Chapter 22

It was no secret to anyone in the Houses of Healing that something substantial had occurred in the Warden's office that morning after the Remembrance Feast. In fact, it was Warden Bair himself who had offered his workspace to Éomer King so that he might have some privacy for something long-anticipated by many observant staff of the Houses. The young man had gladly accepted it, his eyes never wavering from the tall figure tending to a patient on the other side of the Hall.

Éomer had been successful in his pursuit, as a little while later he had been seen leaving the office with the hand of the Dol Amrothian Princess of his affections firmly clasped in his. Though a few staff members would have been able to surmise where they had been sneaking off to now, they had all been too busy exchanging coins and knowing smiles, having bet on the particularities of the success of the suit. The sudden change in mood and the appearance of coin purses had been a curious sight for the patients present, yet when they had asked just what monumental event had warranted such a lively response, all the Healers and their assistants had shrugged and claimed ignorance.

The staff of the Houses had always kept the young woman of Dol Amroth in their benevolence, answering in kind the vivacious and considerate care she had bestowed upon them as their ward and apprentice. And it was not just her personality that they valued. Since she had started caring for the herb gardens behind the Houses of Healing, the yield and quality of the plants and herbs had improved significantly over time. Some attributed it to her hard work and diligence, while others said that it was her Elven heritage that had made the gardens flourish like never before. Still, no one had dared to speak of this with Lady Lothíriel herself, as Warden Bair Nestad had strictly forbidden them to unnecessarily flatter his young charge. She was not yet proud to a fault and he did not wish to close that final distance.

As for Lothíriel herself, she had no inkling of the commotion erupting in the wake of her escape, for all her attention was fixed upon the tall blonde-haired man who had his fingers tangled with hers. Éomer had asked her to marry him. She could barely believe it even now, but the feel of his hand – the warmth of his skin, the texture of his callouses and the coolness of his rings – was a solid reminder that he indeed wished to have her by his side as his wife.

Something fluttered and twisted in her belly - not nearly the first or the last that day, and Lothíriel squeezed his hand in gladness. At once the Rohir looked back at her, brows raised questioningly, and she rewarded him with a big smile.

He chuckled under his breath and pulled her closer as they zigzagged their way through the many squared patches of the garden. Plants were abloom in abundance, welcoming all insects and other critters to visit their colourful and fragrant flowers, aptly reflecting the array of bright feelings the young couple were having for and because of one another.

Upon arriving at the small tower of the Apothecary wing, Éomer did not slow down and continued to lead her further until they were inside the very room that Lothíriel had kept herself secluded in during and after the Siege of Minas Tirith. Without a second thought, Lothíriel closed the door behind her.

And so they were alone again.

This was not the first time, but for some reason, Lothíriel felt nervous. Yes, they had spent enough time alone, as two people who enjoyed each other's company.

However, now the atmosphere was charged with heady feelings and nervous expectations. Their relationship was now clearly defined, tangible even, by the hair ornament he had carefully put in her hair.

To dispel the awkwardness, she leaned against a workbench and asked him: "What did you write Ada?"

Éomer was standing in the middle of the room, arms folded as he observed the many little things in the room. "I informed him that you have agreed to marry me and I have requested him to have our wedding within a month or two after Éowyn's."

Lothíriel laughed as she idly moved about a few empty phials on the table, but then sobered when she glanced at his face. "You are serious."

"Why would I not be?"

He was right. He would never joke about any of his commitments. He was looking at her expectantly, his brow furrowed once more. The sight tugged at her heart – because he was just that incredible to look at, and she walked over to him.

Immediately he spread his arms and wrapped her in a gentle embrace. Though the hug was light, she could feel his warmth radiating through his clothes accompanied by his scent of horse, hay and leather. Her skin was already flushed in the victory of love requited, but she felt it grow even pinker. The thrill of being able to wrap her arms around his waist was something she hoped she never would lose. With a satisfied sigh, she rested her cheek against his chest, the crown of her head brushing against his bearded chin.

