Many faces and moods Éomer King had, and she loved every one of them. Desperate and insistent he had been when she had seen him at first chasing after her and pleading his case. Then he had been as sweet as pudding and shy as the sun during a storm, before his pride and tenderness had wrapped her into his embrace. Finally, calm and relief had relaxed his brow as he had allowed himself to be doted upon by her.

And so, for the past two hours, his head had been in her lap, and she had enjoyed studying his sleeping visage, counting the freckles, tracing the scars and caressing the hair on his jawline. And he had not stirred under her ministrations, not even when she had tugged a bit too hard on his hair while braiding it. This reprieve, this spell of peace had to come to an end, nonetheless. When she had stirred her legs to stave off the tingly discomfort in her calves, he had immediately opened his eyes and stared at her in plain wonder.

She had held his gaze with a fond, apologetic smile until he had murmured her name, disbelief colouring the susurration. "Lothíriel?"

"Éomer?" She had copied his tone lightly, unsure about his confusion.

There had been no reason to worry, however, for a pleased little grin had curled a corner of his mouth, revealing a dimple in his bearded cheek. "Nis him wilna gad, he meara ne maðma ne meododreama, Ænges ofer eorþan eorlgestreona, Þeodnes dohtor, gif he þin beneah." (1)

While she had recognized that the words he had spoken were of the Rohanese language, but aside from the word meara, which meant horse, and dohtor which was daughter, she had not discerned what he had recited. The sonorous beauty of his deep rumbling voice paired with the foreign intonations of his mother tongue struck the chord of her curiosity.

"What does that mean?"

He had not replied, not at once. With eyes squinted, he had risen then from his repose and settled next to her, resting his weight on the arm placed flush against her back. Looming over her, he had cast his eyes upon her, slightly squinted with adoration. Éomer's proximity had already affected her, yet his gaze had further coaxed her face closer to his, promising the gentle brush of lips against lips, and more.

"Should I tell you?" he had asked, gently bumping her nose against his.

Her breath had been shaky. "Yes."

"As you wish," he had replied, further decreasing the distance between their lips until a hair's breadth had remained. "He has no lack of joy – "

Here he had pressed a light kiss before moving back fractionally.

" - Nor of horses, nor treasures – "

Again a kiss.

" - the pleasures of mead – "

And another.

" - Any of the noblest riches upon earth… "

Then he had stilled and met her eyes briefly yet meaningfully, before whispering the final line against her lips. "… If he has you, prince's daughter."

Though Lothíriel had attempted to gasp in awe of his impromptu poetry, he had been quite resolute in meeting her mouth with his. One hand had slipped to the nape of her neck to cradle her while she had wrapped her arms around his neck – only to spring apart when a loud and clear cough was heard from just outside the door.

And the world had folded them back into her planes.

Realizing that it had been Sir Angrenor lurking just outside the door, Éomer had known at once that Elphir had found out about them. That had meant Imrahil had been in contact with his eldest son, and so a reply had been waiting for Éomer as well.

Éomer had kissed his fiancée a last time before standing up, and sure enough, his eyes had fallen upon the letter from Imrahil next to her on the makeshift seat. And not seconds later after tearing the letter open, Éomer's brow had furrowed, his jaw set and his nostrils aflare.

Truly he was magnificent, had thought Lothíriel as she had stared up at him, mesmerized.

Éomer had been too busy fuming to notice her admiration, for he had turned to her in barely restrained anger, he had growled. "Where thedevilis Elphir?"

The walls of the Dol Amrothian lounge were decorated with tapestries of sailboats and swans, and paintings of the shores of Belfalas Bay, while the blue and silver upholstery showed the rather hamhanded attempt to make the Princes feel at home. Lothíriel was sitting on her favourite chair, a veritable luncheon spread out before her on the table in the centre of the seating area. Elphir and Siloril had ensured a wonderful selection of cold cuts, cheeses, fruits, bread and pickles for Éomer to enjoy.

But he was not having any of it, because he was not having any of it when it came to the contents of Imrahil's letter.

Upon reading it, he had taken hold of her hand and hurried them to where she had told him her brother would be. Once there, Éomer had refused to take a seat and instead started pacing up and íriel was not surprised by this. Her father was in no hurry to send her off, and though Éomer had improved a lot, his impatience was still part of his character.

Elphir and Siloril knew this as well, and they too were seated calmly as they watched the King of the Riddermark pace to and fro.

Then he came to a halt, rubbed his brow and sighed deeply before he finally spoke. "Elphir, I cannot accept this. In Rohan, there is no such thing as a formal engagement period. We have our handfasting ritual and that is it. I understand the difference in tradition, but nothing justifies a two-year delay!"

"Please sit down, milord," Siloril kindly requested as she gestured to the blue and silver seat opposite her husband's, "allow us to explain."

Unable to refuse a lady, the young man obliged but sat down next to Lothíriel instead. Instantly his hand found hers and he squeezed it slightly. She squeezed back as she deftly avoided the disapproving look that her brother sent her, reasoning that he had already seen her do worse and Éomer needed proximity to calm down for this conversation.

Wisely, Elphir chose to stay on the topic at hand. "Gondorians have certain protocols to adhere to, my friend."

"Aye, I am aware because of Éowyn."

"So you know matters must be addressed before the wedding itself can take place. The announcement needs to be made, meetings must take place to discuss the alliance and all the bureaucracy and logistics that come with it." Elphir paused and glanced down at the letter Imrahil had sent. "And we need to agree upon where to hold the engagement as well as the wedding. There is the dowry to discuss. Not to mention, your council will also want their say. Have you informed your sister?"

Éomer nodded curtly. "The messenger should be well on his way to Rohan by now. I expect a reply in about a week."

"Yes, and that is merely to inform her about the match. As you can well imagine, the subsequent steps shall require significantly more time." Elphir replied, his tone cool yet firm.

"I disagree. It is quite straightforward and all those meetings can easily be done afterwards. I urge you to recognize that the Gondor High Council makes affairs unnecessarily complex." Éomer released her hand and stood up. "The relentless talks of trade and resource management – that are already taking up hours meaninglessly, mind you – they get easier, because of our marriage. Rohan is as cooperative and grateful as it has ever been."

