Chapter 25

The dream was a fair one for change: Lothíriel was with Éomer, and they were riding over the Pelennor fields – he was chasing after her upon his great grey steed, laughing as he came. Light danced on the clean long limbs of Firefoot, and glimmered in Éomer's golden hair, as though crowned by the sun. She felt weightless and joyful, and the world around them was green and fair. He chased her, until they came to a meadow full of flowers, and there dismounted. Warm waves flowed through her, for he pulled her with him to the bed of flowers, and his kiss set flames to her blood. His hands travelled where no man had ever touched her, and she wanted him closer still – his bare skin to her own. Sudden urgency came to her, as if knowing that their time was running out, and she pulled up her skirts, so that he might go on further. And she was right, for she was shaken back into the waking world by a hand on her shoulder.

"My lady? Why don't you go to your bed? Surely it is more comfortable to sleep there", said a voice next to her. Blinking her eyes, Lothíriel looked up and around. Gone was the golden haze upon a nameless meadow, and about her it was dim and quiet. Many rows of beds there were, and several had sleeping warriors in them. A few lamps were burning low. Immense disappointment went through her. Éomer was not here, and the brightest days of summer were already far past.

She was seated by the bed of one young Rohir, who had been brought in a couple of days ago, his leg broken in a skirmish between him and a few huge uruks and suffering from a fever. She had been reading out loud to him, but first he had dozed off and then her. Now one of the healers stood by her, his hand still on her shoulder which he had gently shaken to wake her up.

Lothíriel stretched and rubbed a spot in her neck, sore from sleeping in an awkward position. She hadn't meant to fall asleep, and anyway there was still correspondence waiting that she ought to answer before she went to bed. But evidently, the strain of the past couple weeks had crept up on her unawares. And she was disgruntled: not once in the comfort of her bed had she dreamt so sweetly, of her Éomer, or in such a tantalising way – and now it happened when she had dozed off in such an awkward spot! To say nothing of how she had been disturbed in the middle of a most interesting dream.

"Thank you, Healer", she said, masking her disappointment. He couldn't know how she had been dreaming, or that it was the first good dream she had had in a while.

So she closed the book and started to make her way, past the rows of beds and into the dimly lit hall. She took the stairs to the second floor, where her lonely room awaited, and made no haste.

Her maid had already been in and out. A cosy fire had been lit and the bed covers had been pulled back. The sight did not invite her now. A pile of letters awaited her on the small desk, which had not been in the room when Lothíriel first stayed here, but Éowyn had found it somewhere and now it sat next to the window. It would be the perfect spot, if she ever had time to read her letters and write answers while the sun was still up and she could occasionally gaze into the garden, but as things were she was too busy during the light hours to deal with her correspondence.

Having lit her reading lamp, she sat down and began to go through the pile. There was a letter from Queen Arwen, likely to be an enjoyable read, so she decided to save it for later. Several others had come from distant relatives, and she guessed they would contain little in the way of substance, and decided to answer at some later time. It was amazing how one's change of status made even the most remote connections suddenly spring to life after years of happily ignoring one another. There was also a letter from her father's steward, probably to give her an update on the marriage contract. Lothíriel sighed when she saw there was another thick letter from Aunt Ivriniel. She was not sure of what the old woman expected to achieve with her letters. Did her aunt really think she was going to drop Éomer like a hot potato when somebody, even a respected elder, told her so? What if she were already pregnant – what would Ivriniel suggest she would do then? She shook her head, and wondered what it would be like when Éomer met her prickly aunt. Would his easy, unconscious charm work on her, too? Or would she still cling to her conviction that he was not worthy of her niece?

She opened her aunt's letter and began to read. The first few lines were pleasant enough: Ivriniel had at least the grace to ask after her well-being and to share news from Dol Amroth and those of the family that remained there. Her nephew Alphros had been asking when Lothíriel would return to the city by the sea, which was perhaps true and not an attempt to make her feel guilty for her absence.

But Aunt Ivriniel also wrote,I wonder at your stubborn insistence on this course of action. Do you not think it was rashly taken, niece? I cannot understand it, as you were always so sensible and careful. Perhaps it was not your own choice, and if it isso, you can confide in me. You must know that you can tell me anything, even if it seems embarrassing or dangerous.

There was more of this in the rest of the letter, but also a few lines concerning Aegdir: I will admit, this matter with the young lord of Lossarnarch seems most incredible to me. I knew Forlong of old, may his spirit find rest, and I can tell you that a union between his House and ours would not have been a bad thing. I find it difficult to believe that his son would ever do anything so shameful.

Lothíriel leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead. She was certain that the irony was not lost on her aunt, who herself was being quite stubborn. Why did she keep writing about Aegdir? Did she not understand she must be the only person remaining who still saw any virtue in that particular alliance? It seemed so strange that she could not believe her aunt really thought it. Maybe the old woman was just venting frustration over her niece's poor handling of the matter.

She sighed again and picked up some fresh parchment, where she began to compose her answer to her aunt. After the usual pleasantries and inquiries after the health of every close acquaintance in Dol Amroth, she got to Aunt's complaints. She wrote,I understand your concern for me, but it is not needed. I have not been made to do anything against my will, and you know Father would never allow it. He'd rather go against his good friends, King Éomer and King Elessar, than let his only daughter be pressured. And Éomer is the last man on this earth to treat me so poorly. His own sister told me, he'd rather take harm on himself than cause me pain. And it is true, dear Aunt. If only you could see him! I hope that one day soon you will, and perhaps then you shall know why this is a happy situation for me.