Lothíriel then remembered that she had to give a reply. "Ada shall not accept a hasty wedding, Éomer, and we have always had long engagements in Gondor."

Displeasure rumbled in his chest. "If Prince Imrahil loves me as you have often proclaimed, then I am sure that he shall make an exception. I am the King of Rohan after all."

"Beloved King of Rohan," Lothíriel said teasingly, running her hand along his bearded jaw. "This is the first time I have ever heard you intending to use your title for your personal affairs."

"Personal? Nay, getting the Queen to Edoras is a matter that concerns all of Rohan." He closed his eyes and revelled in her touch.

"We shall have to wait and see if Ada agrees with that sentiment."

"His response will not arrive until dinner time." He bent his head to look at her face, his eyes squinting slightly. "Lothíriel."

There was a sweetness in the way he spoke her name which made her heart skip a beat.

"Éomer."

The corner of his mouth lifted and then he captured her lips in a gentle kiss. His moustache tickled her skin as he moved to deepen it, causing her knees to weaken momentarily. To be kissed unprompted by none other than Éomer. It was the stuff of dreams.

Just as those dreams ended so too he ended the kiss - far too soon for her liking. Yet as he held her gingerly in his arms, she found no reason to complain. He was looking at her intently as if he wished to memorize her face. As well aware of her beauty Lothíriel was, she could not help but feel nervous. What if he saw something that he did not like?

She had not put in a lot of care in her appearance this morning and she had even worked in the herb gardens. Not to mention, the whole chase in the Houses of Healing must have made her look quite a mess.

Nevertheless, she could glean not even the slightest displeasure in his noble face and her stomach swooped again in rejoicing. Her nerves were unravelling though, almost unable to bear the profound weightiness his gaze put upon her.

With a flush, she looked down and then said the first thing that sprang to mind.

"So we are back in this room then?"

Éomer frowned apologetically and answered, "This was the only place I could think of. I… was hoping we could spend some more time together before declaring our troth plight at court."

No doubt the announcement of their troth plight would send the entire court into a frenzy. And even before that, there was little privacy in any of the Southern Guesthouses and certainly none in the public spaces of the Sixth Circle and the Citadel. This stillroom was indeed the best-secluded place for them to be.

"You are right, milord – " His sharp look made her giggle despite her nerves. "I mean, you are right, Éomer. Before we submit ourselves to the scrutiny of the Gondorian court, let us treasure this moment as simply Lothíriel and Éomer."

He muttered something under his breath, and in the next moment, she felt one hand move to the small of her back and the other to her cheek. Then his mouth was on hers, hard and insistent, before she felt the tip of his tongue sweep across her lower lip. With a gasp she opened her mouth and boldly chased it with her tongue, dipping past his lips. This did not leave him unaffected. A groan vibrated from his throat. Encouraged by his response, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair.

Their bout of affection showed no signs of slowing down, and Lothíriel revelled in the ardour in which he explored her mouth. His grip on her had tightened, leaving no space between their bodies now despite his particular care to do so only a little while ago.

It was nothing short of heaven. She could feel his body through the multitude of fabrics between them. A strange, ticklish heat spread through her body as she became aware of his arousal pressing against her abdomen. Her knowledge might have been limited on purpose because of her station, she was not entirely ignorant of such matters.

And her body seemed to react instinctively as well, for her hips shifted against him seeking for something she did not wholly understand.

Éomer did, however, for the groan that was ripped from his throat was particularly guttural. She did not relent and instead put more of her weight against him as she continued to assert her affection for the tall blonde horse-lord.

"Lothíriel!" He gasped as he took hold of her shoulders and stepped back, his eyes dark with hunger and his skin pink. "My love, we must not – "

He did not finish his sentence, unable to find the right words to say to a Princess. She understood it, and while it was wise not to continue the physical expression of their attraction, it frustrated her immensely.

