Chapter 19

The evening was star-bright and pleasant as Lothíriel walked home with her father by her side. It had been a long day and she was bone-tired, but her mind was in fast motion and she doubted sleep would come swiftly tonight. After the day's events, there was so much to digest and consider, and she knew she would be expected to give her answer very soon: if not tomorrow, the day after it at the latest. But even she did not yet know if she would be ready to deliver it.

Father broke the silence.

"You are quiet, daughter."

"I was just wondering... Father, do you think I'm ready for this? To become the Queen of Rohan?" she asked him softly.

"My dear, I don't think it is possible for you to be any more ready. Your competence is not something I worry about, and neither should you."

"I do wish to be with Éomer, and I'm excited for our future. But I didn't think it would happen so quickly. I expected to have more time to prepare, and to learn about Rohan."

"What does your betrothed say?"

"He has not expressed any doubts. But I don't know what I would have to do in order to make him think less of me or my capabilities", Lothíriel admitted.

"What of Master Ceolmund?" he asked her carefully. Though her own attention had been wholly on the old Rohir, she was not surprised to learn Father had been observing them closely.

"He seems to think it's enough that I am willing to learn."

"This does not surprise me. Rohirrim are a pragmatic people even in more peaceful times", he said, looking ahead at the road they were walking. He then glanced at her, "You got along with that old warrior? I was worried he might be too bold in his manner."

She smiled wryly.

"Bold he was, Father. But it seems to be their way, too. I may as well accept it now, because I am going to be dealing with these people for a very long time. And to answer your question, we got along well enough. My first impression of him did not promise such cordiality, but I think he's willing to give me a chance", she replied.

"Very well. I have no doubt you shall make the most of that chance", he said, pressing her hand briefly.

"Father, have you had a chance to think of what to say to Erchirion? He and Amrothos were waiting for me when I got back from the Citadel. There was no way I could avoid telling them the news, and he did not take it well. I may have made it worse, because he was saying some rather upsetting things and I lashed out", she said, clutching his arm in a new flare of concern.

"Is that the reason he didn't appear tonight?" he asked quietly.

"I believe it is."

Father sighed.

"That is no good. No matter what his personal feelings are, Rohirrim are still our friends. And whether he willed it or not, he has put you in a difficult position. The least he can do is be there for you in any way he can", he said sternly.

"Don't be too hard on him, Father. I think his guilt haunts him quite enough as it is. However misguided, he thought he was protecting me and the family", Lothíriel said.

"Let me talk to him. You have enough on your mind already, dearest child", he told her, which eased her mind a little. He asked her, "What of Amrothos? How did he take the news?"

"With his usual exuberance. He finds it amusing."

Father chortled.

"I wonder why I even asked."

When they got back to the town-house, Lothíriel said good night to her father and ordered some willow bark tea before retiring. Her headache still had not subsided. The maid came and went, helping her to undress, and she emptied the cup of tea as quickly as she could without burning her tongue. Then she crawled in bed and felt like all strength finally left her body.

It had been a trying day and she longed for sleep – and perhaps to lay her head against Éomer's shoulder while he held her tightly – but her mind was too unquiet. Slowly, she went through the day's events, from the arrival of Rohirrim to the meeting with the royal council and the dinner at Merethrond. It was hard to believe all this had passed in the course of a single day. How much had changed since the moment she had opened her eyes this morning!

She knew what they all wanted. Probably even King Elessar himself would prefer the idea of her quickly wedded to the King of Rohan. The sovereign had every reason to hope for Rohan's prosperity under Éomer's rule, just as the royal council. Father might be doubtful at the moment, but only for the expediency of these events, and in due time he would consider all the good that came from having his own daughter established as the Queen of Rohan. She guessed even Éomer would like it better it if she agreed, but she did not blame him: she could well understand his anxiety. And truth was, she did want to do it for him, because she dearly wished for his happiness. On the other hand, he had told her to choose for herself, not for him. He would think that his happiness was the wrong reason to go through with the wedding.

However, against such consensus, who was she to object? If this was everyone expected of her, if this was her duty, how could she say anything but yes? And perhaps not much would be different. Éomer himself had told her they would take it slow and go at a pace that felt comfortable to her. He had promised he would be her husband only in name, which she took to mean he didn't expect her to immediately fulfil any of the duties of wife and queen. But how could she refuse those duties in a time of war? When he was going to endanger his own life in battles to come? It would not be fair to say yes and then make him wait.

Then again, nothing about this situation had to do with fairness. If much was expected of her, so was Éomer. She thought about the wistful look on his features when he had spoken of a wedding in Edoras and guessed that the traditions that went with it were important to him. He was putting aside his own hopes, too.

Lothíriel turned on her back and stared at the ceiling above her. The stillness was unsettling and suddenly she missed the constant voice of the sea and the waves breaking against the cliffs of Dol Amroth. It would not be soon that she would hear that sound again. The willow bark tea had helped a little, but now she felt like the headache might be coming back in full force. She needed to rest. At any rate, nothing more could be done tonight and in such a state of mind, it was not wise to make decisions. She would see Éomer tomorrow and hopefully she would be able to talk to him more. It would help her to make up her mind.

So she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing – deep, slow breaths to ease the tension that still held her. And eventually, sleep did take her.

