Lothíriel scowled at Erchirion as he suppressed yet another grin. He was amusing himself greatly at the expense of the horse-lord sitting across the table at him, though his mirth plain was to his sister. She had expected Amrothos to participate in his delight, but he was staring at the table sullenly, and his sister sighed softly. The topic at hand was no doubt bearing down on his good humour. The fact that he was present nevertheless was encouraging and comforting to her. She loved Amrothos as he loved her.

The support of her brothers was securing her future with Éomer, and her father was supporting her too. Even if her father was currently being more of a politician and less of a parent.

Prince Imrahil was a formidable leader and politician and even now he was enjoying the upper hand over the green King from the North. He could have had the meeting on shore, in one of the structures of Osgiliath. Indeed, he had many offices and meeting Halls to choose from in the former capital of Gondor. Yet in a move that was very much Dol Amrothian, he met his future son-in-law on the Alphroval, keenly aware that the ship's movements would unsettle his mind and his stomach.

Éomer was not good on ships, not even large ones that were moored in the currently calm waters in Osgiliath. With remarkable unsteadiness, he had navigated his way to the greater cabin above deck, where Prince Imrahil had arranged a luncheon.

Soon they were all sitting down, Lothíriel next to Éomer King - with a concerned expression on her face. Elphir was next to the Rohirrim King, looking warily at the ill-shaded tinge visible under the man's beard. The other Princes had taken seats opposite them. Imrahil smiled benignly at Éomer while gesturing at the table which was generously filled with a wonderful variety of foods and drinks.

Éomer was well aware of the nature of the arrangements, but he remained composed. With a clear of his throat, he replied. "You have my gratitude, sir, but I wish to establish our timeline as soon as possible. Tell us what you have in mind."

Imrahil nodded and made himself a plate before he spoke. "Now that we have had the announcement yesterday, I think a betrothal ceremony in Minas Tirith would suffice. It should be done after Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn's wedding but before their departure to Emyn Arnen."

"I agree, it is convenient for the guests as well."

"And the wedding itself... it shall be held in Rohan, after two years." Having said those words, Imrahil leaned back, doubtlessly curious to see the young man's reaction.

Next to Lothíriel, she felt Éomer's body stiffen up as the words sunk in. Not wishing for him to lose his patience so soon, she gripped his hand under the table and squeezed hard. She understood his avidity, but she and Éomer both knew very well that the Prince of Dol Amroth was testing it. And it would not do to flounder so soon. When he turned to look at her, she offered him a little smile as if to say 'No matter what, I am yours.'

Éomer cleared his throat and poured himself a drink with his free hand. He swished around the liquid in its vessel not unlike how he considered Imrahil's statement. After he took a sip, he finally made his reply. "Prince Imrahil, I appreciate your unwillingness to part with Lothíriel, but I beg your understanding for the sake of Rohan. It is my wish to give Rohan her Queen sooner rather than later so that the restorations can be completed with the Queen already on her throne instead of trying to fit her in after the fact."

The simple logic appealed to Elphir, who sat up straighter, and Imrahil too could see the sense in the Rohanese ruler's words. However, he would not back down yet. "You cannot establish her rule if her domain is foreign to her, though. She shall need time."

"I agree." Éomer calmly said. "And so does your daughter. She has already requested me to arrange a scholar and a scribe to come to Dol Amroth… by your leave, naturally."

Prince Imrahil was not the only one who had gone to great lengths to prepare for this meeting. This fact did not go unnoticed by Erchirion. More than once did he smile at the agitation that his father could not mask, and Lothíriel could not help but wonder what had stirred her brother's latent rebellious side.

Imrahil remained unshaken, still. What followed could be described as a verbal racketball game between the two most powerful people in a confined space. The Dol Amroth siblings quietly looked from one man to the other and back, and so on, as each matter was served and volleyed until both parties managed to reach an agreement. The verbal fencing reached its climax just as Erchirion began fidgeting with the package he had received from his fiancée.

"The most significant delay shall be due to the necessary negotiations between Gondor and Rohan. The respective Councils must have their say in this."

The table had been cleared of all the food and drinks, save for a bottle of wine.

"Indeed, the bureaucracy insists upon taking their time," Éomer replied. Then he called out to Éothain, his right-hand man, who immediately handed him a large roll of parchment. One that bore the seal of the High King Elessar. "Fortunately for all of us, but especially myself, preliminary negotiations have been done by representatives of both Gondor and Rohan..."

"Negotiations? By whom?" asked Imrahil, incredulous.

