Home Indeed.

The cry had gone out an hour ago. Meduseld had burst into activity and preparation, for the king and his eored were home from a long patrol. Rumour had spoken of Orcs massing on the eastern borders of the Mark. Normally this would not have concerned Eomer, but fear had swept through the city and he wanted to reassure his people of their safety. So he had gone out in person to see to their defence.

He had been gone almost a month, and the queen had felt his loss keenly. The hall echoed with his absence, and she slept fitfully without the comfort of strong arms around her. But now, now he was back and the hall was filled with life again and with anticipation of a festive evening, and her heart beat fast with the thoughts of a passionate night.

Lothiriel had managed a quick embrace from her husband ere he was swept away by his councillors. She ordered a bath drawn for him, and personally went to liase with the cook over the evenings repast. Her light footstep was everywhere, her quick laughter joyous to hear. The hall was filled with life again, and all anticipated a festive evening.

The tables were laden with wine and ale. Torches were lit. The banners fluttered at the passing of servants intent on their duties. Songs and banter rang round the rafters and laughter was rife.

At her bidding a blue gown was laid out ready for her to wear. And the choice was wise. It was Eomers favourite, for he loved to see his wife attired in comely raiment.

Lothiriel glanced back ere she left the hall and saw all was nearly in readiness for the forthcoming evening. Weaving behind the thrones upon the dais, she slipped through the door and dashed up the stairs to the royal apartments. Her mind was intent on seeing to the needs of her son afore the celebrations began.

Elfwine had been left in the care of one of her ladies. Gasping with her unaccustomed haste, she opened the door and looked inside her private sitting room. A bright smile adorned her face as she prepared herself for her sons’ giggles, yet it faded as her deep eyes scanned the room, “Where is the prince?” she asked in a tentative voice.

“My queen? I…I thought him with you…..,”  Myrrarh answered slowly. With a stricken look of horror her hands covered her mouth as both women frantically searched the room.

“My queen, I am so sorry, “ Myrrarh sobbed as the search ended fruitlessly.

Lothiriel embraced her. “Fret not, he cannot have got far….” she said but knew full well that since Elfwine had started walking two months ago his chubby legs could take him at a fair pace when he had a mind for mischief. Even changing his soiled wadding was a trial, as he had to be gently restrained ere he charged from the room without his leggings on. The sight of which had Eomer roaring with laughter upon seeing his son in such a state of dishabille whilst toddling through the great hall.

Together they left the chamber and stood in the corridor pondering their next move. “I will search to the left,” Lothiriel pointed, ”if you will do the same to the right?” Myrrarh nodded as both women frantically scoured the other rooms for the evasive and mischievous prince. Most of the rooms were empty or used for storage and Lothiriel’s hopes were dashed each time as the dark chambers held no sign of young and mirthful life.

A noise from Eomer’s dressing room drew her attention as she neared his chamber. She approached and opened the outer door slowly exhaling with relief as she peeped into the inner room. She motioned to Myrrarh and the other lady sagged with relief, holding her side to control her ragged breathing. She nodded in understanding, and the queen turned her eyes back to the sight before her.

Eomer was resting in his bath, and gently held within his large hands was Elfwine, naked and happily splashing in the warm water. His giggles and the deep chuckles of his father produced a perfect harmony that filled the room. Lothiriel leaned into the doorway, a small smile on her face and her eyes moist with love.

Eomer lay back in the water and placed Elfwine on his chest. The little boy looked so solemn as he inspected the bar of soap which kept slipping from his tiny fingers, causing a small frown to appear on his face every time he lost his treasure. But Eomer, ever patient with those closest to him, retrieved the new toy over and over again for his child to play with.

Lothiriel drank in the sight before her and pondered the last year. Since the birth of Elfwine, her husband had been a most attentive father. Affairs of the country kept him long in council, yet he still managed to spend time with his young son. His gentleness with his babe was so natural, and yet those strong arms that caressed him were also the same that could wield both sword and spear and mete out death in battle.

“Mama…,” chuckled Elfwine as he spotted his mother, and held out wet chubby arms to her.

Eomer turned his head and grinned at his wife. “It seems I am no longer to bathe alone anymore.”

Lothirel approached the bathtub and her huge smile faded instantly when she saw the colour of the bath water. She knew that when out on patrol the niceties of washing were kept to a minimum. The riders had other concerns than daily cleansing. In his days as third marshal he had just bathed in the river. Now here was her son sat in tub full of dirty water and she emitted a cluck of annoyance as she lifted him up and wrapped the wriggling youngster in a drying cloth.

“I will bed this little man down,” she replied brusquely as she walked to leave the chamber. “You I will deal with later.” She pointedly told the king.

“My queen, I am yours,” Eomer replied with a huge grin, watching as she swept out of the chamber without a backward glance. He climbed out of the bathtub and dried himself in front of the fire. Pondering what to wear for the forthcoming evening he smiled as he noticed a change of clothes waiting for him upon his dressing chest. Quickly he donned the breeches and richly embroidered tunic. Running his fingers through his damp hair he went to seek out his wife.

In the cot beside their bed the small frame of his son lay sleeping, his tiny hands each clutching a small wooden horse. He looked upon his fair face and caressed his blonde downy head with a gentle touch, stooping down to plant a soft kiss upon his brow. “Sweet dreams little one.” He whispered.

A swishing noise caused him to look away and before him dressed now in a becoming gown stood the queen, her hair dressed with fine jewels and her eyes bright with love.

“Simply beautiful,” he spoke in a husky voice as they met together in the room and embraced, feeling her yield to him. Lips met in a light kiss that soon deepened with the passion and heat that was now rising. 

The clarion call of the herald announcing the start of the feast caused them to break, both breathing heavily with need and love.

“Tonight?” Lothiriel smiled, feeling the reaction in his body as he held her close.

“Tonight,” Eomer grinned back in reply, raising an eyebrow “ There will be no mercy, my lady.”

“There will be none sought, my lord,” she teased, laughing at the frustrated expression on the face of her husband.

“Then let us dine wife,” he laughed, easily pulling her from the room with his strength whilst nuzzling the soft skin of her neck, “We will continue this affray later.”

The End.

  A.N. Many thanks to Rohirricwarrior for his beta skills and friendship