Chapter 24

Next day, Lothíriel saw Ithilien again.

The rain started soon after the companies of the King of Rohan and the King of Gondor and Arnor had left Emyn Arnen behind. Today the weather had a chill in it – a promise of autumn to come. It was fitting for Lothíriel's mood, although she felt concerned for her husband. She hoped he would not be cold, wet and miserable out there.

Saying goodbye to him had been just as difficult as she had expected. They had reached Emyn Arnen earlier this day, and Éomer and Faramir had escorted their wives into the safety of the manor house while the rest of the company waited outside. Father had said goodbye to her earlier when they had crossed the river. There was no ceremony or pomp. Lothíriel had held her husband as tightly as she could without cutting herself on the hard, sharp edges of chain-mail and armour. She had breathed in the familiar smell of leather and wind and iron, and then kissed him goodbye. He held her face between his hands for a moment, his forehead against her own, and then he turned away swiftly, and was gone before she had quite mastered her feelings.

The best thing would have been to have something to do, but when Lothíriel asked her sister-in-law for some task, however meagre, Éowyn shook her head and told her she must get settled first, and rest a little. The campaign was only just starting and they could get to work the next day. And so Lothíriel had conceded to being led to her room, albeit grudgingly. Her maid, a girl found by Éowyn only a couple of days ago in Minas Tirith, helped her to unpack her travelling chest, and then there was nothing more left to do.

She did not feel particularly tired, and sitting idly did not seem like a good idea: it would only make her already downcast mood even worse. A walk might have cheered her, but not in such rain as was beating against her window at the moment. Needing to occupy herself in some way, Lothíriel took out some of the new, fresh linen she had purchased just before the wedding. Éomer had not noticed it but during their brief hours together she had already silently taken his measures for a new shirt. Doubtlessly he had no great need for a new shirt at this time, but it would give her something to do, and hopefully it would be a bit more special to him than the ones made by servants back in Rohan.

And now she was seated by the window in the very same room where she had stayed a little while ago. Little had she guessed that she would be back so soon – and as a bride! The difference was the other chest in the room, sitting next to her own. Its carvings were more elaborate than hers, containing endless interlacing ribbons and images of fierce beasts, as if the very surface of the chest told some old tale of Rohan. Inside it were Éomer's things, such as he could not easily take with him on the road – spare clothes and the like for when he might stay here during the campaign. She glanced at the bed, which they would probably also share in those times, and felt a slight shiver go down her back.

Now he was out there, preparing to storm the woods and mountainsides with King Elessar and Faramir and Father. He would be all right – he had to be. If not, then what would be the point of this all?

Her needlework fell to her lap. It felt like there was a bundle of ice in her stomach, radiating fear and uncertainty. Terrible images filled her mind: Éomer's body brought back dead from the field, all their hopes crushed before this new life had even properly started, a grim return to Dol Amroth and nursing a broken heart while her bitterness grew... had she moved too fast and let this happen too easily? Should she have waited and guarded her heart better?

But it was not as simple as that. She could not imagine a world or a life where she did not love him. He had come like a sudden storm, irresistible and inevitable, and she had loved him even before she herself knew it. And if this should end in tears... wouldn't it be better to have tasted a love like his, even if for a brief moment, than to never have known it at all?

Lothíriel closed her eyes and rubbed her face. There was no reason to believe this would be the end. He would be fine.

Thankfully, it was then she heard someone knocking at her door. Lothíriel wiped her eyes and cleared her throat, and invited the guest inside.

Hild entered her chamber. She had changed into a simple green and brown dress and wore her hair in a thick, elaborate braid. Somehow, she looked out of place here in Emyn Arnen, although the manor house was not decorated entirely in Gondorian fashion. She did not seem to belong here like her niece did, which felt strange considering how much they resembled one another.

"Have you settled in? I hope I'm not disturbing you", said Hild as she came, moving more stiffly than normal. Perhaps the weather was impacting her, too.

"Not at all, Aunt Hild. Your company is most welcome. Please, come and take a seat", said Lothíriel, and fussed around the older woman for a bit. She found a stool where Hild could rest her bad leg, and the old princess flashed her a quick smile as she settled down.

"I hope your rooms are comfortable, and the stairs of this house are not too difficult for you", Lothíriel said as she took seat again.

"I have no complaints about the rooms. The stairs are manageable, too; it's no worse than anything one gets used to while trudging about Edoras. As long as it's warm and not too drafty, I will be all right", Hild said, waving her hand. She glanced about herself and continued, "It's quite a house, I must admit. My sister's daughter has made a fine life for herself here, and what little I've seen of her husband, he seems like a decent man. Not at all like I had expected a son of Denethor to be."

"They are very happy, yes", said Lothíriel carefully. She decided they didn't know one another well enough yet to be talking about her late uncle, especially when it sounded like Hild's opinion might be ambivalent.

Hild gave her one of those piercing looks, and smiled.

"No need to be wary, lass. I hope you don't feel like you must choose sides between me and the lady of the house. Whatever problems there are, you have no part in it. You have your own burdens to worry about", she said firmly.