He loved her and she loved him. They would be married, soon hopefully. That should be reason enough to let her kiss him as much as she wanted. For all her patience and pining, it was her right to do so! Indeed, it was only a just compensation, thought Lothíriel as she glared at the door – one that represented the faceless Gondorian court that had determined which liberties she was allowed to take – which were none, apparently.

The same court that had seemed to turn a blind eye to Faramir and Éowyn kissing in front of the entire White City. The same court that condoned Amrothos' and Erchirion's dalliances with the widows and daughters of lesser nobles. Undoubtedly other liaisons had been taking place hidden in the niches and shadows formed by the stonework of the White City, yet somehow it was only Lothíriel who had been warned and guarded against such behaviour. And it frustrated her to no end.

She huffed and folded her arms, causing Éomer to chuckle under his breath.

"Come, do not look so sour," he said as he pressed his forehead against hers, his hands still at her upper arms, "I wish only to treat you with the highest of honour like you deserve."

She watched his lips as he spoke. They were slightly swollen and the blonde hairs around them shone because of their eager kisses. His hair was messed up and he was still breathing heavily.

Her stomach swooped with sweet satisfaction. He was like that because of her.

Mollified by that thought, she sighed. "Very well."

Éomer then pressed his lips against her brow with such sweetness that she could not help but quickly steal another kiss before moving away.

"Considering that you have limited my affections after begging them from me in the first place," she said as she walked to the cupboard near the door, "let us do what we do best... Talk and eat. Have you eaten?"

"I had an early breakfast, but I have no appetite."

She looked over her shoulder at him just in time to see him yawn. Then she pulled open the lower drawers and began taking out a variety of things as he quietly watched her.

A few minutes later, Lothíriel gestured towards the cosy arrangement of pillows and spreads opposite the fireplace. "Make yourself comfortable, Éomer."

He stared at her for a moment with an unreadable expression before he settled down on the pillows with an appreciative sigh.

Lothíriel then lit the fire and hung a kettle over the hearth after filling it with water and a generous helping of tea leaves. As the heat spread through the little room, a similar pleasant warmth unfurled in her heart. She was allowed to look after him again.

Biting her lip to suppress her smile, she looked back at him to see what he was doing.

His large body was leaning against the cushions with his legs stretched out towards the side and his hands folded on top of his abdomen. His eyes were half closed but he remained watchful of her every move.

The wholesome silence was punctuated by the light bubbling of the water and the cheerful crackle of the burning firewood. The young woman and her beloved were quite content in this little world of theirs. At this moment, they wanted nothing, for they could finally say that they had each other.

The Dol Amrothian woman checked the kettle and found the colour of the tea to her liking. After fetching a thick mug from the cupboard, she filled it and gently set it down at a safe distance but in his reach. Then she doused the fire, tidied the workbench and finally sat down next to him, their thighs touching.

"Are you not going to have some yourself?"

She shook her head with a slight smile. "The tea is to help you relax. I have had plenty of rest this morning, as you may recall, so I do not need it."

His brow twitched, but he remained quiet, content to keep looking at her for a spell. Then he gently touched the hair ornament nestled at the top of her braid and adjusted its three chains. From there his hand moved to her ear and he lightly grazed the golden earcuff she was wearing at its helix.

Sensing his curiosity, she took the cufflet off. "Hold still."

She pushed back his hair from his ear and clipped the jewellery there. "There. It is of a pair. The other ear cuff is at this ear."

She turned her head to show him, earning a small smile from him as he gingerly touched it. "Does it mean anything?"

"It does now," she replied softly, "for it is yours."

Their faces were close and she felt the urge to kiss him again. However, noting his tired eyes, she did not make a move.

"Thank you for the tea and this ear cuff. I am not good with jewellery though," Éomer murmured, his eyes fixed on hers, "I shall keep it somewhere safe so I do not lose it."

