Chapter 29

Weeks passed and winter came. This far south, it meant incessant rain, damp chill and muddy camps. Grey clouds hang low above the woods, finding no passage over Ephel Dúath or the great river Anduin, and the sun was only rarely seen. Éomer longed for the crisp, clear days of winter in Rohan, when nature slumbered but the air was keen and sharp. He was homesick for the blazing hearth fire of Meduseld, cups of hot mead, the smell of holly and the golden warmth of his Hall. How he longed to be there now, with his Queen by his side!

He was impatient but the campaign was successful enough. With the landslide, the tides had finally turned and the companies were hunting orc parties across Ithilien, leading Éomer and Aragorn to believe that the natural disaster had actually destroyed some base of operations in the mountains that now left the surviving orcs in dire circumstances. As hateful as his experience of the landslide had been, Éomer was now glad for it. If it allowed them to finish this work sooner, and let him go home with Lothíriel, then he would not complain.

Be that as it may, he also knew this meant a certain delay. Even if the campaign finished before Yuletide, he would not be able to get back home with his lady before spring. For one, he did not want to make her travel in the colder and harsher months, and it would be more fitting to bring his bride home with spring; just as Læs of the Spring returned after winter, nature quickening under her footsteps. There was still much to be done at Meduseld before it was ready to receive the new queen. Moreover, the time for the birth of Arwen and Aragorn's first child grew near, and he knew they both would greatly appreciate it if the King and Queen of Rohan were present to witness it. Aragorn had already spoken tentatively of years to come, and how they – he and Arwen, Éomer and Lothíriel, Éowyn and Faramir – might send their children to be fostered for a time in the courts of their uncles and aunts. At first Éomer had felt very reluctant of the idea of sending his own child away to be raised by someone else, however briefly. But then he considered that in the act, he would also gain another child he may love and teach, and recalled his own good memories of Théoden. Of course, it was something that would not actually happen for many years still, and he would have to speak to his queen before any of this happened. But in times when nothing was happening in the camp, and their surroundings were damp and dismal, it was pleasant to think of days to come and children that would inherit a kinder world.

Whenever he could, Éomer rode to Emyn Arnen, and there spent a few golden hours in the arms of his sweet wife. In Lothíriel's bower, muddy camps and long chilly nights were but a distant thought, and with the memory of her shining eyes, the warmth of her embrace and the taste of her kiss on his lips, he felt he could endure even the worst that a battlefield has to offer.

But it was not just the marriage bed that delighted him – though the bed was proving to be quite wonderful – he also felt so glad for how open and easy his relationship with Lothíriel was. Well, so it had always been, but this new trust and intimacy went beyond even that. A fresh hopefulness filled them both. Excitedly, she would talk to him of her plans for when they finally began their life in Rohan, of getting to know the land and its people, talking about merchants she knew in Dol Amroth, or pondering out loud how best to introduce the Rohirric weavers to the arts of southern dyers. She and Aunt Hild continued her lessons in the language of Rohan once more, and proudly presented to him what she had learnt since their last meeting; her sentences were still broken at times and she favoured simpler words, but her pronunciation was beautiful and very close to native in tone and clarity. And she was always glad when they were reunited, and told him that she bore her troubles with a renewed strength. Exchanging words with Éowyn and Aunt Hild, he also learnt that Lothíriel was now singing as she worked, filling the manor house with her sweet voice and delighting the injured warriors who heard the sound.

Hearing this, Éomer knew that he didn't need to worry about her too much. Granted, there were nights when he would wake up to her stirring restlessly by his side, muttering broken words of Sindarin, and sometimes a dark faraway look was in her eyes when they sat together in the quiet of their shared chamber. When they walked together outside and came close to the woods, she would press closer to him, and her eyes would be wide and anxious. But when he reached for her, whispering soothing words, or took her hand in his own, she would return from those troubled paths and the shadow that had fallen over her was gone again. When she seemed calm again, he would tell her how focusing on breathing and counting counting her breaths might sometimes be helpful when the memory of dark things came too near. He knew there were probably other things, deeper and more grim, that she perhaps held back in order to make his visits pleasant and calm. Even so, she seemed to take great comfort and joy in the idea of the future and all the new things that life would bring.

In the woods of Ithilien, there was no grand, final battle where the orcs were decisively destroyed. It was well known by the captains that remaining bands were flying deep into the mountains and wild places away from the dwellings of Men, there to recuperate and plan new attacks and raids in the future. They would not vanish from Middle-earth for many years to come, perhaps not even in Éomer's own lifetime. In Ithilien, and in his own kingdom, vigilant guardians would still be needed and many more battles would yet be fought. Perhaps in their children's time, these creatures that had brought so much terror to the lands of Men, would become less an actual threat and more a scary story.

But companies of Rangers and Rohirrim kept scouring the woods and the mountains, flushing out the caves that they found, and making plans for sealing them. It would not be an easy or quick task, but Faramir was undaunted by the challenge, and would have all the aid Aragorn and Imrahil were able to give. Éomer did not offer his help, and he knew it was not expected: he would have his hands full cleansing the wild places of his own realm.

As battle activity turned into small and haphazard skirmishes that the Rangers, Imrahil's Swan Knights and Gondorian soldiers were well equipped to deal with, Éomer began to send companies of his Rohirrim on the road home, and they sang as they rode northwards, eager for their homes and families and a merry Yuletide spent among loved ones. He wished dearly he could have joined them, for he too longed for Rohan. His impatience was hard to keep in check. For the first time, he had the prospect of his own family to look forward to, although it would be months still before Lothíriel would actually be with him in Meduseld. Even so, it was so easy to picture her there, nights and mornings in the royal chambers, her graceful figure walking in the great hall of Meduseld and making it more fair and beloved by her presence, and sitting by his side before the court. In his mind's eye, he saw her waiting for him on the steps of the Golden Hall, racing with him over the fields of Rohan, working side by side with him to rebuild the land, and being loved by the people just as she was loved by him. With her warmth and grace, who would not adore her?