It was not a calm sleep, though. For she was back in the woods of Ithilien, stumbling and struggling on uneven ground. Those familiar gnarled roots covered the floor of the forest like nightmarish fingers bent on grabbing her ankles. In the periphery of her vision, dark shapes moved, graceless but swift. Their fell voices echoed in the wood. Her throat closed when she tried to call for Éomer; the pure white horsetail of his helmet gleamed somewhere ahead, close enough to tempt her with the idea of being rescued but still too far to reach.

Then there was that tree, the one she always crumpled under no matter how far she ran, and the searing pain of the arrow piercing her shoulder once more.

She woke up, panting. Cold sweat covered her skin and her shoulder throbbed with something that felt like pain, or was perhaps its memory. Like on other nights before this one, she reached for the scar, as if to check if it had opened somehow and was bleeding again. But all she felt was that same, still unfamiliar sense of mangled, puckered skin. The only dampness she found was her own sweat. A violent shiver went through her when she thought of King Elessar pulling the arrow out of her flesh.

It's just a dream. It has passed, she told herself. Like before, she focused on her breathing, still erratic but growing steadier as minutes passed and she focused on thinking of that moment when Éomer had come and found her in the woods. Heavily she laid back in the bed again. It was still dark and she should catch a couple more hours of sleep. Who knew what the new day would bring?

Éomer had already been up for a few hours before he got to Imrahil's town-house. He was so eager to see his bride, he scarcely felt hungry or thirsty. Lord Dunstan had not been happy when Éomer had told him he was going to take a couple of hours off this morning, but had eventually agreed. The young king guessed it was because Dunstan thought he was the one with best chances of persuading the lady. Éomer himself did not think of it that way, of course: he was just happy to spend time with her.

The town-house was more of a palace to his eye but then, most buildings so close to the Citadel were. Here you could see the familiar white stone, the same lofty architecture that recalled the ancient golden age of the people of Westernesse. No wonder the feelings of superiority became some Gondorians so easily. To Éomer's eyes, it all seemed cold and lifeless, not a place for warm-blooded men; sometimes he wondered how Aragorn could stand to live in such a city. The only thing he did like were the beautiful pennants and tapestries he saw as he was led through the building, glowing and glittering with deep blues, soft greys and bright silver. There swans were riding mounting waves under golden sun or jewel-like stars, seeking a shimmering shore that ever looked to the western seas. The weavers of these beautiful tapestries would have been welcome guests among his own people.

He had expected the whole family would be present at breakfast, but when he arrived in the dining hall, only Lothíriel and Imrahil were seated by the massive table. Amrothos, he guessed, was sleeping off last night's stupor – he'd not miss a chance to drink with Rohirric friends no matter the gravity of their gathering – but Erchirion's absence was more surprising. Éomer fought to hide his frown. He had thought things were well enough between him and Imrahil's second son.

All such thoughts left his mind when Lothíriel looked up, a smile lit her face and she got on her feet. With light feet she moved towards him and enveloped him in her arms before he was even able to properly greet them. Here, away from the prying eyes of the court and meddling advisers, she was free with her affection. Her hair, loose upon her shoulders, was soft against his cheek and her slight floral fragrance was more tempting than he cared to admit. He had to fight to keep himself in check, and not draw her even closer. It was a relief to know that despite all, nothing had changed between them.

Imrahil cleared his throat, but he was smiling when Lothíriel pulled away from the embrace and Éomer met his eyes.

"Good morning, my friend", he said mildly. He too was being amazingly tolerant after yesterday's events.

"Good morning, Imrahil", said Éomer.

"Come, sit down with us", Lothíriel said and pulled at his hand, leading him to sit right next to her at the end of the table where dishes were set. There were fresh rolls still warm from the oven, newly churned butter, cuts of cold meat and cheese, boiled eggs, and fruits from the orchards of Lossarnarch. Lothíriel herself poured him a cup of steaming hot tea. The fine porcelain felt so delicate in his rough hands that he was constantly worried of breaking it.

He paid close attention to her during breakfast, recalling the tension he had spied on her last night. But it seemed that she was well and there was no reason for concern. Her smile was warm and her eyes bright, her mood much lighter than one might have expected after what he and his council had put her through yesterday. Béma, how he had missed her! And would again, once he would have to go to war.

"I hope it wasn't too difficult to get away from other engagements. I'm sure both your people and mine have a thousand things they want to discuss with you", she said as they began to eat.

"Lord Dunstan wasn't happy to let me go, but he understood he would get off much easier if he agreed to postpone my meetings for this morning", said Éomer with a slight smile. "I was wondering if we could go walking after breakfast. I was able to bargain for a couple of hours of freedom."

"I would love to go!" she said, delighted.

"Just be sure to take your maid with you", Imrahil said to his daughter. His tone was not stern, but sounded like he was reminding her to do something completely ordinary, like dress warmly enough.

"Of course, Father", she replied in the same matter-of-fact tone.

"I was wondering", Éomer then began, glancing between the faces of his bride and her father, "how did Erchirion and Amrothos take the news? I did not have a chance to speak to either of them last night."

Lothíriel and Imrahil exchanged a look. It was he who answered.

"Amrothos is excited, but you know it doesn't take much to entertain him. Erchirion... he has been more troubled. We thought it better if he didn't join us this morning. Do not understand me wrong, though; it is merely so that you two may enjoy some time together, and not spoil the occasion with family squabbles", Imrahil said slowly.

