Courage.

Lothiriel sighed dramatically again as she started moving her needle through the thin material that was on her lap. ‘If he dithers any longer, this wedding will just not be at all’ she mused, stabbing at the innocent garment with frustration.

The day was warm but soon the summer would be over. A wedding would be ideal at this time of year. They would be able to summon everyone before the autumn festivities started within the reunified lands. If only Eomer would see to the proposal and start the negotiations. She knew not why he was being so hesitant and stubborn in this.

There was love there, that could not be denied, but why did he tarry when all Lothiriel wanted to do was to prepare for the nuptials, aye and enjoy the celebrations that would surely follow.

She gave up her work after getting the sheer thread knotted yet again. Standing, she placed the unfinished work into her sewing box and walked to look out of the window. The sun shone brightly, gleaming on the water, reflecting its shimmer in a myriad of colours.

                              ********************************

Eomer was in the stable area. Work that that needed his muscle. Or so he thought. Work was preferable to what was required of him. Even humdrum tasks like this. Tasks that were not really suited to his now exalted station in life, but in such toil his mind found the clarity and peace that it needed.

Never had he been one to shirk from any task in hand. His valour was well known in his own country and all of the allied lands. But this was different. He had never believed that such an audience would cause such anguish within his heart.

Sweat poured down his back as he worked. Amused glances from the grooms kept glancing his way, although they dared not speak or offer any assistance. The renowned temper of their firebrand king being well known.

The work was done now, and still he edged from duty. ‘Well at least I can seek a bath,’ he groused to himself, ’Twill delay proceedings yet a while longer.’

Slowly he walked back to find a servant who would draw him a bath. Waiting impatiently he stripped off his soiled tunic, rubbing the dry sweat from his back and tossed it onto the floor.

The door opened and he spun round thinking to be beckoned forward by the servant, but was surprised when Lothiriel came into the room.

She immediately ran into his arms and they enjoyed a deep kiss. She sniffed and broke away, “Mind I should have waited ‘til you had washed,” she giggled. “Must you needs to bring the entire stable back with you,” she finished, reaching up to pluck some strands of straw that had been clinging to his now shaggy blonde pelt.

“And here am I thinking that you minded not all the odours of the mark, beloved,” he replied, smiling into the eyes of the woman he loved.

“Well mind now and wash,” Lothiriel replied as a servant knocked to tell the king his bath was ready. “Afterwards we will talk about this audience. You cannot delay any longer, min cyning.” Eomer frowned, knowing what she was referring to, “Tomorrow will do well.” She added, giving Eomer a pointed look afore turning round to give him privacy.

Alone now, the king stared at the door for a while. Eventually he stripped off his leggings and stepped into the warm water to scrub away the scent of horse. This act in itself calmed his mind, as if ‘twas a penance of some sort.

Now with hair freshly washed and combed and dressed in a fine tunic he escorted Lothiriel to dine.

After the meal songs and tales were related to those who had a mind to listen to such. A small crowd departed to the far table to wager on a drinking contest that was taking place. Later there would be dancing, but Eomer found himself being drawn to end of the halls to see for himself the competition that was unfolding.

Two riders from his Eored were on their fourth tankard, and the wagers were still being placed.

“Who is favourite?” he asked quietly.

The men stood up with haste, not expecting their King to be watching this boyish game.

“Majesty,” bowed, Cwichelm, one of his captains, “Welcome to our, amusements.”

The other riders eyed the king cautiously wondering whether he would approve or be angered by their spirits.

The two rivals for ale, Eanwulf and Beocca stood silently, heads lowered and both feeling slightly intimidated by the sudden presence of their king.

“Continue,” he growled and marched away to the relief of both, Eanwulf looking rather hesitant at restarting the match, but was persuaded rather raucously by his friends.

Lothiriel noticed his mood but was not cowed by it. She made sure he knew exactly how she felt and gave no heed to his stubborn feelings at all. Eomer felt slightly betrayed by this, but took her sharp tongue well. He knew she was right, but as a man and king did not want to give any woman the satisfaction of them knowing that.

As the night drew on and couples took to the floor, Eomer found himself being dragged hither, rather reluctantly. But the soft body of Lothiriel next to his calmed him a little as they moved across the floor together. He sighed a ragged breath and said, “I will meet him in the morn…..after breakfast.”

Lothiriel reached up and kissed him quite passionately, in spite of the fact ‘twas a most public embrace. The response was only good- natured cheers from any onlookers whom were watching this. Lothiriel blushed slightly causing Eomer to laugh for the first time that day.

                          *************************************

The night was long and Eomer slept fitfully, even to the point of leaving the warmth of his bed to seek out a bottle of Gondorian brandy that was hidden in his dressing room.