"By Lady Éowyn and High King Elessar."

Everyone stared at Éomer in disbelief. Erchirion even paused his fidgeting to look at the Northman with mild interest.

He offered Imrahil the roll, saying, "Truthfully, I was not aware of any such discussions between my sister and Elessar –"

"When did they even meet?" Imrahil asked sharply, but then the answer occurred to himself immediately after. "The week the host of Gondor was in Edoras."

"They must have sat together while I was away, or else my men would have made me aware."

In silence, everyone observed how Imrahil read and re-read the document.

Meanwhile, Erchirion had started opening the letter from his fiancée. It was true that he was supposed to open it alone, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Suffice it to say, Lothíriel thought he was acting quite out of sorts.

"Tell me this, Éomer King..." Imrahil's steely voice cut through the quiet, causing Erchirion to start and he dropped his letter to the floor. Its contents skidded out on the wooden flooring at his feet and he dove down to gather it at once. His sister did notice it, but like all the others, she was more curious about her father's reaction to the preliminary negotiations.

"How on Arda did your sister negotiate all of this weeks ago -when it has been two days since you made your intentions towards my daughter clear to me?" The usually cool and collected Prince of Dol Amroth was breathing heavily, a hard frown marring his noble visage. Soft-hearted though he was for the young King of the North, he did not enjoy being bypassed by anybody - not even the High King and the Lady of Rohan.

"Sir, may I answer that question?" asked Elphir, his tone gentle but firm. "It is evident that though Éomer King has only just come to terms with his feelings for Lothíriel, both the High King and the Lady Éowyn understood him better than he did himself."

Éomer opened his mouth and closed it before bowing his head for a moment. Then he met his friend's gaze with utmost sincerity and said: "Aye, this is the truth. Forgive me for not knowing myself, my good friend. I was afraid I was not worthy of your dear daughter's companionship. And a part of me still feels that way – "

She squeezed his hand, reprimanding him for thinking so little of himself. He glanced at her, smiling, before turning back to the Princes, focusing not on Imrahil but on Amrothos. " – though I now have the courage and perseverance to work hard to deserve her. And if not for my own sake, then for the sake of Rohan I am willing to labour for the rest of my life."

With bated breath she awaited her father and brothers' reaction to his plea, hoping they would accept Aragorn and Éowyn's efforts. Though she had not read them herself, Éomer had shared with her the gist of them and to her, they seemed to be the right approach to tackle multiple issues in the treaties related to their marriage. A look at Elphir told her he seemed encouraged by the preliminary agreements between Gondor and Rohan. Erchirion, on the other hand, seemed to be agitated about something else, but he flashed her a confident smile when their eyes met. It was when she turned to her youngest brother that her heart dropped.

Her usually cheerful brother's mood had been predictably subdued because of the imminence of her move to Rohan, but now his jaw was clenched and his eyes trained fixedly on the ground.

"Amrothos, what say you?" Imrahil too had been observing his sons.

For a long moment, he continued to glare at the table and then he looked up, his lips pulled into a grim line and an uncharacteristically heavy frown just below his curls. "The propositions. They are a sound basis. I think Sir Baranor should make good use of them."

"After some amendments, of course," added Erchirion, "though we have informed the High King of the latest, there will be some developments today that might require change."

"Yet overall I think they have done a great kindness for us by broadening the foundation." Elphir beckoned for Lothíriel to have a read while they awaited the writing materials to make some notes. For the next hour or so, the table discussed the finer points of the treaties and made a list of the matters that needed to be focused on later.

"So, Ada," Lothíriel spoke after she was done adding yet another remark to the long list of discussion points, "where does this put us?"

He hummed thoughtfully. "I think a year and a half from now."

Though this was significantly shorter, Éomer did not look happy. It was clear that Éomer was struggling to keep his frustration at bay, something that did not go unnoticed by his betrothed. She deftly snuck her hand in his once more and squeezed it.

Effective it was because he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "A year and a half seems better, but it is still a lot. What is the cause of it?"

Imrahil stood up and paced the room with slow, steady steps. "Simply put, it is logistics. Even when we all agree about... Everything... The distance between Dol Amroth and Rohan is not easily traversed even with the fastest of horses. In this case, it is specifically about moving materials, supplies, food and furniture. The whole trade route needs to be re-established. Even if we start now, we shall need at least a year."

Everyone fell silent, racking their minds for a solution.