"Is he angry?" Éomer wanted to know.

"Not as much as he was before. He understands it's politics, but it may take a moment to come to terms with it, especially given his own part in these events", Imrahil said, frowning. "I'm terribly sorry, of course. I know, and my daughter knows, that you did not mean this to happen."

"It's fine. His feelings are understandable. In his position, I think I would be much worse. I would probably be a nightmare", Éomer said, smiling wryly. He didn't even want to think of the scenes he would have caused, whether or not Éowyn loved Faramir like he loved Lothíriel. A cold shiver went down his spine when he recalled the deadly madness that had overcome him when he thought Éowyn was dead; whatever Erchirion had done seemed quite mild in comparison.

"I'm glad to hear it. We were worried about how you would take it", Imrahil said, glancing at his daughter. Her look was grave, even a little bit sad.

"Give him some time. I think he just needs to see that I'm fine. And perhaps there is a more fitting place for him to put his anger and frustration", she said, touching Éomer's hand. She meant the campaign, of course. Whether or not it would be helpful for Erchirion, he didn't know. At least his own anger had never quite healed no matter how many battles he fought, but having a clear purpose had helped him not to take it out on loved ones. But he didn't expect Lothíriel to know this. She was not a warrior, nor had she known him at his worst. And the circumstances were not the same for Erchirion.

"What do you think Elphir's response will be?" Éomer asked then. His own guess was that Elphir would be the mildest of three brothers, but of course he didn't know him like Lothíriel or Imrahil.

"I expect no fuss from my eldest. He is a sensible man and knows your merit. And he was trained to understand politics in a way Erchirion and Amrothos do not", Imrahil said, pouring himself another cup of tea. "My sister Ivriniel may have some things to say, but I will deal with her when that time comes."

Ah, yes. Another formidable aunt who needed to be persuaded. What would it be like if she and Hild met? Éomer could only wonder. Doubtless the meeting would eventually come, once he and Lothíriel were married, and the campaign was over and peace had returned. Even though he had not met Lady Ivriniel, he somehow felt that this venerable lady and his aunt would either hate each other, or become the best of friends.

They spoke then of other things, and Lothíriel told him of the past several weeks and the time she had spent in Queen Arwen's company. He listened, rapt. Frankly speaking, she could have been telling him about the last week's weather, and he would still have hung on her every word. Imrahil did not say much, but he watched them with a slight smile and occasional comment. A few times, Éomer spied a look on his friend's face, something a little bittersweet. The Prince was starting to let go of his daughter.

There was light, pleasant conversation that effectively took his mind away from troublesome relatives, plans for the campaign and frustrating politicking. For the first time after past few weeks and the constant noise and bustle, he felt truly peaceful. Lothíriel's voice was lively and her words full of light-hearted jests, which made him laugh often. With each laugh, it was like his heart grew less heavy – and little fuller with love for her.

After breakfast Lothíriel kissed her father's cheek, bid him a good day and summoned her maid. Éomer tried his best not to pay heed to the company of chaperones and guards following them and thought of how much easier it would make everything if she said yes. Well, they could never avoid the necessity of having guards at their heels, but it would help not to feel like his every gesture was observed and suspected of some lewd intention. It seemed absurd, especially if they were to be married in a few day's time, but he kept these thoughts to himself. If this was what Gondorian propriety demanded, then he would observe the rules with all due care. Not that he was particularly interested in court gossip and what was being said of the proposal, but for his lady's sake Éomer was not going to give a reason for anyone to doubt her honour.

If it bothered Lothíriel, she did not show it. She continued her soft, pleasant chatter, which eventually helped him to ignore the group following them.

There was no time for a comprehensive tour of the city, so she showed him around in the fifth and the fourth circles, telling him about the long history of Mundburg. At some point, he began to ask about Dol Amroth instead, and soon she was describing a happy childhood spent in a white city by the sea, playing on the beach with her brothers, watching her father's tall ships in the haven, and the sprawling woods she had run as a child. Then she was asking about Rohan, and he found himself telling her about Aldburg, his games with Éothain when they were just boys, racing their ponies over the fields near his home, and nights near the hearth fire as his mother told him and Éowyn tales of famous Riders and monsters and wondrous quests. He spoke of his father too, a big man with an even bigger laughter, and how it all ended when his dead body was brought back from battlefield.

Her eyes were wide and sombre as she listened, but Éomer shook his head, determined not to let this conversation become too grim. So he smiled, touched her hand, and told her about his uncle instead. How he had loved the old man, and how Théoden had believed in him even as others declared him a lost cause – too angry, too reckless, good for nothing but mindless brawling. Uncle had been stern but fair, and more patient than Éomer felt he deserved. It had taken time, but he had emerged from those storms and found meaning and purpose. All he was today he owed to Théoden.

Over an hour had already passed as they walked and spoke together. Sun was high in the sky and the day had grown so warm that he regretted choosing a woollen tunic today. Lothíriel suggested getting something to drink and he heartily agreed.

They found an inn at the fourth circle of the city. It was a wealthy-looking place, though perhaps not the kind he'd visit with his friends, and the inn-keeper certainly gave him a narrow look before noticing the green-cloaked Knights and realising the identity of the newest guest and his lady companion. Lothíriel retained her calm and tact, and was unfazed even as Éomer pushed himself to the counter and informed them he'd take care of the bill. He ordered drinks for the maid and the guards too; if he was hot with just the tunic, they would be many times more so in full armour.

