For Alliances and Peace.

Laughter filled the bedchamber. The older princes sat on the bed next to their mother while their father held within his arms a new arrival born but an hour ago.

The babe lay calm and trustful within the strong hands of her sire. Her tiny head nestled within the palm of his large hand and words of love unknown yet by the new born were whispered into her small ears.

“Is she not the most prefect little maid ever to see the light of day?” The midwife’s voice cut through the reverie shared by all, for the new babe resembled her mother strongly. Fair of face she was and eyes of dark blue.

“Just like her mother.” The joyful father laughed and reached out a hand to caress the tired brow of his beloved wife, exhausted now after her labour. With her head on the pillow and the gorgeous array of dark curls spilling over, she looked as beautiful as the day they met.

The babe mewed softly and flailed her little arms causing her older brothers to crowd round and none too clean fingers were poked at the mite.

“Gently boys.” Their mother smiled.

“When can we play with her?” the youngest asked, his eyes never leaving the small and now screwed up face.

“Not yet awhile,” scolded the midwife, clicking her tongue and giving a clear impression that the visit must end and her charges should be allowed to rest.

“Say goodbye to Mama. She must sleep now and so must your new sister.” The boys immediately obeyed their Father, and in turn kissed their mother and hovered over the babe, touching, stroking…

As the door closed behind them, he leant over to plant a soft kiss upon her brow. She smiled languidly and held out her arms to receive her daughter.

“ You must take your rest now beloved whilst I see to my reports and relate the good news to all.” He leant down and lightly kissed his wife, and smiled as she was already drifting into a happy sleep.

“Look after her,” he whispered to the lady in attendance afore he swept out of the chamber.

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Missives were written that morning for all to be informed of the news and riders were on standby to carry the same. But before they were sent he poured himself a glass of Brandy and drank deep of its flavour. A daughter. He imagined the years: a small girl running to her Papa, playing with her dolls, fighting with her brothers. A young woman now, as beautiful as her mother, suitors appearing…he frowned suddenly.

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It was evening and his wife now gave suck while they spoke softly together.

“She has quite a set of lungs this one, louder than her brothers I deem.” She laughed.

“Aye, she will have to for to make herself heard,” he replied grimly, thinking of the raucous behaviour of the young princes. “And what about a name?”

“I have been thinking of that,” she said as she leaned forward and placed the babe over her shoulder to burp her. “Something appropriate; something suitable; what think you?”

“I would name her for the sky and for the stars….and all the beauty that is found in such….but she is of this Middle Earth.” Love shone from his eyes at the sight of his wife and daughter. “She is a flower and I would never part with her,” he mused.

“One day you must.” His wife reached out and grasped his hand knowing his feelings on this. For with the arrival of this girl-child born into a great house the political connections were already the talk of many councils.

Imrahil stood up and paced round the room a little. ”Let the Steward bellow until the foundations of Numenor rock. The man who weds my daisy flower will be honourable and trustworthy. I would not...could not let her go to a lesser man than this.”

“Lothiriel.” whispered Hathiryn with delight nuzzling the babe and kissing her gently. ”My little Lothiriel”

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“Are the children abed?” asked Eomund.

“Aye, my beloved,” Theodwyn replied with a smirk. “Eowyn is asleep I deem...but Eomer will be yet awake. He has had an…. interesting day.”

Eomund frowned. “What has he been about then?”

Theodywn laughed and ceased her sewing. “It would seem that your son has caught the attention of a pretty young maid.”

Eomund almost choked on the mug of ale he was drinking. ”He is but nine summers old” he wondered.

“And the said maid only eight,” added his wife, ”And a most insistent one.”

The children were checked ere they went themselves to bed. Eowyn was snuggled under the warm coverlet, the tip of her nose showing from beneath the bedding. Eomer was still awake. He lay in bed with a huge scowl adorning his fair face.

“What is this face for?” inquired Eomund with some amusement.

“Girls,” was the sulky answer.

“And….?” Eomund sat next to his pouting son as Theodywn bit her cheek to hide her mirth.

Eomer sat up suddenly, arms crossed. He looked at his father. “Why do they always want you to kiss them?” He pouted crossly.

Eomund met the eye of his wife again and embraced his young son. “Ah but one day Eomer. One day when you are older you will meet a pretty maid you will want to kiss her.”

Eomer looked at his parents. “Like you and mother?” His lip curled in disgust, ”Ugh.”

The End.