"I suppose there is no shortcut in this matter." Said Éomer eventually, a hint of defeat in his tone. "If we have the wedding during harvest time – "

"There is a shortcut!" Exclaimed Erchirion, and he muttered his surprise that no one else had thought of it before he had.

Lothíriel had recognized the look in her brother's eyes and she immediately turned to him. "What do you mean?"

"The Dwimorberg Pass, you know of it. The literal shortcut King Elessar took. We can make use of it."

"The Paths of the Dead?" clarified Éomer. "Those are too narrow at too many places for carts and wagons to pass."

Erchirion stood up and retrieved a map of the Unified Kingdom from the shelves at the other end of the grand cabin, and spread it out on the table. He pointed at the Dwimorberg, where in its north was Edoras and in its southern valley was Erech. Further south was Dol Amroth.

"The distance between both cities is less than half of the route that circumnavigates the White Mountains." He drew the line with his finger. "I propose two things. One: we establish a port in Erech. Two: we request the Dwarves that shall take up residence in Glittering Caves, to make the Paths of the Dead suitable for trade. That could mean we could sail from Cobas Haven to Erech and go by horse and cart through the Pass to Edoras."

He looked around, curious to see their reaction to his plan.

"Men have always avoided Erech," Imrahil said, slowly and still half in thought. "The plains have been haunted."

Elphir replied, "Aye, but High King Elessar took care of that. All the Oathbreakers have paid their debt and no spirit should haunt Erech or the Paths of the Dead."

Erchirion nodded, happy that his brother and father also saw the potential. "We should have someone make sure, officially."

Éomer was not sure. "Shall the Dwarves be willing to do such labour in relatively little time? I imagine they want to prioritize settling in the Caves."

Lothíriel had also been studying the map. "The Dwarves could benefit from the trade route. They could even make an underground passage connecting the Caves with the Pass. They could establish trade agreements with Dol Amroth, Gondor and the Haradlands quite easily that way."

There was an unmistakable spark of pride in the eyes of the eldest Prince. With a smile, he looked about before pointing his hand at his youngest son. "Amrothos, you should take the lead on this. Master Gimli shall be in attendance of the upcoming wedding, so I recommend you establish rapport – "

"Sir, with due respect," Erchirion interjected, "this is my idea. I should be in charge of it."

For a moment, it was deathly silent in the largest cabin above the deck of the Alphroval. Prince Imrahil had fixed his gaze on his second-eldest son, his lips pressed together grimly. "You are in charge of the Southern trade routes, Erchirion. It is why I am settling you in Pelargir with Lady Minieth."

His son shook his head in discontent. "We are involving Sir Baranor in this, are we not? I can easily manage both the Southern and the Dwimorberg Pass route."

"Sir Baranor has only agreed to act as a liaison. For this route to succeed, especially for Lothíriel's sake, we shall need someone physically present in Rohan. You cannot take it upon yourself, because the Lord of Lebennin has his expectations of you, besides you managing the Southern route."

Before Erchirion could retort, Amrothos spoke up. "You shall need me in Rohan?"

He had been sitting stony-faced until Erchirion had rolled out the map. Then he hadstoodstony-faced, listening to what his brother had to say. It had occurred to him only then, that this discussion was for his benefit, too.

"Yes," replied Imrahil, "considering that Elphir is in charge of Dol Amroth, Erchirion of the South, you are needed – "

"I shall do it!" Amrothos quickly said, his energy returning. "I can be in Rohan, in Erech, wherever you need me."

Erchirion glared at his younger brother contemptuously, a look that did not go unnoticed.

"Then it is decided," Imrahil said, his voice ringing clear and warning him to stay quiet. "Is this agreeable to you, Éomer King?"

Lothíriel and Éomer shared a look. Éomer squeezed her hand softly.

"Aye. I shall speak with Master Gimli as well, and gather a party of Rohirrim that are brave enough to deal both with ghosts and Dwarves."

"There are no ghosts left in the Dwimorberg," Lothíriel said with a small smile on her lips.

"Seeing is believing, Lothíriel. Our people and horses stay away from the Paths of the Dead. But for you, I can make it happen."

A blush crept up her cheeks at the ardour behind his words and in his eyes, and she smiled coyly up at him, momentarily forgetting everyone else in the room.

"Ulmo's – " Amrothos cut himself short and faked a cough as Imrahil glared at him.

Erchirion did not laugh, however, his malcontent rolling off him in waves. He reached out to the wine bottle on the table, but Amrothos stopped him with a knowing look. The brothers stared at each other before the elder sighed and acquiesced. He leaned back in his chair, still feeling upset.