Of Lord Aegdir I have no more to say, than I have already told you. Perhaps he will one day be all that his father was before him, but that is not my concern any more than is appropriate for a married woman.

Lothíriel had written other letters like this, with similar passages, to her aunt. But the point had not yet reached home, and perhaps wouldn't until Aunt Ivriniel could see her with Éomer, and understand it was useless to fight it. Until then she knew she would have to remain calm and patient.

It was getting late and keeping her eyelids open was becoming hard. She laid down her quill and glanced about the desk and her unanswered letters. Sadly, none had come from Éomer this week; she really missed his messages, however brief. And even more so she missed the man himself. His solid, bold presence was all the reassurance she needed. But he was away south, perhaps hunting orcs this very moment. What would he make of Aunt Ivriniel's letters? She hoped he would not feel disrespected by yet another member of her family, and worried her lip when she thought whether he would ever feel welcome in Dol Amroth after all this. But then Éomer did not seem to mind such small pettiness, and why would he, when he had much greater burdens to carry? I married you, not your family, he would probably say. She could almost hear his voice speaking those words, and she smiled.

With that thought, she decided it was time for bed. Hopefully, dreams would come swiftly – and carry on from where she had left before. To return to that meadow of dream, with him, would be a fine thing indeed.

About four weeks had passed since Lothíriel's coming to Emyn Arnen, when messengers brought tidings of a battle, greatest one yet between the armies of Gondor and Rohan, and a significant force of orcs that had come down from the mountains. Their number had been larger than expected, and the victory taken over them was not as definitive as hoped. Partly this was thanks to heavy rain, which had made the conditions difficult. But Éomer and his Rohirrim, and Swan Knights led by her father, had held the line and pushed the orcs back. It had been a heavy battle and Lothíriel guessed that the wear and toil would be written across her husband's face. Just thinking of it made her feel anxious for him. Was it strange that she felt so protective of someone so competent and deadly, and desperate to hold and comfort him in her arms?

Yet it was the first time he would be returning to her from something truly dangerous. Their meetings and reunions until now had been joyous occasions. Would this be different, and laden with memories of blood and violence? He was a seasoned warrior, and had seen many a grim battle, and perhaps had no trouble leaving the strife in the field. But she still wondered: what did he expect of the woman he returned to from deadly peril?

So she went to Éowyn, who had the best chance of knowing. Her sister-in-law cast her a keen look before answering.

"I don't think he's different from any warrior who has seen as many battles, and maybe you already know all that you need to, being a daughter and sister to Knights of Dol Amroth. Men who return from battle are usually very much the same, be they Rohirrim or Gondorian. Just be there for him, and remind him of life's good things. That is all Faramir seems to require, at least", said Éowyn simply, as if she did not wholly understand her friend's concern. And maybe it was so. Lothíriel knew Rohirrim were a warlike culture, more so than her own people. Maybe Éomer himself did not expect anything much from her, but just to steal a few hours alone with his wife.

She spent that day anxiously, straining her ears as she waited to hear the approaching horsemen, but her husband's company did not arrive until after sunset. This time, when she met him in the courtyard, he did not fly to meet her. He landed heavily on the ground, moving slowly and stiffly, as if it took every ounce of his will to still keep moving. Lothíriel went to him, and wrapping her arms around him she could sense the weight of his great body in a way she rarely did. He groaned quietly as he buried his face in her hair, as reverently as a weary man may stoop to drink from a fair spring. No words had yet been spoken between them, but this language of touch and sensation seemed enough.

The rest of his company looked about as worn, except for the King Elessar maybe. And thankfully, there would be no need for more planning and meetings: she could take her husband to their rooms, and shut out the war and the world for tonight. She took his hand, and he followed her without a word.

She would have preferred to help him herself to get rid of the armour, but she didn't yet know its intricacies, and so the esquire was needed to aid with the many buckles and fastenings. Each individual piece that came off was heavier than she had expected: she did not think she could have carried even half of it on her. His mail-shirt in particular, which she pulled over his head while he bent low, nearly made her topple over, but the esquire quickly came to her help and carried the piece of armour away. He took with him those parts in the need of cleaning and oiling, and bid them a good night.

Supper was brought in, and while he ate, servants also carried a tub and began to fill it with steaming hot water. A tired smile lit up Éomer's face.

"I've been yearning to have a hot bath for five days now. Thank you", he told her, his eyes weary but warm.

"You're welcome. I thought you might appreciate it", she said, smiling back at him. Being able to take care of him, bringing this comfort after many long and difficult days, pleased her more than she had guessed it would.

Éomer seemed too tired to care much about modesty, and he began to undress as soon as he had finished eating. Lothíriel felt heat rush up her neck and she turned her back to him, busying herself with the dirty dishes and digging his travelling chest for fresh clothes and his robe. Then she heard water splashing behind her back, and he let out a low groan.

"Do you wish me to leave you?" she asked him carefully.

"Please don't. I've waited weeks to be with you", he simply said, throwing a look at her over his shoulder, making her feel quite warm suddenly. It was such an unveiled look of raw want, as if he had walked through fire to get here. And maybe he had.

