After taking a deep breath and sending one last precautionary glance down the empty hallway, Lothíriel knocked firmly on the oaken door to the inner rooms of the Rohanese quarters in the west wing of the Southern Guesthouses.

A muffled voice demanded from the other side. "Who goes there?!"

She knocked again, louder.

"Damn it!" She heard in Rohanese and the door was unceremoniously pulled open the next moment. A tall, blonde man came out, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Who… Lothíriel?!"

She would have been amused at Éomer's look of astonishment, had she not been utterly distracted by the sight of his damp and bare chest.

"Are – are you not going to let me in before someone sees me?" She gestured vaguely behind her, her eyes fixed on the fine blonde hair spreading from his chest to his navel. Nothing else registered in her mind for a second as she gazed at him in awe.

But then he immediately pulled her inside and shut the door behind her, locking it for good measure.

It was then that she faced them, the tattoos she had been thinking about during her moments of relaxation. They looked even better without the cruel palette of bruises she had last seen them with.

"What are you doing here, Lothíriel?!"

She tore her eyes away from the inking on his chest to look up at his, feeling only partially guilty of eyeing him so improperly.

His jaw was tight and his nostrils were flared.

He was angry.

And just freshly done with bathing too, she noted absently as she quickly cast a glance at his wet blonde hair.

"I wanted to see you?"

Éomer huffed as he moved back and looked her up and down, one hand still on her upper arm.

"What were you thinking? What if someone had seen you? "

"Come now," Lothíriel tried to reassure him with a smile, "no one has seen me, I was very careful."

"You promised me that you would not put yourself in harm's way – "

"But – "

"And yet here you are."

Whatever she had had in mind when coming here, she had not expected him to argue with her presence. Raising her chin defiantly, she locked her grey eyes with his hazel green and stepped closer. "Sir Angrenor is standing on guard at the main door to the quarters. There is nothing to worry about."

"Your Swan Knight can be bought?" Éomer's frown deepened.

"Not with money, " she replied hastily, not wishing to harm her companion's reputation, "he made me promise to take along his niece to Rohan as my lady-in-waiting."

"Why is that?"

His questions were tiring her. She had not come here to argue. "Never mind that, Éomer," her tone was soft but insistent, and she rested a hand on his upper arm, mirroring his stance. "I am not inclined to discuss this any further."

Her touch spurred him into action, and he quickly turned away, bereaving her from her view.

"Do you think it is wise to take on someone else's troubles?"

She followed him towards the dressing area, scowling as best as her burning cheeks allowed her. His back was no less impressive than his front. "Do not tell the Princess of Dol Amroth how to manage her affairs."

"Huh." He sent her an unimpressed look over his well-toned shoulder. "Very well. May I then request the Princess of Dol Amroth to give me a moment? In case you have not noticed, I am not yet dressed for your esteemed yet unexpected company."

There was not a fibre of her being that had not noticed it. Indeed, a pleasant and yet curiously impatient feeling had coiled itself in the pit of her abdomen when she had been confronted with his bare upper body. The man was incredibly attractive – in this, her mind and body were in hearty agreement. And his current dress suited her just fine.

However, Lothíriel pressed her lips together and nodded her assent.

As he slipped away, she wondered at her cowardice. Where was the Lothíriel that had so boldly groped and so eagerly squeezed at the blonde Rohir when they had been secluded in the storage room of the Merethrond kitchens? Or the Lothíriel that had so comfortably allowed him to kiss and embrace her and even sleep on her after his accepted proposal? Or even the Princess Herbalist, who had been able to apply ointment to large expanses of Rohirric skin?

Éomer was to be hers, he had promised it to her in the presence of High King Elessar's court. There was no reason for her to hold back her urges to touch him – to an extent he had even welcomed them. Why then did her hands feel as sluggish and clumsy as if they were stuck in the treacherously thick quicksand hidden on the southeastern side of the cliffs of Cobas Haven?