"I would not wish to get caught in it. You and her both are my family now", Lothíriel commented, relaxing somewhat. Doubtlessly both women meant to avoid confrontation, but the young queen feared it was inevitable. Sooner or later they would come face to face, no matter how much they tried to keep their distance. She hoped she would not get caught in the crossfire when it happened, but at least she felt like she could trust they would not intentionally make her a part of their disagreement.

"Well, I promised my nephew that no conflict would come from me, and I shall try to keep that promise", Hild said and absent-mindedly rubbed her knee. She leant back and interlaced her fingers, and continued, "In the meantime, I wonder if we might begin our lessons soon? I understand you are willing to learn our language."

"I would indeed. I think sooner would be better than later: there will be less time to spare once the campaign has fully started and this house will be needed to serve as an infirmary for the injured. I think it would be a nice surprise for Éomer when he next visits us, if I could greet him like you do in Rohan", Lothíriel said.

Hild smiled, nodding.

"Aye, he would like that, more than you know. Have you any aptitude for languages? I have heard that many Gondorian nobles are fluent in more than just Westron", she inquired.

"My family mainly speaks Sindarin between one another, and Westron is the language I've used with your people until now. I can read Quenya, though not like our loremasters, and have a passable understanding of the main Haradrim tongues", Lothíriel answered.

The old princess made a low, deep sound in satisfaction.

"Considering that most people I know in Rohan know only their own tongue, you are well-learned indeed. I doubt learning Rohirric will be difficult for you, and I can promise that even a halting attempt to speak it will be gladly received. It might even win over some who did not wish for another Gondorian queen", she said wryly.

"Should I prepare for great opposition in Rohan?"

"Not during the campaign. Any fool knows not to distract the King when he has to worry about the security and survival of his Riders. And while you are here, away from the court of Meduseld, you will be spared. Once you have produced the heir, your position will be secure. I know how it sounds, and I'm sure you feel the pressure, but unfortunately it is a great concern for many people in Rohan", said the old Shieldmaiden, her tone serious. But there was no curiosity in her voice, or forcefulness. She seemed like a shrewd woman, and perhaps she could tell things about her nephew and his wife's relationship that Lothíriel might herself want to keep private. However, Hild did not give an impression that she herself expected the heir to be on his way already.

Lothíriel kept her tone mild and her expression neutral when she said, "I know my duty, and have every intention of fulfilling it. I don't want to make enemies in Rohan."

"I have no doubt about it. You have conducted yourself well so far, but you will have to be patient. Rohirrim can be exceptionally stubborn."

"So I have noticed. But if I can wear down Éomer, I'm sure I can manage with the rest of them."

Hild snorted in laughter.

"Aye, by conquering him you have already taken down one great obstacle – and got yourself heavy armour against attacks."

"Should I expect trouble from Master Ceolmund?"

"Not for the time being, perhaps. He will be too busy haggling with your lord father's people about the marriage contract to bother us for a while. But you may have to tread carefully with him sometimes, until you've had time to adjust to your new role. Thankfully, he's fiercely loyal to Éomer, however funnily he may sometimes show it. He will do as the King commands", said Hild and leant back her head, her eyes wandering around in the room. "Still, it's a very new circumstance for us all. We haven't had a queen in some time, and now my nephew has gone and taken one in the course of just a few months... but you are a daughter of the House of Dol Amroth, and that name is remembered well among Rohirrim. Any other lass would be received with greater suspicion and wariness. Just keep going as you have until now, and I'm certain all will be well."

"If I may ask... are you married, Aunt Hild?" Lothíriel asked, watching the old Shieldmaiden's face closely in case she needed to back down.

"No, I'm not. I never had time for it, or the inclination. As a young woman I was too busy riding with my éored to make a home or take a husband. I was not needed to secure the continuation of our House. But I am content: my life has been full either way. And now I have Éomer: he is the son I never had. Perhaps you will be a daughter to me."

Warmth kept up Lothíriel's neck.

"I would be honoured", she said softly. "I remember little of my mother. She died when I was young, and my own aunt, the Lady Ivriniel, was too distant to take that role upon herself."

"I am sorry to hear it. I don't suppose it was an easy childhood, but you seem to have made the best of it."

"I had my father, and my brothers. For a long time, I thought it was enough. But lately I've understood that I was still alone in many ways. There was not really anyone to confide in... although perhaps holding my silence for so long was a mistake. Lately, my brothers have shown that they have little understanding for what I think and hope for, but how could they know when I never spoke of it to them?" Lothíriel said, frowning.

"Oh, I understand better than you know. See, I had two elder sisters. But they were much older, and were raised in Gondor. I never felt like I had much in common with them; they were everything my mother could hope for them to be, but I was the savage girl who loved battle and bright swords. Even Théodwyn, bless her soul, was too different. We rarely had much to talk about between ourselves, however odd that may sound. But it doesn't mean I did not love them", Hild remarked, smiling faintly. Then she sighed and went on, "My brother was closest to me, and he was the one I spoke to of deeper matters close to my heart. But in the end, even such a relationship may turn sour."

"Do you see them still? Your sisters, I mean?" Lothíriel asked.

The old woman smiled sadly.