These imaginations made his impatience even greater, but also caused a delicious sense of waiting. To be able to show his world to his beloved, and share it with her: that was indeed a privilege.

Then at last Yuletide came near, and the companies of Rohan, Gondor and Ithilien rode for the White City. Bitter rain whipped them on the way, but his wife endured it admirably, and Arwen and Aragorn's hospitality was impeccable with hot baths, cups of mulled wine for welcome, warm chambers and soft sleeping furs. Incidentally, he and Lothíriel had the same room as before; this time, they put the bed to a much greater use than before.

The celebrations for Yuletide were quite different from the exuberant feasts Éomer was accustomed to back in Rohan, but had he been back home, he knew he would probably just get extremely drunk to try and avoid feeling crippled with longing for loved ones who were gone. Here in Mundburg, with Lothíriel by his side and surrounded by her family who somehow managed to walk the tight line between southern propriety and warm cheerfulness, and Éowyn and Faramir, Hild with her quiet smile, and the blissfully happy Arwen and Aragorn, his own mood was high and his heart overflowing with affection for them all. He felt something warm and vast swelling in his breast and realised it was happiness.

But though this coming together was joyful indeed, as if a large and strange but loving family meeting, one small part caused a disturbance of his calm.

This was, of course, meeting the Lady Ivriniel.

He had not thought much about the old woman while in Ithilien: the campaign kept him busy enough and whatever spare time he got was in his mind given wholly to Lothíriel and dreams of sunlit days to come. However, once he was on his way to Mundburg, and the prospect of being introduced to the woman who had caused such pain to his beloved, his temper did begin to simmer. There was a thing or two he would like to tell her. But even so, he knew how much his friends and family looked forward to a merry Yuletide spent together, and Éomer was loath to spoil it by antagonising Imrahil's own sister. For better or for worse, Lothíriel seemed to feel like she needed some sliver of approval from her aunt, or at least to prove that the old woman was wrong to doubt this union, and if this could be achieved by him being on his best behaviour... well, he'd do anything for his wife, and so there was no question about keeping his temper in check.

So they were both a little bit on edge when her father invited them and the whole circle of family and friends to dinner on the night before the Yuletide celebrations would begin. Lothíriel seemed nervous for how the meeting would go, and Éomer was busy mulling over his concern for her and knowing the effort it would take to keep things civil with her aunt.

They prepared for the evening in silence, both occupied by uneasy thoughts. But when he saw the pinched look on the face of his wife, Éomer took a breath to calm his mind, and put his hand on her shoulder. She startled, looking up at him with wide eyes.

Ever so gently, he put his arms around her. When he murmured that it would be all right, she melted into the embrace, some of the tension leaving her body as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. So they remained for a moment, both just breathing.

"It's just one dinner. I promise I won't make trouble with her. And I'm sure she won't either; surely none of us would behave so in the front of Queen Arwen", he reassured her gently.

"I know. I just want this to go well", she said softly. With a quiet sigh, she continued, "I don't know why this bothers me so much. Her approval wouldn't change anything, and yet..."

"No need to explain. Family can hold a great power over us, both in good and bad. I should know", he told her. She made a soft sound in agreement and seemed to relax.

After a while she pulled back and brushed her fingers across his shoulder, as if to smooth away some unseen wrinkles. Lothíriel smiled up at him.

"You look very handsome today, my darling", she told him softly.

"Do I now?" he asked, smiling and bending his head to kiss her. It pleased him indeed to know that she found him attractive, and something of this notion probably began to show in his kiss and the grip of his hands about her hips, because she made a low sound in her throat and pulled away.

"No time for that, my lord! We will be late to the dinner", she told him sternly, although her eyes held barely contained desire. Nevertheless, he stole one more kiss of her sweet lips.

"If you insist, my lady", he replied, hiding his smile when he saw that her troubled look had vanished.

The town house of the Princes of Dol Amroth was as grand as could be expected. Here and there were hanging great blue pennants with the Silver Swanship of Dol Amroth, vases held fresh flowers even in this time of winter, and the soft light of lamps and candles illuminated the lofty halls with a golden glow. Éomer did not pay much heed to his surroundings, for Lothíriel was holding on to his arm a bit more tightly than before, and he knew that at least some of her earlier nervousness had returned, even if her face was calm and composed.

The soft sound of chatter invited them into the dining hall. Most of the other guests were there already: Aragorn fussing around the heavily pregnant but calm and smiling Arwen, Amrothos and Erchirion bickering as usual, Imrahil talking quietly with Faramir and Éowyn, and Aunt Hild and a tall lady who could only be Lady Ivriniel decidedly ignoring one another. No wonder: Lothíriel had told him about the way these two had screamed at one another. To himself, he thought that perhaps there were some even more brittle tensions in this space than between him, Lothíriel and Lady Ivriniel. Upon the arrival of the King and Queen of Rohan, greetings were exchanged, some coming as exclamations and others delivered with a bit more dignity.

Éomer pressed his hand against Lothíriel's for a moment, offering his silent encouragement. They shared a glance and made their way to the tall, noble woman who was already eyeing them with an appraising eye. He met her stare steadily.

"Aunt Ivriniel", said Lothíriel, as they stood face to face with her father's sister, "well met. Here is my lord husband, King Éomer of Rohan."

Before him stood a harder, sterner version of Lothíriel. They looked much alike, and Lady Ivriniel had the same sea-grey eyes and the same cheeks, but her mouth was thinner and he doubted her smile held any of her niece's warmth. She was slightly taller, but had the same graceful posture. Age had not bent or weakened her, bearing witness to the blood of Westernesse that flowed in this woman's veins.

"Lady Ivriniel", he greeted her, nodding his head.

"My lord. It is good to finally meet you", said the old lady, curtsying. Raising one eyebrow, she added, "although I did wonder if I would get the chance. The last time I saw my niece, it was unclear whether you still lived. I thought it was most curious how quickly a union could be made, and yet how swiftly a new husband could be parted from his bride."

