but that shine in her eyes was worth it all. He would not ruin it for her even if it killed him, for at least one of them deserved some happiness.

The rest of the company was there already, and Faramir was eager to hear about the battle. But seeing he had left no survivors behind, Éomer did not declare all his information right away – rather, he was eager to greet his friends first. There were Arwen and Aragorn, both looking as aglow as one might imagine expecting parents, and Imrahil's family; this time, they had brought the much spoken-of daughter along. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it was probably something between condescension women like her often treated his people with or ambitions towards sharing his throne. He saw neither of these things, and though looked at her only briefly, there was something in her sea-grey eyes that gave him a stop.

She stared straight at him and through him. There was no calculation or distaste in her eyes, just the sincerity and gentleness of one who is used to loving and being loved. After so many years of strife, of trying to harden himself against the world, he was not prepared for how overpowering and disarming such genuine warmth could be. He shuddered and was thankful that Faramir was already expecting him. Béma knew what he would have said to her otherwise.

Faramir might have interrogated him for half the night, but was eventually convinced there was no serious threat on the area, and he didn't need to send his every Ranger scouring the woods. It was probably also because Éowyn told her husband to leave her brother alone.

The rest of the party had already eaten supper, but Éomer didn't mind receiving a plate in his room – delivered to him by his sister herself. She took a seat while he ate and reassured him it was entirely appropriate for the hostess to leave the rest of the guests to their own devices.

"We're all family here, so I can't imagine them minding", Éowyn said lightly, to which he had to agree.

They sat up talking late, recalling days gone by and speaking of the future. Éowyn was full of tidings and plans and hopes, and at last even he had to admit that there was no danger of her relapsing; she had found her place and thrived in it. Knowing this would help him, perhaps, to go on without her, even if he would always be missing his little sister.

Eventually Éowyn took her leave, bidding him good night. He thought of going to bed, for he was tired after the long journey, but decided to take brief walk outside first and catch some fresh air. Maybe his friends were still up and would fancy a late drink before sleep. But seemingly they had all retired already, and so Éomer wandered by himself, until his feet took him to the moonlit garden of the manor house. The air was balmy and a gentle breeze fluttered in the trees. Somewhere, an owl hooted softly. It was very calm, a stark contrast to the battle on the way here, or the noisy and lively company of friends.

He turned his face to the manor house. It was not dark yet: in many windows, lights glowed softly, inviting him back inside. What was he doing here? His friends had probably gone to bed already, and he should go too. It had been a long day.

He was about to move, when he saw her shape in the window. She had opened it, and was leaning out to breathe the night air. She didn't seem to realise how the light gleamed behind her and through the light material of her gown, revealing more of her shape than was good for any male's eyes. He turned away quickly. His mouth was dry and a shiver went down his spine. Had any of her brothers been close by just now…!

The young king walked swiftly back to his rooms and went straight to bed, as if this would protect him from further missteps tonight. But even though he was tired, it was a long time before he slept.

He woke early; the sun had barely risen, but this was not out of the ordinary for him even now that he was king and not required to be up at odd hours planning or preparing for patrols and campaigns. There was a quiet upon the house that suggested most of the other guests were still asleep, and so Éomer decided to take the opportunity to go and check on Firefoot. The cantankerous stallion could be difficult in unfamiliar environments and Éomer didn't want his first visit to his sister's new home to go down in history as the occasion when his horse tore down the brand new stables. Although he was sure that at least Amrothos expected something of the sort.

He tossed on a simple linen shirt and trousers, slipped on his soft and well-worn boots, and then made his way downstairs to the entrance hall. There was a peace and stillness in this early hour that he rather enjoyed and the promise of the coming day, of spending time with friends and family, brought additional spring to his step.

The stables were nearly as well-kept as any you might find in Rohan, and Éomer didn't need to look far for the reason: several Rohirrim had followed Éowyn to join her household. He made a mental note of having to interrogate them at some point, as he wanted to find out how they were settling down. Surprisingly, this had not been just Éowyn's idea: Faramir too had recognised the benefits of having Rohirric stablehands looking after the horses. Perhaps it was this expertise that had also kept Firefoot calm; there were no reports of him menacing the staff or other horses. The stallion chortled softly when Éomer arrived, and though Firefoot was not appreciative when he found no carrots or apples in his master's hands or pockets, the great beast did suffer him brushing the fine, dappled grey coat until it gleamed. It was true Firefoot could be extraordinarily ill-tempered, but he was also loyal and trustworthy. He had carried his rider safely through many battles.