Masking her flustered state, Lothíriel picked up a stool and a comb, and sat down behind him and the tub.

"Your hair is tangled. Let's see what I can do about that", she said and began to gently pull through his long, golden hair. It had been in braids at some point, but was now open and a little bit wild.

"Hmm. Aunt Hild does keep saying I could use some grooming. She'll be pleased to know you'll be taking care of that, too", he muttered. She couldn't see his face but could tell he was smiling. His shoulders, thick with muscle, rolled as he took a more comfortable position in the tub. He also raised a knee from the water – strong, glistening with water – but the movement was clearly quite oblivious and he did not seem to feel her stare.

"I'm happy to oblige", said Lothíriel, blushing and carefully picking at a particularly nasty tangle – and keeping her eyes away from shoulders and knees. She tried to concentrate on this, instead of the naked bits of him above water.

Abruptly, she felt him tense and then he groaned.

"What is it? Did I pull too hard?"

"No, it's not you. I'm just a little bruised", he replied, sinking lower in the tub. Lothíriel hesitated for a moment. She was desperate to hear some news of how the campaign was going, and what it was like out there.

"Was the fighting very bitter?" she asked.

He opened his eyes and cast her a weary look over his shoulder.

"It has been a long few days, and I had hoped to spend this night with you, without any thought given to the campaign. Perhaps we can talk about it at some other time."

Seeing her look, he frowned and continued, "Forgive me. It's not that I want to keep you in the dark. Tonight I'm simply very tired."

"Very well", she relented and kept combing his hair, until all the tangles were out. When he was ready, she picked up a pitcher of steaming water and carefully poured it over his head. He began to wash, and was either too focused on that task or just too tired to keep up much of a conversation, even about things unrelated to the campaign. Lothíriel sat down by her desk, her hands aching for something to do, and her mouth for words. She had waited for this night for what seemed so long, and yet it was different from her expectations. She tried to crush that thought. He had come back to her safely from deadly peril, and that ought to be enough.

Maybe words were not necessary tonight. There was another way to be close to him, the way that might be what they both needed. So, as he was getting up from the bath and dressing, she turned to pick up her looking glass to check her visage. Her eyes looking back were very bright, almost feverish. As discreetly as she could, she smoothed her hair, and dabbed some perfume behind her ears. Her heart beat a little faster. What would he say, and how would he look? Would he be glad and pleased? Would it be over quickly, and what if it hurt? He was not a small man, after all, and he was her first. The only one. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Her husband would never hurt her, and she could trust him with her body and soul.

Lothíriel turned around, heart racing. Her eyes found his figure already in the bed, and she approached quietly. Words stuck in her mouth. But when she got close to the bed, her nerves suddenly turned into something... well, not sour really, but there was disappointment. She had finally found the courage to become his wife in the final way, and here he was, already fast asleep.

But seeing his face, so tired and worn even in sleep, her heart softened. Poor, darling man. What struggles had he gone through? Rest was what he needed and nothing else, and here she was acting like some silly goose! He should have fallen asleep in her arms, not alone while she was fussing over her own nerves.

Once she had undressed, Lothíriel crawled into the bed. Éomer had not moved an inch, and he did not stir when she put her chin on his shoulder and lay her hand on his chest. For tonight, this would have to be enough.

In the morning Lothíriel woke up, feeling her moon blood trickle down her thigh.

While her husband still slept, she got up quietly to wash and change her shift, and got a fresh rag to soak the blood.

She bit her lip as she lay down again in the bed to enjoy a few more minutes of warmth and quiet. Until recently, she had felt so wary and uncertain of intimacy, and yet it now felt so difficult to accept that there would be none at this time; Éomer was sure to leave again before her bleeding stopped. Moreover, there would be no masking the truth from the servants. A queen's moon blood would soon be the talk among them, for while they might be loyal to their mistress, why would they spare the other lady? Such rumours might spread farther than she hoped – and disappoint those of the Rohirrim who hoped she would quickly give their King an heir.

Well, maybe Éomer was too preoccupied to care. He was being so patient with her anyway, but it felt so bad to know that she had been willing to try last night, and now was prevented by something she couldn't control. She reminded herself, even if they had gone through with the act of consummating the marriage, nothing would have come out of it. She had not expected to bleed at this point, but her cycles had been irregular in times before when she was scared or stressed.

So she lay there quietly with her hand on his chest, listening to his breathing and watching light grow in the room, until he woke up. And when he stirred, turning to her and examining her in that sleepy, sensual way that she was starting to know, she had to gently guide his hands. He got the hint and shifted, choosing to hold her instead. Oh, Elbereth! How she hoped that he wouldn't start to think he had married a woman who did not truly want him.

"Sorry", she whispered to him, needing to let him know the true reason for her distance, "I'm bleeding today."

It was also to say: I'm ready now. Whether he understood it or not.

"It's all right", he muttered, and cradled her to him anyway.. And she was glad to burrow there, forgetting her own troubled thoughts and dreams. What was it he said, when he was pleased, or overtaken, or just in the middle of a great feeling? Ah, Béma. She would have to find out more about it.

"Do you think we could go out riding today?" she asked him softly.