"Curious, perhaps, but not uncommon in times of war. In my land, it is quite ordinary that young couples seek marriage before war, and may sometimes be separated very quickly after it. Yet they also have faith in a reunion, living or dying", said Éomer, keeping his tone calm. He glanced at his wife, "I had planned to court her in the proper Gondorian way, but my queen is a graceful and generous lady. She was quick to understand the politics behind the match."

Only a tiny twitch in Lady Ivriniel's face exposed her. He guessed she had expected a more fumbling answer to confirm her doubts. But he was not going to give her that satisfaction, and the political aspect was hardly one that she could argue with.

"One needs very little grace and generosity to wed a decent and dependable man", said Lothíriel softly, pressing his arm ever so slightly. He turned to look at her, his heart swelling in his chest. She looked back at him and the corners of her mouth curled in a subtle smile.

"Well, it is fortunate that what politics require, sentiment has also united. Not many are so fortunate", said Lady Ivriniel wryly.

"Perhaps. Although I am certain sentiment preceded politics, and the latter enabled the former much sooner than this impatient horse-lord could have hoped for", Éomer remarked, knowing he was now walking the edge of the knife – and his temper. Lothíriel pressed his arm, probably sensing the tension in him.

It was Éowyn who saved them both.

"Brother! Lothíriel!" she exclaimed lightly as she approached them, smiling and arms spread. "I was starting to think you had decided not to join us tonight."

"Éowyn", said Lothíriel, turning to face her law-sister and responding to her hug just as warmly. "We could not very well do so – it has been so long since the all of us were last together. Father would not take such transgressions well."

Éomer hid his smile. His wife had deftly reminded her aunt of what the Prince's hospitality required in the way of manners and not provoking other guests.

"It is good to be together, indeed. Although I'm sure my brother would rather be spending this Yuletide in Edoras", Éowyn remarked, glancing at him.

"Anywhere is better than the mud in Ithilien", Éomer merely said and turned his head to Lothíriel. "Come along, my dear. We haven't yet greeted Arwen. Lady Ivriniel."

He nodded at his wife's aunt, hoping that his features did not reveal his relief of being rid of her company. As he passed by his sister, he mouthed thank you, and she grinned back at him.

The rest of the evening went smoothly: at dinner, Imrahil had his daughter and her husband wisely seated away from the Lady Ivriniel, and the old noblewoman seemed to have taken the hint, for she spoke very little to them after the first meeting. Yet perhaps it was more thanks to Faramir and Erchirion, bless their hearts, who apparently had silently agreed to take turns talking to the aged lady. It could be that their conversations kept her too occupied to give more thought to her niece's outrageous marriage. Lothíriel noticed this too, and during the dinner, Éomer could at times glimpse a subtle appreciative look on her face as she glanced at her brother.

He refrained from smiling. He knew it had weighed on her to be on bad terms with her brother, but it appeared Erchirion was quite serious about making amends. Judging by his efforts, there was every reason to hope that past troubles could eventually be left behind.

Altogether it was a pleasant evening, as far occasions like this go, and the atmosphere was merry and warm. If a stranger had walked in, they might not have guessed that around this table were some of the most powerful personages in the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan, for it was indeed a family dinner, and Éomer felt wholly welcomed by his Númenorean kinsmen, with the possible exception of Lady Ivriniel, and Éowyn and Aunt Hild too looked glad and laughed often. He knew there were some in Rohan who would have doubted such a thing, that two former Shieldmaidens and the late king's second heir could be so relaxed at this table, but perhaps this was a sign that the times were changing for the better.

After many toasts, songs and much laughing, he and Lothíriel bid good night to the company and took their leave. Slowly they walked towards the Citadel, where they had their lodgings. Aragorn and Arwen had already gone ahead of them, Béma knew where Aunt Hild had vanished, and the rest of the party lodged at the sixth level of the city. So their walk was quiet and pleasant under the cool, starlit sky.

They were both a little bit tipsy, and she was giggling at his arm, cheeks warm and red from her father's excellent wine. He felt extremely tender towards her, and thought that there was a warm, golden ball of light around his heart, full of wonder that so much happiness could come one man's way. He had her. She would always be there, be his wife, work and strive by his side to rebuild Rohan, and bear their children. But now he also knew, stronger than ever, that he also had a family here in Gondor: brothers such as he had not thought to have since Théodred had died, and sisters in Éowyn and Arwen – if it was not too untoward to think of the Half-elven Queen in such a way, perhaps she would not mind being considered an elder sister – and something in Imrahil he had not yet defined. Imrahil was not a father to him, for this was an honour forever reserved for Éomund and Théoden, but perhaps an uncle… well, he could think of a better word. They had time.

And then Lothíriel giggled again, perhaps at some private joke, and he understood how much of it was because of her. Aye, he would have had Aragorn and Arwen and Faramir and Imrahil either way, but Lothíriel had brought something more to it. She had completed this… this family. At least for him, she was what bound it all together.

A choking feeling came to him and he held on tight to her.

"What is it?" she asked him softly.

"Nothing. I was just thinking of how much I love you", he told her, bending his head to kiss the top of her head.

"I love you too", she replied, shifting closer to his side and wrapping her arm around his waist. So they walked for a while, enjoying the night's air. Neither were in hurry to make it back to their rooms at the Citadel.

"Tonight didn't go so badly after all", she remarked after a while.

"Aye. I had expected worse. But perhaps I don't know much about Gondorian family dinners, after all", he said, which made her chuckle.

"Oh, it can be quite tense, but the party makes the mood. And most were quite happy at that table. Did you see how King Elessar looked at Queen Arwen? With a joy like that in the room, one cannot but join in the sentiment", she said softly.

"They are happy, just as they deserve. Sometimes I think… it's strange, how long some couples must wait for one another. And I barely had to wait for you", he said, leaning closer to her. He felt a pleasant little shiver go through her.

"Well, now I'm glad it went this way. However strange it is. I feel… I feel it is fitting", she said, her voice low and deep.