Soon enough they were sitting outside, where a few tables were set under a wide, colourful canopy. Lothíriel had ordered them fresh cider and chilled fruit, juicy wedges of peaches and pears and apples, which the inn-keeper provided with a rather unnecessary show of grovelling.

"I'm glad you could get away this morning. There was so little time to talk yesterday", said his bride when they were at last alone again. Well, as alone as it could get with a grumpy-looking maid who did not seem to enjoy chaperoning duty and a bunch of Knights loitering about. Or the occasional locals stopping by, curious to see what dignitary warranted such company. Éomer pulled deeper back into the shade.

"I'm glad, too. Béma knows when they'll let me out again", he said, grimacing.

"There will be another dinner tonight. I'll have a word with Queen Arwen and ask her for more convenient seats for us", said Lothíriel, eyes glinting.

"You get along very well with her, yes?"

"I do. Her advice has been invaluable, now and before. Back in Emyn Arnen, she told me some things that have helped me a great deal", she replied.

He raised his brow.

"Advice about what, if I may ask?"

"About making choices", she said, turning her gaze as a sombre look came on her features. He did not exactly know everything those words entailed, but he could guess. Arwen would know about choices, indeed.

"She's a good friend", he said in a low voice. "There was a night when we were bringing my uncle home, just before we reached Edoras. I sat with his body and it was finally hitting me... this realisation he wouldn't be coming back. That I really was alone, and could no longer count on his guidance. It was a difficult night. Then as I was returning to my tent, I came across Arwen. She was spending many of those nights on the road with her immortal kin. Telling them goodbye, I suppose. It was different for each of us, myself grieving a mortal death and she a parting that would last for all time. But it didn't seem to matter then. She was my shoulder for a moment, and I hers."

Perhaps it was a strange situation, a mortal man and a warlord and the daughter of Lord Elrond comforting one another. But grief didn't ask what was strange or appropriate.

Lothíriel's eyes were warm and sympathetic as she reached over the table to touch his hand. He curled his fingers around hers for a moment and let out a sigh – and some of the tension that had fallen on him with the memory of grief.

"Well, that's enough grim recollections. Forgive me", he said, shaking his head.

"It's all right. Maybe you could tell me about your aunt now? Unless that is a grim tale, too", she suggested.

"She herself might think so, at least about some parts of her life. But I did promise to tell you about her", he conceded. Hild herself would probably not feel at ease to tell his bride about her life, but if the two women were to keep company after he went to war, sharing some information was required. So he began to speak, soft and slow. His bride did not interrupt him during it, but listened with an eager expression.

His aunt had been the fourth of Thengel King and Morwen Queen's children, born after the family had returned to Rohan. Hild was the first royal child to be born in Meduseld after her own father decades earlier, and she had few ties to Gondor. But her elders sisters did and they were always looking back to the east, where they would eventually return as grown women. Because of this, and also because of the difference in age, it was with Théoden Hild mostly spent her childhood. As soon as she could walk, she was following in his footsteps and joining in his games. For a long time, they were inseparable.

Morwen fought a long, bitter battle in trying to teach her wild daughter the same things as her older sisters. She wanted Hild to be like herself, a lady refined and graceful. But time and again Hild found ways to run off, exploring the green fields near Edoras, falling in ponds, scraping her knees and returning home looking like some feral thing instead of a princess. She found an ally in her father Thengel. His own mother had once been a famous shieldmaiden and saw that same spirit in his daughter, wishing to nurture it. However, it turned into one of the most severe disagreements he ever had with Morwen. Though she was the Lady of the Rohirrim, she was still Gondorian to her core, and had a hard time accepting her own daughter as a warrior maid. Perhaps it was so difficult for her because even despite her desire for free fields of Rohan and great deeds in battle, Hild was still the one child who most resembled Morwen in her character.

But where Morwen was the unbending oak, Hild was like a reed that withstands the wind. Eventually, the Queen had to let her daughter be trained as a shieldmaiden, although Hild herself believed her mother never quite accepted it.

Those were her glorious years, when she grew into her full stature and honed her skill with spear and sword. She rode to countless battles, winning fame and living like each day might be her last. Her hunger for glory knew no boundaries. She fought alongside her brother, and then with Éomund the First Marshal. They became fast friends and won great renown among Rohirrim, like heroes of old tales. But then Éomund met Théodwyn, the youngest of Thengel and Morwen's daughters. Many things changed, for Éomund was no longer as interested in battle and song as before. Soon the First Marshal and the Princess were married and it was not long before their first child came. A son who was the spitting image of Éomund.

It was in those days Hild finally approached her brother with the wish that had long been brewing in her mind. She asked him if it might be possible for her to become a Marshal one day, be given her own command and serve as his lieutenant. She was at the height of her powers and wanted to put them to a real test. Theóden promised to consider it.

What would have come out of it? Hild as a Marshal of the Mark was an idea Éomer still wondered about sometimes. But it was to remain only an idea and a wish unfulfilled. For very soon after Hild had spoken to Théoden, she was badly injured in a warg attack. Her recovery took months, but her maimed leg would never be the same again. Her speed, her agility and her steadiness were lost and no amount of training could bring them back. And then, after this bitter realisation, Théoden told her he would not make her a Marshal.

"So that is why they fell out", Lothíriel said out loud, her eyes wide.