The Prince Heir stood up as well, perturbed by him towering over them – a clear act of dominance. "But Dol Amroth – "

"Whatever Dol Amroth wants from Rohan, Dol Amroth shall have it. If not immediately, then in time."

Elphir stared at Éomer, taken aback. "Your counsellors are bound to disagree with you, acquiescing so easily!"

"They shall have the assurance of the High King Elessar himself. I have all trust that any demands made, from either parties, will be reasonable and agreeable." He folded his arms, quite assured of his own words.

Lothíriel bit back a smile, not wishing the ire of her brother who was in truth advocating for her. But Éomer seemed unshakeable now. Though he had been too angry at first, he had managed to rein it in and instead remembered who he was.

The King of the Riddermark.

Her brother, however, was not at all happy with the power shift. "What about Lothíriel? She will need her time to immerse herself in the customs and laws of Rohan. There is so much she needs to learn."

"Your sister has enough wit and experience to learn whatever is needed. And whatever she does not know by the time of our marriage, I know we can learn together."

At this he met her gaze, his eyebrows slightly raised. A giddy feeling stirred in her stomach as she dared envision studying together one day.

Elphir was less amused. "All her possessions and assets need to be made available in Rohan. Dol Amroth insists that she shall have nothing lacking."

"Anything she wants, she shall have, as long as it is within my power." He turned to look at her again, this time with a small grin hiding under his moustache.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his self-assurance. It was quite different from the indecisiveness she had to bear the past year, as well as the baffling ineptitude in communication he seemed to have suffered from last night in the store room.

Despite herself, Lothíriel's thoughts then strayed to their affectionate behaviour, subconsciously comparing it to how it had been this early afternoon. There had been a dangerous kind of urgency last night that she had not felt today. What had been different?

She would have dwelt on this further if Elphir's voice had not torn through her musings.

"Lothíriel." Her brother was looking at her, a frown on his angular face, all the more emphasized by his curly black hair tied back. "Is there anything you would like to say? Any concerns?"

She looked down at her hands as she mentally cleared away the hazy cobweb of her intimate recollection. A pointed question like this from her brother meant that he expected a rational reply from her. "It… it would be good to sit and talk with Ada before I have to return to Dol Amroth and Éomer King to Rohan. Could you perhaps find a way to arrange that?"

It had been the right thing to say. He relaxed, placated that she was not showing the same impatience that Éomer was. Together with Éomer he then wrote a list of what they had yet to agree upon, as well as what Éomer's response had been.

"I shall see what is possible in the little time we have before you both are set to depart in your respective ways homebound," said Elphir as reached for another sheet of parchment to finish up the letter. "And I shall also meet with High King Elessar to make known to him the wish for an announcement, as it is apparent that time is of the essence." There was a slight flicker of weariness that did not go unnoticed.

"Glad to hear you say that." Éomer grinned and clapped Elphir on the shoulder, whose glare cracked and made room for a small smile.

Satisfied for now, he sat down next to Lothíriel again. "Lady Siloril. How is your health?"

With that segue into small talk, the four of them finally partook in the food and drinks set in front of them. As Siloril discussed the guidance of the Warden, Elphir sent the letter off and then made a plate for his wife and quietly placed it on the seat beside her near her hand.

Lothíriel had paused to look at their interaction, curious to see how matters were between her eldest brother and his spouse.

Despite each of them being disciplined and mature adults, they had had a frosty relationship for the majority of it, living as acquaintances instead of spouses. The passing of Sir Nemir had led to an even bigger chasm and Lothíriel had had to encourage them to seek each other out and heal together. But then she had gotten so wrapped up in herself that she had no time to check in on them – until this very moment.

And what she saw gave her hope.

Siloril looked up at Elphir and offered him a little smile in thanks before she picked up her fork and took a bite. With a slight nod, he sat down next to her and took a sip from his drink. Lothíriel could see that their postures were softer now than they had been before, their bodies slightly angled toward each other. Pleased with her observations, she turned her attention towards the tall blonde man sitting next to her.

Éomer was taking large bites but chewing them very deliberately as he was lost in thought, no doubt dwelling upon the letter that they had sent off to her father. Lothíriel always took great joy from watching him eat. There was something enthralling about the movement of his jaw, emphasizing his roguishly handsome looks and the quiet strength he exuded. It was no wonder that the private meals together in the herb garden had made her attraction to him grow. Just being next to him – even in the presence of others – made her insides tingle with rapture, now more than ever.

He met her gaze with a slight raise of his brow, wordlessly questioning her lack of appetite. To assure him, Lothíriel quickly took a bite from a slice of apple topped with cheese.

Siloril hummed slightly, the soft sound breaking the spell of their togetherness.

A look towards her sister-in-law told the young Princess that she had been amused by their affection. Elphir, on the other hand, had been pointedly focusing on his plate, unwilling to witness any intimacy that was so well-practised and therefore improper.

The result was an awkward silence. - Which then was broken with a loud noise.

The door had been flung open and in stepped a toddler with a storm of curly hair atop his head and thunderous discontent on his face. Following him was his governess, a weary-looking, middle-aged woman.

"Alphros, my dear." Lothíriel sprang to her feet and beckoned for him to embrace her. As the boy walked to her and allowed her to wrap her arms around him, his attention was on the tall bearded fellow whom he had not met before.

Éomer returned his gaze with an unreadable expression, and Lothíriel felt Alphros' grip on her tighten a bit.

When Éomer then offered his hand in greeting, the boy broke free from his aunt and hid behind the sofa where Siloril was sitting. In Sindarin, he then asked, "Who is he?"

Clearing his throat, Elphir stood up and made his son stand up straight opposite Éomer. "Alphros, this is Éomer, the King of Rohan. He is to be Nánig Lothíriel's husband. Now greet him."

With a scowl on his round little face, the little boy bowed stiffly as he pressed a hand against his chest. "Well met."

Siloril coughed slightly.

"Well met, King Éomer." He corrected himself with a clench of his jaw, unable to mask his incensement.