"I can agree with that", he muttered, his hand slipping down her waist and to her hip. She shivered again.

They halted, looking at one another. Her eyes reflected the same thought that he had.

"I know a spot not far from here", she whispered hoarsely.

Éomer grinned, and gestured at their guards to leave them, which they fortunately did, probably thanks to their proximity to the Citadel of the White City.

The King and Queen would find their own way home.

The Yuletide celebrations were not that different from how it was done in Dol Amroth, so Lothíriel felt a strange familiarity in the feasts of Minas Tirith. The scale was quite different of course, and the amount of the nobles that had come to the White City was unlike anything she had seen. Amrothos helpfully told her this was nothing compared to the crowds that had arrived to see the crowning of King Elessar, but since that was a time she had spent at Dol Amroth, holding her father's seat, she could only imagine the wondrous bustle of those celebrations.

There would be feasts and banquets, a carnival at the lower levels of the city that she desperately wanted to see even if it would not be appropriate for her as a queen to participate, a royal tournament where both her brothers would be competing, and several other events. However, Lothíriel did not expect all this with an entirely untroubled heart.

It was Aunt Hild who noticed it, and no wonder: even with Lothíriel's improved state of mind and her careful attempts to keep any uneasiness to herself, it seemed that the old Shieldmaiden still watched her too closely to be fooled.

On the afternoon following the dinner at her father's town house, Lothíriel was seated in the rooms she shared with Éomer. He had gone to talk with the other captains: even if it was Yuletide and things had been quiet in Ithilien for some weeks, there were still things to do and strategies to plan, and the lords of Rohan and Gondor could not merely sit back and enjoy the time of celebrations. Lothíriel knew it was how her life would probably be from now on, and did not complain; her trouble was elsewhere. With a weight upon her heart, she thought of the evening to come and the grand celebration at Merethrond that would open the season of feasting in the White City.

There was a knocking sound at the door, and at her invitation, Aunt Hild limped inside. Her bad foot seemed to be bothering her more here in Minas Tirith, which concerned Lothíriel and she decided to ask about it at some point, when she had found a sufficiently discreet way; Hild didn't like to be fussed over. Even so, she hurried to move a comfortable chair closer to the door, so that her husband's aunt would not have to walk too far. She also quickly provided a footstool and the old lady smiled warmly.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" asked Hild, settling down comfortably in the chair.

"Not at all. I have no appointments for today until tonight's banquet. I thought I should try to get some rest while we are at Minas Tirith", said Lothíriel and continued to brush her hair.

"A wise decision. I did not like how weary you looked back in Ithilien", Hild commented, nodding her head. "But I do wonder. Is that the only reason you are keeping to yourself?"

Lothíriel looked away for a bit and thought of what she should say. Seeing her aunt Ivriniel had brought back other things that the delight of her husband and the business of Ithilien had rather made her forget. She recalled again all those appraising eyes and whispered words that she had endured the last time she was here. How they had gossiped and murmured even at the bridal lunch in her own father's house! Yes, things were better now in many ways, and she felt more confident in her role. But those voices and those whispers… after her ordeals of late, she wasn't sure of how to face it again.

Hild sat expectantly, and Lothíriel knew she would not say or do a thing before an honest answer was given. And then she felt foolish. Had she not bared her heart to this woman in her darkest hour, and gained advice and encouragement that had possibly saved her life? So what was there to fear?

"I am just worried about how it will be like out there. When I married Éomer, there was… well, some of the nobles thought there is something inappropriate about our union. That maybe our first meeting in Emyn Arnen was of a nature that required us to marry quickly", Lothíriel uttered at length, staring down in her lap as she continued to brush her hair.

"Oh, I see", Hild said softly. She sighed before continuing, "Does it really matter, though?"

Lothíriel looked up sharply, her hand stopping in the middle of brushing.

"Does it matter? I don't know. But I have spent a lifetime believing that it does. I'm not like you. I'm not a fierce Shieldmaiden who carved her own path and destiny. I did the best I could with my circumstances, but it still left me a laughing stock to these people. They don't care that I have loved Éomer almost from the first moment I saw him. It doesn't matter to them that I was not trying to play him and Aegdir against one another! If I could choose, I would not be here at all. But I am Éomer's queen now, and so my place is by his side. Even if it puts me under their ridicule", she said, words spilling out of her mouth rapidly. Her eyes stung but she would not cry. Not here. Not because of this.

Hild stared at her quietly, her bright eyes wide and serious. Her hands worked over the handle of her cane – the only indication that she was not cool as a winter melt.

When she began to speak, her voice was warmer than Lothíriel had expected.

"Do not think I never stumbled, child. I have my legend now, but it had to be fought for and earned. I too was young once, fierce and foolish. I made mistakes and nearly got myself killed several times, and it earned me scoldings and doubt and even ridicule. But it was still worth it, even to the bitter end; for I began to win more often than I failed, and I returned home to hear my and Éomund's names chanted as if we were heroes in a song. When I fell out with the king, I thought I would never have my honour again. But after I had left the court, I decided I did not care – I could not spend my life worrying about what people thought about me – and now here I am, basking in the sunshine once more. And look at my nephew. Rohirrim adore Éomer: he is their new golden king, their bright promise. Things were quite different while that nasty little man Wormtongue was in power and Éomer had to fight tooth and nail just to stay standing. Or take my niece, even. Nobody talks about how she abandoned her duty when Rohan needed her, when her king commanded her to stand by. The only thing people remember is her confrontation with the Witch-king", said Hild, slow and steady.

"So my advice to you is this: brace yourself, be true to the path you have chosen, and strive to be a good queen. Be the woman I know you are. It may be a thankless job now, but eventually, your deeds will drown out the noise. Let not yourself be downhearted, but find a way to ride this wind. I know it doesn't comfort you much now, but the only way you can win is by being more patient and steadfast than any nasty talk. That is the way you prove them wrong. And I know, I know it by this old heart, that you, Lothíriel Queen, will have your legend too."