"I believe so. It was agreed we should all get some rest", Éomer said, and kissed her. She gladly succumbed to the kiss, and it started to get a little bit heated, but eventually he pulled away once more. A curious feeling rose in her. Until now, she had usually felt quite shy and flustered when their kisses grew more intense; now she was frustrated for having to stop.

Something had shifted, indeed.

They had breakfast with Aunt Hild, who watched them with a light in her eyes and a slow smile on her lips, and when their horses were ready, they rode out with a few guards to escort them. It was too dangerous to go riding in Ithilien at this time, so they took a barge that awaited in the small harbour by Anduin, and crossed to the more peaceful side of the river. There opened the vales and meadows of fair Lossarnarch. Lothíriel had come riding there with Éowyn a few times, and she knew something of the country from the maps she had studied here and in Minas Tirith. It was a rich land, filled with sunlit woods and plentiful orchards, and its corn and fruit and dairy fed the White City. Yet it also stood behind the bulwark of Gondor's armies, enjoying relative peace even in more troubled times. No wonder the Lord of Lossarnarch could boast such prosperity. And she could have shared in it, had she so desired. But when Lothíriel glanced at the golden-haired man riding by her side, she knew she had no reason to regret her choice.

Autumn had now come and in the many orchards trees were turning from green to gold. Flowers wouldn't bloom again before spring and the wind, blowing from the north on this day, was not mellow or pleasant. But the land was still beautiful and full of life under sunlight. They passed by homesteads where ordinary folk went by their chores, and saw shepherds with goatherds, and laden wagons coming from Minas Tirith or travelling there. Some travellers stopped to watch the mighty green-cloaked Knights, the tall lord with gold on his brow, and the lone dark lady among them, not knowing but suspecting at what and who they were seeing.

Come afternoon, they found a clearing by a small stream, bubbling away busily to join Anduin. There it was sheltered from the wind, but Éomer made a fire for them, and once it was crackling, he even produced a small pot to prepare some tea. Their horses grazed nearby, and the Knights kept their distance to give the royal couple some privacy.

For a while, they sat eating lunch and talking about the events of the past few weeks. He told her about the campaign, of battles in the south and near the roots of the mountains, and tidings of her Father and brothers. He even mentioned Erchirion briefly, though only to say that her brother was doing well enough and working harder than he had expected. Amrothos was more busy serving as a captain now that Erchirion was not with the Amrothian Knights, but Éomer thought it would do him good to have more responsibility. Lothíriel listened with interest to these news and also shared her own, though the ordinary comings and goings at Emyn Arnen seemed not quite as exciting as what went on outside its walls. She praised Aunt Hild, too, and told him of their lessons, and Éomer looked pleased.

She was thinking of how to tell him about her other aunt's letters, although she didn't think Éomer would feel threatened even by a woman like Lady Ivriniel. However, he had another subject in mind he wished to discuss with her.

"Lothíriel..." he said abruptly, stoking the fire with a stick and casting a penetrating look at her over the fire, "The last time I saw you, I was troubled to see how tired you looked, though there was no time to ask you then. But now I must know. Is there anything bothering you that you would like to share with me?"

She sat quietly, staring at the flames dancing between them. She had thought that he hadn't noticed anything during his last brief visit, but clearly it was the wrong assumption. It was foolish to think that this man did not read her like an open book. Yet she felt reluctant to speak. He would think she was not up to her duties, but was too weak, too young, a mistake. He'd send her back to Minas Tirith to be coddled by masters in the Houses of Healing, or even Dol Amroth – to her shame. Nothing was wrong with her, aside from some silly dreams, and they would pass with time.

"I just sleep poorly on occasion, so perhaps I'm tired sometimes. It's not a reason for concern", she said at length and met his eyes, hoping with all her might that it would convince him.

"Did you sleep poorly before the accident?"

"We all did, while waiting for our families to come back from the war."

"But that was well over a year ago, and there has been a peace in Gondor for many months", he pointed out, frowning.

"And I'm sure this is no different. I always sleep untroubled when you're by my side, safe and sound", she insisted, keeping her voice calm and even.

"Lothíriel, are you being honest with me?"

His question surprised her – even upset her. Would he really doubt her honesty? And yet... did he maybe have a reason to?

She rose in a swift movement and turned away, distraught all of a sudden. The openness between them, the silent agreement to always be honest with one another, had been a given since their first talk by the Anduin. Was she violating that bond, by whatever it was that held her tongue, be it stubbornness or her own conviction that all was well and her duty was to be his pillar of strength no matter what?

Lothíriel turned to the stream, feeling a sudden tightness in her throat, a doubt so deep and dark that she could not speak. Why was it so difficult to say out loud that yes, she had slept poorly sometimes these past few months, it was perhaps more frequent than before, but that it was nothing he should feel concerned for? But she felt like she had already brought him so much trouble, and surely his patience was not endless? They said he was quick to anger... but he would probably be angrier still, if he thought her dishonest.

So she began to turn, opening her mouth to speak. But he was already there behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Forgive me. I did not mean to upset you", he said quietly; he had misunderstood her reaction.

The voice in her throat struggled to come out, then died. He took her in his arms, and somehow Lothíriel felt that a moment had passed when she should have talked, but for one reason or the other, she could not muster her courage again.

