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I lean back into the throne, resisting the urge to let the lord arguing before me know of my exasperation with him. Mediation was the last thing I wanted to do on the day Lothiriel was supposed to arrive.

            “Then what, my lord, do you propose as a solution?” I asked. I was rather pleased at how level I managed to sound. “Would you have the folk of the Westfold feed and house these incomers when they themselves are still rebuilding from the war?”

            Freowulf of Harwick spluttered. “My king, to let this Dunlending rabble into our borders though. If so many are crossing into the Mark that the Westfold cannot support them, then do we not put our own people at risk?”

            “You are not being asked to house them Harwick.” Leofwine of Grimslade snapped. “We would not dare to tax your hospitality thus. All we ask is that some extra portion of foodstuffs be sent west so that we may keep them within our lands.” He turned to me. “There are three possible paths that I see before us my king. We continue to allow these new settlers in, which is causing a strain on our recovery, albeit temporarily. Or we do not allow them to settle in the Westfold, and they continue east, which will no doubt bring them into conflict. And worse, in my mind, is to not let them into the Mark at all. That would bring near-enough open war, and what recovery we have accomplished these last two years would be lost.”

            I nodded. “I agree. Freowulf, I present these choices to you. Take them back to your liegemen and decide then. Either the Wold, and the Eastfold as well, share a portion of their bounty for a time with the folk of the Westfold, or they send their sons to guard it.”

            Freowulf’s face was a grimace. “As you wish my king.”

            I rose from the throne and walked down the steps towards them, clapping Freowulf on his shoulders. “Now come my lords, share a drink with me. A squabble like this should not come between the long friendship between the Wold and the Westfold.” A maidservant brought forth three horns of ale, which we took. “As well can we toast the nearing arrival of my bride!”

            That got a grudging smile from Freowulf, while Leofwine broke into an outright ear-to-ear grin. They raised their horns in answer to mine and the three of us said “Skol!” before drinking. I watched the two of them for a moment. “I would make one further request of you both. You are going to remaining here for the wedding feast are you not?” They both nodded. “Then at the feast, I wish the two of you to sit with one another, so that all may see the unity between you.”

            The dread on their faces was almost comical and they were silent for so long that I feared I would have to order them to do this outright. But then Leofwine snorted and took another drink. “As you wish my king, though I fear Freowulf will not be able to keep pace with me when the drinking starts.”

            I stifle a laugh as Freowulf stares at Loefwine as if the younger man had just insulted the appearance of his mother. “We shall see, you young pup, who lies below the table when the night is done!”

            Draining my own horn, I set it down and clapped them both on the back. “It is settled then. Why don’t the two of you discuss it further over the rest of this ale?” I nodded to the maidservant, who set down her pitcher at the nearest table. “Happy drinking, my lords.”

            I left them there, each pouring another the other another horn and made for the hall’s doors. Once out in the clear, clean air, I turned and headed for the stables, intending to see that both the preparation for Dol Amroth’s arrival had been finished and to see to the health of my own horse. Wat, one of the apprentice hostlers, greeted me and lead me around the stables, pointing out all of the places where my orders had been followed. I was pleased; they’d even gone so far as to polish the wood on the stalls. Firefoot stood in his stall, clearly looking into the empty one beside him, which made me laugh.

            “Don’t worry lad, Gwileth will be here soon enough.” I fished out the apple I’d slipped into my pocket and offered it to him before bending down to inspect his hooves. He’d picked up a stone several days ago that had given him a limp, though he seemed to be healing well. Still, I guessed that his days as a warhorse were at their end; it may be better now to turn him out to stud. That was a thought for another day, as I heard an excited voice shouting my name. I stepped out of the stall and saw one of the guards, panting, had entered the stables.

            “My king! They’re coming! The outrider just brought word!”

            I felt giddy, almost drunkenly so, and gave the man my thanks as I ran out of the stables. Squinting towards the east road, I could just make out the glint of armor amidst the cloud of dust and guessed the arrival to be about half an hour away. I hurried back to Meduseld and my chambers to change; the halls had become a wasp-hive of activity with the news of the coming arrival. Hild, the hallkeeper since the death of my aunt, smiled when she saw me.