Imrahil sent his sons a look, one that Lothíriel recognized as 'we shall talk later' before he turned to Éomer. The discussion continued, involving everyone except for Erchirion who excused himself and left the room. Lothíriel watched him go with guilt. Normally when she was upset like he was now, he would follow her to check on her, but she could not leave this meeting to return the gesture. Instead, she met Amrothos' gaze and wordlessly pleaded for him to look after their elder brother. He stood up too and followed his brother's wake.

The remaining Dol Amrothians and the two Rohirrim reconvened to establish the new timeline and a tentative date for the wedding. An hour later, Lothíriel led Éomer down the gangway holding his arm. He had managed his nausea bravely, but she could see he was glad to be back on solid ground.

Erchirion and Amrothos had been lounging in the shadow of the tent that was raised for Éomer and rose to meet them, looking relatively calm. For a little while the Princes of Dol Amroth and the two Rohirrim spoke amongst themselves before eventually Imrahil, Erchirion and Amrothos had to take their leave. Baranor awaited them, and armed with new negotiation points, they had a wealth of information to discuss and agreements to make.

One by one, Éomer thanked the Princes for their efforts and bade them goodbye. Lothíriel then took a moment alone with her father and simply held him in a quiet embrace for a while, emotions suddenly welling up and taking hostage her vocal cords. In all her willingness to establish a wedding date that would please Éomer, she had not considered how difficult it must have been for her father. She might have given him the feeling that she was eager to leave her Ada, and the guilt welled up in her eyes as she pressed her face against the cold yet so familiar silver and blue cuirass of the Prince.

Without seeing her face, Imrahil caught her inner turmoil, and he coaxed her to look at him. His eyes were moist but there was none of the anger, frustration or even sadness she had thought there would be.

"Come now," he spoke softly in the silky accent that was Dol Amrothian Sindarin, "remember that I was the one who was the first to think of what a great match the two of you would make. There is no reason to feel any guilt."

With difficulty, she choked down a sob and she tried a smile, which wobbled and twitched until she cleared her throat. "Yet you were upset."

"Naturally," he replied as he caressed her dark hair, "but that was because of High King Elessar and his… good intentions."

For a split second, Imrahil looked a lot like his second son, who had the propensity to wear his dislike of politics on his sleeve, but then he shook his head and gently squeezed his daughter's upper arms. "It is time for us to go. We must not keep Captain Baranor waiting. Elphir shall see you off."

He kissed her eyes and they said their goodbyes before Erchirion and Amrothos came over to do the same. Lothíriel was glad to see that her usually mellow brother was his cool self again. She wondered whether it was because of his talk with Amrothos or because of whatever Minieth had sent him. However, she did not dare ask. Erchirion never shared his thoughts unless he initiated it himself. But his lopsided smile and the crinkling at the corners of his eyes assured her enough to let the matter rest. Instead, she embraced and kissed both brothers before she watched her father and them mount their horses and cross the recently rebuilt Grand Bridge to the other Plaza until they were out of sight.

"Let us get you home, dear sister."

Lothíriel looked up to see her brother Elphir standing next to her. He had already sent her superfluous luggage ahead on another cutter so that her ship would be light and swift in taking her, Sir Angrenor and the captain of the Renior back to Cobas Haven in Dol Amroth, taking an easy four days or less if the weather allowed it. Her horse Ferieth would remain in the care of the Stablemaster of Osgiliath until her return via Harlond after two months.

Éomer was standing a little ways off, content with watching her take her leave from her family. He was awaiting departure before he too would start his journey back home. As formidable as he always looked while fully in his gear, Lothíriel enjoyed looking at him with fresh eyes – excited and glad that after loving him from afar for so much, she would have his love next to hers for the rest of their lives together. When their eyes met, a little smile tugged at his lips and seconds later he was standing next to her and Elphir.

"Is it time for you to leave, milady?"

Not yet. As she studied him up close, she was overwhelmed with a sudden sadness akin to homesickness. She did not wish to leave his side.

Wishing to delay her departure for a little while longer, she turned to Elphir and said. "I wish to show Éomer King the inside of the cygnet."

Instantly his face tightened. "I do not think – "

"You must allow me this, Elphir," insisted she. "It is only for a spell. I cannot say goodbye like this."

Her gesture at the general and public surroundings did cause him to hesitate - hesitance she caught on at once. Not waiting for his verbal assent, she quickly kissed her brother goodbye, took hold of Éomer's arm and pulled him towards the smaller sailing boat.