"Min leof."

She looked up from her hands to see him looming over her, now dressed in a black undershirt with red and gold embroidery. His beard was neatly trimmed and his hair was almost dry now. The hint of a smile curled his lips as he reached out for her hands. First, he kissed one hand, then the other, before placing a kiss on her inner wrist, his moustache tickling the delicate skin.

Lothíriel sighed in contentment. Whatever the state of her nerves was, she was grateful that he did not hesitate in his affections. Swiftly Éomer lifted her chin with his hand and leaned in to give her a light kiss. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against him. Then he closed the gap and kissed her once more very gently.

In response, she moved one hand to entangle her fingers in the damp hair at the nape of her neck, then she deepened the kiss with a satisfied hum. Something was thrilling about the softness of his lips, the warmth of his mouth and the scratching of his facial hair against her skin. Lothíriel pressed further into him, her grip on his hair tightening and then she ran the tip of her tongue across his lower lip. Glad to have her courage return, she then opened her mouth wider in invitation, hoping for an even deeper kiss. And he eagerly met her tongue with his through a clashing of lips and teeth, his one hand tightening its hold on her waist while the other slid down her backside and squeezed it slightly.

"Mm!" The light pinch of his hand was a pleasant surprise, the delicious sensation causing Lothíriel to moan into their kiss. At once, he pulled himself away, somewhat gasping.

Her breathless disgruntlement at this was apparent because the sound of his amusement reverberated in his chest.

"I thought… I thought we agreed to meet for breakfast." He shook his head with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

"I could not wait for so long." She murmured her reply into his shirt.

"Yet it is unwise to slip into my room unattended, Lothíriel." He paused for a second then continued with a whisper in her ear that sent a tremor down her spine. "I am feeling particularly greedy at this moment."

When she looked up at him, struck dumb by the heat in his words, her breath caught in her throat when she saw that same heat in his gaze. His blonde brows were furrowed above unwavering eyes and his jaw was somewhat slack as he continued to stare.

Oh, to think that he desired her so much! Lothíriel took hold of his shirt and pulled him back into a kiss, curious to find out the depth of his greed. Her eagerness spurred him to explore her mouth with his own, tasting and probing before kissing his way over her jaw and down the side of her neck. The hot yet ticklish sensations sent waves of arousal down her body, each of them stronger than the previous one, and when she felt him nip at the curve of neck, a surprised whine resounded in the otherwise empty and quiet inner room of the Rohanese quarters.

Éomer's grip tightened on her for a moment, pressing her further into him, before he released her with a soft grunt. She kept her hands on his back, willing him to stay put, wishing that he would never need to stop. With each embrace, Lothíriel felt her love and desire for him expand, taking up every nook and cranny in her chest, filling up her heart with utter adoration for this sweet-hearted and loyal young man from the North. His presence in her mind has become so fixed, at times she struggled to remember who she had been before she met him. Ah, but that Lothíriel had been incomplete. That old Lothíriel had been so unaware of the joy and sweet suffering that came with devoting oneself to someone else. Old Lothíriel had not yet realized that to love someone was to have their life converge to the existence of one person. That Lothíriel had not yet realized that to love someone was to see the world and to see themselves through someone else's eyes, and discover there is an entire dimension of beauty and fragility that is dedicated to the bond between two people. Two people who discovered that their existence was incomplete without one another.

And for Lothíriel, it was Éomer, son of Éomund, in whom she could see the fulfilment of her being. It was he who she could never think to be without. She loved him so intensely, so wholly that she marvelled at her own ability to do so. And she thanked the Valar for the privilege.

With a deep sigh, Lothíriel gently pulled down his head, closed the distance by standing on her toes and pressed her forehead against his. "Éomer," she whispered as she closed her eyes, "I wish you would never stop touching me."