"Aye. Hild felt like Théoden had betrayed her. She was convinced she could still have done the job. After he denied her, she left Edoras and never returned – not until his funeral, that is", Éomer said, frowning. He had not been a direct participant of this conflict, but it still troubled him.

"Do you think she could have been a Marshal despite her injury?"

"I can't say. On the one hand, I understand my uncle's caution. He was probably worried she couldn't lead properly anymore, and that it would compromise the lives of her Riders. Or he was following the advice of his council, who would not have endorsed appointing a Marshal suffering from permanent injury when he had other capable captains. They might not be her match as warriors but they were not hindered by injuries. On the other hand, Hild was a legendary fighter and she is still an excellent horsewoman. Perhaps she could have made it work somehow. She was popular back then and might have rallied enough supporters to her cause. And maybe, had she been a Marshal... she is capable of much greater subtlety than my uncle was, or myself. She can be much more ruthless, too. Maybe she could have stopped Wormtongue before he gained too much power. My cousin and my uncle could still be alive."

It was useless to wonder what could have been, though. It wouldn't bring back his family, it would only cause him more pain. Hild herself had told him so.

"But she did not keep in touch with you or Éowyn."

"No. Becoming a Marshal was her dearest wish and when she was denied, she could not stand it. And then our parents died, and Uncle took us in... she had not yet recovered from her disappointment. My sister and I grew, but Hild regarded me as Théoden's man: when I spoke, she expected his words to come out. Same goes for Éowyn. But it grieves me to think of how much was lost in that fight between my aunt and my uncle. Éowyn might have had a mentor, a support in those dark days that drove her to despair. My uncle lost a valuable adviser. And I too lost someone who could have taught me much. Someone who knew my father, and might have made his loss easier to bear."

"What made her change her mind and return?"

"She has not told me her reasons, so I can only guess. Théoden's death and his funeral may play a part. Perhaps she realised that life is finite and she didn't want to spend the rest of hers holding on to grudges. Perhaps it's because I remind her of my father, her best friend. Or perhaps she just wants to have a family again. All the same, soon after I returned from the war, I asked to see her, and invited her to join my council. I half expected her to refuse, but she asked for some time to consider, and after my uncle's burial, she accepted the offer. It is not so easy between her and Éowyn, though. My sister still feels like our aunt abandoned us."

Lothíriel was silent for a while, her look far off. He didn't blame her. In Hild's story there was much to digest. Éomer knew some of the more suspicious characters in his court had wondered, and perhaps still did, if Hild had agreed to join the council so that she might at some point avenge the wrongs his uncle had done to her, but he himself did not believe it. His aunt had been nothing but helpful since joining the council. What good would it do, anyway? And while he was Théoden's nephew, he was also Éomund's son.

Eventually, his bride looked at him again.

"I'm sorry for her, and that she didn't get to have the life she wanted. But I'm glad you and her have put the past behind you. Even if there still are some hurt feelings between her and your sister", she said softly.

"I'm glad, too. The estrangement always felt wrong to me. And she has been a tremendous help. Hild is not as political as some, but few can match her understanding of strategy", said Éomer and took a long sip of his drink. In addition to those who suspected foul intent, some had also wondered about his decision to ask his aunt to join the royal council, considering her long absence from the court. But he saw it as a strength, having someone who was impartial to court intrigue. Hild had been away for so long that whatever rivalries her and Théoden's argument had stirred were long since forgotten. So many things had changed in Edoras after those days, and a new generation had come in power in the court. But Hild's reputation and the legend of her name had endured. Many still sung of the deeds of Hild, Princess and Warrior. While Éomer's own intentions in asking her to return had been sincere, he knew it was commonly seen as deeply meaningful, for he was indeed Éomund's son. Intended or not, this alliance invoked some of those past glories, though it was also finally putting an old controversy to rest. He knew Éowyn had her own feelings about the issue, but even she understood why Éomer had called Hild back to the court and was invested in the relationship.

He was certain they would have continued their conversation endlessly, hadn't one of his Riders then cleared his throat and reminded Éomer of how time was passing. He would soon be expected back at the Citadel.

He sighed and looked at Lothíriel. She met his gaze with that steady way of hers which he so loved.

"Duty calls, I'm afraid. But I thank you for this morning. I hadn't realised how much I needed this", he said and emptied his glass of cider.

She was smiling.

"I had a good time, too. Do you think I can snatch you away again some time soon?"

"I will be stuck in the war room for most of today, and Éowyn wants to have breakfast with me tomorrow. But I'll see you at dinner", he replied as he got up on his feet and offered his hand to her. "Let us get going. May I escort you home, fair lady?"

There was an impish glint in her eyes as she tiptoed to kiss his cheek.

"You may, my lord."

As lovely as the morning walk had been, eventually Éomer was missed back at the Citadel. He escorted Lothíriel back to the town-house, gave her one of his irresistible smiles, and took his leave. She had much to consider after their conversations, but before she did, she decided to send a message to Éowyn and ask whether she was available this afternoon. The Citadel was bustling with Rohirric dignitaries and this would be a good opportunity to meet them and introduce herself, but she felt it would go more smoothly if Éowyn was with her.

She sent one of the household's squires to deliver the message and then made for the small walled garden attached to the house. There she sat down in the shadow of an old cherry tree and let her mind wander.