The King had little experience in dealing with children, but thankfully he chose to ignore the boy's tone."Well met, Young Master Alphros. Your aunt speaks very fondly of you."

Alphros did not reply, but he continued to stare at Éomer, who then glanced at Lothíriel for help before trying again.

"Would you like to come to Rohan someday? The hills there are great for rolling down."

Much to his father's dismay, Alphros stayed mum and instead hid himself behind his mother's seat. Elphir sighed and held his forehead for a moment before he looked at his friend apologetically.

"Forgive him, he is but a child. After hearing the news of his aunt's betrothal with you and not with Lord Forgammon, his uncle, he has been quite upset."

"I do not blame him," replied Éomer empathically, "it must be tough to have a beloved family member move far away."

"More than that, he had been hoping to see more of his uncle Forgammon because of the marriage." Lothíriel shook her head wearily, but not unkindly.

Éomer looked at her, surprised at her words. "He prefers him over you?"

"He is very fond of Lord Forgammon."

"I see."

His expression had darkened a bit and he fell silent, and she slipped a hand in his to comfort him. She would remember to tease him about it later.

Alphros was eventually enticed to sit between his parents and have a plate of his favourites.

"When can we expect a reply from Ada, Elphir?"

"Not until the evening, I am afraid. Indeed, he and our brothers shall have their hands full with the taciturnity of former Captain Baranor."

"If that is the case, then I shall take Lothíriel to the encampment to introduce her." Éomer stood up once more and nodded at Elphir.

Lothíriel stood up too, compelled by the firm grip on her hand.

"Wait."

Éomer turned to her in mild surprise, and the flush of embarrassment spread on her cheeks.

"I cannot go in this state of dress." She gestured towards her dusty skirts and then towards her less-than-perfect hair. "I must refresh myself and change."

"I do not see the need," replied he as he studied her appearance, "you look as lovely as always."

Pleased with the candid compliment, she shot him a smile. Then she shook her head and released her hand from his. "Nay, you must wait, I shall not take long."

After a quick curtesy to her company, she hurriedly made for her rooms, calling out for all of the maids to come help her get ready. After fifteen minutes of frantic maids hurriedly readying, Lothíriel reappeared in the doorway, dressed in her finest riding skirts, her most elegant cape and her Rohanese engagement hair ornament firmly secured in a refined hairstyle.

In her absence, the table had been cleared and Alphros had upended one of his toy boxes to play with his wooden figurines near the door. Éomer, who had been standing at the window, approached her with an appreciative held out his hand and raised his brow expectantly. She shyly took it and promptly blushed as his lips kissed the top of her hand. "Princess."

Just behind him, though, Alphros looked up and scrambled to his feet. Then he stomped his way to them and glared up at them. "Me too."

Lothíriel looked at her nephew with apprehension, with his little frown and balled fists. "Do you want to meet the horse-lords?"

He nodded and he raised his arms towards her. "Carry, Nánig!"

"Is it possible for him to join us, Elphir?" She asked her brother, who nodded at Siloril to share what she deemed wise.

"He has taken his nap, so he should be fine," Siloril said thoughtfully, still sitting on the sofa with one hand resting on her rounded abdomen. "You shall behave according to your station, Alphros. I expect no complaints about you."

An indulgent grin appeared on Lothíriel's face when the toddler put a chubby hand over his heart and bowed for his mother, whose strictness gave way to a smile. When he turned back to Lothíriel, she released her hand from Éomer's and lifted him to carry him on her hip.

"Sir Angrenor will join you, of course." Elphir stood up from the small writing desk in the corner of the room, and he folded his reading glasses into his inner pocket in his usual elegant manner.

"I assure you, she is quite safe with me." The King spoke with a raised brow, folding his arms.

Elphir did not reply, but instead, he focused on helping his pregnant wife to her feet. When he was assured of her well-being, he took her hand in his.

"I am afraid I shall have to insist, my noble friend," said he in a grave voice that forewarned any discussion, "The Rohirrim are a passionate folk and their King leads by example."

The pointed look he gave his sister did not go unnoticed by anybody, but Éomer merely inclined his head in acquiescence. He knew how to choose his battles.

"As you wish, Prince Elphir."

"I shall notify you immediately once Father replies. Shall we see you here afterwards, Lothíriel?"

And with that, Elphir and Siloril took their leave to retire to their rooms. Éomer led their ensemble to the High Stables where they mounted their horses, Alphros in front of Lothíriel on her mare Ferieth, and made their way to the encampment of the Rohirrim, just on the right side of the City Gate.

The camp was modest in size, as Éomer brought along only half of the King's Éored. Some of these horse-lords were committed to learning from Gondorian craftsmen how to build traps and snares that would be placed throughout Rohan to keep the Orcs away. Others had wished to attend the Remembrance Celebrations that had been held throughout Minas Tirith, hoping to meet with their Gondorian friends and to reflect on the year past together.

When their party arrived, they dismounted and tied the horses to the post near the tree where Lothíriel had ridden Firefoot. From there they walked to the centre of the encampment, with Lothíriel holding Éomer's arm and Alphros sitting on the shoulders of Sir Angrenor.

Despite his reservations, Alphros eagerly looked left and right, taking in every detail of clusters of the white and green tents that were arranged around doused campfires. Lothíriel too enjoyed looking about. Green and gold banners with the horse and the sun swayed gently in the wind, while the murmur of Rohanese floated up here and there as they made their way to a large tent that stood in the middle of the encampment. The large horses were allowed to roam the fields nearby while their keepers kept a close eye on them. In the distance, Lothiríel saw some of the horse-lords practising their skills, cheering and jeering at each other, their shouts intermingling with the clashing and clanging of their weapons.

The Rohirrim near at once noticed their King approaching and greeted him cheerfully. Of course, then their eyes fell on the Dol Amrothians, specifically on Lothíriel herself. The ones who recognized her from the Houses of Healing, took special care to bow to her. Those who did not know who she was, looked at her in awe or surprise and some of them even nudged a fellow soldier nearby to enquire about her.