He was adorable, she thought to herself, and then slipped her hand in his. "No, I insist that you wear it as often as you wish to. If you do happen to lose it, then I shall gladly replace it for you."

He grunted softly, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

"Or," she continued, "you could have your ear pierced and wear a ring instead of a clip."

"Hmm."

"Like this." She shifted even closer to him and pointed out the piercing holes in her ears. "Amrothos has these too."

"Is that so?" He took a moment to study her, his breath tickling the skin of her neck. "I never did notice him wearing anything like this."

Lothíriel gestured for him to drink his tea as she replied, "Ada and Elphir do not like it, because they say it is against the traditions of Gondor. It is not an issue in Dol Amroth, however. The fashion there is quite different. You shall visit me in Dol Amroth, shall you not?"

"But of course," his reply was soft but firm, "I shall come see you as soon as I can."

Lothíriel smiled widely at him, the prospect of being able to share her South Gondorian lifestyle with him was very exciting. Catching on to her enthusiasm, he asked her a few questions which she then answered extensively.

Though she knew that women's fashion was not a particularly compelling topic to a warrior King, she could tell that he was listening intently to her.

He was so sweet.

" – so, we are much more at ease with the use of colours, accessories and patterns compared to East Gondor. This is also visible in our architecture and handicrafts. Such as that letter box that I gave to you, do you remember?"

Éomer's shoulders stiffened and he hastily finished his drink, carefully avoiding her eye. Of course, she caught on to his distress at once.

"Have you thrown the box away?"

"No!" He shook his head slightly, guilt knitting his brow. "No, I could never. I, uh. I broke the box in a fit of anger."

It was clear that he was ashamed of it and it endeared him further to her. Wordlessly, she entwined her hand with his again, the remnant heat of his teacup just barely palpable on his skin.

He did wish to talk about it because he squeezed her hand gently before elaborating. "Faramir had just sent Éowyn the news of your courtship with Forgammon and she immediately noticed my upset. She then somehow found the box that had all the things in it, looked at every one of them – "

"Éowyn read our letters?"

He tilted his head apologetically.

"She said it was obvious how you and I cared for one another. She is not wrong though. Lothíriel, I do not think I have ever longed so much for a woman's good opinion as I have longed for yours."

Éomer sent her an earnest look before he pressed a kiss to the top of the hand that was entwined with his, and her heart clenched with happiness.

"Indeed, now that I think about it, I have done a great many things for your sake that I would not have given a second thought in past. And Éowyn realized this and told me to marry you. But I was not ready to hear it."

Lothíriel pressed her shoulder against his to comfort him.

"We let our tempers get the best of us and... Without thinking, I, uh. Threw the box at a wall. The letters and the Herbarium were fine, but the box and one of the shells – "

"They were damaged beyond repair?" She supplied, ducking her head slightly, hoping to meet his gaze.

"Yes."

"You love me so dearly that you worry about such trifles?" Her tone was light and teasing, but her heart was pounding fast in elation. Here was a famed and feared King, remorseful because of a dime-a-dozen box and seashells that were overly abundant on the shorelines of Belfalas Bay.

She would have laughed out loud her amusement if he had not finally raised his hazel-green eyes to meet her searching grey ones. "I do, Lothíriel."

"Oh."

If the man was going to talk like that, then she had no choice but to kiss him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close as she eagerly pressed her mouth against his. In the next moment, they were once again in a fervent liplock. It was only when Lothíriel's back hit the cushioned floor that Éomer seemed to recall himself. With a mutter of Rohirric, he sat back up and pushed aside his hair, looking exasperated.

"That is… we should not – "

"I know," she replied as she too sat up, feeling light and heady from his touch, "Though I protest it, I know."

A bit awkwardly they sat side by side, their shoulders and thighs grazing against one another, before Lothíriel took hold of his hand and squeezed it comfortingly. "Where is the Herbarium now? And the letters?"