Éomer had seen many battles in his time, but seldom did he feel as weary and drained as after that difficult clash, about a day's ride from Emyn Arnen. Yet it was not the only reason for this feeling: it had been a toilsome few weeks, and it felt like all the care and troubles had piled on him like a mountain. So, when his company came to his sister's house, his only thought was of Lothíriel and the wish to see her face.

And it was as if she knew this, and was there the moment he set his feet on the ground, receiving him into her arms and wavered only a little at his weight. Still, it felt like she was holding him up in that moment – carrying more than just the heaviness of his weary body. Her gentle hands, the floral scent of her hair, and the feeling of her in his arms; it evoked something strange and rare, a sensation he had no name at first. But then he realised it what it was. Coming to her had felt just like coming home.

Lothíriel took his hand then, and led him inside; he followed, as though a blind and deaf man might follow his guide. She took him to their room, and there began to peel off the armour with the help of his esquire, and food was brought and hot water for bathing. She was taking care of him. This was more than a service done by servants at Meduseld, who had often provided these same things, for he was sure it had never been done for him with so much attention, or with such tender hands. Then as he was sitting in the bath, she sat down behind him, and started to comb his hair, pulling so gently and carefully that it was not at all painful but only relaxing. She was talking to him softly, her sweet voice like a balm after many weary days.

He sank lower in the tub. One thing only was now wanting, though perhaps he was too tired for that – and she hadn't yet given him a sign that it was all right to go forward.

Either way, he felt content and peaceful, and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

In the morning, he woke up not on his bedroll in a dim tent. Instead there was light on his face, soft linen was against his skin, and he opened his eyes to see Lothíriel. His weariness now gone, warmth and a craving of her flooded him, and he turned to her before sleep had fully left his mind. It was not to press her to deeper intimacy, but she seemed fine with him kissing her, even if it got more eager than intended. And she allowed it now as well, and he let his impatience get the better of him; his fingers brushed at the round fullness of her breasts, covered only by the sheer linen of her shift. Breath caught in his throat, and desire burned him like white hot brand. Even as he contemplated pressing her back against the mattress, and of summoning all his skill into persuading her, she pulled back again and he swallowed hard against his frustration, until she told him that she was bleeding today. Did it mean what he thought?

The day was fair, though there was a chill in the wind, and as they rode out and came to the meadows of Lossarnarch, all the toil of the past few weeks fell away. Lothíriel was riding by his side, and he admired her grace and command of the horse; there was very little he could have said to correct her form. Such skill was very becoming of the Queen of the Riddermark, and if she were to ride like this into Edoras, then he was certain that Rohirrim would be quick to accept and love her.

After a few hours of exploring the fields and meadows of Lossarnarch, they found a pleasant spot by a small stream, and took their lunch there. It was at this point that Éomer spoke to his lady of what had troubled him since his last visit, although she did not now look as weary as then. And when he asked her if she was being honest with him, he instantly saw the mistake of that question: her eyes became clouded, and then she stood and turned away from him. Dreadful feeling overcame him. Hurting her in any way, be it by words or deeds, was a loathsome idea; and it was especially so after the pain he had caused to her over Aegdir. So he wasted no time to apologise, and was relieved when she let him take her in his arms.

Éomer decided he had overreacted, and she was well and content. She had many duties here, people to take care of and things to learn, and much was expected of her. It was no wonder that sometimes it would wear her down. He had known weariness too, and it was nothing sleep did not remedy.

They cleaned the site and put down the fire, making sure no embers lingered in the ashes. Once they had packed up everything, they mounted their horses and began the ride back to Emyn Arnen. Éomer was at first concerned that his inconsiderate question still troubled Lothíriel, but then she suddenly looked at him with a faint smile, and spoke to him.

"You know, my father's sister, Lady Ivriniel, has been writing letters to me lately. She seems to think I bungled things up when I chose you over Aegdir", she told him. Her look and tone were not particularly serious, and by this he guessed it was not a cause for concern.

"She does not care for Rohirrim, then?" he asked.

"I don't think she has anything beyond the common prejudices. She believes that each should marry among their own kind", said Lothíriel. She flashed him a smile, "Of course, she and I understand it very differently. You are my kind in every way that matters, much more than Aegdir ever could be."

Her words made him smile, too.

"What does your aunt propose to do, then?" he asked her.

"She seems to think I should find a way to undo the marriage. But it feels like she is just venting, and knows very well that it's not going to happen. I try to be patient with her. She is old, set in her ways, and doesn't take well to unexpected things", Lothíriel explained. She rode a little closer to him and said, "Please, don't take it personally. I have a feeling she would be writing me such letters anyway, if I chose anyone else than Aegdir."

Éomer scoffed. His old anger at the hapless lord shifted inside him, though the young man was far away.

"What makes her think he is so wonderful? Did she know that scoundrel? Have you told her what he did to you?"

"She knew his father, and was fond of him. I'm not sure my aunt has ever met Aegdir. And it's less about individuals, and more about the families", said Lothíriel. She frowned and continued, "She hasn't said anything about the accident, actually. I have a feeling she maybe doesn't understand what really happened, or how serious it was."

"Did she disapprove of my sister and Faramir's union, too?"

"She grumbled a bit, but admitted that Éowyn's part in saving Minas Tirith was too great to be ignored. And after Faramir had lost both his father and his brother, there was no question of anyone standing in the way of his happiness."