"I haven't seen them in a very long time. They married here in Gondor before the death of our father, and eventually all news of them ceased. I do not know if they live still, or if they too have passed away. I wondered if they would reach out after our brother died, for surely they wouldn't have missed such tidings. But they did not, and perhaps that is for the better. I suppose we would have very little to say to one another, at this point", she replied.

It was a sad thought. Hild may still have sisters living, but with all ties of communication severed, they might as well be dead. She too had lost most of her family, and only Éomer remained – and Éowyn. In such a situation, why wouldn't Hild want to fix the relationship with her niece? Yet maybe she was just accustomed to solitude, and did not know how to revive old bonds of kinship. Long years of walking her path alone, away from the living members of her family, might have made it easier to keep her distance than to expose herself to another conflict and more loss.

"What about Queen Morwen, your mother? I have heard that she still lives. It's not a long journey from here to Lossarnarch, where she abides", Lothíriel said tentatively.

But Hild smiled faintly and shook her head.

"What good would it do? She abandoned Rohan long ago. She only loved my father, but I, I love the Riddermark. I think there would be even less to say between us, than with my sisters. And she is ancient. I don't know if she even receives guests, especially the kind that might disturb her peace", she said firmly. In her eyes, there was a strange, cool light.

Sensing this was a topic Hild was getting impatient with, Lothíriel decided not to pursue it further.

"So, do we start the lessons today? Unless you wish to rest after the journey", she suggested, and the old Shieldmaiden seemed to grow easier again. She took a more comfortable position in her chair and folded her hands in her lap.

"Why not? I'm not tired, and it is not a very good weather to go exploring. We may as well begin right away."

The work began the next morning. Some small preparations had been made while Éowyn was away at Minas Tirith, but now that the lady of the house had returned, the atmosphere at Emyn Arnen electrified and things moved forward with new vigour. The manor house was now so full of life and people, it resembled like the goings of a small city were being directed there. Various needful groups had arrived with the company yesterday: troops from the White City to aid in guarding the manor house, healers and nurses ready to take in patients, staff for the kitchens to keep the whole operation fed, messengers both Rohirric and Gondorian perpetually ready to ride on errands, washers, maids, servants, and so on. Beds for injured warriors needed to be made, medicines and bandages prepared, servants needed supervision, provisions arriving from Minas Tirith required taking stock, requests for rations or other supplies coming from the field had to be answered, and so on. It took a whole lot of coordination, so it was good that Lothíriel and Éowyn could divide tasks between one another and ensure that everything ran as smoothly as possible. When the commanders would convene at Emyn Arnen, the number of various needed services and people to offer them would grow even greater. It was a strain on the lands around the manor house, but rafts brought supply wagons from Lossarnarch almost daily, and hopefully the campaign would not last too long and take too much of a toll on this beautiful country.

In some ways it was the same as Lothíriel's time of holding Dol Amroth in Father's absence while the Great War was being fought, and in others it was vastly different. Now war was closer to her than ever before in her life, though she knew she was quite safe, surrounded by soldiers from Minas Tirith in black and silver livery. Beyond in the woods, Rangers accompanied by Rohirrim were constantly patrolling the vicinity. The thought of orcs prowling in the woods did not worry or scare her, and in truth she was too busy to give it much thought. Her concern was for Éomer, and for her family.

Another difference was Éowyn. It was relieving to shoulder the duty with someone so fearless and competent. Fortunately, the White Lady did not seem to mind sharing duties and authority, though it would have been her right to assert some prominence in her own house. But there were also moments when Éowyn would show sudden deference to her friend, and Lothíriel knew it was because though they were now sisters-in-law, she was also the new queen of Rohan and it was not meaningless to the Lady of Ithilien. Ties of kinship to Rohan held fast and a part of her, no matter how long her life in Gondor would be, would always remain Rohirrim.

Each morning, the two women would meet at breakfast – or after it, if Lothíriel had shared the meal with Hild – and divided tasks for the day. Then Éowyn might head for the infirmary, and Lothíriel would find her way to the kitchens or the laundry, or if provisions were arriving that day, they would go together to supervise the unloading and taking stock. During the day, maids and squires would run back and forth between them, carrying messages. In the beginning Lothíriel often had to bother her sister-in-law with questions; although Éowyn had showed her around in the manor house and introducing parts of it guests would not normally see, there was still much to learn about the workings of the house. But Éowyn was very patient, and soon enough Lothíriel needed to ask less and less.

The first patients arrived about a week after Éomer and Faramir had taken their leave of Emyn Arnen. By then, beds were readily made in the halls of the manor house: for example, the dining hall where long tables once stood, was now ready to house injured warriors. Their number was less than Lothíriel had dreaded, which in itself was good news. She saw only a few severely wounded soldiers there. She aided with such tasks as did not require a healer's experience, and other things too: she would sit with those who appeared to need the company, or helped to write letters to family, or read aloud whatever books she had with herself. Gondorian soldiers treated her with reserved respect, but Rohirrim would look at her with wide eyes, and ask, "You are her, aren't you, milady?"