It had been a lovely morning, but so it was always when she was with Éomer and – well, not alone, but at least away from all the people vying for his attention. She had learnt many new things about him, his family, and Rohan. Not once had he mentioned the royal council's request, or asked if she had had time to consider it, and she loved him for it.

She heaved a sigh and leant back against the tree. On the one hand, it was as simple as that. On the other hand, it was everything but. If she could just have had some more time... but she knew an answer would be expected soon. Perhaps not tonight, but not any later than tomorrow. Father would probably bargain for more time if she asked, but was she willing to put him in that position? It could cost him favours that he'd rather not spend.

And it wasn't really time to decide what she wanted, but to become. No matter what Éomer or Father or Ceolmund or anyone said about her readiness, she felt ill at ease to take on such a duty unprepared. But time was a luxury none of them had. Not Éomer, not his people. War was coming either way. And her betrothed – his cousin had died, and only in a matter of days he had been made King Théoden's heir and then become the King of Rohan. Nobody had asked him if he felt ready. However, Prince Théodred had not had a family of his own, and so Éomer must have known for good many years that the crown passing to him was indeed a possibility.

She closed her eyes, searching inside for the clarity that she had always felt in herself before she had first arrived at Emyn Arnen. In her mind's eye, she saw the river again, and Éomer sitting next to her, his dark eyes studying her as they talked about duty. She herself had spoken of it as a part of a delicate balance, one that any individual in her position must uphold. And Éomer's voice, when he asked her, Would you always do what you perceived to be your duty? Even if it asked for painful sacrifices? She recalled the openness of that conversation and the bond which had grown from it – a bond so strong that she had not been able to accept Aegdir.

If she was true to Éomer, and to what she had told him that day, there was only one answer she could give.

The sound of approaching feet startled her and she opened her eyes. There came Erchirion, his expression awkward. She raised a brow, but he did not speak; he came to the tree and sat down next to her without a word.

Uncertain as to what his reason for being here was, Lothíriel held her silence. If he wanted to reconcile, she would not refuse it, but she felt like he was the one who ought to make the first move. Thankfully, she need not wait for it long.

"I'm sorry, sister", Erchirion said quietly. "I have not been a very good brother to you as of late, but that bit of nonsense yesterday… it was very stupid and unnecessary."

She relaxed once more.

"Thank you for saying so, brother", she said in soft tones. "It is a poor time for us to fight between ourselves. And… having the support of my family is important to me, no matter what I decide."

He sighed.

"Have you made up your mind yet?"

"Even if I have, there is somebody else I would rather tell first."

"Of course. I don't mean to pry. I just feel so guilty for putting you in this position."

She touched his hand.

"I think they would have made this request either way, brother. Your actions merely serve to reinforce their case", she said to him gently.

"Still, you and Father would be in an easier position, with more room to negotiate", he pointed out.

"Perhaps. But even if I agree to do it, I'm not submitting to a fate that I abhor. I do love Éomer, you know. Is that so hard to believe?"

"I don't know. I never saw him as a possibility, and everything that happened in Emyn Arnen… I was not in a good frame of mind when you were injured. But you talk so little about yourself, sister, that you can't be too surprised that your choice took us unawares", he said carefully.

She considered this for a moment. Maybe it was so, indeed. Being the youngest, and the only girl among three boys, she had always walked a path of her own. Matters of the heart did not seem like something that you shared with them.

"Either way, I would appreciate it if you don't try to interfere anymore. I ask you to trust me to know what I desire – to steer my own way, even if it's not what you'd want for me", she said to him softly, now turning to look at her brother.

Erchirion met her look with a resigned expression.

"I will do so, sister. From now on, you can expect no more trouble from me."

Éowyn's response came and was affirmative: she was glad to introduce her friend to the Rohirrim who had come to Minas Tirith in Éomer's company. So, after fixing her hair and changing into a more appropriate court dress, Lothíriel made her way to the Citadel, bracing herself for many meetings. She was determined to make an effort, learn their names and faces and as much of their characters as she could. She might even pick up a few words of Rohirric. Deep down, she was also grateful for the distraction, although she knew the obvious question would be shadowing each conversation, even if it was not spoken out loud.

The people she met that afternoon were a bold, noisy, lively bunch. Some attempted to pay heed to etiquette and propriety, but most did not. Their laughter echoed in lofty halls, not caring whether it was out of place or offensive in such a site of ancient glory. They moved in groups, although one might have rather called it swarming, always chatting and bickering and, seemingly, just on the verge of song. It was clear this was a first visit to Minas Tirith for several party members: there was wonder and excitement and here and there, you'd find a few Rohirrim pointing at and talking about the statues and banners and architecture, as if they had never seen such things before. Some of the younger nobles were a bit wary of Lothíriel, which Éowyn explained in whispers was because of her father who was a revered figure in Rohan, but their elders approached her with a familiarity that she had started to recognise. One might have thought she was a long lost kinswoman, newly reunited with her extended family. Often they spoke of Éomer himself as if they all considered him their much beloved son or brother – and all seemed to have a stake and interest in his well-being. She half expected them to tell her:"Be good to him or else!" Most had at least a relative command of Westron, but what they lacked in the grasp of that tongue, they made up for in enthusiasm.

She could love these people: their easy manner, their sense of humour, and the joy they seemed to find even in the small, everyday things. It would be a different life among them, certainly, and it would take time to get used to it. But Lothíriel felt a bit more hopeful than before. And meeting these people and talking to them, she felt like she could understand a little better how Éomer had become the man he was.