He was silent for a while and thought back on Éowyn and Faramir's wedding. He couldn't recall being introduced to a Lady Ivriniel. But she had probably stayed behind in Dol Amroth, like her niece. Either way, he could picture in his mind a tall, stern woman – not entirely unlike his own aunt, but still completely different in many ways. There would perhaps be something lofty about her air, and distance and coolness and demanding. Eyes like Lothíriel's maybe, bright and grey, but without her warmth and gentleness.

"Well then, shall I have the pleasure of meeting her some time soon?" he asked at length.

His wife gave him a pained little smile.

"I don't think so. She knows better than to make an appearance in Emyn Arnen when there is an on-going campaign. But perhaps you should meet her before you and I leave for Rohan, and put her doubts to rest. We should try and make it as private as possible; I don't know about you, but I'd rather not repeat what happened with Erchirion", she said, shaking her head.

"Aye, we've had enough dramatic scenes among this family as of late", he agreed.

"I am sorry about it, dearest. I never thought my family could be so crass", she said softly, frowning.

"It's no matter. I married you, not your family", Éomer remarked, and his wife let out a small laugh. He glanced at her and asked, "What's funny?"

"The other night I was worrying about my aunt, and thought of what you'd say. Those exact words came to my mind", she told him, and he smiled.

"You know me well, love", he said and she cast him a warm, soft look.

When they had reached Emyn Arnen, Hild joined them with a pile of reports and correspondence from Rohan; a king's rest was always relative. Lothíriel listened attentively to everything, eager to learn about her new land and people, and here and there made questions or suggestions. She seemed to have a better head for such work, and certainly more patience. The part Éomer held most disagreeable about his position as king was these endless reports and letters and messages, but perhaps having her by his side would make this thing easier, too.

After dinner – which Hild left them to share privately, bless her – Lothíriel cast him a mischievous smile and produced a game board meant for the King's Table, and a wooden box containing the game pieces.

"Hild lent this to me. She's been teaching me lately. Do you fancy a game?" she asked hopefully.

"Why not? I should like to know what that woman has been telling you", he said, smiling faintly.

His wife grinned and hopped on the bed, where she began to set the board. He joined her, pushing away thoughts of how he'd rather put that piece of furniture to use, and watched her set the game pieces on board. He let her do it mostly, and only pointed out where she had made some error.

Éomer was usually as fond of the King's Table as any Rohirrim, but at this time, he had a hard time focusing on his game. Maybe last night's sleep, good though it had been, had not restored him fully. And so his eyes lingered on Lothíriel's face as she stared intently at the game board, deliberating her next move. Considering he spent more time watching her than thinking about his moves, it was not a wonder she soon began to take the upper hand in the game. It also raised her suspicions, and she looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Have I got much better in this game than I even realised, or have you somehow got very bad?" she asked him.

He leaned back and offered a sheepish look.

"Forgive me, love. I'm afraid I'm not providing much of a challenge right now. My mind is wandering. But not so much that I don't see you have indeed been listening to Aunt Hild."

Lothíriel frowned at first, looked down at the game board, and then met his eyes again. She was trying to smile.

"It's fine if you don't feel up to it", she said quickly. "And why would you, when there is a real war going on and actual strategies to plan. Such a game might not the best way to relax."

"Lothíriel -"

"But maybe there is another way to do that. Why don't you sit down on the floor, next to the bed? I'll show you something", she continued before he could say anything. Poor darling; she had been waiting for some time alone as well, and he couldn't fulfil her expectations because he was tired, and was having a particularly difficult time keeping his more hot-blooded notions in check? But she was waving her hand in a demanding way, and though he was nonplussed as to what she meant to show him, he proceeded to sit down next to the bed.

Then he heard her moving behind his back, and she settled down close. Her hands fell on his shoulders, which she began to knead and rub. Carefully at first, and then with more force. A soft gasp escaped his mouth before he knew it.

"You are tense. What on earth have you been doing?" his wife asked him.

"Never mind that", he said, and almost yelped when she found a tender vein in his shoulder, "What are you doing?"

"It's just something I learnt from my sister-in-law, Lady Gaerdis. She rubs Elphir's back sometimes, and she said to me once that husbands like that sort of thing. Now I know why I filed away that piece of information... you have met her, haven't you?" she asked him.

"I think we met briefly in Mundburg. Pleasant woman. No wonder Elphir usually seems so happy... never knew wives did such things. But she was right; at least this husband likes it very much", he muttered, his head hanging lower and lower.

"I should use some oil for this, though…"

"Don't you dare stop", he growled. Both because he really did not want her hands to leave his shoulders, and because oil sounded like a messy business and it was better if clothes stayed on.

"Very well, lord", she said softly, and he grunted.

He could not help his curiosity, although the question felt wrong as soon as it left his mouth.

"Would you have done this for Aegdir?"

Lothíriel was silent for a minute, and he began to worry he had crossed some line.

"No, I don't think so", she replied quietly. "I am talking with the knowledge of hindsight, of course, but I do not know how I would have handled the physical aspect of a marriage with him. Perhaps I would have tried to get it over with quickly, and hope that I was able to conceive as soon as possible. I never felt drawn to Aegdir, although that could be because you were already there, filling my mind."