When she learned simple words of calming from Hild, and used them on the anxious patients, she could see them surprised and glad. Lothíriel began to understand how important it was for her new people that they heard her speaking their own tongue. She spoke of it to Éowyn, who confirmed her understanding: while among the nobles various languages were used, the ordinary Riders still loved their own Northern speech above all. It was a common prejudice that behind words of friendship, Gondorians secretly sneered at Eorlingas, living in their thatched houses and preferring their free fields to any castle. Seeing a lady of the South, one of such high lineage as the House of Dol Amroth, speaking words of their own mother's tongue was a balm indeed. And so Lothíriel made it a point of speaking as much of Rohirric as she could, though she knew that little of what she said made any sense. But it always brought a smile on the faces of Riders from Rohan.

She and Éowyn both usually worked until evening, taking breaks only to eat a little or drink a cup of tea in the green shade of Éowyn's garden. After supper, Lothíriel would tackle correspondence, of which there was surprisingly much. Even the most distant relatives were writing to her, some just to congratulate her on the marriage, and others also to ask for royal favours, because wouldn't her lord husband be interested in this or that business proposal? There were also letters from Aunt Ivriniel. The first of them was full of fire and brimstone, as her niece's recent marriage seemed to be like a personal insult to the woman. Although her tone abated a little in later correspondence, this still remained her chief concern for many letters, as did the veiled suggestions to find some honourable way to end the union. Lothíriel could only imagine the letters her father was receiving. If this was Aunt Ivriniel's reaction, what would she say and do when she met Éomer? Lothíriel shuddered. Her family had already caused quite enough trouble and more was not needed; she didn't think her husband would accept her aunt as a footman.

Compared to Aunt Ivriniel's acrid letters, Hild was quite pleasant. It was unusual that the old Shieldmaiden was the more complacent of the two women, though Lothíriel recalled even Hild had first been doubtful about her nephew's marriage to the lady of southern shores. Well, if Hild's mind could be changed, then surely there was a way to gain Ivriniel's favour, too. So she responded to her aunt's letters mildly and patiently, urging her not to judge the matter so harshly before she had even met Éomer and seen the two of them together. Aunt Ivriniel could be stubborn, but lately Lothíriel had plenty of experience of dealing with stubborn characters. Hild's comment about her wearing down Éomer came to mind, making her smile.

There came letters from Éomer as well, or rather messages. They were brief, and obviously written in haste. She answered in kind, partly because she too had little spare time for long letters, and partly because she didn't want to burden him with long accounts; he had better uses for his time than reading her lovesick rantings. But even the briefest of messages, containing little else than words of longing and endearment, were cherished by her.

Whatever free time there was in her day, Lothíriel spent with Hild. They would walk in Éowyn's garden, which Hild liked very much, and in the close proximity of the manor house – extremely close, as Lothíriel was not keen for more accidents – or they would sit in Lothíriel's chamber while the younger of the two women worked over the shirt she was making for Éomer. Hild would lecture her about Rohan, the language of Rohirrim, their history and culture, the noble families and political landscape she would be dealing with as a queen, and many other things. Sometimes she would share stories and poetry, although Hild said that much was lost in translation and that Lothíriel would be able to fully appreciate the music of that poetry once she understood more of the language.

It was usually late when she was able to get to bed. Then the feeling, which had lived in the back of her mind from the moment she had woken up, would come to her in full force and she would miss Éomer so much that it was like a physical pain. They had spent only a few nights sharing the same bed, and yet she already yearned for it, yearned to fall asleep listening to his breathing and feeling his arm around her. And without him there, she felt tremendously alone and scared.

When that was the feeling she fell asleep with, was it a wonder that nightmares often followed? There she was in the woods again, lost and deserted, running endlessly although she knew it was in vain: she would always end up under that tree with an arrow in her shoulder. There she would lay and wait to die. And no matter how many times she went through this nightmare, the horror of it never abated.

But morning came, as it always did. On that day nearly a fortnight after their arrival, Lothíriel startled awake before her maid came to rouse her from sleep. She was shivering, and cold sweat was gluing her shift to her skin. It had been worse than normally and her shoulder still ached with the phantom pain of her already healed wound. Thankfully, she had a few minutes to take a quick sponge-bath by the washing basin, though the water was cold and she was shaking with the chill by the time she was done.

Her maid came and helped her to prepare for the day, lacing her gown and quickly braiding her hair. Lothíriel peered into her looking glass, and was dismayed to see how tired she looked. She hoped Éowyn would not notice.

Breakfast was served in Éowyn's own solar, which enjoyed a view and private entrance from the garden. To support the campaign both in spirit and practice, meals were quite frugal compared to the laden tables set for guests earlier in the summer. But it was simple, hearty food, and more than enough to keep one going until lunch.

They had taken their seats at the table, and Éowyn was pouring some tea for them, when she started to speak, "I have some good news. A messenger arrived late last night, and told me that our husbands and King Elessar will be arriving at Emyn Arnen later today to hold a council."

Lothíriel looked up and felt her heart leap in her chest. Éomer was coming! Though days had passed quickly after his departure, she had still missed him very much, especially since she had expected it might be weeks before she could see him again.

"I am glad to hear it", she said, but then continued, "Why didn't you send me a word last night?"