A sob fell out of Lothíriel's mouth, and the brush from her hand. She buried her face in her hands and let the tears flow out freely, knowing Hild would not think less of her because of it.

She knew Éomer felt like he had gained an entire family thanks to her, but through him, she had gained something, too. She had the love of an extraordinary man, but also the support and guidance of an incredible woman. And being surrounded by these things, how could she possibly do anything except walk out of this room with her head held up high?

Lothíriel prepared for the night's celebration in a much more confident mood than she had felt before her conversation with Aunt Hild. As the maids brushed and braided her hair, she thought about the old Shieldmaiden, and how unusual it was to find so much warmth and comfort in this relationship. In some ways, Hild was more like an aunt to her than Lady Ivriniel had ever been, even though their lives could not be more different.

She did not blame Ivriniel: her father's sister had gone through her own difficulties, which had taught her to wear her pride as an impenetrable armour. Father had once said that whatever was soft about her eldest sister vanished when Finduilas, the gentlest and brightest of the three siblings, had died. It was not her way to let people, even her family, close to her. Some people grew softer with age, but Aunt Ivriniel's spirit had crystallised and hardened.

Still, she had always been distant, and more of a disciplinarian and a teacher than anything else. These were not bad things in themselves, but it was only now that Lothíriel began to understand what an aunt, an older and more experienced female of the family, could really be. Hild was not just a stern figure of authority whose expectations she must live up to, she was also an example who encouraged, guided and comforted. And understanding this, she began to see that she had been even more alone than she had previously comprehended.

Her musings came to a halt when the door to the chamber was opened and Éomer stepped inside, as if to banish all thoughts of loneliness. He had already dressed and readied himself for a night of feasting. His tunic was a rich green shade that became him so well, with beautifully embroidered cuffs and neck, and the gold of his braided hair gleamed as bright as the ring on his finger. He wore no sword at his side, although she had no doubt he had at least one knife hidden on his person. At this point she had learnt to take caution when she was undressing him, although at least his blades were always sheathed. All the same, he looked irresistibly handsome, and so bright and bold that it was as if he took more space in the room than his physical person actually did. A thrill went through her, a mixture of wonder and delight and desire, to look upon him and know he was hers to keep.

She smiled at the sight of her king, and would have spread her arms to invite him into her embrace, but the maids were working with her sleeves and adding finishing touches in her hair. She wore midnight blue tonight, the velvet soft and warm against her skin, with wide sleeves embroidered with golden stars. The jewels of Rohan, gifted to her upon the eve of their wedding, gleamed softly against her skin and the deep blue of her dress.

"Hello, my darling", she greeted him and he beamed back at her.

"Hello to you as well, dear heart. I take it you're almost finished?"

"Yes. Just give us a moment", she answered and tried to remain still as the maids added final touches to her hair and dress. Éomer sat down, leaning back and lounging in a lazy, easy position – and watching her with a look that made her own heart quicken. That he would look at her so boldly, even when they were not in bed, was something she had not yet got used to, although she couldn't say that she minded it. But she still averted her eyes, because she could not let herself be distracted by his provocative looks, considering they were expected to appear at the banquet. Well, perhaps they could sneak off early...

Lothíriel banished such thoughts for the time being, tempting though they were. Tonight would be her first appearance as the Queen of Rohan, excluding the wedding celebrations, and she wanted to succeed – whether or not it would lay the gossip to rest. She recalled Aunt Hild's words and braced herself against the evening to come. This was the night she would start proving them wrong.

"All done, my lady", said one of the maids. It had been some time since Lothíriel had worn all her finery, and she felt a bit like she was about to walk into battle. She wondered if it was similar to how Éomer felt when he was in full armour. She took a breath and let the calm flow through her. She imagined she was standing on a mountain top, and all the world below her feet.

Dismissing the maids, she turned to look at her husband. He had risen to his feet and was watching her, not quite in such a boldly lascivious way, but with a different kind of admiration.

"How do I look?" she asked him, smiling. His expression was more serious, but his eyes were bright.

"You look ready."

Merethrond, the Great Hall of Feasts, basked in golden light and many voices conversing rose as a soft sonorous sound. As the honoured guests to King Elessar and Queen Arwen, the King and Queen of Rohan arrived together with them. Such an illustrious company, with their majesty and grace that did not seem to be of this age, and with so many eyes turning to look at them, made Lothíriel feel self-conscious at first. But Éomer was completely at ease by her side, as if he were just on a pleasant stroll with close family. It helped her to relax as well, although she thought a bit giddily that he was perhaps the only person who could remain so unfazed in this situation. But then, he had won his own place among the living legends that walked among Men, and had nothing more to prove.

It seemed as if half of the realm had turned up at Merethrond. Jewels, gold and silver glistened in the soft light and the crowd was like a vivid painting with their colourful dress. Among them, many fair-haired heads could be spotted, for Éomer's Knights had been invited as well. In the air, Lothíriel could smell perfume and the flowers in heavy garlands, which adorned tables and pillars. King Elessar's musicians were playing a light, pleasant tune. It was both familiar and strange at the same time, and as she walked next to her royal husband, she felt a bit like she was in a dream.

They had seats in the high table, she with Queen Arwen and Éomer with King Elessar; other high-ranking guests, including Father and Faramir and Éowyn, joined them. To her surprise, even Aunt Hild had come, even though Lothíriel had heard her wondering out loud what good could one old woman do at such a celebration. Perhaps their earlier conversation had changed Hild's mind and she had come as a moral support.

So the evening began and the great hall filled with cheerful chatter, laughing and music. Food was brought in one plate after another and rich wine flowed. Lothíriel drank only a little, not wanting to muddle her head, and she still felt nervous enough not to have much appetite. Often she felt appraising eyes on herself and she knew there were many here, curious to see how the new queen fared. Perhaps some also wanted to see her fail, so that they could reassure themselves that one of their daughters would have been a much better consort for King Éomer. She would not give them that satisfaction.