As soon as Éomer realized the destination, he baulked. "Milady, I cannot board another ship. The nausea shall overtake me."

But she was not having it and guided him up the gangway. "Trust me, you shall be fine."

The Renior was made of polished cedar wood and oak, its bulwarks were beautifully carved and decorated with silver and lesser gemstones. Though there was one mast, the ship had two large sails and three small ones spanning from the mast to the bowsprit. It was an elegant vessel, yet Éomer could not appreciate it. The Renior was significantly lighter than the Alphroval and the first wave of seasickness hit him mere moments after he had boarded the ship.

He stopped dead in his tracks and pressed his hand against his mouth. Lothíriel wished to rub his back comfortingly but his maroon leather cuirass would not allow her for it.

"Follow me," she implored, "I have just what you need."

They went down the steps and she guided him into a cabin with a small bed and a slim console. After instructing him to sit down, she disappeared and returned with a spoon, a little glass container and a cup of water.

She pushed the cup in his hands, opened the container and spooned out a bit of orange-brown powder which she then dissolved into the water.

"What is this?" he asked as he eyed it mistrustfully. "You have a habit of making me drink horrid concoctions."

"You made a life-long commitment to just that, Éomer, but I promise you, this shall help you with your nausea."

After another suspicious look at her, he took a sip. As he swallowed it, his eyes widened momentarily. "Ugh. It is spicy – Lothíriel."

Lothíriel tried not to smile as she made him have a few more sips and then took the cup from him. "Your stomach should settle soon."

At this, he scowled and she was unable to contain her giggles.

"You laugh at me." His tone was accusatory but he too was close to laughter.

"Oh, no," she said, "I laugh because of you. What a sight you make, sitting here on this little cot in this cramped cabin, sipping on ginger water."

"I could have used the ginger while on the bigger boat."

He was right. Lothíriel bit her lip in guilt. It had simply not occurred to her, which was odd for her, but then she usually did not have negotiations regarding her engagement to the King of the Riddermark.

After a soft chuckle, he shook his head fondly and took hold of her hand, tugging her closer. "How will I do without you for so long, Lothíriel?"

His arm wrapped loosely around her waist and he rested his head against hers before kissing her lightly on her lips. Her heart leapt at the sweetness of his words paired with the spice on his breath. The remedy seemed to be effective. She answered his kiss with her own, running her fingertips through his beard. She would have loved to touch him more, but his armour was as limiting as it was protective. In the narrowness of the cabin, there was no space for any more affection except for the verbal kind.

"We shall see each other in two months. I shall write to you."

Éomer hummed, his gaze unreadable. "Yes, two months. However, it is a year until we are truly united."

"You were able to negotiate the engagement period to half of its original span," replied she, now playing a lock of his blonde hair, "still you complain?"

"I must complain."

"Why is that?"

"For I know that Firefoot can carry the weight of us both and my men outnumber those of your father."

A gasp escaped her lips as she stared at him in shock. "Fie, Éomer. Do not say such things out loud!"

As a response he crushed her against his cuirass, causing her to mutter 'Oof!' as he did so. Then he murmured against her neck, his moustache tickling the skin. "Aye? You are the one who dragged me onto this cot in this dark little cabin of your boat. Should I question your intentions instead?"

"I only wished for a moment alone." She protested, but she too felt the nervous energy of being quite separated from everyone else.

"And I only wish for a lifetime alone with you." Éomer hummed, squeezing her tighter for good measure.

"A modest request." She replied with a light, wheezy giggle, and he grinned. Then he kissed her again, on her cheeks first, then her forehead before landing on her lips. What followed was a chaste repeat of their affections of this morning, that was only prevented from proceeding because of where they were.

As they separated, he sighed loudly and released her from his arms. "Is this where you shall stay during your journey back to Dol Amroth?"

"Only when I want to sleep. By tomorrow night we shall reach the northern port of Tolfalas, where the Rosigil shall be waiting for us. While this vessel is swift on the Anduin, a bigger sailboat shall be safer and easier to manage on the Bay of Belfalas."

He frowned slightly as he processed this information. "Is there no threat from Umbar or Harad?"

"Lord Boridhren may not be the brightest, but even at his age he is an excellent naval fleet commander guarding the Gondorian waters," she assured him as she led him back to the deck. When she glanced back and saw that he looked confused, she supplied, "Lord Boridhren of Lebennin is the younger brother of my future sister-in-law Lady Minieth."

"I see." He eventually replied as he paused to look around the deck. "Where is your crew?"