"The message came late, and you had already retired. I thought it best not to disturb you, for I thought you seemed tired. In fact you still do. Did you not sleep well?" asked Éowyn, frowning slightly.

"I suppose I did not."

"Is something the matter?"

Lothíriel thought quickly how to answer. She did not want to lie, but neither did she feel comfortable talking of the nightmares; her sister-in-law had greater and more important matters to worry about; why bother her with something so foolish?

"There is no need to be concerned for some sleepless nights. I'm sure it will pass soon enough", she said at last. From Éowyn's expression, she knew it was far from being a satisfactory answer, but for one reason or the other, her sister-in-law did not pursue the matter any further. However, Lothíriel had a feeling Éowyn would not be forgetting it.

She opted to change the topic.

"Did the messenger say how many are travelling with them? I should like to know how many beds we ought to prepare. And is my father coming? I don't suppose they will be staying for long", she said, keeping her tone light.

Éowyn conceded to the change of topic, answering her questions. For the time being, sleeping habits were mercifully forgotten.

The day was busy and a feeling of excitement remained as a current in the air for the rest of it. The news of the royal company visiting had spread quickly and patients eagerly questioned Lothíriel about it when she walked among them. She tried to smile, and told them that the kings of the West would only remain here a little while, and she didn't know if they would have time to meet their injured warriors. But she reassured them she would remain, and be with them as often as she could.

She excused herself briefly before evening (and before the kings were expected to arrive), and went to her rooms. It was perhaps a vain thing to do, but she wanted to check her visage in the looking glass, and make sure that her hair was smooth and fine. Changing dresses would be too frivolous, but she wanted to make sure she looked well when Éomer arrived. Perhaps this was the night that she would finally be bold enough to perform the duties that were expected of her. Doubtlessly, it would be a pleasant surprise for him.

But it was not until just before sunset that the company of the kings did arrive. An outrider came first to announce them, and Lothíriel and Éowyn both made their way to the courtyard. eager to see their loved ones. Imrahil and Amrothos would not be there among them: they had gone south on some errand.

Now there in the courtyard there was a stillness, and stable-hands and grooms were standing by, all eagerly waiting. Then a horn was blown in the woods, and soon after riders began to approach. Lothíriel shivered, recalling the last time she had heard that horn, or one nearly like it.

The two standards, the White Horse and the White Tree, were borne into the courtyard. Then Lothíriel's seeking eyes found him: as tall and fair and wonderful as the night when she had first seen him. He sprang from his saddle, and with two long strides, he was before her.

She had just barely time to exclaim, as Hild had taught her: "Westu Éomer hal!"

His face lit up.

"Leofe min!" he cried, and then he was cupping her face between his hands, and he was kissing her. Surprised though she was at the suddenness of it, Lothíriel melted against him, wrapping her arms around the neck of her husband and nearly forgetting everything around them.

But though she might have forgotten they were not the only people in the world, others had not.

"Brother?" a voice called, gentle and patient, and both Lothíriel and Éomer startled as if from a dream to see King Elessar watching them. He did not look frustrated at all; his eyes twinkled and he was smiling slightly.

"I beg your pardon, Aragorn", said Éomer, running his hands against Lothíriel's face and her neck.

"Supper is ready, my lords", Lothíriel said readily, smiling.

"I'm sure you would love to share it with your husband, my lady, but I'm afraid we have a need for him tonight. Does the Lady Éowyn have a space where we may eat and speak?"

"We have indeed. But come inside, my lords! You all look weary from the road, and in the need of refreshment."

So Lothíriel buried all hopes she had harboured of having a private supper and an evening alone with Éomer. Even his presence here did not mean that he was getting a night off, though at least she was able to see him for a little while. But even so, after taking him to their chamber, she could sit there while his esquire helped him to take off the armour. It was in their bedchamber, and his principal esquire did it; Lothíriel guessed this was often Erchirion's duty, but his absence now probably meant Éomer was sparing her from a painful confrontation. If Erchirion were among those who had come to Emy Arnen, Lothíriel had not spotted him. But that could well be because she only had eyes for Éomer.

Either way, it was good to see Éomer again. He was talking lightly about this and that, and throwing an occasional smile over his shoulder at her. She ached seeing those smiles, feeling how very much she loved him – and how hard it would be when he was gone again. But whenever he looked at her, she smiled back, and spoke only of how well everything was going here, between her and Éowyn and Hild.

"I must say, being greeted in my own tongue by you was a surprise, though pleasant", he then commented, as the squire was unbuckling his vambraces.

Lothíriel flashed him a smile.

"I thought it might please you. Aunt Hild has been teaching me a little. But I must warn you – I won't be holding conversations any time soon", she told him.

"You are willing to learn, though, and I am not the only one who is or will be delighted by your effort. I think it will also be helpful in turning some heads with stiffer necks, and it is certainly good that some day you will be able to talk to Rohirrim in their own tongue – and they to you", he said, beaming at her. It really was making him so happy, and she had expected it would, but the depth of his joy still surprised her.

"Then I shall keep on practising. Hild is a demanding teacher, but I don't mind it."

"Well, as long as you don't let her run you ragged. All this – your work and my aunt and what not – isn't too much, I hope?"