Queen Arwen noticed her lack of appetite.

"Are you well, my friend? Is the food not to your liking?" she asked gently. Lothíriel looked up at the Half-elven queen, seated next to her.

"I suppose I am just a little nervous."

"You don't look nervous at all."

Lothíriel smiled faintly.

"That is something I learnt to hide long ago", she confessed.

Queen Arwen smiled too.

"I understand the feeling, but I don't think you have any reason to be anxious", she said in a quiet, soft voice. "After all, a court gathering is a small thing compared to what you have endured as of late. Éowyn has told me about how brave you were."

"I doubt I could have done it without her and the Lady Hild."

"She is a treasure, and I'm sure the Lady Hild is too, though I do not know her", said Arwen softly.

"They both are", agreed Lothíriel, smiling more easily than before.

"You must introduce me to her, then. I am finding that in the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan, there are as many extraordinary women as there are extraordinary men, though perhaps their deeds receive praise much less often", Arwen observed, directing her deep, piercing gaze at the young queen sitting next to her.

Lothíriel lowered her eyes, hoping that her face did not show too much colour. The meaning – and the praise – of the Queen's words was clear enough to her.

"Of course I can speak for myself and not for anyone else, but it feels to me that us women are not raised to expect praise, only to do what is necessary", she said simply, sipping some wine in order to look nonchalant.

"Indeed. Perhaps it is up to us to teach our daughters better. But either way, I do hope you can enjoy tonight, or at least some of the celebrations we have arranged. There are plenty of difficult days behind us, and I deem more will come. If there is a chance to celebrate, it should be enjoyed", said the Queen, leaning back in her chair and resting a hand on her round belly. It was clear that the child would come any day now.

"You are right, of course. I shall try to get over my nerves. Like you said, it is not as if this court could ever hurt me worse than the things that I have already endured", said Lothíriel, her confidence somewhat restored. Why let fear and unease overtake her when she had allies here, and powerful ones too? Queen Arwen's friendship was perhaps all the armour she needed.

There were many hours yet to go, and so she made herself eat a piece of kidney pie and some vegetable stew, which smelt very good and seemed to be easy enough for her stomach.

As the feast continued, King Elessar's musicians played and sang many songs, and not a few of them were about the wondrous tales of the War of the Ring. There were several moments when Queen Arwen would lean closer to Lothíriel and whisper, "That did not happen; Estel told me." Then she would quickly explain what had really taken place. It was astonishing how quickly real events could turn into legend and take on new shapes, removed from what actually happened.

It was a pleasant surprise when Éomer's Knights stepped forward to sing a few songs of Rohan. This time, Lothíriel understood much more of the words, and was taken with their beauty. Some said that Rohirrim were a gruff sort, but their songs proved that was not true. The faces of the Knights were bright and glad, taking delight in their song and the way it echoed in the lofty halls of Minas Tirith. The sound caused a chill to run over Lothíriel's skin and she closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of singing. When the song ended, she tried not to applaud too loudly or enthusiastically – but also made a mental note of having to compliment the Knights later if possible. Lothíriel had missed the music of Rohan: it was some time since Éomer had last played and sang for her.

While the singing went on, tables had been cleared and space made in the hall. King Elessar's musicians now began to play again and dancing was starting.

Now Queen Arwen leant closer to Lothíriel again, and whispered, "Estel says that Éomer asked if you would like to dance."

The younger queen smiled.

"Please ask your lord husband to tell Éomer that I would be delighted."

Queen Arwen's eyes glittered and she turned to speak to her husband, who passed the message along. Then moments later, Éomer came, grinning as he appeared behind her seat and offered his arm. His good cheer was infectuous and her own smile widened.

"I never thought I would dance with someone so lovely in this hall", he said to her, beaming with pride.

"You must have danced with Queen Arwen, though, and I know I can't compare to her", she pointed out.

"Maybe, but she is lovely as the mountains or stars are. Whereas your loveliness is the kind I can touch", he said simply, making her heart swell. She held his arm more tightly, smiling so that her cheeks ached.

But once they joined the other couples on the floor, Éomer frowned.

"Hmm. I'm not sure I know the steps to this dance."

"Don't worry. I'll show you", she told him, and as the music began, she led him into the swirling movements of the dance.

So they spent the next several dances, not perhaps the most graceful couple that moved on the floor, but Lothíriel was certain they were the most joyful. Even if Éomer did not know all the steps, he was still an excellent partner, and seemed to enjoy himself very well, although he whispered to her that Gondorian court dances were a little bit tame to his taste. Recalling their dance back in Emyn Arnen, which seemed such a long time ago now, she understood what he meant. She had to remind herself to retain a level of dignity about herself – a difficult thing to do, for she could not recall when she had last enjoyed dancing so much. The music, the lights, the hands and arms of her husband as they moved and twirled... a sweet, golden feeling washed over her, and she wanted to laugh for the sheer joy of it.

But after a fair bit of dancing, she felt rather hot and breathless, and as another song ended, she halted before her husband. Laughter still bubbled on her lips over something amusing he had just said.

"I think I need to sit down for a moment and perhaps drink something", she told him.

"Very well. I should go and talk to Éowyn, anyway. But I shall find you later", he answered, kissed her hand with a flourish any Gondorian lord could have been proud of, and went to look for his sister.

Lothíriel found her seat again at the high table. Queen Arwen had gone, but even in this crowd she was easily spotted: she and King Elessar were walking slowly for the doors, perhaps to get some fresh air. On the other side of the hall, she could see her father deep in conversation with Aunt Hild; an unlikely pair, maybe, but they seemed to be getting along very well. Éomer and Éowyn with their tall figures and bright golden hair were easily spotted in the crowd as well. Amrothos was wreaking havoc on the dance floor and Faramir was talking with a small group of southern nobles. Aunt Ivriniel was nowhere to be seen, and Lothíriel guessed she had already retired.

The young queen had just received a cup of chilled lemon water from one of the servants when Erchirion eased himself to the seat next to her. While she had certainly seen the progress he had been making since joining Éomer's company, things had remained tense between her and her brother.