Soon enough, Éomer King stood at the clearing adjacent to the royal tent, his men gathered in front of him in a sea of blonde, grey and ginger, looking both hale and curious. Lothíriel squeezed his arm nervously, which he responded to immediately with a pat of his hand. Éomer then cleared his throat and he spoke to them in their tongue. While she understood only a few words, she could surmise that he was informing them of their betrothal. The last sentence was the easiest to understand and her cheeks burned. She quickly found the ram's horn shell in her skirt's pocket and traced the spiral shape with her index finger.

"Riders of Rohan, I present to you your future Queen, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

She stepped forward and curtsied formally before them, deep enough for the sun to glint off her hair ornament.

There was a silence that was punctuated by the distant neighing of horses, but then one of the men - she remembered him, his name was Foltor - shouted something unintelligible (2), and soon enough the men started cheering and thumping each other's backs. The sheer ruckus made her laugh in surprise and she stepped back to Éomer's side, who quickly put an arm around her waist. Alphros looked around in awe, then he wiggled out of the Swan Knight's hold to observe the Rohirrim from up close.

However, not all men were happy, Lothíriel noted. Three older men, dressed in shiny armour and sporting elaborate facial hair, were standing together on the far right side of the crowd and they looked quite displeased with the news. Anxiety knotted in her stomach and she surreptitiously took a few soothing breaths, her hand once more finding the little seashell for comfort. Two young men began singing a joyful song and soon the rest of the men joined them in their merry melody. Éomer bore a broad grin as he looked here and there, enjoying the impromptu celebration of his match with Lothíriel. If he had seen the three men glaring at her, then he had decided to pay no heed.

Lothíriel and Alphros listened to the singing in amazement. The rolling sounds of the Rohanese language sounded even more compelling in song. No wonder the Rohirrim put so much value on their oral traditions. It was no less magnificent than the mighty structures of Minas Tirith or the endless and powerful sea shaping and shearing the Belfalan coast. Even a single horse-lord deserved a captivated audience - and Lothíriel knew now that when she had witnessed Éomer's lament that fateful day after the Battle of Pelennor Fields in the herb gardens, she would always cherish the audible heritage of Rohan. A small wish bubbled up in her chest. Would Éomer ever honour her with a private serenade one day?

Eventually, the crowd quieted down enough for him to share his instructions and to ask a few questions to the men who had been learning the skills of snares and traps. The same two men who had started singing, shouted something that made Éomer first look confused and then laugh out loud. It seemed that they were trying to convince him of something.

It was lovely to see how at ease these men were with each other, thought Lothíriel and she tried to follow what was being said. She kept hearing the word Cwen frequently, and it seemed that Éomer was trying to prevent something from happening. Meanwhile, the three men continued to stare spears and daggers at her. She glanced at Sir Angrenor and he met her gaze to let her know that he was very much aware of them, his hand near the pommel of his sword. Alphros was standing near him, still looking around with studious interest, especially at the helm of one of the men nearby.

"Princess Lothíriel."

She turned to Éomer, who was looking at her apologetically. "May I kiss you?"

Pink-cheeked she then whispered. "Here, in this moment? Why?"

He nodded slightly with his head towards Rohirrim. "They expect us to, it is tradition to seal everything with a kiss."

Lothíriel saw the men look at her expectantly. No doubt the Rohirrim had a different perspective on public display of affection than Gondorian. She bit her lip. Éomer seemed to have no qualms. She was to be the Queen of Rohan and she decided that the Queen would never object to any affection from the King of Rohan. Public or otherwise.

She placed her hand on his chest and raised her chin expectingly. Immediately he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her firmly and extensively on her mouth.

The men cheered again, voicing their approval of their King's union, as they broke the kiss. He released her but he kept a hand at the small of her back.

Blushing deeply, she smiled shyly at the men, meeting the eye of a few that she knew by face or even by name. Foltor put a cloth over his nose and mouth and then pointed at are the Veiled Lady, he seemed to say.

Then Lothíriel's eyes slid to the three men, and her body stiffened in discomfort. They no longer attempted to conceal their discontent. As the cheers died down, one of them stepped forward and he spoke to Éomer in a tone that was on the edge of both reverence and anger. Behind her, she sensed Sir Angrenor taking a step closer to her. The King however seemed to listen to the man calmly, though his grip on her was tightened.

When the man was done speaking, Éomer gave a reply that was ill-received by the three, because all three spoke up at once.

With a thunderous voice, Éomer instructed them to be quiet, and he glared hard at them, jaw set and nostrils aflare. Then in a dangerously low voice, he warned them to be careful of how they spoke. He then pointed at the King's tent and the three of them immediately entered it. Éomer then beckoned one of his men closer and they spoke quietly.

It was uncharacteristically silent and Lothíriel worried if perhaps she was the cause of it. The three men, with their elaborate armours and exceptional facial hair, held some sort of importance, and it was safe to say that they were unhappy with the union. The men in the crowd shared her distress, as they murmured and looked at one another.

"Oh. Ooo!"

Then Lothíriel was distracted from her worries by her nephew Alphros. He had gotten hold of a helm and he was dragging it to where Lothíriel and Éomer stood. With a bit of difficulty, he put the helm on, heavy though it was. Having managed to balance the headgear, he gingerly pulled out a stick he had found. He took on a wide-legged stance, brandished the stick in the air and roared with his little voice. "Fo' Ro'aaaa!"

Amused by his antics, the men began to laugh, and Lothíriel and Éomer smiled as well.

"Fo' Ro'aaaa!" He yelled again and he began swinging the stick around. One of the Rohirrim echoed his call and he lifted a sword in the air.

Alphros flinched at first, but then he shrieked with joy and called out again.

More men joined him, all shaking their spears or brandishing their swords when he yelled.

Then he laughed a salvo of utter happiness, making the precariously perched helm fall of his head. Lothíriel picked him up and dusted him off, but he wanted to finish his spiel grandly.

"FO' ROHAA!" He shrieked again, gesturing wildly, and all the Rohirrim echoed him one last time.

Éomer thanked Alphros in Sindarin and then thanked his men in Rohirric for entertaining the future Prince of Dol Amroth. He then told them that he would inform them of their return to Edoras by dinner time before he dismissed them.