"Not at all. I can share the load with Éowyn, and it's good to have things to keep me busy. Otherwise, I could hardly think of anything except how much I miss you, and worry about you out there. Compared to what you are doing, and King Elessar and Faramir and my family, I think my duties are quite simple", she said, looking straight at him. Éomer stepped away from his squire, who refrained from groaning out loud, and halted next to her. He bowed down to kiss the top of her head, resting his hand against her cheek. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his mail-clad torso. The chain-mail was cool and uneven, and smelled faintly of rust and oil. This, and the breastplate his squire had already removed, was all that stood between him and the enemy's cold blades and deadly darts.

"I wish I knew how to make you feel like you needn't worry about me", he said quietly.

"Then do you wish to make me not love you? If not, don't say such things", she told him sternly, and he took the point in silence.

Lothíriel looked up and tried to smile, "How long will you be staying?"

"Only for tonight, I'm afraid. We must away in the morning. I know, it's not to my liking either; hopefully next time I will be able to stay a bit longer. If I can arrange that, perhaps we could cross the river and go riding in Lossarnarch. I hear it is beautiful there", he told her and gently brushed her hair with his fingertips.

She concealed her disappointment. It would not be helpful to complain, or make her husband feel like he must choose between her and his duties. She knew very well that to make him do the former would always be a betrayal of her own place and the expectations laid on her as his queen. But it was hard, harder even than she had thought it would be.

So she pushed her thoughts and anxiety deep inside, and looked at him with all the love that she held in her heart.

"It's a fine idea", she told him, and thought she saw some relief in his features. She guessed he must have worried how she would take it when she heard that he would stay for such a short while.

Éomer did not change into his more formal clothing, but was still in his padded tunic, stained with rust, when he gestured to her and began to move for the door. Lothíriel took his hand, and followed.

"I have much to talk about with Aragorn and Faramir. Your cousin has returned with news that we are eager to hear. But I think it's good for you to participate. I know you have experience from Dol Amroth, where you ruled in your father's stead. Yet perhaps this will be useful for you, too. There may come a time when I'm not there to aid you, and you are required to command Rohan in defence alone", he spoke to her quietly as they walked downstairs. She felt uneasy at the thought and hoped she would never have to hold Rohan without him by her side.

They met the other lords in Faramir's own study, where a great table was laid. What followed was not really a supper, though food was indeed served and eaten; her husband, Faramir and King Elessar seemed more interested in talking and plotting. Hild was present as well. They were making plans for a large manoeuver down in south, where Faramir's Rangers had located a system of caves that orcs appeared to be using.

Lothíriel sat next to Éomer, listening to the conversation. She was mostly silent, as she did not think she had much of value to add to the conversation of these mighty warriors. Hild took part more often, and though Lothíriel knew she was no judge in that matter, to her the old Shieldmaiden's observations sounded keen and discerning, and the commanders appeared to think so too. They listened to her attentively, nodding here and there, and used her suggestions to hone their strategy.

It was a fascinating conversation, but the day had been long and last night's troubled sleep now weighed heavily on Lothíriel. So, eventually she bid the company good night and retired. She hoped Éomer would not be far off behind; she wanted to crawl into his arms, and perhaps take things a little further than until now. So she sat up as late as she could bear, but at last she dozed off into uneasy dreams, still straining to hear his footsteps.

But when she felt the bed dipping, and a familiar strong arm wrapping around her, it was almost like some weight fell from her chest and she let out a deep sigh and cradled his hand close to her chest.

"I missed you so", she mumbled, bone-weary but content.

"As I did you", he whispered, lips lingering for a moment against her cheek.

Lothíriel smiled, and then let sleep overcome her at last.

The company took their leave of Emyn Arnen early the next morning. Éomer was not pleased with the briefness of the visit – he had barely had time to see and talk to his wife – but he had known personal wishes would have to be laid aside for the time being. His impatience was hard to endure, and the joy of battle, so familiar to him in times before, was still missing. But he could not act like he had as a younger and more reckless man. That much he had learned during his first year of kingship and it was the lesson both his aunt Hild and Ceolmund had not yet ceased to lecture.

They rode south, making for the meeting place where they would join with Imrahil and prepare for an ambush that had been long in planning, even before the campaign had started proper. The company had not yet managed to lure the enemy into a major battle, though there had been smaller skirmishes and he too had already wetted his blade in the blood of orcs; but the gathering of the horses of Rohan and Gondor would perhaps be a prize too tempting to pass. It was risky, but Éomer also knew that each man under his command would fight for their steeds like they were fighting for their own kin.

But as of now, his mind was not yet in strategies or battles to come. He still pondered his lady, and how soon he might be able to see her again. He thought she had looked tired, but perhaps that was to be expected, even though she had reassured him that with Éowyn to share the load she managed well. It still sounded quite a lot, though, managing the household, supervising the supplies, tending to the wounded, and learning about Rohan, all at the same time. Well, he would pay close attention to her when he next visited Emyn Arnen – and perhaps talk to his aunt and sister, if they had noticed something he ought to know about. Éomer didn't think Lothíriel would intentionally keep anything important from him, but she might downplay or dismiss her own troubles so as to help him focus on the war.