"It's quite a night", he commented tentatively, watching the couples that had resumed dancing. A happy atmosphere seemed to reign all over the hall, and smiling faces were everywhere to be seen. It felt so silly now that she had felt nervous for tonight.

"So it is. I can't recall when I last danced so much", said Lothíriel and took another sip of her drink.

Erchirion gave her a look from the side of his eye.

"I never thought you particularly enjoyed dancing", he commented.

"Well, I suppose it was a question of finding the right partner", she replied in soft tones.

"Yes", he conceded quietly. "It certainly looked like that. I haven't seen anyone dancing like that since Faramir and Éowyn's wedding."

"Did we make a spectacle of ourselves?" Lothíriel asked, hiding her smile.

Erchirion snorted.

"Some probably think so, but I thought it was... it was rather sweet, actually. I'm sure I'm not the only one who felt a little bit envious when watching you. While I was there among the crowd, I happened to hear this conversation – there were these three matrons, Aunt Ivriniel's relations through her late husband I think – about you, and there seemed to be wonder over the fact of you and your husband enjoying each other's company so much... it was said, it's as if you actually loved him. Then I moved to join their circle and said to them: 'You only noticed it now?' They seemed to think I was quite rude", he spoke softly, his voice light but with a hint of uncertainty.

Lothíriel could not help but laugh. She was not certain of the reason – perhaps it was just the idea of Erchirion engaging in such a conversation, or how little it mattered in the end what anyone in this hall beyond her loved ones thought, or just feeling like some wounds were mending and she was getting her brother back. She looked straight at him and touched his sleeve.

"Thank you for saying that", she told him gently, and a slight smile appeared on Erchirion's features.

He looked a bit embarrassed and stared at his goblet of wine, and continued, "Still, it's good to see you looking so happy. Amrothos told me... he said how hard it was on you when Éomer was missing. He was so worried about you. I gather things are better now?"

"Yes, they are so much better. I have so much to look forward to, Erchirion, and I am so full of hope. I almost feel like a different person now, at least compared to some months ago. So you don't need to worry about me – and neither does Amrothos, for that matter", she answered.

"Still, I hate to think that I had any part in your unhappiness."

"If you did, it was forgiven when you put yourself in danger and brought Éomer back to me."

Her brother was watching the dancers, though with such a distant look that she was not certain she was really seeing them.

"I think you chose well, sister, and were right to hold on to your choice even when it was hard. I was fool to ever doubt it… now I wonder why I ever did. You see, I never admired him as much as I do now. And I'm learning so much from him and his Riders. I have half a mind of asking him to let me stay once this campaign is done", said Erchirion, and he glanced at her with a sheepish smile.

"Father may be shocked to hear it", said Lothíriel, surprised. But then, she had seen her husband with his men, and knew how they loved him. Most people did, for just as she had observed in those early days of knowing Éomer, his charm was not easy to ignore. She wondered if he could even win over Aunt Ivriniel, given enough time.

"It's just a thought. I know Father needs me back home. And I'm not sure I could live away from the sea", said Erchirion. He glanced at her, "Won't you miss it, though? The sea?"

"I suppose I will. But sometimes you must give up things to gain something else. I think I will always miss some things about Dol Amroth, but I know I would miss him even more", said Lothíriel softly.

Her brother nodded silently, and so they sat for a while. The silence between them did not feel uneasy, as it might have been. She felt like there had been a change in Erchirion, although she could not exactly pinpoint it. Either way, it looked like the time he had spent serving Éomer had done him a lot of good. Perhaps she had changed too, and seen that she was capable of enduring much more than she had previously thought.

Then she felt gentle hands on her shoulders and she looked up to see her husband, smiling down at her. Erchirion noticed his arrival too and swiftly got up on his feet, bowing.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?" said Éomer, his eyes travelling between the two siblings.

"Not at all, lord", Erchirion replied quickly, making the young king smile.

"You're not on duty, Erchirion. Go and have some fun", he said lightly, and seeing her brother's expression, he added, "You can take that as an order, if you will."

Erchirion chuckled at that.

"Well, if it's an order..." he said, and turned again to Lothíriel, "Good night then, sister. My lord."

"Good night, brother", she replied, smiling. Éomer nodded his head, his eyes glinting with amusement.

He took his leave, vanishing into the crowd. Was she just imagining it, or did he hold his head a bit higher?

"I gather things are on the mend", Éomer said after a while, sitting down next to her.

She reached to take his hand between her own, gently intertwining their fingers.

"Yes, they are", she said, and then in sheer joy and relief, she laughed and leant close to kiss him.

There was joy and laughter in the White City, and light and merriness, as if there was no knowledge of a war in the close lands of Ithilien. But Éomer guessed perhaps that was just the reason for the abandon in Mundburg. This was a time of reprieve for all, even though the battles had not been even half as fierce as those in the great calamities of the Ring War.

The greatest joy, however, came near to the close of the celebrations. One morning, just as he and Lothíriel were enjoying breakfast in their chambers, a word was brought to them: Queen Arwen was in labour.

"I must go to her", Lothíriel said immediately, putting aside her teacup and folding her napkin. Éomer smiled to himself. His immediate thought was, I must go to him. Aragorn would not be the first new father he would stand by while the child was coming into the world.

"I'll take care of Aragorn", he told her, nodding.

"You'd better! I know how young fathers can be during the labour. You wouldn't believe some of the things Elphir did when Alphros was born", Lothíriel said, kissing the top of his head as she passed him by to get her cloak, and leaving him to think of what he would do once he was in this position. Hopefully, he would find out soon enough. Once he had finished his own breakfast, Éomer made his way out in search of his fellow king.

Finding Aragorn was not that difficult: one only had to follow the concerned servants and guards throwing pleading looks at him, as if they expected him to know how to handle their anxious lord. The father to be was pacing restlessly in the great throne room and gazing about wild-eyed. It was singular to see Aragorn, the veteran of many battles and dangers, looking so anxious.