Lothíriel smiled up at him as she leaned against the bulwark near the gap of the gangway, then she peered to look at the Plaza bordering on the pier, where the men of Rohan had readied themselves to leave. Their general attention was focused on the small sailing boat bearing their King and their future Queen. Some of them, however, such as Éothain, were conversing still with the Swan Knights, standing just at the southern end of the pier, at the starboard bow of the Renior. At a further distance, Elphir was busy talking to the three dissenting Rohirrim, and for a second, her chest tightened with worry.

It was then that Swan Captain Maeral came stomping up the plank, followed by Sir Angrenor, who immediately said to the young couple, "Best you say your goodbyes now, milady, milord. The tide may wait for no one, but it is Lady Ivriniel who shall have my head if we dally any longer."

Without waiting for a reply, the two men continued on their way, and Éomer turned back to his Princess, his eyebrows raised. "Is a two-man crew enough?"

"Three men crew."

"I do not understand."

"Rather, a crew consisting of two men and a woman."

The widening of his eyes was comical and she grinned broadly. Though they had been conversing non-stop since this morning, there was yet much for the King to learn about his bride. While her brothers were famous for their sailing prowess, Lothíriel herself was skilled enough to work as a crew member too. She had kept this from him for the sake of this very moment.

As he stared at her in awe, Angrenor trudged past, no longer wearing his heavy knight armour. "Get ready to leave, milady. Hurry now."

As one of the Swan Knights on the dock began casting off the mooring ropes of the Renior, Lothíriel took off her riding cape and pressed it into Éomer's hand. Then she took out the hair ornament and tucked it into the cape.

"You are going to man the boat?"

"You sound so surprised," she replied smartly, "why is that?"

"No, I – " Blustered he, before he stopped and stared at her slack-jawed.

After securing the pin, she had started undoing the ties of her riding skirts, much like how she had done that day of her riding on Firefoot's back. To her great satisfaction, she had captured his attention fully, and as the skirts sank to the wooden floor, she relished in the heat of his gaze. Different from her riding skirts from that day, the skirts consisted of a knee-length, cotton side-slit skirt with pockets and a belt, and three underskirts of a lighter, floaty make and longer length, reaching just halfway down calves.

With a glance towards the Western Plaza, he spoke sternly. "Does Elphir know you are doing this?"

"These are my sailing skirts," she explained as she spun around to demonstrate the mobility and low weight of the gossamer silver underskirts, "they make my movements easy."

"I thought Gondorians did not dress like this." He looked about once more, probably intending to glare at anyone ogling the vague outline of her legs.

She did enjoy this protective side of him, she decided, as she quickly put away her outerwear and pin in the chest located just a little ahead. "I am a Dol Amrothian, my dear Éomer. And right now, you are the only one seeing me like this because of the ship's bulwark. Do you like it?"

She posed a leg just so, and she saw his body stiffen and his jaw clench.

"I – "

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty, but you must disembark now," the Captain called out from the helm, "we must away."

Éomer pressed a hand against his forehead before he shouted his reply to Captain Maeral. Then he took hold of Lothíriel by her shoulders and leaned down to look her in the eye, solemn. The sight of his serious hazel-green eyes never ceased to amaze her.

"Take care of yourself, Lothíriel, and keep yourself from harm."

"I will. You keep yourself safe as well. And write to me."

As he gave his word with a hint of a sad smile, she finally felt the pang of imminent separation in her stomach. She had not felt it when saying goodbye to her brothers or father this time, and though the guilt was there, it was nothing compared to the sudden wave of longing.

The idea of eloping was improper, but tempting indeed.

They finally said their goodbyes and his facial hair tickled her forehead. She inhaled deeply his scent of horse, leather and something quintessentially Éomer, hoping her recollection of it would last until the next time they would meet.

Her musings were interrupted by loud protests.

The Rohirrim had gathered near the dock and were now expressing their dissatisfaction with the Royal couple's chaste display of affection.

"Come now,min Cyning, what kind of kiss is that?" cried Éothain, who stood the closest to the vessel.

Much to Éomer's embarrassment, the crowd immediately shouted their concurrence.

"Kiss her like you mean it!"

"Show us how much you love her!"

The mortification was complete when Lothíriel noticed that Elphir too had turned to look at them to figure out the cause of the commotion. It was fortunate that he stood too far away to see them kiss from up close.

However awkward having an audience would be, Lothíriel was all too willing to show her future people just how much she loved their King.