He could easily have spent more time at the stables, tending to Firefoot, talking with the stablehands and seeing how the horses – a good portion of them being Éowyn's dowry – were faring here, removed from their native fields in the North. But the morning was advancing and he would have to get back inside, if he meant to wash and change clothes before breakfast. Back at home, nobody would mind if he came to meals smelling like stables, and Éowyn still wouldn't hold him responsible for it, but as a guest he should probably make some effort as far as appearances went. It may be foolish, and he wasn't quite sure why he even thought of it, but he didn't want to make a bad impression on Imrahil's soft-eyed daughter on the very first morning.

Now servants had got up, and he met a few on his way back inside. Bright morning's light flooded the wide entrance hall. The effect reminded him a bit of Meduseld, which probably was what Faramir had hoped for while rebuilding the place.

Éomer was lost in his thoughts as he rose up the stairs two at a time. But he was startled by a sudden little "oh!" right above him. His head snapped up to see the other person in the stairs, descending where he was rising. One more step and they would have collided.

First he saw the hems of her light, shimmering gown – not heavily ornamented, but the material and the shape of the dress were of very fine quality. Long raven hair streamed down freely, a shining dark mass against the pale fabric of her gown; she didn't seem to be aware of how marvellous the contrast was. Wide, grey eyes, rimmed with thick eyelashes as dark as her hair, stared at him in surprise. Her skin was fine and soft, and the delicate bones of her face looked like they had been carefully sculpted by some master in an age long past. But her mouth was shapely and full, and he couldn't help but wonder what kisses were hidden in that tender flower, and how it would feel like to steal one of them. Unbidden came the memory of last night, and her figure in the window.

Oh, Béma. Here was a complication he had not foreseen.

Perhaps there was something in his look that betrayed the wholly inappropriate turn his thoughts had taken, or maybe she was just embarrassed, but her cheeks coloured.

"My lord", she stammered, and even though they were in the stairs and she was half on one step and half on the other, she still somehow managed a curtsy.

Meanwhile, he was thinking of how he had meant to go to wash and change – and to do so in good part because of not wanting to impress this particular lady too badly – and yet here they were, and he smelled like stables and horses and probably also had straw in his hair.

"My lady", he greeted her as gracefully as he was able. "Forgive me for not noticing you sooner. I was at the stables, and meant to go to change."

He wasn't sure why he was explaining. It wasn't as if clarifications were needed: she could probably smell the horses on him.

"Of course. I was just making my way down. I'm looking for my cousin – Faramir, that is", she replied and the blush on her cheeks deepened. "Have you seen him?"

"No, I have not, I'm sad to say. Perhaps he's outside? He sent Rangers to scout the area where my company and I did battle with the orcs – perhaps they have returned", he replied, and immediately regretted it. He didn't think a well-bred lady like her looked to hear about battle or orcs first thing in the morning.

Rather, he should have complimented her, said that she looked lovely today, or something of the sort – perhaps something less personal, because it was not as if they knew one another, and after accidentally spying her last night, he couldn't say such commetns were innocent on his part. And to be honest, was being called lovely by a man who stank like a dung-pit and had straw in his hair really a compliment?

But Imrahil's daughter did not look displeased.

"Yes, that sounds like Faramir", said the lady, and she flashed him a smile; it was as if her whole face lit up, and she wasn't just lovely now, she was fair. Instinctively, he took support of the wall.

"Well, I better get going. I still need to wash", he stated, because the longer he was in her presence, the less steady he felt.

"Yes. I shall see you at breakfast, my lord", said Lady Lothíriel, and they began to move at the same time, awkwardly passing each other and brushing arms together in the process.

The whole encounter left him so bewildered, he nearly turned to stare at her back. Éomer usually had no trouble interacting with women, even the cool and calculating ones he had met in Mundburg, and at least back in Rohan he had never lacked female admirers since he had come of age. Royal blood and prowess at battle were the only recommendations one needed in certain circles. However, this lady of Dol Amroth, who had seen just about twenty summers of this world, made him feel like a clumsy, lumbering, ill-mannered buffoon.

He shook his head, as if to get rid of some strange spell, and began to move again.

