That year the spring came to Ithilien furtively. When Éomer entered the main hall the first morning after his arrival, he shivered from the chill, though the gardens outside the palace were in full bloom and the day promised to be a good one. Éomer didn't expect to meet anybody — in Gondor breakfasts were late for the nobles. But his heart leapt with joy, when he saw, that in the hall by the window sat Lûne. His steps were by no means quiescent, and still she didn't notice him and just sat there, staring blankly outside the window.

'My lady,' said Éomer huskily, and at the sound of his voice she started and immediately there was a beam on her haggard face.

'Lord Éomer!' she rose sprightly, as though willing to embrace him. But the princess checked her motion and stood there, holding the sash.

'You left early yesterday,' Éomer heard himself talking, Lûne blushed to the roots of her hair. He never meant to sound reproachful, those were definitely not gallant words to say. He found himself as it was often in her company speaking his mind without any reflection whatsoever.

'I felt tired, and the whole party was so happy that I didn't want to spoil a moment for you all.' She hesitated for a moment, but then added, 'I hear that your engagement was broken. I am sorry for you, my lord.'

Éomer opened his mouth to speak his mind, but the time was still wrong for the unveiling, so he just set his teeth. Lûne sat on the windowsill and stretched her arm to touch the blossom of a mock orange shrub outside the window.

'The spring is so beautiful here. So breathtaking it almost hurts.' She lifted her eyes and looked at Éomer. He didn't see the flowers, he stared at her unabashed. Strangely it didn't confuse her, the pharadine smiled at him, though her smile was not a happy one.

'I had only one wish, to see you once again. And my wish is granted. Now I can go back to my land.'

'You are going back to Harad? Isn't it too dangerous?' said Éomer, his voice dull. He sat by her side and felt the waft of some flowery musk that she wore. His head spun for a moment, but his thoughts were too heavy to be waved away.

Lûne dropped her head.

'My uncle asked me to come here, you know that. I wanted him to be at peace, so I came to Gondor. Now that he's dead I feel that I can choose for myself. Is it dangerous? Oh yes, I know my kin quite well and I suppose they won't let me live long.' Her voice became very soft. 'I want to see my people again. To walk the path in my gardens, to smell the fragrances of my flowers and hear the birds sing... You don't know how unhappy I am here, my lord. Everyone is most kind to me, but I cannot live without purpose, without hope. Ah, how ungrateful I sound.'

There were tears in her eyes, but her voice was steady.

'I made up my mind long ago, but I am still here. I guess I am a coward, I am afraid to die even when I have little strength to live. So I decided to stay here a bit, to see the spring once again. Life is marvelous, it is just that I feel odd in it.'

'You're nothing of a coward,' said Éomer, averting his gaze finally. His eyes were smarting, his mouth was dry.

'You've always been so good to me, Éomer King. I know that you despise the Haradrim and despise cowards... but still you are here, talking to me. I thank you ever so much.'

Éomer wanted to say many things to her, but at the same moment they heard that the bell sounded for the breakfast. Servants were already swarming around, so both of them stood up and went to the Eastern hall to meet Faramir with his wife.


When Éomer was riding that afternoon with Faramir (Éowyn stayed behind because of her new condition), he was rather a poor companion. His thoughts were with Lûne, he felt that there was no time to be wasted. She said that she wished to see him. Was it possible that she had feelings for him? Sometimes Éomer thought that she had. That girl saved his life and, though they were so different, he always felt that there was some deep connection and understanding between them two. He felt so easy around her, she was the only one beside his sister to know the real man beneath all his armor and title. Lûne knew his fears and flaws, but it didn't repel her or made him feel bad. Éomer thought about all the times that he felt himself too brute, too awkward, too loud... but not with her, never with her. And to think that she was about to go back to Harad and waste herself! Éomer remembered again meeting her in the stables before he had left Minas Tirith. Was it possible that she was jealous? Was it possible, that she rejected Prince Imrahil for his, Éomer's, sake?

He had already spent too many months thinking about this, it seemed unbearable to wait more. He barely knew what he said, when Faramir spoke to him, his thoughts were racing and his heart pounding. They returned to the palace just in time to change and go down for tea, but Éomer was already overwrought and went straight to the Western wing, where was Lûne's chamber. He didn't think about his looks after a long ride, so when he entered Lûne's room after a hasty knocking, she was much surprised to see him so high in color, with his hair disheveled. She stepped back, decidedly nonplussed.

'My lady,' Éomer said and stopped abruptly. He didn't know what to say, but it was a huge relief, that the princess was looking back at him just inquisitively, and there was no fear in her eyes. He cleared his throat.