"Milord?" She asked, placing a hand on his chest, and when he questioned her with a slight raise of his brow, she nodded just a fraction as well.

This was enough to spur him into action. He scooped her into his arms – one around her shoulders, the other around her hips, and kissed her firmly and with all the enthusiasm he could muster. The intensity of it rocked her to the core, especially paired with the blatancy of its impropriety, and for a few seconds, all Lothíriel knew that she could only respond in kind. It was after a particularly sweeping lick of her lower lip that Éomer loosened his hold on her and she took a step back.

The two of them held gazes, their happy grins defiant against the etiquettes both had studied yet had publicly breached. For a spell, they had been alone again – like those times in the herb gardens and the Warden's office, and so on – but their bubble was pierced through by the whoops and cheers of the Rohirrim and even a few of the younger Swan Knights.

Éomer was still breathing hard when he pressed a final kiss on her forehead and leapt off the cutter, his disembarkment long overdue.

Lothíriel's heart kept its happy thrumming as she closed the latch of the exit at the Captain's order and cast one last look at her beloved Northman.

Two of his men were teasing him about the pink of his cheeks, while the sails curled open.

"By Béma's beard, milord – " One of them exclaimed, his booming voice easily overheard over the crowd.

Sir Angrenor used a pole to push off the starboard from the dock.

"- visit your favourite widow in Aldburg – "

The jovially shouted words froze her smile, and ice began expanding in her lungs as she tried to parse his words with the little grasp of Rohanese that she had.

The Reinor began picking up speed.

Hoots and jeers rose from the mass of bearded men, and Éomer was no longer visible in the crowd.

A visit to his favourite widow in Aldburg? The chill spread further into the core of her body and she ran towards the back of the ship, hoping for something – anything that would lessen the dreadful feeling now taking hold of her heart.

But not unlike her childhood impatience with her lessons had had its consequences on her, so too did her preference for the quickest vessel on the Anduin. Within a minute, Éomer was no longer distinguishable from the rest of the Éored. There was nothing left to glean off that southwest pier of Osgiliath.

Helplessly she stood, gazing at the diminishing sight of the Grand Bridge. What had just happened?

In the Houses of Healing, she had heard mention of his particular friendships with widows, long before she had fostered any true hope of a future with him. There was something about being stuck in infirmary wards that made men fond of gossiping about anything and anyone. Éomer King was a well-liked topic of the Rohanese patients, who enjoyed bragging to their Gondorian mates about their young King.

She had not given much thought to his bed partners, for it was not uncommon for unmarried men of power to have them, but she had assumed that in Éomer's case, they would be a thing of the past now that he was to marry her.

Perhaps she had been too hasty in making assumptions. There were plenty of cultural differences between herself and Éomer. What if it was normal for Rohirrim to maintain physical relations outside of marriage?

For all their talks the past two days, they had not even touched on this topic.

The anxiety had spread from the core of her stomach to the tips of her toes and fingers, wrapping its talons tightly around her throat.

No, the Rohirrim were famed for their fierce loyalty to their lord and land. Surely their loyalty extended to their spouses?

The rushing sound of the waters increased as the sails billowed, and Sir Angrenor adjusted them as the plains of Anduin approached.

Lothíriel finally moved from her spot at the back of the ship and she stumbled her way to the trunk where she had put her riding skirts. She opened the lid and immediately pulled them out. She found the opening of her pocket and dug in her hand, in search of the one thing she knew would give her comfort, the little white spiral shell.

What she found first was the lip stain box, followed by the soap-infused cloth and then something pricked the skin of her finger.

"Ow!"

She usually kept her lip stain and towel in one pocket and her shell in the other, but that morning she had thoughtlessly tossed the metal makeup box into the wrong pocket, probably causing the fragile shell to shatter upon impact.

Gingerly she took out the ruined content of the inner lining.

There was blood staining everything, but worse was the state of her fingers, which bore a multitude of small yet bleeding cuts.

Her already laden stomach turned at the way the blood had coloured her hand and the once pristine soap towel, and she lurched momentarily before she sank through her knees, hitting the deck with a dull thud.

"Princess Lothíriel! Milady!"

As Angrenor, wary protector of the sole Princess of Dol Amroth, took control of her physical situation by hoisting her back on the chest and tending to her wounds, she could not stop her mind from racing.