"Are you anxious about your lady, or is there some other reason you keep frowning and sighing?" asked Aragorn eventually, his tone gentle.

It startled Éomer from his thoughts, and he sharply glanced at his friend.

"How do you guess?"

Aragorn smiled faintly back.

"Because I'm anxious about Arwen, too."

"Well, your concern is at least more reasonable than mine. I have nothing but my own unhelpful way of fretting about things that I'm not able to control", said Éomer wryly.

"Has she given you a reason to be so?"

"Not really, but she might think it's unimportant; maybe she thinks she should not distract me with her troubles while there is a war." To himself he added, It's what I might do, if her attention was needed at something as grave – and she is too like me in that regard.

Aragorn pondered this for a moment.

"Yes, I see how the lady might do that. But perhaps you should talk to her about it."

"I would, but I'm not sure how. I don't want to smother the poor lass. Statements have been made about my overprotective ways", Éomer said, thinking about his conversation with Éowyn just days before the wedding.

His friend smiled faintly.

"I can guess who has made them. But don't worry. Your sister has keen eyes, and she is not indifferent to your wife's well-being. Even if one remains silent, the other won't", Aragorn pointed out.

"That is true", Éomer conceded. "Yet even if Éowyn did notice it, and told me so... how should I speak of it to Lothíriel? I don't wish for her to feel like I doubt her competence. How goes it with Arwen, if I may ask – do you ever have anything like this with her?"

"I'm afraid I can't offer any such advice or examples. Remember, I've known her for a very long time, before I knew her as a wife. And this past year has been calm and peaceful for us, and we have had time to just be with one another, and enjoy the long-awaited joy. It is very different for you and your queen. Arwen awaited me at the end of a very long road, but your treasure came to you perhaps at the start of yours", Aragorn replied gently.

Éomer was frowning, and glaring at the road before him. It seemed things ran so much more smoothly for others in his circle of friends. Though he loved Lothíriel more than he loved life, it seemed that every step was laden with difficulties: there had been Aegdir, and then the prohibition from courting her, and orcs, and Erchirion, and annoying advisers... but then he glanced at Aragorn and understood how foolish his frustration was. His brother-in-arms had waited for Arwen for more than a lifetime.

"Even so, I've found that honesty and talking things through does help enormously. You should try to find for yourself whether that works for you, and her. Try to be gentle: she is a lady strong and steadfast, but her injury is still recent, and I sense there is softness and sensitivity behind her resolute face", Aragorn continued, and in the end, Éomer knew it was the best and only advice he needed in the end. Talking openly with Lothíriel was not a problem, as long as she acknowledged that there was one. And he must be patient, and find the right words, instead of blurting out something that unintentionally undermined her capability and strength. You are an artist with a blade, sister-son, Hild had said to him once, but not always with words.

How right his aunt had been!

After they had made camp that night, Aragorn and Faramir arrived at Éomer's tent to have supper together. There were still more things to talk about – but also lighter things, and matters of friendship. Éomer had told his new footman to arrange it – with direction from his esquire, Oswulf, of course – and with as much comfort and cosiness as possible. With pelts on the ground and rich hangings, his quarters recalled something of the air of Meduseld. Erchirion had managed in quiet obedience as of late, much to Éomer's liking, and tonight he would be serving the meal and drinks. Lothíriel's brother had also already survived several meetings with Firefoot, fingers intact, which boded well for the rest of his penitence.

The three men were seated around a table, talking avidly as good friends sharing a meal are wont to do. Soon Éomer noticed, though, that while Erchirion was managing his task of serving food and drink with all due grace and did not blunder even once, he was also keenly interested in the conversation. At one point, when the three lords were reminiscing about the Battle of Morannon, Erchirion even seemed to be about to open his mouth and make some comment – which a footman would never do, if he knew his place. But Éomer shot him a glare, which silenced him instantly. However interesting Erchirion's words might have been, and however treasured the memories of comradeship, allowing him to take the role of a companion instead of a subordinate would go directly against the lesson Éomer was trying to teach him. For the rest of the meal, Erchirion remained firmly focused on his task.

After supper Éomer bid good night to his friends, and after final words of parting, they went to seek their beds – or attend to any business still had before rest could be taken. But he took a seat again, by the table, while Erchirion was busy cleaning the plates and pitchers. He would still need to wash the dishes, and doubtlessly Oswulf had many other tasks prepared; in all fairness, it had to be said that at least Erchirion was not complaining, even if Éomer's esquire could at times be quite the taskmaster. But he guessed all Imrahil's sons had attended duties like this as young lads, just as he himself had once served as an esquire to his uncle.

Now leaning back in his chair, legs crossed on the ground, Éomer silently watched his brother-in-law move about the table. Eventually, Erchirion became aware of his silent stare.

The dark haired lord turned to face the young king, bowing his head.

"Is something the matter, lord?" he asked. It sounded like he was asking only for courtesy's sake, and knew already what Éomer's issue with him was.

"I was wondering if you know truly what is expected of you", said the young king.

"Well, I thought it might not be so bad for me to join the conversation, but I am sorry if I was wrong. It was not my intention to irritate you, lord."