The company gathered together for breakfast, and Éomer joined too, having cleaned up and changed into fresh clothes. He had barely sat down when he was already being interrogated on multiple fronts – everyone seemed to have something they wished to talk about with him, or things to show, or bargains to make. He met them with a smile, and informed everyone that the first thing he wished to do was properly see his sister's new home. Éowyn looked pleased to hear it.

From the corner of his eye, he glanced at Lady Lothíriel, but she was talking quietly to her brother Erchirion.

After the meal, Éowyn came to his side, linked their arms, and so began the tour of her new home.

This took most of the morning. Éowyn seemed determined to show him every last broom closet, but he didn't mind. Her house was beautiful and full of life, traces of Sindarin and Westron and Rohirric mixed in the speech of the household, but most of all, he enjoyed listening to her talking and seeing her so happy. She talked about the manor house as though it was a beloved member of the family, or an extension of herself – which, perhaps, was not so far from the truth. Everywhere he could see the same theme of Rohirric and Gondorian devices and influences entwining. It was not a cacophony of different things, nor cluttered; somehow, Faramir and his workmen had found a balance between North and South.

She took him to her gardens as well, although she was complaining how her work there had only just started, and would take years before it was anything to look at. But already there were neat rows of herbs and plants, lush and green against the rich black earth, and to Éomer's eyes, it looked as goodly as everything else in Emyn Arnen. She beamed when he praised her efforts. It was clear his approval meant the world for her, because no matter how happy she was in her new life, a part of her still felt that she had somehow let him down. She might have worked beside him in Rohan and helped him to rebuild the land; she could have had a seat in his council and stood as a powerful ally. And Éomer was not the only one who felt her loss keenly.

They took a light meal in the garden, and Éowyn asked news from the Mark – and also with carefully laid questions probed if had yet found a special someone among the daughters of Eorling nobles. This was of interest to her for multiple reasons, he knew. As his sister, she dearly wished him not to be alone, but also while he was unmarried and she was not, a child by her might one day inherit the throne. The question was not entirely untroubled. They knew well that their grandfather Thengel King had spent many years of his life in Gondor thanks to his deep, inconsolable conflict with his father. Thengel had returned to Rohan only reluctantly, and though his son Théoden had eventually become a beloved ruler, he had to work hard to win over his people and even then there had been some scruples over the fact he had been born in Gondor, spending his first years not in his ancestral land and House. It was many years since those days, but the memory of Rohirrim was long and whether Éomer wanted it or not, Éowyn's choice showed where she wanted to build her life. Her children may have even fewer ties to Rohan than Thengel had in his time.

But all of that was still in the future, and Éomer did not wish to spoil this beautiful day by worrying over things that might never happen. He was still young and there was plenty of time to think about marriage. So he told his sister as well, and she didn't prod him more, although he had a feeling this was a topic they would return to as long as there was no queen in Meduseld.

They returned back inside, where he was joined by Aragorn, Faramir, Imrahil and Elphir. All were eager to share news, but their manner was relaxed and not at all urgent; it was his first full day in Ithilien, and they would get to business later on. Soon enough talk turned more into reminiscing, as often happens between comrades in arms. Old friends were remembered and tidings shared, including word from the Shire faraway; both Éomer and Aragorn maintained contact with their halfling friends, who were busy as badgers undoing Saruman's ill works. It probably meant the little heroes of the Ring War would not be able to leave their homeland soon, although each of the four had open invitations to stay at Edoras, Mundburg and Emyn Arnen.

Afternoon passed quickly in this manner, and Éomer was almost surprised when Faramir's steward came to call them to dinner. He let himself be led to the dining hall, softly lit with lamps and candles. There was a softness in the atmosphere and in the faces of his friends, talking and laughing about him. He looked around them as they sat down by the great table and food was brought in, and realised, perhaps for the first time, how lonely he had felt in the past few months.

Of course he had friends back in Rohan – no one was more loyal than Éothain his captain, or Elfhelm who now held the Marshal's seat in Aldburg. But in Rohan, he was always the King, the one everyone looked up to, be it a good or a bad day. He had already noticed that his elevation had changed the way his Rohirric companions regarded him. Moreover, the ending of the war seemed to have put many of them in a family mood. They were less inclined to spend evenings with their bachelor king than with their own spouses and children. Granted, young people of the household could always be roused to his amusement, but they were not his friends and he was finding he desired that sort of thing less and less these days. At any rate, he wasn't really so young anymore that he could in good conscience spend every night drinking and carousing. Théoden would expect better of him.