            “Do try to remember to put your shirt on the right way!” she called as I ran towards my chambers. I found fresh water had been left and quickly rinsed the stable dirt before changing out of my clothes and into finery more suitable for greeting my bride. My heart was hammering in my chest the entire time. With an odd pang that I had not felt in years, I took out my father’s feat-belt, a fine piece of craftsmanship wrought of silver and copper horse heads linked together that had been handed down father to son in our house since the days of Eorl the Young. I could see in my mind’s eye my mother helping to put it on him for some feast just as I saw her weeping over it as she placed into a chest after his death. Shaking the grim memories away, I took the belt and put it on, the weight comfortable and steadying as I made my way back out of the hall and down towards the city gates to greet Lothiriel. The folk of Edoras cheered and clapped, each house it seemed decked out with flowers and banners that waved merrily in the summer wind. Once at the gates, I could see the blue swan banners drawing nearer, along with the banner of my brother-in-law and sister. As the party came into view, I felt my eyes pulled towards the figure riding next to Prince Imrahil at the columns head and my heart did a somersault. She wore her raven hair curling down her back, loose and wild and lovely and when she saw me, her mouth formed a silent “Hello”.

            “Hail Eomer, King of the Mark!” Prince Imrahil called, pulling me out of my gawking; I caught the amused smile on his face before it disappeared.

“I welcome you and yours to Edoras Prince Imrahil.” I answered. “Come forth and enter.”

With a nod, Imrahil silently turned to his daughter and smiled as I stepped forward. Tradition of Rohan said that the bride should not step over the gate of her new home, and so I lifted her down from the saddle and carried her across and into the city, the two of us laughing. The people cheered and applauded, several even openly calling for me to kiss her. I hesitated, knowing that Prince Imrahil wished for the rites to be completed first, but Lothiriel took my face in her hands and set her lips to mine. I could scarce here the cheering for the roaring in my ears. I set her down at last and turned to greet my sister, who stood behind us, laughing merrily.

“Your face!” she whooped. “I’ve never seen you so red!”

I embraced her, carefully of her belly. “Are you sure you should have been riding?” I ask, earning a cuff to my shoulder from her. “What? I meant, is it safe for the baby?”

She stuck her tongue out at me like she had when we were children. “Safe enough. And I rode most of the way in the wain. I certainly wasn’t going to arrive at Edoras riding in one though.”

Grinning at her stubbornness- marriage and Gondor had not changed that one bit- I turned to greet Faramir, clasping him into an embrace well.

“I do hope you’ve prepared Eomer.” He said, a wicked tone I’d never heard from him before. “I shall have my revenge.”

I grinned at my brother-in-law. “Oh come now, what sort of brother would I be if I did not get you drunk the night before your wedding? And who would have known you had such a lovely singing voice?” I turned back to Lothiriel, who’d been speaking to the hostler who’d come to take charge of their horses. As I took her hand, Freida, Elfhelm’s youngest grandchild, came forward and shyly handed her a posey of wildflowers. Lothirel took them with a gentle smile and tanked the little girl, who beamed and then promptly skipped off to hide behind her grandfather. I turned to my bride. “Ready?”

Lothiriel nodded and we began our way through the city back to Meduseld. She was magnificent, a true queen for Rohan, and for the thousandth time I wondered at my fortune in her agreeing to marry me. It was slow going back to Meduseld, as folk wished to congratulate us and give their best wishes, but Lothiriel’s happiness never wavered, nor did she show signs of tiring. When at last we did reach the hall, Eowyn took charge of her and the two of them headed off towards the guest quarters that had been prepared. I stagger as a sudden arm was thrown around my neck and saw that Elphir had come to stand behind me; Amrothos and Erchirion were not far behind. All three of Lothiriel’s brothers wore wolfish grins.

“Now we promised Thiri we would not do anything stupid to you,” Elphir began, “And that we wouldn’t let Faramir get you too drunk. But what sort of elder brothers would we be if we didn’t threaten you a little?”

I gave Elphir a good natured shove. “Threats? Were you not the one who jested and sent your sympathy when I proposed?”

Amrothos stepped forward. “True, but now that the wedding has actually come, we thought to warn you.”

“Break our sister’s heart, and we’ll kill you.” Erchirion finished, his voice quiet and level.

I blinked. “Do you doubt my feelings for Lothiriel? That is furthest thing from my desire.”

Elphir smiled and clapped me on the back. “We know. We just wanted to make sure. Now, I have been dreaming of the golden ale of Meduseld for months brother. Why don’t we drink a few horns of it while you further tell us of your love for our little sister?”

I sat before the mirror, watching the bustle of activity as my new ladies finished preparations for the oath ceremony. There was no describing my excitement and joy that this day had finally come, but at that moment, I was struggling not to heave my breakfast onto my lap. A gentle hand touched my shoulder and I turned to see that Hild stood next to me, offering a steaming cup of something herbal smelling.