Her words caused a stir of emotions. For one, he couldn't say it wasn't gratifying to know he had made such an impression on her, but the thought of a marriage bed so joyless seemed dreadful. The idea of her in someone else's arms, though... it angered him, even if she was his lawful wife and the last person whose fidelity he'd ever doubt.

He closed his eyes and tried to push those thoughts away, knowing nothing good would come of them.

"Forgive me for asking. It's not that I spend my days comparing myself to that boy; I haven't thought of him in weeks. Probably it's those letters from your aunt that brought it all back again", Éomer explained. But Lothíriel leant over and kissed his cheek.

"It's fine. I know why thinking of him troubles you. Hopefully, my aunt will get over it soon. She must understand that there's no going back."

"Hmm. Well, I said I married you and not your family, didn't I?" he muttered.

"Indeed you did. Let's just try to get through this campaign", his wife said, and kept kneading his shoulders with her deft, skilful hands. It was starting to release the tension in his muscles. Sweet woman. She was doing such lovely things for him, asking for nothing in return. He should do something for her in kind, at least try to focus for another game of the King's Table. And this rubbing was surely very pleasant and he would have to find if she liked it too – he'd have to ask Elphir for some tips maybe, because he didn't want to do it wrong and hurt her.

"Aye. But I'm pleased to know that I was able to distract you from the start.

She snorted.

"Yes, you are very distracting. So loud, and so strange with that long pretty hair of yours, and always filling every room you step into; what's a poor girl to do?"

Éomer was grinning.

"Goodness. How inconsiderate of me", he said lightly, almost turning to look at her but holding still when one of her hands firmly pushed him back. He continued, "But your ladyship seems to be ignoring your own ability to distract. What of the sound of your laughter, or how a man can get lost in your eyes, or the calmness you bring with you wherever you go?"

Lothíriel halted momentarily, and then her hands began to move again, though more slowly.

"What things you say, my darling. Here I was just trying to tease you."

"I know", he said softly, caught one of her hands in his own, and kissed it.

She bent down behind him, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her cheek against the top of his head.

"I do love you, Éomer", she said quietly.

"I love you too." More than life itself.

But perhaps he would tell her so at some other time.

Éomer and his company were set to depart once more the next morning, as men and horses had now had a chance to rest and recover. Lothíriel helped him to prepare, and before his esquire came to assist with the armour, she made a braid in his hair, trailing from the side of his head and behind his ear. He smiled, and promised to keep it until he saw her again.

Although she always rued their partings, she felt especially reluctant this time, and had to remind herself that a queen should not cling to her royal husband. Then she had let go of Éomer, the taste of his kiss still on her lips, and wrapped her empty arms around herself instead.

The company rode out, but she stood at the open gates long after the last warrior had vanished, and felt cold in the sudden wind.

Days passed, swift with the many tasks in her charge, but still anxious. From Éomer only a few, short messages came to alleviate Lothíriel's troubled mood. At night, she was restless as often because of nightmares as because of the want and yearning of him. In addition, she could not stop thinking about their conversation by the river, or shake off the feeling that she had not been truthful with him. Somehow it felt like she had let down them both. But she tried to keep these things from her letters: he had other, more serious things to worry about than his agitated wife, and coming clear about her contrition should be done in person, not in letters. In particular she tried to hide her mood from Éowyn and Aunt Hild, fearing they would take it in the wrong way. Thankfully, Éowyn was kept busy with newly arrived warriors in need of medicine and healing, and Hild spent much of her time with the injured Rohirrim and helping them to regain their strength. It was easy to hide when their gazes were turned elsewhere.

Then one day a fierce storm rolled over Ithilien. Savage winds howled outside in the trees, and rain lashed at the courtyard and beat the windows in violent bursts. Guards and household servants ran across the yard, sheltering under their cloaks and the horses in the stables were nervous. The most thankless job fell to those soldiers on guard duty, but a vigilant watch had to be maintained, for such rain would have provided the perfect cover for an attack. Lothíriel thought glumly of Éomer and her family out there, enduring this abysmal weather as they could. She stayed awake late into the night, listening to the wind and her own wretched thoughts.

But in the morning the storm had passed and the sun was shining again. Warmth seemed to have gone from the air with the storm, though, and there was more yellow in the branches of trees than green. A strange chill lingered with Lothíriel, and she bundled herself with a heavier cloak whenever she went outside, and wore woollen shawls even indoors. Sometimes, the scar on her shoulder ached even in waking hours. She still had salves which King Elessar had prescribed to her after the wound had begun to heal, but they brought little aid. Once or twice she thought about seeing a healer and asking for advice, or medicines, but then decided against it quickly: she wasn't going to waste their resources when the house was full of warriors who needed them more, and at any rate it was not causing her such discomfort that she could not overcome. Moreover, she was sure gossip would soon spread if the queen was seen talking to the healers. Such rumours would soon have a life of their own.

So she buried herself in the work, hoping to make sure that each night she would collapse in her bed too tired to dream or fret, and waited for that glimpse of sunlight that Éomer brought into the middle of these dreary days.

Tidings of him arrived unexpectedly. A week and a half had passed since his latest visit to Emyn Arnen, and Lothíriel was closeted with Éowyn and the household steward, going through the ledgers, when word came that Amrothos had arrived on an urgent errand. He was demanding to see his sister and the Princess of Ithilien.