Now that she had nothing to keep her grounded, doubts began battling for her attention – each grander than the previous one. What was she doing here? Why was she not commanding the captain to turn the cutter around to demand clarification from Éomer? Was she not powerful enough or did the possibility of his selective loyalty cow her into being passive? Could she write to him about her concerns instead? Would he take her seriously or would he feel insulted by her insecurities? Would she be able to face him at all after two months? Did she even want to be the Queen of a people who found spousal infidelity commonplace? What about other cultural differences – the differences in climate, in resources, in communication –

What was she even doing?

Why was she willing to leave behind her home, her plans for Dol Amroth, her father, her family – Amrothos? Alphros? Siloril who always silently understood her? Her Dol Amrothian gardens?

Moved by that serious, sweet, precious man, she had decided to leave everything behind and start anew in unknown lands of a people who were brave but uneducated, to assimilate into a lifestyle that was so significantly removed from hers.

By Ulmo! What had she been thinking?

How would she be able to meet the expectations of the Rohirrim? Of Éomer?

"Milady! MILADY!"

She gasped out loud - a rasping, desperate sound that startled not only the Swan Knight but herself as well.

"Tell me what is going on, milady! Please." The usually grumpy man was staring at her with wide, insistent eyes.

"I – " She frantically searched for the right words and eventually found them. "Oh, I - I am afraid that my worries shall drag me down to the bottom of the sea, Sir Angrenor."

"I see." For some reason, he relaxed and nodded encouragingly. "Then you should unload your ship's burdens to improve its buoyancy, milady."

She looked at him, confused. Then she realized what he had already known.

All this time Lothíriel had been holding back her tears, preoccupied with all that was about to change and indeed, what had already changed. For better or for worse, her life as a maiden from Dol Amroth was ending. Her attachment to Éomer and her ambitions in herb-lore and politics had set in motion this preamble to this new identity. One day soon, roughly a year from now, she would leave behind all she knew to become something more than the sum of who she had been up until now.

She looked down at her hand, freshly bandaged and clean from the sickening sight of blood.

Lothíriel had dived headfirst into the waters of transformation, not thinking of what the metamorphosis would expend from her.

A new Lothíriel at the price of all that the old Lothíriel had known and held dear.

Only time and progress would tell her how costly the bargain had been.

And that thought struck fear in her heart, crashing against the pillars of ice and steel in her abdomen, their collapse sending floods of grief, distress and trepidation up her throat. They gathered behind her eyes with such a force that she felt that she would drown in her own body if she did not release them at once.

So she let them run down her face, first quietly but then freely - punctuating them with sobs and sighs. By the time her tears had been spent, the Renior was at the mouth of the Anduin that would lead them to the Bay of Belfalas.

As she stood at the helm, gazing towards the north, a strong southwest wind picked up and though it slowed the ship down momentarily, its salty scent and comforting warmth dried the last of her tears. It had been like a mother's comforting touch, her call to bring her smarting daughter home. A home that had become temporary now, but it was still her home nonetheless.

The End of Veiled Hearts

Notes:

Thank you so much for reading my first-ever long fic.
This is where Veiled Hearts ends. Worry not, its sequel called "Battles of Love Requited" is in the works. BLR will be from Éomer's perspective and through his eyes we will experience what it will be like to see Lothíriel again, what will happen in Minas Tirith during the period of Faramir and Éowyn's wedding and from then on. The story won't stop there, of course. Love is not everything you need for a successful relationship, and that is what this young couple will learn.

Meanwhile, as I work on BLR, I shall continue publishing The Marriage Bed of The Brute and the Bookworm on AO3. I could cross-post that story if I receive enough requests for it on ff dot net. Simultaneously, I will do Tolkientober - Farawyn Edition in October 2024, also on AO3, during which I hope to write a Faramir/Éowyn/Farawyn one-shot every day. Furthermore, I will be working on a Pride & Prejudice version of 'Éothiriel called "Of Good Opinions and Bad", but I don't have a timeline for that.

To keep the momentum going, my inboxes here, on AO3 and on Tumblr (konartiste) are open to requests for outtakes and missing moments during Veiled Hearts, which will be called Hearts Beyond the Veil. Is there something you want to read about? Let me know through this site, on AO3 or find me on Tumblr!

Thank you so much for reading my work, whether you have stuck with me from the beginning, joined halfway, binged it towards the end or started reading it once its status changed from ongoing to complete. I have never written and published such a big work. I know I have a lot to learn when it comes to writing, but I genuinely appreciate each and every one of you for giving time to my work.

See you around, hopefully!

Lots of love,

konartiste

P.S. Please leave a review if you have enjoyed this story! Share your thoughts with me. It is highly appreciated and motivational!