She did not see Hild that afternoon, but she guessed a woman of her abilities would be privy to war council. She still looked forward to seeing more of the old shieldmaiden, although after everything Éomer had told her about his aunt, she knew tact and sensitivity would be wise.

In these meetings, the afternoon passed quickly. She barely had time to make a visit to the town-house for another dress change before the dinner With her father and brothers, she had to walk briskly to get to Merethrond in time, and they got there just a few minutes before the company was invited to table. Tonight, Lothíriel indeed had a seat next to Éomer, much to their delight. He was beaming when he pulled back the chair for her and was already asking about her day before the first dishes were even served. She was sure that the news about his council's request had already spread in the noble society – when anything happened at the Citadel, everybody would know by the end of the day – but she had been too busy and distracted to have any inkling what was the general response to it. Doubtless she would learn soon enough but tonight, she was determined not to care. She'd have Éomer almost completely to herself while dinner went on, and she was already thinking of asking him to walk her back to the town-house. That would grant at least a bit more privacy and, well, she wasn't above admitting she thought it might be romantic to walk together under the moonlight.

Dinner was spent in deep conversation and Lothíriel barely noticed what food was on her plate. Her whole attention was in the conversation between her and Éomer, which moved freely between lighter everyday topics and sharing memories of years gone by. She was fascinated to watch his features and the lively expressions that moved there freely; it was not his king's face, but one that, she guessed, he did not reveal to many. Lothíriel was aware she was being more than just a little lovesick, but she just loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, and the full-throated laugh that she was occasionally able to lure out by some witty or mischievous comment. More than once his hand, resting on the table, twitched into her direction, but he pulled it back when he remembered they were not alone. But she had no doubt that if he could have discreetly moved his chair closer to hers and grasped her hand underneath the table, he would have done it.

After the meal, Éomer was glad to agree to walk her home, and after he had bid goodnight to his sister and King Elessar, they began the walk to the town-house. Father followed a few paces back, along with the King's Riders and a few Swan Knights.

They walked in silence, but it was a comfortable quiet. She held on to his arm and fought off the urge to put her head against his shoulder. It was pleasant indeed to walk under the moon and stars, even with Father watching every step. But her thoughts sobered when she remembered how soon her betrothed would be gone again. She held his arm a little bit tighter.

And so it was over all too soon. Lothíriel saw the torches illuminating the gates of the town-house and the banners of her House. She refrained from sighing.

The gates were opened for them and they entered the courtyard. Father nodded and said good night to Éomer. He glanced at his daughter, saying, "Don't stay out too long."

"I shan't keep her for long", Éomer promised, at which Father smiled. Evidently he trusted the two of them well enough, for he disappeared inside, leaving them standing in the torch-lit yard. The King's Riders waited outside and only the night guards of the house were standing by, but they appeared to have turned their eyes discreetly away.

"Thank you for tonight. I had a very pleasant time", Éomer said then, turning his attention wholly back to her.

"I did too. I am glad we could spend some time together. Do you think there will be such a chance tomorrow?"

"I'm not sure yet. Éowyn has invited me to breakfast with her, and after that I imagine I will be caught up in meetings until the evening. My sister was saying something about having dinner at her and Faramir's quarters, and I could ask her to extend the invitation to you and your father as well", he offered.

"You don't have to, dear. I'm sure your sister would like to spend some time alone with you, too", Lothíriel hurried to say.

"They won't mind. Faramir is always complaining how busy your father is every time he visits these parts, they rarely get a chance to have dinner together. And I'm sure Éowyn would be delighted to get to tease us both", he said, smiling faintly.

She bit her lip, hesitating. She wasn't really thinking about dinner: other words were forming in her mouth but not quite finding their way out.

He noticed it, of course.

"What is it, Lothíriel? Is something the matter?"

She swallowed, suddenly very nervous. She knew she need not be, not with Éomer. But this was a tremendous thing.

"If your day is already full... I was wondering... well, we don't have to tell everybody just tomorrow, do we? People will expect I'm still deliberating. But I'm not, Éomer. I've made up my mind and my answer is yes", she told him, words tumbling out rapidly. It reminded her a little bit of that meeting outside Faramir's study in Emyn Arnen, when she had babbled her explanations so anxiously. And just like that time, Éomer took her hands in his own, calming her fidgeting.

She could not say what was the expression on his face just then. And truth was, now that she thought of it, Lothíriel was not certain what she had expected his reaction to be.

"Are you sure?" he asked her, his tone low and gentle.

"I am", she whispered. What she was not able to put in words just then was that another day would not make a difference. If time was to be a factor in her decision, there would have to be much more of it. And she knew that was not possible. But a 'yes' was the best for them all.

Tenderly, he grasped her by the back of her neck, kissing her slow and soft. She could taste the wine on his lips, and something sweeter still. She relaxed, leaning closer. Who cared what people expected? For she knew where she stood with this man. Only that was important. She could deal with the rest.

He stayed close still when the kiss ended, resting his forehead against hers.

"Did you choose for yourself?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

"Yes and no", she whispered back. It was not just any one thing, really. But she didn't know how to explain that, and so she added, "But I wouldn't agree if I had any doubt about you."

"You don't have to do this for me, Lothíriel", he reminded her.