His intake of breath was sharp and he moved his head to rest it in the crook of her neck, the weight of his body pressing down upon hers with all its heat and hardness. With his face pressed against her skin, she heard him mumble. "You speak dangerous words, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

She laughed softly, understanding that her wish right now was too much to ask for, for the both of them. Their physical intimacy had reached a new level and though part of her begged to continue, she somehow knew that anything more would be too much for her. After all, not minutes ago, she had been overwhelmed by the recent changes in their connection and the allowances and implications that they had committed to for each other. Perhaps there was some wisdom in Gondorian propriety indeed.

Though perhaps not in the way the court intended. Pushing their physical intimacy any further would be too much of a good thing right now. Like a third spoonful of honey in a cup of herbal tea. A step too far into the waves at the incoming tide, or embroidery too lavish for a chemise.

"I suppose a remark like that tests your boundaries?" asked Lothíriel, referring to their unfinished conversation of last night.

"It does," he confirmed, now moving to bury his nose in the hair behind her ear.

"What defines those boundaries then? What we did in the storeroom and the storage room, even now – it seems different each time."

"The boundaries seem to change given the circumstances, I suppose." He lifted his head, finally composed again.

Tired of standing in the same position for so long, she was glad that he took her by the hand to the nearest sofa seat. He sat down and pulled her on his lap, both her legs to one side. It was unexpected but pleasant. His arms wrapped around her waist and he rested his face once more against her neck. This way though, she was not burdened by his weight and she settled against him with a hum of contentment.

"Would you reckon that there is a method to understand where your limits lie?"

What followed was a discussion of how he felt around her, and what caused him to become bolder in his expression of his affection for her. Imbibement was one factor – which she thought could apply to her as well, but the choice of her outfit and even his made it more difficult to keep his passions in control. Then there was the amount of emotional charge in that moment that could influence him, as well as the time of day. The last parameter seemed odd to her and she asked him to elaborate.

"The idea of waking up every morning to you being next to me is something I look forward to immensely," he spoke against her skin, the ticklish feeling evolving into yet another wave of heat crashing in her abdomen, "especially now that I know how restful my sleep is in your presence."

She too liked the thought of that. She had imagined it many times and every time her heart would race frantically at the idea that they would be alone in bed without restraint or restriction. Being entirely at ease for the entire night, touching and kissing him freely, having him close to her – whatever could she possibly wish for?

Two years was a long time to wait, she thought dejectedly as she considered the lines and freckles on his face. With a light touch, she tilted his face just so and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. His chest vibrated with something akin to a groan before he tightened his grip on her and answered her kiss with twice the fervour, a hand travelling up her back to caress the bare skin at the back of her neck. The seemingly innocuous touch fanned the flames in her core and Lothíriel felt encouraged to copy his attention from before. Tearing her lips from his, she peppered kisses on his jaw until her nose caressed the shell of his ear. Then she kissed the soft skin below his ear and she felt it trill against her lips as he murmured her name. Pleased with his reaction, she continued her attentions down the side of his neck before boldly pressing an open-mouthed kiss on his throat, the skin only slightly prickly due to the recent shave.

Again he muttered under his breath - something Rohanese, and then, before she could process what had happened, Lothíriel had been pushed onto her back on the sofa. Éomer was hovering over her, staring down at her while breathing heavily, one arm braced against the back of the couch with the other hand still at her waist.

"Éomer?" Lothíriel asked, half confused and half preoccupied with admiring him from below. Seeing his bulky frame loom over her, Lothíriel had to resist the wild urge to pull him down against her and plant another kiss on his throat, just so she could see how he would react. The more rational part of herself reminded her that she was not yet ready to cross his boundaries. And hers were becoming more and more clear to her, as well.

"Ah, forgive me," he rasped and he pushed himself upright, relinquishing his hold on her, "that is a sensitive – I mean, we should…"

As his voice trailed off, the realization set in and Lothíriel pressed her lips together, feeling both embarrassed and electrified by what had just occurred. Slowly she sat up, her heart still pounding loudly in her ears.