The first glass hardly touched the back of his throat, as thoughts unbidden crept into his mind. Strange thoughts. His mothers face when his father rode out on patrol that last time: His farewell to Eowyn when he left her in charge at Dunharrow ere he rode to Mordor: His emotions when the tower of Barad- Dur fell before his eyes in the midst of battle before the Black Gates.

He poured another glass, and sent such maudlin thoughts back from whence they came, and let his mind focus on more gentle memories: Lothiriel: his mother: Eowyn….and….?

                    *********************************************

Lothiriel had glanced at Eomer the next morn. His face was set. His eyes were unreadable.

It amused her still to see him so hesitant, this warrior, this powerful King, this man that she loved so.

She leant over to speak to him, “I have sent word. He awaits you.”

He looked down into the beautiful face of his beloved and sighed, “I hear you.”

She reached over and kissed him, “I love you.” She whispered.

“I love you too, you know that… it’s just…”He replied somewhat hesitantly.

“I know… now go,” Lothiriel pushed him gently to attend the audience that would make a formal proposal to marriage.

As Eomer left the tables, dragging his feet somewhat, a slight figure threw herself into the arms of Lothiriel.

“Truly?” inquired Leofwen, eyes brimming with tears.

“Truly,” answered Lothiriel, embracing the girl with tenderness.

                    **************************************

Eomer waited with ill concealed patience. Throat dry. Heart beating. Stomach gnawing as if a dragon dwelt within. He chided himself for having such feelings.

A knock at the door, and he froze and long seconds passed before he spoke, “Enter.”

The door opened and a tall figure entered the room, walked across to bow to the King.

“Majesty,” gulped Eanwulf. “I…I thank you…”

“Do you love her..” Boomed the King.

“Majesty?”

“I asked, boy, do you love my daughter?” barked Eomer again.

For the first time Eanwulf looked his liege lord direct and answered softly, “Aye, my King. I love her truly.” His wistful look caused Eomer to deeply regret his previous thoughts on this.

Since the birth of his daughter, Eomer had loved her with a fervent passion.  True he adored his sons…. but when after the birth of three sturdy boys his tiny girl-child was laid in his arms, his heart had been lost forever.

With a heavy heart he secretly agreed with his long dead father-in-law Imrahil. He had not wanted to loose such a treasure either and only allowed Lothriel to wed the king of Rohan when he was sure of the love and care his daughter would receive in another land. At least Eomer would still see his Leofwen after her marriage, she was not going to a far country leagues away from the land of her birth.

He was suddenly aware of the young rider in front of him, nervously stepping from side to side as he awaited his lords’ decision.

The look upon his fair face reminded him of his own feelings when asking such a question and pity stirred him. Here he was being the father he did not want to be, denying his only daughter a happy life with another man. But she would be away from his protection, and could he ever hand her into the care of another?…

“I..” he coughed slightly,” I give you my blessing, Eanwulf.”

“Majesty…th..thank you..” stuttered the rider, his face joyous.

“Only…”

“Majesty?”

Eomer walked to the young man and embraced him, smiling as he spoke, “Hurt her and my wrath will descend upon you like nothing ever seen upon this earth.”

Eanwulf, gulped back a grin, “You have my word, Majesty.” He left the audience  rather wobbly at the leg and departed the kings private chambers’ to find his betrothed and relate the news.

Lothiriel found her husband looking out of the window, his thoughts reeling.

“Husband mine, you have made your daughter the happiest woman in Rohan this day.” She said, winding her arms around him from the back.

“Woman…. she is but a child,” retorted Eomer, with scorn.

“Leofwen, is the same age I was when we wed, so look not that face at me,” scolded the Queen, “She will make a beautiful bride, and you will not spoil it. Do you not know how you have hurt your daughter by these feelings of yours?”

Eomer looked rather contrite and slightly crestfallen after his realisation that he had caused distress to his beloved child. “You are right,” he growled, unhappy at having to say that, “I will be more amicable.” He agreed.

A knock on the door and the slender figure of Leofwen rushed in and threw her arms around her father, kissing him and thanking him for the blessing. He held her close, embracing her as she wept with joy, and as he wiped her tears away he kissed her cheek and wished his daughter much happiness.

“Thank you,” Lothiriel said softly after the princess had left, and went eagerly into the arms of her husband.

Together they stood for long minutes, content just to be so.

“Methinks a change of air would suit, after this wedding,” Eomer stated, rubbing his chin gently atop her head.

“Where?” asked the queen, eyes shining with pleasure.

“You have not seen your kin a while. Dol Amroth would be nice at this season,” murmured Eomer, planting gentle kisses upon her brow.

“Yes, I wouldst like that,” sighed Lothiriel, resting her head upon his chest, as memories drifted back of their own wedding day.

 “There never was a more beautiful bride than when you stood beside me in the Great Hall, and that beauty has not dimmed,” Eomer murmured softly.

He lowered his head and their lips met in a brief kiss. Within that touch Eomer conveyed years of love and trust to the heart of ‘his’ bride.

The End.