Here with his peers he was just Éomer, a man among his friends and family. He had gone through fire and brimstone with these people, pressed his shoulders against them on the battlefield, and stood with them as a new day dawned upon the world. It left a mark, not one to be seen with eyes, but felt with each breath you drew in their company.

He was shaken from his small epiphany by the sensation of being looked at, and unerringly he locked gazes with a pair of sea-grey eyes. She had been watching him quietly from the other side of the table, thoughtful and perhaps a little curious. For one strange moment, he wondered if she knew what he had been thinking of, even though how could she possibly guess? But there was still something in those eyes that set her apart among all the other ladies he had met in this land, although he couldn't pinpoint it.

Realising she was caught, she blushed and quickly averted her gaze. But Éomer still regarded her in silence, wondering what had drawn her gaze to him. He thought of that earlier awkward encounter in the stairs, but it could not be that. It was strange. He felt as if there were two different people hiding behind that face – a clumsy girl and a woman of extraordinary grace and compassion. In both cases, he was still the Northern buffoon.

His musings were interrupted by Aragorn, who was seated next to him. His friend was asking him something about Treebeard and whether there had been much contact between them, and Éomer tried to concentrate on his friend instead of the lady seated at the other side of the table. However, over the course of dinner, his eyes were drawn to her at times. He didn't catch her looking at him again, though.

After dinner, Éowyn and Faramir shepherded their guests into a large chamber that looked to be meant for entertaining groups. It was well lit, and there were comfortable chairs and even sofas, plush with embroidered pillows. Doors lead outside to the garden and since the summer evening was so warm, they were left open; the occasional soft breeze brought in the fragrant air of Ithilien. Guests were bade to sit down and drinks were brought, strong liquors made from southern fruits and sweet wines from Belfalas. In the middle of it all, Éowyn glowed as though she had never been happier.

A notion had grown in Éomer's mind: he wished to speak to Lady Lothíriel. She piqued his interest in unexpected ways. The awkward moment in the stairs, and these silent looks shared in secret – strange moments of connection where a single look conveyed more than many empty words of mindless small talk. He was not always a patient man, or eloquent in speech, but he fancied himself fairly good at reading people and knowing where he was welcomed. What moved in that head of hers? And she was a sister to his friends and cousin to Faramir. He ought to get to know her a bit better. On the other hand, it might be a little bit inappropriate, especially after last night. But how could he possibly tell her he had seen her in the window?

However, Éomer had never been a man to let propriety to hinder him once his curiosity was aroused and after all, it wasn't as if he had meant to spy on her.

All the same, he was not entirely sure how to go about it. She had already gone to take a seat with Arwen and her ladies, and was effectively surrounded there. He couldn't decide on a good, natural way of approaching that cheerfully chattering party, or prying her away from it. Certain people would immediately get ideas if he did and for the time being, he'd rather avoid it. Not to mention, he wasn't sure just what he should say. She would think him odd. Maybe she was perfectly satisfied to keep things this way.

He was not usually so indecisive, but Lady Lothíriel was of a breed he had not encountered before; not even his experiences of other Gondorian women were useful. And to make matters more difficult, her brothers were his friends. There was a universal and unspoken law, it seemed, about men, their friends, and their friends' sisters. Faramir was too civilised to do so, but Éowyn was feral and would never let her brother hear the end of pot and kettles if he blundered with this particular lady. So he spent a good part of the evening trying to come up with ways to approach her, and failing.

And, thanks to his inaction, Lady Lothíriel eventually retired with the rest of her company; she gave a quick kiss to her father and a sisterly jab at her brother Amrothos when the young man complained at her going to bed so early. Éomer watched this scene silently, and when the door had closed behind Arwen and the ladies, he was startled by the sudden presence that had come to his side.

There stood Aragorn, wearing a slight, knowing smile and holding a glass of wine in his hand.

"Is there something you would like to tell me?" asked Aragorn pleasantly.

"Whatever do you mean?" Éomer asked back warily.

His friend's smile widened and was now quite infuriating.