Éomer had his back to her, one hand resting at his hip while he leaned against the nearest wall with the other one. When he heard her call out his name, he looked over his shoulder at her with a sheepish smile. "I need a moment, Lothíriel. And you should not kiss me there again - Not until we are married, at the very least."

"Oh."

Yet another thing to look forward to. But then she just loved kissing Éomer. She might even venture to say that she loved it more than herb lore and the salty sea breeze that swept across Belfalas Bay in late spring.

Yet she supposed she had challenged their boundaries enough for now.

With a happy little sigh, she stood up and walked over to the closest mirror, which was hanging near the wash basin where she tidied her hair and adjusted her clothes. While she did enjoy seeing herself visibly marked with his affections, breakfast would be served soon and she needed to be presentable. When she had snuck out for an early morning rendezvous with her beloved horse-lord, she had remembered to bring along her lip stain and a moist soap cloth to tidy herself up.

The premeditation of her actions was as scandalous as her visit to his private chambers itself, but she had been careful and inconspicuous enough to know that she would remain undetected as long as she did not leave any evidence on her person. Her years of secretly exploring the Dol Amroth fortress and the Citadel as a child and teen had enabled to do just so.

As clear as day she could remember Amrothos telling her to abide by the rules so she would not be expected to break when and if she did. Though she knew that her brother had not intended for her to use this knowledge to risk her maiden reputation, the wish to be kissed by her Éomer had driven her to bend the norms of propriety.

And the brunette in the mirror certainly looked too well-kissed at this moment.

She fished out the cloth and the little box of dark pink pigment from her hidden skirt pocket and set to work with clever and nimble hands. First, she wiped away all the colour that had spread beyond the edges of her slightly swollen lips because of their joint effort. Then she used her little finger to spread the colour over her lips, carefully covering them from edge to edge with the colour. Satisfied with her application, she studied the rest of her face in the mirror just in case she overlooked something.

Éomer had walked up to her in the meantime and was now standing next to her, staring intently as she used the cloth to neaten the edge of her make-up. She met his gaze through the looking glass with a smile.

"What is on your mind, Éomer?"

"I shall tell you when we are married." He raised his eyebrows slightly.

"That is unfair!" With more force than she intended, she dropped the pigment box back into her skirt pocket, but she did not care. There was a sweet and handsome man standing next to her, his attention unwavering and promising.

And he could not keep his hands off her, either, for he folded her into his arms, her back pressing against his chest. "What is unfair is making me wait two years, my love, when you know that I am not a patient man."

She studied the two people in the mirror. Would it be her vanity speaking if she were to say that she had never seen such a beautiful couple? All her senses seemed to agree with her pride.

"Maybe Ada can be convinced to shorten the engagement period. How did the talk go with the High King?"

Éomer kissed the top of her head before releasing her. "It was enlightening. As I have said before, I have much to learn and the guidance of our elders is essential for our success. Which reminds me…" He began walking towards the other end of the room.

She straightened her clothes and followed him, across the elegantly decorated common room of the Rohanese royal quarters. The furniture and the decoration were similar to that of the Dol Amrothian quarters, but the tapestries on the walls depicted rolling hills and horses, to make the Rohirrim feel more at home. There was a hallway that led to the bedrooms prepared for the royal guests and Lothíriel was tempted to check them out, but she dared not breech that boundary either.

"I have something I want to show you."

Éomer stood at the large desk and pulled out the chair. She eagerly sat down in his chair and looked over the files, rolls of parchments and other materials strewn across the desktop.

"You have asked me before what or who made me change my mind about marrying you."

"I did," she affirmed, excitement and curiosity colouring her voice, "Was it Éowyn who was able to convince you to reconsider your stance on marriage?"

He frowned as he opened a drawer, obviously in search of something. "She made me face the reality of my feelings, but she did not convince me. Neither did anyone else before or after her."