"You have had your fun, little one." Spoke the Princess to her nephew. "Do you like the Rohirrim?"

"Fo' Rohaa'!" He replied cheerfully and waved his stick-sword about.

Éomer reappeared at their side. "Lothíriel, forgive me for making a display out of us just now. The Rohirrim are not a folk to hide their affections or their anger. It is something we shall have to be conscious of."

Lothíriel's heart gave a pleasant little squeeze at his consciousness of her. She shifted Alphros, who had put his head in the crook of her neck, to one arm. She held out her free hand for him to take, which he gladly did. "You are permitted to kiss me whenever... If it makes the Rohirrim happy, I mean."

A twitch at his lips belied that he was pleased with her answer, and as his eyes rested upon Alphros, Lothíriel knew that he had chosen to forgo a flirtatious remark for the sake of the toddler.

"Indeed, the Rohirrim do not conceal how they feel, like those three men who are now in the tent. Who are they and why are they upset?"

He frowned slightly. "The three of them have each a female family member they found suitable to be Queen. I had told them that I could not marry for another two years."

"Oh. Are they important?" asked Lothíriel, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

"Aye," he replied, yet he did not seem particularly concerned, "I shall have to appease them. Would you come with me to the tent? I am sure they wish to verify our agreement to marry."

"Verify?" echoed the young woman astonished. "Verify how?"

Éomer smirked sardonically. "Follow me and find out, milady."

Angrenor and Alphros remained outside while the two of them waited just at the tent flap.

The inside was spacious yet sparsely decorated, not at all how her father's tent was from the inside. But then, she considered, Éomer was staying in the Southern Guesthouses and there was little need for a full setup. There were a few furs and rugs spread on the floor and the King's desk was toward the back. On top of it was a wooden tray and a small stack of scrolls. Next to the desk stood the three men, who immediately stopped talking upon seeing their King enter his abode.

"Lord Goldcanstan, Lord Léod, Lord Fastdig."

They bowed and greeted him in unison.

"This is Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, the daughter of Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. She has agreed to become my wife and your Queen."

Again she curtsied and while they all bowed their heads for her, they stayed quiet. Then the tall man in brown and green armour spoke, Léod, his voice belying his dissatisfaction.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, it remains to be seen whether she is. It is because of your own policy changes. We must do due diligence, I am sure you understand."

Lothíriel glanced up at him to see an odd expression on his bearded visage. There was a grin there that held not an inkling of humour. His eyes were blazing with anger.

"Very well," he snapped before stomping to the desk and picking up the tray. "I have proof that this union is by the support of the High King, the Prince of Dol Amroth and the Lady Éowyn. Milady, if you would allow me to offer the hairpin up for inspection..."

Wordlessly she took out the hair jewellery and placed it on the wooden tray. One by one they studied the small sword-shaped pin, the ornament with horses and the three chains that connected the two parts.

"Any objections?" Their King demanded, and they all said no.

"Milord," said Lord Fastdig, "when and where was the proposal accepted?"

"In the office of the Chief Warden of the Houses of Healing, this afternoon just past noon."

"Any witnesses, milord?"

Much like how he had stood in front of Elphir, now too stood Éomer with his arms folded and jawline pronounced, anger radiating off him. Lothíriel placed a hand on his arm and he immediately covered it with his own, glad for the comfort.

"On my desk, you shall find the signed and stamped testimonies of Warden Bair Nestad and Healer Ioreth of the Houses. With them, you shall find the other documents of verification as well."

The three men looked at one another before they moved as one to study the papers. With a huff, Éomer turned to her and placed the ornament back in her hair, his hand brushing against her cheek as he did so.

"Well?"

"It all seems to be in order."

"Do you have any questions for the Princess?" He then asked the three horse-lords, though his tone implied that he would not, in fact, appreciate anyone questioning her.

It was Lord Léod who dared to reply. "We have none, sire, but we do have some questions for you. What -"

Éomer raises his hand to quiet him. "If you would please wait until the lady leaves. I do not wish your angry tongues to harm her sensibilities."

At his terse interruption, all three of them stiffened, and Lord Goldcanstan even dared to glare at his ruler. Lothíriel shifted with unease. That man had yet to speak, and she felt that out of the three, he was to be the most troublesome and dangerous. Yet Éomer seemed to have no qualms. Instead he led her out of the tent, back to where Angrenor and Alphros awaited them. Alphros was petting Ferieth while Angrenor talked with one of the Rohirrim.

"What were those documents, Éomer?" asked she, keeping her voice low.

Éomer let out a soft groan. "Those are proofs."

"Proofs?"

"Yes, proofs of sobriety, of education and of fertility."

"I beg your pardon?" She could not believe what she was hearing. "There are documents about my fertility?"

By his wince, it was evident that he felt bad about it. "Forgive me for putting you through this -"

"Am I some prize horse that they dare enquire after such matters? I do not remember signing anything of the sort."

"The signatures are from your father and the Warden, who attest that you are in perfect childbearing health and have no family history of reproductive complications."

A sickening feeling pooled in her abdomen before it shot up her throat, and she rested a hand against her chest. She was a daughter of a noble line from Númenor. Was she to be treated like cattle for sale?

"You are the King," she said when the discomfort subsided somewhat, "can you not simply demand that they accept me? Must I be put through such humiliation?"

Éomer took her hand in his and kissed the top of it, his hazel-green eyes wide with regret. "Being that I am the first of the Third Line of Kings, and our children shall be the continuance of that Line, the Council unfortunately must ensure that there is no disruption in the provision of heirs."

She swallowed hard, willing herself not to cry. "And why have you not informed me about this beforehand?"

Again he winced and shook his head in shame. "I am sorry, Lothíriel. I was afraid you might refuse to marry me because of it."

"Think you me to be so weak in my dedication to you?" Anger crested in her chest and she struggled to keep her voice down. "That - that some awkward questioning would discourage me from - from committing to you?"

"Lothíriel, I - "

"It is bad enough that you did not bother to inform me about the prerequisite of sobriety and the approval, but you were all too happy to spend time with me in that storage room as well as to sleep in my lap! You could have spared a moment to warn me about this."