"And I have no doubt that you wish to engage in friendships as before, and act as you always did. But you forfeited that right when you insulted and humiliated my queen – and when you accepted to serve under my command. So cast away any thoughts of sitting and joining conversation at my table, as your liege-lord and cousin do. Your work of penitence has barely even started, and you will remember your place while it lasts. If that does not suit you, then you may as well get out of this tent, and go and throw yourself in Anduin for all I care. But know that if you do find my expectations too hard to bear and abandon your post, then you may exclude yourself from the welcome that is granted in Meduseld to the rest of your family and kin", Éomer said, holding Imrahil's son with his severe gaze. They were stern words, he knew that well, and he did not take joy in reproaching a man he had fought side by side with, and counted among his own friends. But it was the only way he could do right by Lothíriel – and himself.

Erchirion paled a little.

"Would you then even deny me the comfort of friendship, lord?"

"I would, stern though it may seem. But little did you pay heed to friendship when you shouted abuse at me at your sister's bedside, or when you quarrelled with Beornric, a good man who thought you were his friend. It's not a gift you get to enjoy only when it suits you, or you are in need of comfort. First you must decide whether you prize friendship more than you do your pride. In time you may win it back – and win it you must, indeed – but if it now seems bitter, then think of how bitter it was for your sister to have her own brother betray her trust!" he reminded his wilful servant, and Erchirion bowed his head in shame.

He said no more in his defence, but bowed at the King of Rohan.

"Lord, I shall try to do better", he promised in a quiet, humble tone of one who has been chastised and agreed it is justly done.

"Good", said Éomer, sighing. "Now make haste. I have many reports from Rohan to read, and would like to do it in peace."

"Of course. Will you need anything more tonight, lord?" asked Erchirion as he gathered the dirty dishes. The point was driven home, but time would show if it stuck.

"I don't think so. You are dismissed", said Éomer, absent-mindedly, his thoughts already on the reports he had received from Hild. Night was still young and he was not weary yet, although the thought of reading through many reports might make him so. On the other hand, he knew that tonight of all nights, his thoughts would be anxious and restless if he were to seek his bed, and perhaps matters of Rohan, far away in the green and peaceful valleys where the wind under stars would be the only disturbance tonight, would take him there at least in spirit.

Tomorrow, toil and battle would call him again.

To be continued.

A/N: Here is a new chapter, and I suspect the final update for this year.

I think my favourite parts of this chapter is Éomer's conversation with Aragorn - and asking for marriage advice. I have been re-reading LOTR again, and I'm struck once more by how their relationship is written, with so much mutual love and respect and loyalty. I wish there were more stories about their friendship! It seems like they truly feel like brothers to one another: Aragorn doesn't have much in the way of family, and Éomer had lost Théodred, and being both mortal and kings, their support of one another seems like such a pillar of strength for them both.

It's always fun to write Lothíriel with Hild, too, and explore the relationship as it emerges between them. There is more about Hild that Lothíriel can relate to, than she previously realised. Hild doesn't feel like she ever much understood her sisters, and Lothíriel has recently seen that while her she loves her brothers and vice versa, they are very different.

Also, Erchirion is starting to learn - slowly but surely! However willing he was to accept whatever penalty Éomer would decree, it's not maybe that easy to adjust to it in practice.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! I hope you all have lovely, relaxing holidays, and Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Cathael - It's been a really busy autumn for me, and often draining. But I try to write as much as I can!

Yeah, poor darlings don't really get to be together in this part of the story, and it's difficult for them both.

Glad to hear you like Hild! I myself am very fond of her, and enjoy writing the parts where she and Lothíriel interact. I think (at least in this story) Lothíriel did not have many female rolemodels in her childhood. There was Ivriniel, but it was maybe a bit distant relationship. And I think Lothíriel is more important to Hild than she usually lets on - although she does talk in this chapter about how she might be as a daughter to her.

Also, good to know you agree with how Éomer decided to chastise Erchirion! He's not one for gestures, but seeks for practical solutions, if he can.

Thank you, and take care as well!

NightBlossom - She is very steady, but I think in that situation it took even her a lot of self-control to stay so calm!

Cricket22 - Nope, I will finish this one, no matter how long it takes me! But I don't think my updating schedule will speed up much, because real life has been really busy and will probably continue to be.

She is growing into her new role, even if there are some troubles to deal with.

I think there will be both POVs, but I'm not sure yet of how much of the war action I'm going to write, considering I have no skill in writing believable strategy (especially when Éomer, Aragorn and the rest are all experienced warriors and leaders). Anyway, I hope you liked the conversation between Éomer and Aragorn!

Guest - I will continue the story as quickly as I can, but unfortunately my energies for writing at the moment are limited. Comments about the story are always helpful, though, and do inspire me to keep going!

Boramir - Glad you liked his solution! You are quite right - as the Third Marshal, he has dealt with his share of unruly subordinates.

Simplegurl4u - Thank you! :)

It's good to show Lothíriel's fiercer side. She is generally quite soft and gentle with those she loves, and especially with Éomer, but she can be stern when situation calls for it!

Guest - I do my best with the time and energy that I have!