"Who else tried beside her and Amrothos?"

He shot her an exasperated look. "There was Imrahil, Faramir, Éowyn, two Rohanese nobles, about half of the Gondorian council, Ioreth of the Houses of Healings, the Warden himself, Queen Arwen, Master Meriadoc and Master Pippin, Samwise Gamgee, Gandalf Greyhame, King Elessar and the last one to have a go was Amrothos."

Lothíriel laughed. "That is quite a list."

His hand found something and he took it out. "Indeed. Yet there was someone who was able to give me the reassurance no one else was able to."

Éomer held out an opened envelope containing a letter.

"When Éowyn was looking for the betrothal hairpin, she found a hastily written letter next to it, addressed to me. Thus she sent it along the ornament."

Lothíriel accepted the letter and her breath caught in her throat when she noticed the broken seal on the envelope. It was from the King of Rohan.

"Théoden King?" she asked as she met his serious gaze, breathless from surprise.

He nodded. "Go on, read it."

With reverence, she took out the thick parchment and folded it open. It read:

Éomer.

Beloved sister-son, worthy heir to the throne of Rohan. I write to you, knowing that I might leave for the Halls of our forefathers.

Death brought you to Edoras and War kept you a-roam the plains of Rohan. I would have Peace and Life become your companions instead, not just for the sake of the People of Rohan. Let not your past withhold you from your future. Seize happiness, change Edoras to befit you, and make Queen the woman who artlessly commits herself to you. Live to see the glory days of the House of Éorl renewed.

Thus are my final instructions to you, Éomer King.

With hope,

Théoden,

Last of his Line.

She read the letter twice more, her eyes lingering at the phrase 'the woman who artlessly commits herself to you'. Had Théoden foreseen that his nephew would be so easy to love? Lothíriel had known of Éomer for just more than a year and she had adored him so utterly. There was no doubt that his very own uncle had seen such qualities worthy of love and dedication in him. She would remain eternally grateful for the late King's presence of mind to know that his sister-son would need his encouragement and support after taking up his mantle.

Éomer had come to stand behind her, leaning on the back of her chair. She turned to look at him, her eyes shining in awe.

"Your Uncle, Éomer... I wish now more than ever that I could have met him. Even in such dire times, he had the forethought to write you this! When did the letter come to you?"

He sighed and sat down on the armrest of another chair. "Faramir had brought it along and gave it to me after the Concluding Debate."

Lothíriel thought for a moment. "That was just before luncheon, I think?"

"Aye. Though through the letter I finally gave myself leave to accept my feelings for you, at that time I was of the notion that you were about to be betrothed to Forgammon."

"Which explains why you were looking at me so angrily the entire luncheon." For just a moment she attempted to suppress her amusement, then the young woman smiled broadly at her fiancé. "You poor dear."

He could not share her mirth, the embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "Nay, I was angry at myself."

The Princess shook her head affectionately. "And when you found out the engagement ceremony did not concern me, you still hesitated."

"Naturally. I told you to move on, and it seemed that you did."

"You dare complain, Éomer Éomundson?"

"I dare not, beloved." He squinted slightly as he leaned down and kissed her cheek in an obvious attempt to placate her.

Yet she could not resist a complaint of her own, only half-serious in her intent. "How cruel you were to me. Letting me be courted by another when all I could think of was you."

He groaned before moving her chair to face him. Then he kneeled in front of her and rested his forehead against hers.

"Do not speak so unkindly, Lothíriel. I am yours."

She pressed her lips together, moved by his plain and earnest words and reaffirmed, "And I am yours, Éomer."

Though from this angle her view of him was distorted, still she could see the end of his moustache curl up because of his broad grin. Always glad to see him smile, she sighed happily.

"I should finish getting ready," he eventually said and rose to his feet, "we have a busy day ahead."