"Oh, nothing much. Just that since the moment you arrived, you haven't stopped staring at Imrahil's daughter. Nor has she stopped staring at you."

Béma, did nothing escape Aragorn's damned perception?!

"I met her yesterday", he pointed out defensively and grabbed a glass of wine from the tray a servant was carrying right next to him.

"Of course you did. Meetings are required when acquaintances are made. You need to start somewhere, don't you?" Aragorn replied mildly, sipping his drink.

Éomer glared at his friend. He was well aware that people around him hoped that he would give some thought to marriage, some of them because of dynastic reasons, others because they believed it would be good for him. Éomer knew they meant well, but at the same time, it made him feel like he was an ill-trained pony everyone was goading into performing some trick. He was well aware he must rise to their expectations eventually, and he certainly did not wish for decades of loneliness that his uncle had faced, but he'd rather do it on his own terms.

"I have no such plans concerning her", he stated stiffly.

"Maybe not. But you could make a much, much worse choice – given that the lady is willing, of course. I have a feeling she just might be", Aragorn said and sipped his wine.

"Did Éowyn put you up to this?" Éomer demanded to know, glancing at his sister, but she was unaware – seemingly. There was no telling what went on in that scheming head of hers.

"Of course not. I am my own advocate, and I merely say out loud what I observe. Also, I thought you were going to be pigheaded about it and maybe needed some help", said his friend with a beatific smile.

"Maybe I will be pigheaded because you decided to meddle", said Éomer.

"Suit yourself, my friend. But if you decide to shun that lady just because you're too stubborn to take the hint, then that's your business, and I can already tell it won't end well for you", Aragorn replied with what felt a little like a loving and steadfast parent's response to an ill-behaving child. There was no winning with him, and grudgingly Éomer had to admit his friend was making some decent arguments. Being wilfully stubborn would not help him any more than stabbing himself in the leg would.

"She is a fine young lady, I'll grant you that. Let us leave it at that for the time being. I didn't come here looking for a bride – I just wanted to see my sister and my friends", he said at length. But who was he kidding? He had spent half the night trying to come up with a way to speak to her. It was definitely unplanned, but he couldn't deny it. Even so, sudden interest could be nothing more than a false spring and he was old enough to be cautious with abrupt whims.

His fellow king squeezed his shoulder.

"I know. Forgive me my prodding. It would be so good to see you happy, and I can't think of another lady more worthy of you. And on the other hand, there may not be a man in Gondor worthy of her, or so I suspect based on what Imrahil has told me about her. Speak to the lady, if you can – you may learn some interesting things", Aragorn said in a low voice and then patted his back.

Aragorn left it at that, and then asked if he had heard from Gimli or Legolas lately, and the matter of Lady Lothíriel was put aside for the time being.

But Béma knew she was not forgotten.

To be continued.

A/N: Here is a new chapter! I hope you all liked it.

As ever, it's fun to be inside Éomer's head, although I could tell from the start that this version of him was going to be a little bit different compared to some other stories of mine. But hopefully, at the core he's still that same lovable guy we all adore.

Interest - and dare I say attraction - between them springs rather quickly in this one, but there is a reason for that, which I admit even I didn't realise until recently. But some stories you just make up as you go and this one is very much like that.

I recently made a profile at ao3, and you can also find this story there. I mean to post at least some of my stories on that site in the future, but we'll see how soon I can get to it.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your support is more important to me than you know.

Melissa Black13 - Yeah, that villain, aka my muse, can't be stopped or silenced! But I guess that's acceptable for my readers? :D

I enjoyed writing her little consideratiions a great deal, too! :)

JennyVDM - I very much intend to continue! :)

Guest - Thank you!

Boramir - Thanks! I have no intentions of stopping.

Christine - Glad to hear it! Gosh, I had half forgotten what those two stories were even about - I may have to refresh my memory! :') But even so, I'm glad to hear something I wrote has made such an impression.

Catspector - Happy to hear it! Makes me feel a little less weird about posting a new story so soon. :D

almythea - ;)

Hristonostore Onnediel - Thank you so much! Your comment made me feel all fuzzy and happy in the middle of a pretty unpleasant day.

Guest - Thanks! Their interactions remain somewhat sparse and distant still, but we'll get there soon!

Wondereye - Indeed we do! Hope you liked his view to the things.

bonghi - Thank you! :)

Guest - Here you go!