"I could have. You are right to be upset with me." He admitted without a second of hesitance, and he took both her hands in his and kissed them both multiple times. "The bureaucracy is something I am not particularly familiar with, especially now that the Council of Rohan has spent the past year drawing up amendments and policies to avoid a repetition of - of - "

She filled in for him, realizing his struggle to find the right words. "Of Wormtongue usurping the power with the support of some of the Houses of Rohan?"

"Yes."

"The sword of bureaucracy cuts both edges, as Erchirion likes to say. It seems we cannot escape the accountability and responsibility that comes with the privileges we hold," Lothíriel sighed deeply before fixing him with an annoyed look, "You should have just married me when Ada suggested it."

At this Éomer laughed softly and pulled her closer for a kiss, but she would not allow it. Not yet.

"Éomer."

"Yes?"

"This cannot happen again. You must not keep me in the dark about anything - ever."

"I will not do so again, I promise."

"Good." She allowed him to kiss her, seeking comfort in his firm touch and ticklish beard. "We shall need to discuss this later, to be sure."

"As you wish." He brushed his mouth against her forehead, earning a sweet sigh from her. "You should return to the Citadel now. Shall I see you at dinner?"

Lothíriel nodded, knowing that she needed time to process what had happened, both the happy events and the embarrassment she had faced today.

But she did not let go of him just yet. Now that she knew he was hers in earnest, being separated from him was odd and daunting. Her unwillingness was plain to him, and he whispered his love for her in her ear, causing her to relax somewhat and smile. He then beckoned to Sir Angrenor, who immediately took hold of Alphros. Éomer helped Lothíriel mount Ferieth, and Alphros too was placed onto her horse.

Éomer watched them ride off before he went back into the tent.

It was just before dinner that the King of the Riddermark made his appearance.

"Lothíriel!"

She sighed contently as she turned towards him. Hearing her name echo across the courtyard made her heart pound so hard she thought he could hear it too.

He quickly made his way towards her the moment he laid eyes on her, a hint of a smile hidden below his moustache. His emerald green cape formed a lovely contrast against the maroon breastplate that he wore over his tunic, a combination that Lothíriel had come to appreciate greatly. As a change, his hair was tied back in a braid, emphasizing the circlet on his brow. He stood very close to her, immediately reaching for her hand and kissing the inside of her wrist, a blush evident on her face.

"Westu hal, Éomer." She looked at him with adoration. "I have missed you."

She had put on the silver and green Elven gown that she had worn when they were formally introduced, though she had forgone the formidable jewellery and intricate braids of that day. Instead, a simple circlet sat in her loose curls. His gaze on her was warm and heavy, and it thrilled her to no end. From the light pink colour visible on his bearded cheeks and his darkened eyes, she could see that he was pleased with what he saw. He held out his hand towards her, wordlessly asking her to close the distance between them, and she obliged by sitting down with him on the marble bench near the tree.

"This dress. You have worn this before at the coronation."

Lothíriel blinked. Her brothers never noticed anything about her outfits, though they always assured her she was 'lovelier than a sunset at Cobas Haven'. But unlike her Gondorian brothers, the young King from the North was not one to waste words on insincere compliments. "You recall that?" She asked, rather breathlessly.

"How could I not, Lothíriel? During the coronation, I could scarcely look anywhere else."

The man, a seasoned warrior, ruthless and tireless on the battlefield, had had the presence of mind to notice and remember her. It made it that much easier for her to forgive him for his lack of communication skills.

"During the coronation? But I was introduced to you after the banquet."

Éomer's eyes crinkled in amusement. "Aye, but I noticed you earlier, standing next to Amrothos. At first, I thought you were an Elf, because of your attire and stature. But on closer look, I saw the similarities between you and your brother, which was when I realized who you were. To this day I feel very fortunate that you - with all your accomplishments and ambitions - chose to pay your undivided attention to me."

"Oh, Éomer." She caressed his face tenderly. "I am the fortunate one. You are the sweetest."

"Sweet." He repeated with a small grin. "You are the only one to call me that."

"And with that I am content. Do not share your tender side with anybody else. I shall not be able to bear it."

Both laughed softly, and she thought of the natural exception for their children. While the talk about her productive health had been embarrassing, it did germ thoughts about having children one day.

He kissed the hand still on his cheek followed by a kiss on the other hand. "You are marvellous, Lothíriel, as the Veiled Lady and the Princess. And I am admittedly envious of that."

"Envious? Of me?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Do not sound so startled. You are secure in your identity as a Princess as well as your profession as a herbalist. It is something to be proud of."

Chills ran up her spine and she sat up straight, a strange discomfort clawing at the back of her head. "It took me a long time to reach this point of contentment," she replied, her voice more downcast than she wanted it to be, " yet I still struggle with what I can and cannot do."

"I see." They held each other's gaze, both frowning lightly. There were matters she had not shared with him. Éomer nodded. "I would love to hear more about it someday."

She smiled at him, the relief his words had given freeing her heart from the whispy fingers of melancholy. "And you shall. But you are right. I am very proud of myself." And as she said so, she sat up straight with her chin high, earning another chuckle from him.

"Should you be binding yourself to me, o lofty maiden? For I am but a wretch lacking in many aspects of my being."

He had spoken with a cheerful tone, but the underlying meaning of his words dampened her amusement. "What then is so lacking in you, Éomer Eomundson?"

He shook his head and shrugged lightly, "Come now. Surely you can name them yourself."

"No, I wish to hear what you think of yourself."

"To start with, I have a terrible temper - "

"You are passionate and driven even in the worst of times."

He chuckled in wonder. "Why do you sound so angry when you say that?"

"Because I wish to rid yourself of your foolish notions immediately! Go on. Tell me your next flaw."

"Very well. I... I have not had the training Théodred had – "

"Ada praises your willingness to learn. We shall learn together."

She seemed to amuse him to no end, and she in turn reveled in the sound of his rumbling chest and the sight of his broad smile and squinting eyes. It was not dissimilar to their meetings in the herb garden, but now there was no sense of secrecy or impropriety. Their companionship had a future.

"My manners can be rude – "

"It is part of your rugged charm, Éomer."