Upon receiving her assent, he then went back to the dressing room and returned in full armour, with its trademark maroon leather and silver details, the baldric with his scabbard crossing the front of his cuirass. His helm with the white horsehair plume he placed on the desk before he beckoned for her to stand up.

She immediately obliged and wrapped her arms around his waist, breathing in his scent. Even with his hard exterior, she knew he was soft only for her. She felt safe and whole, her face resting against his armoured shoulder. She did not mind the extra layers at all. They suited him and kept him safe. For a few minutes, they remained in their current position, contently nestled against each other.

"Éomer."

"Yes?"

"I feel perfectly at ease in your arms." She replied and she wondered if he remembered her saying this to him before – that day of her ride on Firefoot.

Éomer then laughed softly, and she then knew he remembered, because he leaned down and kissed her sweetly. Then he broke the kiss, but he kept his face close to hers and let his eyes skate over every inch of her blushing face. And thus he murmured her name with gentle reverence. "Lothíriel."

She sighed and pressed her lips together to keep herself from falling apart due to the sheer affection that coursed through her veins for him.

"I am going to miss you very dearly, Éomer."

He made a light sound, pleased by her words, but before he could show her the extent of his contentment, they were interrupted.

A light knock was heard from the door and instantaneously, his hand reached for his sword.

"It is Sir Angrenor!" Lothíriel hastily took hold of his arm to put him at ease. "It means that it is almost time for us to leave for breakfast."

Éomer visibly relaxed, his frown fading and his jaw unclenching. The young King then took her hand and kissed her wrist in the manner he had done before, sending a lovely little shiver up her spine. She hoped she would never get used to it.

"Lothíriel."

"Yes?"

"Promise me you will keep yourself out of harm's way." This time his words were the echo of that fated day with Firefoot.

"I promise."

"No sneaking away or visiting dangerous places. After this, I mean."

She smiled impishly and she noticed his lips twitch as well, but he did not smile. Instead, he embraced her tightly against himself and kissed her lightly on her forehead.

Another knock.

Reluctantly they let go of one another, and after a last cursory glance in the mirror to see if her hair ornament was still secure, Lothíriel allowed him to open the door for her.

Angrenor stood waiting for them, evidently peeved at making him wait. Éomer nodded his thanks and led his fiancée down the hallway towards the exit.

The Swan Knight trailed behind them and yawned behind his hand.

Lothíriel snickered softly when she heard Angrenor mutter under his breath. "Feruion was wise to retire when he did."

"I have something for you. From Minieth."

Lothíriel pressed a package into Erchirion's hands after he had helped her off Ferieth.

His perplexed gaze met hers before he looked down at the thick package not bigger than the size of a dinner plate. It bore an oval-shaped seal with five waves – symbolizing the five rivers that ran in Lebennin.

After their secret meeting, Éomer and Lothíriel had joined Elphir for a relatively quiet breakfast, as it had been still early in the morning.

From there the two siblings and the King had gone to the High Stables, mounted their horses and led the small party of Swan Knights and the host of the Rohirrim to Osgiliath.

Before Lothíriel had been able to leave Merethrond, she had heard her future sister-in-law call out to her to stop. Upon seeing her flustered and uncharacteristically unkempt state, the Princess had paused in surprise. Taking in the untied hair, her stained fingers and the oddly glinting chain hanging from Minieth's girdle, she had requested her brother and her fiancé to go on ahead.

"Are you well, Lady Minieth?"

"Milady, where were you?" Minieth had asked, pushing aside her loose dark blonde waves and looking closely at her. "I sought all over for you, but I was unable to find you in your rooms, nor the Houses of Healing nor any of your usual haunts. Where – "

Then she had abruptly ended her speech and cast a glance towards where Éomer had left. The sharp look she had given the brunette then had told Lothíriel that she had put two and two together about the young lady's disappearance that morning.

The embarrassment had coloured her cheeks, shocked that she had been found out so easily by her quintessentially Gondorian sister-in-law, but before she had been able to plead her case or beg for silence, Minieth had held up her hand.