"I know. But you are not just any man, Éomer. You are the King of Rohan."

His rough fingertips gently whispered against her cheek and down her neck. He didn't say anything, and so she eventually asked, "Aren't you happy?"

"Yes and no", he said, echoing her own words. "For myself, of course I am happy. But for your sake, Lothíriel... I may be the King of Rohan, but I am also a man. I don't want you to feel like you must do this in order to keep me. To say yes because you are compelled."

She stood silent, puzzling over his words. It was as if he was telling her to say no. But then she felt a faint tremor going through him, his hand that was resting against the spot where her neck met her shoulder. Then she understood what this was.

Always, always he was the one who was left behind, never good enough so that loved ones would stay. And he was bracing himself for it again, whether he realised it or not, because why should this time be any different?

So she tiptoed into another kiss, as if she could with her touch vanquish this deeply rooted, dreadful thing. But that would be a task that might take years.

"I say yes because I choose you", she whispered, her lips only inches from his.

Éomer made a strange sound in his throat. Then his arms wound tightly around her, as if letting go would result in something too terrible even to understand. And she held him just as tight, to let him know she wasn't going to leave. His relief was a tangible thing, too powerful for words either in his tongue or hers. A small laugh escaped her own mouth when that relief hit herself, too. For it was a relief to be done with this choice. In the end, what was there to be feared when she had him?

Of course, there were still many more things to be said. But it would have to wait, for Lothíriel could then hear her father calling her from inside the house.

"I'm coming!" she called back before turning to look at her betrothed again. He still looked dazed and it took him a moment to gain enough presence of mind to speak.

"I'll find some time for you tomorrow. And I suppose we should start planning", he said at length. She could hear from his voice how he was straining to speak evenly, but the emotion was there, framing every word.

Lothíriel smiled. How odd it was, that she should feel so calm when he was so beside himself! But then, she had already considered this and made up her mind. He would catch up with her soon enough.

"We'll be all right. You'll see", she told him and kissed him one more time.

He didn't say so, but his kiss told her that he believed her.

To be continued.

A/N: I had some trouble writing this chapter, but I am rather pleased with how the final part turned out. The exchange between Éomer and Lothíriel, where she tells him yes, is my own favourite.

It was also interesting to write her deliberating what her answer would be. I felt that there would be some doubt in her mind, because Lothíriel is very much a person who likes to prepare for things and have at least two back up plans in case the primary one does not work out. But she's also a romantic and wants to cherish the time she has with Éomer. On the other hand, it was interesting to explore this situation where these two people are bound by duty to their peoples to do something that is difficult even when they are in love - and how their relationship is able to bear that situation.

I hope you liked Hild's backstory! It was great fun coming up with it, although it's not necessarily story of a happy life. Her fall out with Théoden is a painful situation, and neither are entirely wrong or entirely right. Granted, Théoden let Hild down when he wouldn't make her a Marshal, but he wasn't wrong to be concerned whether her injury would put her Riders in harm's way. But like Éomer wonders, Hild was capable enough that she might have been able to make it work. I think his guesses on why she chose to return to the court are probably close to the mark. And despite the love Éomer bears to his late uncle, he is still his own man.

Also, it was nice to write that little scene between Lothíriel and Erchirion, and have them reconcile. I don't think he's still very happy about the situation but at this point he understands it's not up to him.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments help to keep the muse alive.

Cricket22 - I know the feeling! When you really get caught up with a story you like, it's hard to slow down and savour everything. But that's a good tactic, coming back to the previous chapter for a re-read. I'll have to remember that!

Glad to hear you think so about Imrahil! He's a wise man, so I think he would definitely try to learn from his mistakes and do better next time. I guess it's partly guilt, too, so he may actually be giving in more than he would if she had not got hurt.

I do hope you liked the part where Lothíriel talks to Erchirion and he apologises to her! He never meant to make things more difficult for her. But that's how families sometimes are: we believe we're acting in a helpful way when we are actually making things worse.

Lothíriel definitely had to show some character to get to Ceolmund's good side! She's not really the girl he first thought she would be. I do look forward to showing Lothíriel interacting with Hild! Hope you liked the part with her back story.

I'm sorry it took some time for me to provide this chapter, but real life has been really tough lately! I will continue to update the story, however slowly.

lilyProngs9499 - Thank you! I personally love these characters very much, and am often worried whether or not that love hinders me from showing them as as flawed as any human is. But it's good to hear I have been able to build them into convincing and relatable people! I do hope you continue to enjoy the story. :)

Cathael - No problem! :)

Glad you caught that little tidbit about her getting Erchirion to move with just a look. I purposefully wanted to include it, though it's a small moment; Lothíriel very much has it what it takes to become a queen.

Take care of yourself, too!

Boramir - Don't get me wrong, your message did not make me uneasy! I was just a little bit surprised about the length and detail you went into, but it is by no means a bad thing. If something I wrote inspires someone like that, then I can only say that I am flattered. I'm more worried whether I can live up to such deep knowledge, or how much of military strategy this new plotline will include. I do have interest in medieval history, but I'm far too lazy (and busy) to research the subject in a satisfactory way; my stories are at best medieval-inspired fantasy and hardly period accurate.

Jo - Thank you!

Simplegurl4u - Glad you liked it! I must say, I'm rather fond of this version of her, too - soft and strong at the same time!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thanks!