"Éowyn has taken the Herbarium and kept it in the treasury next to Uncle Théoden's work. She says she wants to preserve it so it can be finished at a later date. And the letters are in another box in my study."

"So no harm done."

He sighed softly. "That is true except that I broke my favourite shell."

"Do you mean this one?" Lothíriel dug a hand into her skirt pocket and fished out a small white spiral, which she then placed into the hand she was holding.

He held it up in his thumb and index finger and studied it for a moment before giving it back.

"Keep it," she said, folding his hand around the shell, "I insist."

Éomer shook his head slightly but he relented as he stared at the white coil. "You give me so much, Lothíriel. I am not sure what to give you in return."

The gravitas in his voice tugged at her heart, one that was already moved by his earnest and simple gentility, and she longed to embrace him without reservation, but she could not.

"For an ear cuff, a cup of tea and a seashell?" she murmured with a warm smile. "Well, you do intend to marry me, so I suppose that makes us even."

To her utter delight, Éomer let out a short laugh, filling the small stillroom with its melodious sound, and filling her heart with pride at amusing the serious Warrior King of Rohan. Then he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pressed her side against his. Pulling her close, he buried his nose in her hair and remained there for a pleasant stretch of a time. Then came a great yawn from him and he moved away to cover his mouth.

She looked at him in fond amusement as he cleared his throat and blinked a few times.

"Forgive me, Lothíriel, I do not understand why I am yawning so much. Usually my endurance to stay awake is greater than this."

"You should lie down for a while," she kindly said and she began adjusting the pillows to facilitate his comfort. She sat down again at one end and patted her lap. "You may rest your head here."

Éomer stared at her, perplexed, and she felt a thick blush spread on her cheeks. Yes, it was a very intimate gesture, but they were to be married and he was beyond exhausted.

Again she patted her thighs and looked at him expectantly.

With an uncharacteristically shy expression, he turned in place and lowered his head gingerly on her lap. Lothíriel immediately pushed his hair aside so it fanned out like a halo.

"Is this fine?" He asked as he looked up at her with a small frown. "If you are not comfortable – "

"I am fine, please be at ease, Éomer."

Fine was an understatement - Lothíriel thrilled. She had not even dared to imagine having him relax on her like this. His hair was so soft, his eyes were so bright and his face was so incredibly handsome. She glanced at his body, which was stretched out over the makeshift sofa. There was no apparent discomfort there.

Their eyes met and they shared a shy smile. He reached up and caressed her face, his thumb rubbing gently across her cheek. The heat of his touch only added to the sweet incandescence of their proximity and again she felt the urge to kiss and kiss him and then to kiss and kiss him more. Instead, she pressed her lips on the inside of his wrist, not unlike how he had done so himself once upon a time in the herb gardens of Minas Tirith.

He sighed softly, his eyes crinkling as he too thought back on their early meetings - those precious stolen moments that had shaped their hearts for one another.

Their time together was steadily running out. Even if her father would miraculously agree to a hasty marriage – he would not, he would never – she was still to return to Dol Amroth tomorrow and Éomer back to his Golden Hall atop Edoras. They would not see each other for two months at least, and though those two months were nothing compared to the five months of utter heartache she had gone through, it seemed all the more bitter to part from him after knowing his heart and having his word.

"Béma, Lothíriel," his low voice snapped her out of her spiral, "if you are going to stare at me like that, I am going to put you on Firefoot and steal you away to Edoras."

His brows were furrowed but his lips were curved and the young woman could not help but giggle. "You would not do that to your dear friend Imrahil."

"Let us not challenge that thought, nonetheless."

"You cannot tell me not to dread being apart from you, Éomer."

"I shall not, for I too am not eager for our impending parting. But after having upset you for so long, I wish to see you in higher spirits."

His hand rose to the crown of her hair and followed it down past the hair ornament to the tip of her braid, which he then brought to his lips and kissed it.