'I am no good for big words and I am no poet. You know better than anyone, that I am also a crude, I drink too much and my manners are poor. But I am not cruel or malicious. I think I can make a tolerable husband, the question is just if you want one.'

Éomer blurted that out, his chest heaving, and only after he had stopped he felt how oafish he sounded.

Lûne was quiet, her countenance unreadable.

'Are you...'

'Proposing to you? Yes, I am.' He nodded vigorously.

She stepped back and fell into a chair, her hands covering her face. Éomer didn't know what to do, so he just stood there, erect and silent. Several moments passed, and he started to feel even more uncomfortable if that was possible. He couldn't admit it, but some part of him was sure, that he would have her consent immediately, and that his fear and uneasiness would be relieved straightaway. But she was quiet. He looked around him and felt how improper his behavior was. He broke into her chamber, he spoke like a complete fool, he must have looked equally stupid. But all that didn't matter, if only she would say...

'No.'

Éomer blinked.

'I am sorry, I can't marry you, Éomer King. I am much, much obliged for your proposal, but I can't.'

'I see,' said Éomer quietly. The room twirled around him, he felt nauseous and needed to breathe desperately. So he went out hastily and headed to the stables, wanting to hide away and hide his turmoil from everyone and especially from himself.


When Lûne never came to the tea that afternoon, Éowyn felt disturbed and came to check her after the meal. There was no answer to her gentle knock, but when she pushed the door it proved to be unlocked. At first Éowyn thought that the room was empty and was ready to leave, but then... oh, could that heap by the window be her friend?

Lûne was sitting on the floor and her face was stained with tears. Éowyn came up and patted the pharadine's shoulder.

Suddenly she knew what was the reason, or thought that she knew. She asked softly,

'Did my brother talk to you?'

'He did,' Lûne tried to suppress the sobbing and her voice sounded almost casually, though rather hoarse and quiet.

'Wretched ribald,' sighed Éowyn.

'Ribald? No, no, there is no man more generous and kind than him! But that's the thing. How can I marry a man who is just too kind-hearted and pities me? This morning I was acting like a simpleton and told him about my fears about going back to Harad. And there he was, right after his betrothed broke the engagement. I guess he was thinking he could help me.'

'Don't you like him enough to marry him?' Éowyn was too shocked to come up with better words. She couldn't believe that she was wrong in encouraging her brother to propose.

'Like him! I love Éomer King.'

Lûne tried to pull herself together.

'If I liked him less, I would gratefully accept his offer. But how can I ruin the man I love? How can I force a queen like me on Rohan? Your land deserves a better queen, not a dark-skinned wreck like me. And your brother deserves a wife he loves, not pities.'

Éowyn nearly laughed with relief. So the princess loved her brother! Not everything was lost. Now feeling more at ease, she hugged a thin figure with unkempt hair.

'Tell me one more thing. Why didn't you marry Prince Imrahil?'

'Imrahil? Ah...it just felt wrong. Silly me, never wanting to marry a man I don't care about and still rejecting the one I do love.'

Lûne laughed gloomily.

'You know, I always wanted to have a family. A big and happy one. All my life I was very lonely, my parents passed away when I was a little kid. And I kept dreaming that one day I would marry a man I love and start my own family, my haven and my shelter. But I can't have my dream come true, making your brother miserable. Of course, I am a princess and I am sure that for my marriage my brothers would send me a plentiful dowry, only too happy to get rid of me nicely. But I can't give your brother anything but my love and gold. Even my good looks are gone, these last months made me a complete scarecrow.'

Now the pharadine sounded bitter, but she was much calmer. It was safe to leave her. Éowyn kissed Lûne's forehead, asked her to sleep well and took a promise that they would meet tomorrow at breakfast.


Éomer was pacing to and fro in his own room, trying to decide what to do. Éowyn had just left his room, suggesting that he should talk to Lûne again tomorrow. He drank much that evening, but his sister's words made him almost sober. Of course he should wait till morning, and maybe tomorrow he would find Lûne in the same deserted hall and, perhaps, he'd find better words to tell her about his feelings. To think that she loved him and refused him! Éomer took one more bottle of wine and emptied it almost in no time. He felt strangely reckless and somehow the time seemed to go by slowly, too slowly. No, he would not wait till morning. He'd done with waiting. He wouldn't go to sleep to see one of his usual nightmares, not tonight. He went out and bent his feet to the Western wing. He walked at first, but in a few moments he started to run. The whole palace was already silent, wrapped up in slumber, Éomer's footsteps echoed across the hallways. This time he didn't knock, but stormed into a Lûne's room and bolted the door shut after him.