He sent her a look of disbelief. "Éowyn has frequently complained that I reek."

"Well, then you shall simply have to... bathe more."

They locked eyes and then their laughter echoed through the courtyard.

"Alright. How about this?" Éomer bent forward to whisper in her ear. "What if I told you that I am a greedy person?"

"Surely not – you never take more on your plate than you can eat. You could stand to eat less bread and more vegetables but – "

"I am not talking about my appetite for food, Lothíriel."

Why was he being so cryptic?

He cast a quick gander about the courtyard before wrapping her tightly in his arms.

"Éomer!" She warned.

He ignored her tone and pressed his face in the crook of her neck. "I am talking about my appetite for you,min leof. Why do you think I am so eager to get you to my bed in Edoras?"

Lothíriel gasped and hid her reddened face in both her hands while he barked a laugh that rang through the open space of the Citadel courtyard.

"No rebuttal for that, Princess Lothíriel?" The King said teasingly, and she lowered her hands to glare at him, her face still pink.

"Éomer King, do not make fun of my ignorance!"

"It is not ignorance, but it is innocence – one that I respect enough to stop myself from indulging in more than mere kisses and squeezes."

That earned him an incredulous look from her. "You did not have that attitude last night, Éomer."

"No - yes..." He flustered for a moment before he allowed himself to confess. "Last night was close to the boundary of what I can afford to do without risking your innocence."

Lothíriel considered his words carefully while she leaned into his embrace. "And what about today?"

A new voice interrupted their conversation. "Beg your pardon, milady."

It was Sir Angrenor standing close by but with his face turned away from them, his eyes fixed on the sapling tree. "Your brother is asking for your presence."

With a deep sigh, Lothíriel relinquished her grip on her fiancé and stood up. Her curiosity for his boundaries would demand a continuation of this topic - and perhaps a physical assessment as well. When she murmured this under her breath to him, Éomer chuckled under his breath and offered her his arm to hold. Together they made their way to Merethrond, with a weary Swan Knight trailing behind them.

The announcement of their trothplight was made in the presence of the High Council and the High Court of Gondor just before dinner. There was a smattering of applause and curious remarks heard here and there, but neither the couple nor Prince Elphir made an effort to elaborate the match to the crowd. It was evident that the union had taken the nobility of Gondor by surprise. This fact amused Lothíriel to no end, as all the residents and staff of the House of Healing had been holding bets regarding the nature of their relationship.

She certainly was not looking forward to being questioned by her peers, and the prospect of starting her journey back home looked a bit more appealing if only as a way to escape their inquisitions. Luckily, no one dared approach them during dinner because of Elphir's stern and exhausted expression.

"Tomorrow morning, you should have an early breakfast and head out to Osgiliath. There you shall meet Prince Imrahil and have a meeting on the flagship of the Dol Amroth fleet to discuss the details of the union." Prince Elphir was speaking to his sister and Éomer in a tone that allowed for no discussion. "Afterwards Lothíriel shall embark on her swan-ship and return home. Perhaps you can return to Rohan from Osgiliath. If need be, we can arrange a resting area suitable for your men."

Éomer nodded and folded his arms to stroke his beard thoughtfully. "I genuinely appreciate Prince Imrahil making time for me at such short notice. And I thank you as well, Elphir. You have been quite patient with us."

"Then you shall not mind me saying how strenuous it is to manage the betrothal of a King and my sister. I am fortunate that tomorrow you each go to your own homes so that my nerves can be at ease."

Lothíriel held her breath as she gauged Éomer's expression, which was stony. Unlike her politically correct father, Elphir was not afraid to make corrosive remarks. The men both then held the other's gaze Alphros had stopped fussing and was looking at the two formidable men, the tension palpable even to at once, they started laughing together and Elphir patted him on his back.

Éomer shook his head slightly with a wry smile and then clapped Elphir on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "Your nerves are faring better than mine did, Elphir. With Faramir and Éowyn I was not sure what was more stressful, leaving them alone or being in the room with them."

This time Lothíriel and Siloril joined in the merriment, and the former breathed a sigh of relief. Éomer's temper paired with that of Elphir could have caused some strife, but fortunately, the two friends were able to keep their mood light.

When Éomer finally turned to look at her again, he saw to his dismay that she had barely eaten anything. "Is the food not to your liking?"

"No, I am just a bit distracted, milord."

A disapproving sound came from his throat, not liking that she called him her lord.

"Are you having trouble with your appetite again, Lothíriel?" asked Siloril, who was sitting opposite them and trying to wipe Alphros' mouth. "I thought you were finally getting better."

Éomer's hand halted its ministrations. "You have not been eating properly?"

"I assure you that I am quite well, milord." She squeezed lightly in his hand, but he was not easily placated.

He looked at her plate again, now genuinely paying attention. "That is it? Here."

He lifted a nice chunk of meat from his plate and put it in hers. "You like venison, so finish it."

Before she could protest, he released his hand from hers and started cutting up the venison into bite-size pieces. A deep blush crept up from her neck to her cheeks. Her brother and her sister-in-law had paused their meal to observe Éomer's behaviour.

When he was done, he took a bite from a bread roll and met Elphir's gaze with lightly raised eyebrows, as if to challenge him to remark. The Dol Amrothian Prince merely smiled slightly and resumed his meal.

"Thank you." Lothíriel quietly said and took a bite. She did not know whether she should have been upset with him for treating her like a child, or that she should kiss him for caring so much. So she merely took another morsel of venison.

Her meal was not yet finished when Éomer excused himself to go talk to Aragorn. She watched him sit next to the High King and engage in what seemed to be a lengthy discussion. And a serious one, too.

"Lady Lothíriel!" A sweet voice interrupted her observations, compelling her to look up at who had appeared.

"Lady Minieth," she replied, pleased to see her future sister-in-law, "well met! Please sit down. How have you been?"

The young woman smiled, though not as brightly as Lothíriel was used to from her. "I am well. Tell me, have you heard from Erchirion?"

"No, I imagine he is busy with the negotiations at Osgiliath. Is everything alright?"