Some resemblance of a smile touched his worried face when he saw his fellow king.

"Good morning! I received the word about Arwen and decided to come and see you. I hope you are well?" asked Éomer, his tone gentle.

"I suppose. They won't let me be with her, though. Do you think that is a bad sign?" Aragorn asked. His hands clenched at his sides, as if in an attempt not to wring them together.

"I don't think so. In my experience, it's common for the womenfolk to drive us out when new life is coming into the world. Lothíriel is with her", said Éomer, smiling slightly.

"Perhaps I could help. Not that I have assisted in childbirth before, but..." Aragorn said, frowning.

"Better to stay out of way, I think. When Éothain's wife was giving birth to their first-born, he was more nervous than her", said the younger king sagely. He thought of remarking something on experience with foaling, but decided against it: even if Aragorn would have understood the sentiment, he respected Arwen too much.

"Will she be all right?" Aragorn asked, showing such vulnerability as one would never have expected of the High King of Gondor and Arnor.

"I'm certain of it. Arwen is strong, and fought just as hard as you to come here. You'll see", said Éomer, placing his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Now Aragorn smiled.

"I'm so glad you're here, brother."

"As am I. Now, do you really think you want to stay here pacing and wearing a hole on the floor, or would you like to come and see some horses? I find their company is most calming."

Aragorn did follow him to the stables at the sixth level of the city, and Éomer successfully occupied him a complicated conversation over his plans to help the herds of Rohan to recover from the war. Faramir joined them, apparently with a similar idea as his law-brother, and together they were able to distract Aragorn whenever his thought began to wander back to his wife and the baby. It was not until Éowyn appeared in the stables, wearing a huge smile and announcing that the time was near, that they made their way back to the Citadel. The anxious look had once again taken Aragorn's usually calm and resolute face.

In a strange way, it was almost reassuring. For all his power, and for all his lineage, on this moment Aragorn was just as any other man. In the end, the wonder of new life was a miracle that humbled them all.

Not long after they had arrived to the doors of the royal chambers of the Citadel, there was the sound of women talking excitedly together. Then the door opened and Lothíriel stepped out, carrying in her arms a small bundle. Her eyes were bright and wide and she was smiling.

"Behold, King Elessar! Here is your newborn daughter!" she said, and then she was easing the baby into Aragorn's waiting arms. Éomer was watching closely and saw the wonder and love on the face of his dear friend and brother, and the glistening in his grey eyes; a soft gasp escaped his lips.

"How beautiful she is!" was the only thing Aragorn was able to utter. Silent tears streamed down his face, and Éomer wondered at the years it had taken for his fellow king to get here. To have his own daughter in his arms. To know his wife was in the next room. To finally have something other than endless toil and wandering.

"I have a daughter!" declared Aragorn, and around them cheers and applauds rose: at some point, a great crowd had gathered around them without Éomer even noticing them.

He put his hand on the shoulder of his dearest friend, although he was not certain whether Aragorn was aware of his presence next to him. But Éomer did not mind, knowing full well what this moment meant. He smiled at his wife, and reached his hand to her.

Smiling, she came to him and reached her fingers to his own.

To be finished.

A/N: Finally, an update! I did have a hard time completing this chapter, but I think it's now as good as it's ever going to get. I hope you liked it, either way.

My purpose was to tie up some threads that I felt were still hanging, especially between Lothíriel and Erchirion. But I think they have now made peace and like she observes, they both have changed in different ways. I also thought it was necessary to let Éomer face Ivriniel, however difficult for him it might be. Éomer has changed too, and he is now better at controlling his temper - allowing him to endure the meeting without causing even more trouble. That is not to say that Éowyn's interruption wasn't expertly timed. :')

Thank you for reading and reviewing!

Cathael - Thanks! I'm glad you liked it. :)

You take care as well!

Wondereye - Indeed! I think they're now even more on the same page than they were before, and stronger too!

Tibblets - Glad you liked it!

NightBlossom - Thanks!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thank you!

Boramir - I think Lothíriel is very eager to find friends and make allies in Rohan, not only because she genuinely wants connection with her new people but also because she doesn't want to just depend on Éomer. While Éomer will undoubtedly always have her back, her needs personal influence to succeed and make sure his nobles or council don't just walk over her when he's not present.

Ceolmund probably does sometimes try Éomer's patience, but I think he knows where goes the line that he can't cross without serious repercussions. At the end of the day, Éomer could kick his ass to kingdom come, and I'm pretty sure that currently he's a bit concerned whether his miscalculation and treatment of Lothíriel will indeed earn him just that.

sixthson - Oh, I really miss that feeling when a great story grips you like that and you just have to keep reading the whole thing in one go! So glad to hear I was able to convey it to you. 3 I think there will be one or two chapters more, but we'll see!

Simplegurl4u - I think Lothíriel's manner very much is subtler and softer than Éomer's, but it's probably also because she's still in recovery and isn't up for a big dramatic confrontation. She knows Éomer will take care of that. :')

Guest - Yes, Éomer would have ended Ceolmund right there, no trial or judge, if Ceolmund dared to interrupt his and Lothíriel's first night. For all his recklessness, even Ceolmund knows that and stays far, far away.

Guest - Here you go!

madrone - Thank you kindly! While angst can be delightful to write, one also has to be careful with it. Some writers and fans enjoy larger doses, but I'm not in a head-space where I am able to write large amounts of it.

It's so flattering to hear you've re-read my stories more than others', knowing there are so many talented Éothiriel writers out there. When I look back at them, they seem so silly in hindsight.

Erchirion has been so fascinating to write in this story, although I've noticed I do tend to write him as more troubled than Elphir or Amrothos (is it a middle child thing? Probably). I hope you liked his conversation with Lothíriel in this chapter! And I'm happy to hear you like Hild, I'm fond of her too. And I have to admit I really, really miss Ceolwen! Among the OCs I've written over the years, I love her best - although Hild is becoming a very close second!