"I am not good with relationships, Lothíriel. Having spent most of my life on horseback, I fear that I am inept when it comes to dealing with women," he said, "I even neglected my own sister because it was simply easier to slay Orcs than to talk about our parents."

She did not reply and instead began caressing his cheek. His eyes fell shut, but he continued to talk. "Never had I felt the need for emotional connection with any woman until our meeting in your herb garden that one evening – when you fell and cursed like Amrothos – "

She huffed in exasperation. "One does not easily forget such embarrassment – "

"There is no need for any of that. My love, you have no inkling of how you settled into my mind and made me long for your continued presence in mere minutes. I still do not quite understand it myself." He had opened his eyes again and was looking at her intensely. "Your kindness to me, Lothíriel, I – I honestly became fearful of how I desired it. Mind you, I was still grieving because of my Uncle, Théodred and the damage done to Rohan. All of that was pushed to the back of my mind when I thought of you when I saw you. The guilt – I felt so selfish, letting my heart lighten because of you when it was heavy because of its rightful burdens."

He took her hand and kissed it before looking at her most imploringly. "In hindsight, it would have been best if I had just listened to Imrahil and made you mine immediately. Please forgive me for making you wait and suffer. And… Thank you, Lothíriel, for bestowing upon me your grace."

With a heart running amok with affection for him, she held his hand to her chest and shook her head. "You were not ready," she whispered, "we were not ready. Ulmo, when I think of what a child I was then, even if it was only a year ago, I think it has been for the best."

"I have a lot to learn still, my dear Princess." His hazel green eyes were serious.

"As do I. Let us learn together. Teach me what you can and I shall do the same."

He hummed his agreement and raised his eyebrows fondly before pulling her down for a kiss. With a soft chuckle, she obliged and brushed her lips against his.

How she loved this man, she thought to herself as they parted. What a privilege it was to have him to herself like this.

Once more they were observing one another in silence. She could feel his eyes roaming over her face and she pressed her lips together happily. She then ran her fingers through his hair and undid the tie that held back half of his hair. Its blonde colouring was beautiful, with dark golden strands being highlighted by lighter ones. It smelled of soap and hay and its texture was smoother than she expected. She combed through the locks, running her fingernails over his scalp, and Éomer sighed deeply. He was enjoying her gentle ministrations.

Glancing back at his face, she saw that his eyes had fallen shut once more and his brow was completely relaxed. Then he placed a hand over his mouth and yawned.

"You should take a nap."

"What? No, that is – "

"Go ahead," she insisted, "you might not have another chance again today."

He blinked a few times and then cleared his throat. "Lothíriel, are you sure? It might tire you."

"Nonsense, I am quite comfortable like this," she said, well aware that he was interested in taking up on her offer, just as much as she wished to continue playing with his hair. "May I braid your hair while you rest?"

"Go ahead."

Pleased with his response, she ran the pads of her fingers over his brow before letting them wander all over his face. There were some scars here and there hidden away in the freckles and hairs. His beard was darker compared to his hair and it emphasized his sharp masculine features most handsomely. And how lovely were his eyelashes, now resting just above his cheekbones. She was looking forward to taking her time in memorizing his fine features from up close.

"Ah."

Lothíriel felt him relax in his place and he shifted his head closer to her abdomen before he closed his eyes again and murmured her name under his breath.

Taking a couple of strands of hair she began her braiding with great care to not jostle him out of his rest. In the distance, he could hear the people of the Houses of Healing walking about, busy with their tasks of providing care and comfort to their patients. A mellow spring breeze swept into the stillroom from the open window carrying along the scents of the herb garden and the smell of whatever was being prepared in the Kitchens not too far off.

Eventually, Éomer King's breathing evened out as he finally fell asleep, his head resting in the lap of his beloved Princess of Dol Amroth. Her heart was full of contentment and bliss, not just because he was able to find slumber so easily with her, but also from knowing that in the future she would have plenty of opportunity to look after him like this again.