She pushed a lock of her sleek, dark blonde hair aside and nodded absently. "Nothing to worry about, milady - Oh!"

Suddenly Minieth sat up straight and glanced at Éomer. "I must congratulate you on your match! You two make a fine kingly pair."

"We do, indeed," was Lothíriel's proud reply, eliciting a giggle from Erchirion's intended.

"Allow me to celebrate this momentous occasion with a gift."

"A gift? I do not - "

"How about I paint a portrait of you?" Her green eyes sparkled with excitement and Lothíriel took a moment to admire the lady's vivacity. "Though your guidance with plants has been most useful, I derive such pleasure in accurately capturing the likeness of darling people like you."

The idea of gifting Éomer with an image of her certainly appealed to her vanity, and Lothíriel readily gave her assent. Furthermore, she needed to pass the time as Éomer's talk with Aragorn seemed to be a lengthy one, and she needed to wait for him so that he would walk her back to her rooms. Preferably with a detour. Minieth called a servant to fetch her materials and began making quick work of the first sketch of her subject. Slowly but surely Merethrond emptied save for some stragglers, servants, the two Kings and the two young ladies.

"What do you think?" Minieth asked eagerly as she showed her the sketch pad that held Lothíriel's likeness.

"Why that - that is so wonderful!" Lothíriel studied the page with widened eyes. "That does look like me. How swift and capable your hands are, Lady Minieth."

"Yes, I know." This time it was Minieth's turn to be proud - and deservedly so. "Now, I shall do my best to have it painted by the morrow, but if I do not manage it, I shall have Prince Elphir send it after you. Then you may send it to your King if it pleases you."

"I am sure it shall please me," insisted Lothíriel, still in awe, "but will it not impede your rest?"

"I do my best work at night." She replied as she gathered her materials. "I shall take my leave of you now, dear lady. And if you do hear from Erchirion, you shall let me know, yes?"

After receiving her assurances, the Lady of Lebennin left Lothíriel to stare at Éomer in despondency. Why was he taking so long?

"Milady." It was Sir Angrenor. "Éomer King has asked me to escort you to your rooms."

"Surely not!" She stood up immediately and went over to the dais. "Forgive me the intrusion, Your Majesty. Might I have a word with Éomer King?"

With a knowing smile, Aragorn told her to take her time. Éomer however did not seem so well at ease.

"Lothíriel, my love. You should retire for today. I am discussing a pressing matter with the High King."

"Will you not spare me a moment?" asked Lothíriel, somewhat hurt at his impatience. "What is so important?"

He scratched his beard for a moment before answering. "I need his guidance on how to speak with your father tomorrow."

Oh.

"Very well," she acquiesced, "that is important. May I kiss you goodnight?"

The request pleased him. With a hand under her chin, he leaned in and firmly pressed his lips against hers.

"I shall see you tomorrow, dear Lothíriel."

"Tomorrow in the early morning," she supplied, and he inclined his head before walking back to the dais.

As Lothíriel walked back to the Dol Amrothian quarters with Sir Angrenor, she finally felt the fatigue set in. Despite sleeping until late this morning, so much had happened in one day and how she longed for her bed! They turned into the hallway that led to the inner courtyard of the Southern Guesthouses, from whence the Dol Amrothian quarters could be accessed.

There, not far from the entrance, stood a figure - one that turned to look at who had come.

"Princess Lothíriel. Sir Angrenor."

"Lord Forgammon. Well met."

"Indeed."

As he stepped closer to her, she noticed in the light of the torches that he looked the same as ever. Impeccably yet modestly dressed. Neat curly hair and a short-trimmed beard. A reasonably handsome face with a terse, disdainful twist of his lips.

"I hear congratulations are in order." His voice was softer than usual.

"Thank you, milord."

She was about to curtsey and leave when he spoke again.

"It seems he is not as big of a fool as I thought him to be."

Though it was obvious that he was referring to Éomer, she did not how to reply. Part of her was somewhat embarrassed. She had refused to him the involvement of Éomer so strongly, yet there she was - engaged to that very same man, not a day later.

He took another step closer and peered down her face with his customary frown. It took nearly all of her remaining energy to not shrink away from him.

"Milady, you seem to have taken my advice on accepting his suit, though I doubt you did it for my sake."

The man was being irksome again.

"I assure you, I did not."

He nodded and turned around. Instead of walking away though, he looked over his shoulder, not quite meeting her eye. "For all the times I have given you advice, Lady Lothíriel, this is the one time I wish you had not followed it."

And then he left, his steps barely audible.

Lothíriel pressed a hand against her mouth, astonished by the encounter with her former suitor.

Taking pity on his charge, Sir Angrenor offered her his arm and led her to her rooms.

To be continued.

Notes:

(1) I have been busy trying to establish Éomer as a poet, and I came across this site: (please google it, ff dot net does not allow links) and found a wonderful poem.
The Husband's Message, in which a man forcibly separated from his lover sends her a message urging her to join him:

þec þonne biddan het se þisne beam agrof
þæt þu sinchroden sylf gemunde
on gewitlocan wordbeotunga,
þe git on ærdagum oft gespræcon...
Heht nu sylfa þe
lustum læran, þæt þu lagu drefde,
siþþan þu gehyrde on hliþes oran
galan geomorne geac on bearwe.
Ne læt þu þec siþþan siþes getwæfan,
lade gelettan lifgendne monn...
Nis him wilna gad,
ne meara ne maðma ne meododreama,
ænges ofer eorþan eorlgestreona,
þeodnes dohtor, gif he þin beneah.

He who carved this wood [did I mention your Valentine's message should be carved in runes?]
instructed me to bid you, treasure-adorned one,
to recall to mind the vows
which you two often spoke in days gone by...
Now he himself has commanded me
to joyfully instruct you to take to the sea,
after you have heard by the cliff's edge
the mourning cuckoo sing in the woods.
Do not then let any man living prevent your coming
or hinder your journey...
He has no lack of joy,
nor of horses, nor treasures, nor the pleasures of mead,
any of the noblest riches upon earth,
if he has you, prince's daughter.

- And I just swooned.

(2) Foltor says something like "it's the girl with the veil!"