The two women exchanged a look, and Éowyn gave orders to bring him in. The household steward bowed and took his leave.

Moments later, Amrothos entered the work room. He was windblown and the hems of his cloak were tattered, like he had been travelling in great haste.

"Brother", Lothíriel greeted him, maintaining some distance to him; she had not seen him since the wedding and his failure to keep Erchirion in check. "What brings you here? I thought you were with Father."

Her brother was shifting his gaze between her and Éowyn. There was something in his air that was making her anxious – well, more anxious than she felt these days, and that was saying something. What could have brought Amrothos here, when he was needed as a captain of the Swan Knight's?

"I was, until recently. Aragorn sent me here to see you... I think you should maybe sit down, both of you. I have some bad news."

Éowyn remained standing, straight as a rod, but Lothíriel took a seat. A sudden chill had overcome her, a foreboding before a hidden sword fell.

"Has something happened? Is Éomer all right, and Father?" she asked.

A shadow passed across Amrothos' face.

"Father is well, but Éomer… that, I cannot rightly say."

"What do you mean? How can you not say whether my husband is well or not?" she demanded to know, her hands pressing into fists.

"It's because I do not know whether he lives this moment. If you let me explain -"

"Then explain, and do it quickly", Éowyn said, her tone dangerously calm.

"Recently, Faramir's Rangers had found some caves at the roots of the mountains, which seemed to have been abandoned since after the Great War. It was agreed they should be investigated more closely, and so a few days ago Éomer took a group of his own men and a few Rangers to go and find out more. The area had been cleared out and it was thought to be safe enough, so it was not thought they'd need a large force with them. However, they were ambushed by orcs in the middle of it, and a fierce fight broke out. They were outnumbered. But even as the fight was going on, either by accident or because it was somehow contrived, a landslide came down the mountain. There was a great chaos as can well be imagined. The Rangers were separated from Éomer's company, and though the landslide destroyed many orcs, they still could not hold them back to find out what happened to the King and his company. They made their way back to the war camp, calling for aid. Aragorn sent me to bring you the news before going himself to lead the search for the missing company."

"As of now, it's not known whether Éomer and his men survived the landslide or not, or if he was slain in battle."

To be continued.

A/N: So, that took a minute to write. But I must say I'm more satisfied with this chapter's writing than many before it.

Being inside Lothíriel's head in this chapter was fascinating: while she's still in denial about some things (and so ends up being not as honest as she or Éomer would like), she's also coming to terms with some other issues. She now feels more comfortable with the idea of physical intimacy, but circumstances don't allow them to take advantage of it. Which is quite frustrating for them both, and probably for the reader, too. ;) Nevertheless, I think with Éomer going missing, Lothíriel is facing a situation that may pose a threat on her already weakened mental well-being.

Especially with the cliffhanger ending it felt good to write some sweet moments between Éomer and Lothíriel. I am very fond of the scene where she massages his shoulders, and I hope you liked it too!

I don't think I'm going to be able to update much faster than this, but I do promise I will bring this story to an end sooner or later. Life this last year has simply been a lot, and often I have simply not had the energy for any creative hobbies. Here's to hoping this year will be a little easier for us all.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! All your comments are very much appreciated.

Boramir - Interesting thoughts, as always! Hild also has the benefit of watching these two together, whereas Ivriniel has not had a chance to witness the relationship herself. Lothíriel in this chapter also explains some of Ivriniel's motives. Hild is also perhaps a bit more pragmatic-minded and down to earth - and values personal happiness (which she perceives is a big part of Éomer and Lothíriel's relationship) more than Ivriniel does.

Either way, I think nobody is eager to repeat what happened with Erchirion!

Cathael - Thank you! :)

Glad to hear you like Hild! I am very fond of her too. I think the issue with her and her sisters and mother may be too complex to answer in a satisfying way in this story - it would probably take a short story of its own. I don't know if Hild has the motivation to even seek them out. She might be satisfied with the kinship she feels for Éomer (and what she hopes will be his family).

It's been quite a rocky path, and it's getting harder still. But it's been way too long since I got to torment these poor darlings properly!

I did have a pleasant holiday, thank you! I finally had some uninterrupted time to read and eat chocolate. :') I hope you had a wonderful Christmas, too!

NightBlossom - It may be because I have struggled with these later chapters a bit, but admittedly Lothíriel too has been pretty anxious for a while now, so it could be for either reasons!

Simplegurl4u - Glad to hear it! I do enjoy writing them together, and I think next chapter will delve deeper still!

I very much agree: Erchirion needed taking down a notch and though it's a bitter pill for him, getting some good old-fashioned Rohirric disclipine should do him a world of good!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thanks!

Wondereye - I'm glad you like it. :)

Guest - I very much mean to!

Jo - I know well how that feels! Life has been pretty harsh on me, too. Please take care of yourself out there!

The deeper reason for why Lothíriel had to take some time to consider her answer, though it's not outright stated in the text, is her need to reclaim some agency in a situation that feels out of her control. She had to decide if it was the right move at the time, and what it would mean if she agreed - or if she refused.

I'm glad you like Hild! I'm very fond of her, too. And brothers can be sometimes be a bit dence, can't they? :')

Guest - Thanks! I hope you liked this chapter.