"Never you mind about that, milady. I have come here to ask of you a favour, and also to give you your portrait."

At Lothíriel's immediate agreement, she had given her two packages, one addressed to Lothíriel and the other to Erchirion. The one that had been hers had been opened then and there and the accuracy and technical skills of her portrait had moved the Dol Amrothian to extend her lavish praise upon the artist. She in turn had smiled proudly before making her request.

Deliver the package to her fiancé Prince Erchirion of Dol Amroth, under the highest discretion.

"From Minni? What is it?"

"I would not know, brother," replied his sister as she straightened out her blue riding skirts and checked whether her hair ornament was still in place, "she wants you to open it when you are alone."

Peculiar though the request had been, Lothíriel had other things to mind. Her father and Amrothos were now walking up to them after having welcomed Éomer and Elphir, so she put some distance between herself and Erchirion.

After greeting the Princes, Lothíriel went to Éomer and tucked her arm in his and together they led the Dol Amrothian Princes to the Rohirrim who were settling in for the refreshments that Imrahil had arranged for them. At the centre of the old capital Osgiliath, was the Grand Bridge that had been recently rebuilt by the benevolent craftsmanship of the Dwarves. New had been the large plazas on either side of the Grand Bridge. While the destruction of Osgiliath had been thorough and widespread, the buildings near the crossing had been reduced to mere rubble. As one of the main trade routes would pass through that bridge, the High King and the Dwarves had agreed to leave a clearing on either side to ensure easy passage in the future. Conveniently, the plazas could be used for encampment, as the majority of the nearby buildings were not yet fit for use. Thus the Rohirrim had settled on the western Plaza, not far from where two vessels of the Dol Amrothian fleet were moored to the southwest pierside. One was the flagship, the Alproval, while the other was a swift-looking cutter named Renior, the type of sailboat that the Dol Amrothians lovingly called cygnet as it was dwarfed in size by the more grandly built ships of the Dol Amrothian naval fleet.

The horse-lords admired the ships from afar while they settled in and partook from the refreshments arranged for them. The half dozen Swan Knights were eager to teach their peers whatever they were curious about while they also had a small meal, thus adding to the merry mood that the Rohirrim were already experiencing because of their King's betrothal. Not all men were cheerful, however. Standing at the edge of the encampment, dressed in finer armour than most, were three middle-aged horse-lords, and they were watching their King closely and not too fondly, either.

As Éomer gave his men instructions and discussed some matters with Imrahil and Éothain, Amrothos pulled his sister back to where Elphir and Erchirion stood, indicating that they wished for her to join their discussion.

In Sindarin he spoke after a nod of towards the host. "Elphir. Have you noticed those fellows glowering at Éomer?"

"Aye, I have a full report on them thanks to Sir Angrenor." Elphir frowned slightly. "They are powerful, but even their strengths combined cannot match Éomer's position."

"Do you think they will cause trouble for Lothíriel?"

"They might, if Éomer is not able to manage them. Lothíriel?"

She pressed her lips together for a moment before giving her input. "They are the representatives of three of the greater families in Rohan. Apparently, they have been trying to get one of their own married to Éomer."

"So they are naturally upset."

"Éomer had assured them that he would not be marrying anyone soon, but then he changed his mind." She touched the pin in her hair as she looked at Amrothos, who had given her one of the three chains connected to the hair ornament. "Thus he is doing what he can to mitigate the political... unpleasantness. He is their King after all."

"Hmm." Elphir considered the Rohirrim from where he stood. "It has been merely a year since he inherited the throne. These men seem to have decades of experience – experience that your dear fiancé lacks."

Lothíriel glared at her brother, but she was unable to provide a rebuttal, for she knew he was right.

The four siblings shared concerned looks before they followed their father and Éomer King onto the Alphroval.

The last chapter coming soon.