            “It’s just a bad case of nerves my lady, “she said kindly, “I’ve made up a tisane to settle your stomach.”

            My shoulders relaxed and I took the cup, taking a sip. I could taste honey, mint, rose hip, and perhaps raspberry leaf. “Thank you.”

            As Hild nodded, Eowyn came over, lowering herself gingerly down into a chair with a sigh. Hild tsked at her. “Really child, you must take it more easily. You are caring for two; do not overwork yourself.”

            To my surprised, Eowyn actually looked sheepish. “I am. The babe keeps kicking my bladder though.”

            Hild smiled and patted Eowyn on the shoulder. “Your blessed mother would have laughed at that, my lady. I remember her complaining of how you did the same.” She nodded to us and then went to assist one of the younger attendants.

            Eowyn nodded at the brush set before me. “Would you like for me to see to your hair?”

            “If you wish, though Hild is right. You shouldn’t tax yourself.”

            She clucked her tongue at me. “It’s brushing your hair, not fighting a battle. Besides the babe’s not due for two more months. I’ll not lie abed and do naught for that long. You’re wearing your hair down, yes?”

            I nodded, and once Eowyn finished untangling my hair, she helped me to thread the silver filigree beads throughout it. I took another deep drink of Hild’s tisane. “It must be getting close to time.” I said. As if in response, a knock came at the door.

            “Lothiriel,” I heard my father say, “Are you ready? It is time.”

            “I’m coming!” I called back, Eowyn and I smiling at each other in excitement as the other ladies scurried into their positions. Eowyn surveyed me quickly and nodded my approval.

            “If Eomer does not faint from delight when he sees you, it will only be thanks to Bema’s grace.” She declared, helping me to drape my veil over my head and fix the floral bridal crown over it. “You look beautiful Thiri.”

            Hild opened the door and my father walked in, stopping short when he saw me; I could see his eyes welling with tears. “My little flower-maid…”

            “Ada, please don’t cry! If you do, then I’ll cry and then where would we be?”

            He smiled me and kissed my hand. “Would that your mother were here. I know that she would be both happy and proud for you.”

            I hugged him tightly, not caring about dignity or decorum. We led the procession out from the guest quarters and to the large courtyard before Meduseld. Warriors lined the path in gleaming armor, their swords set into the ground before them. As father and I entered the courtyard, a cheer went up that was so loud that I started. Father patted my arm and then nodded ahead of us. “Look.”

            My eyes focused on a single golden head in a sea of them; even at this distance, Eomer’s grin was clear when he saw me. I felt tears of my own, happy ones, as I remembered the first time I had seen him really smile and the way in which it took over his entire face when he was truly happy. With the groom’s circlet he worse, he looked practically boyish. The flowers in his circlet were the same as in my crown, and I wondered if Eowyn had chosen the flowers to match our clothing. Eomer wore an over-tunic of deep emerald green, heavily embroidered at the neck in gold, over an undertunic of cream-colored silk. My heart skipped a beat when I realized that it was the undershirt I had made for him. At last, we came to stop at Eomer’s right and father turned to the Eomer, taking his hand and setting mine in it.

            “The bride is given; may your days be blessed.” He said, giving them the Rohirric blessing of the bride. He stepped back and I turned to face Eomer; he grinned as I mouthed “Hello” and did the same. Eomer then turned to Eothain, who held Eomer’s sword out to him, hilt first. Eomer took it and presented it to me.

            “Lady, I gift you this blade, Guthwine, to hold for our son.”

            I took the sword and bowed to Eomer over it. With the groom’s sword received, I turned to Eowyn, who took the sword before handing me the sword that I had brought for my part of the ceremony. Not for the first time did I feels gleeful knowing that very soon I would see Eomer’s face when he saw the wedding present that Gimli had commissioned for him.

            “Lord, I gift you this blade, forged by the great smiths of Erebor, so that you may defend our home and land.”

            And awed murmur ran through the crowd and I thought I heard Gimli’s familiar chuckle nearby. I knew that Gimli held Eomer as a good friend, but I hadn’t realized the friendship was such that he would volunteer the services of his kinsmen for a wedding present. Eomer was nearly gaping at me as he took the sword and bowed to me over it. The swords exchanged, Eothain’s youngest daughter stepped forward to fulfill her duties as ring-maiden. She gave us the simple golden bands, which we then placed on each other’s heart-finger. I could feel my face start to flush with excitement and joy. Applause began as Eomer lifted my veil for the final rite; the applause turning into uproarious cheers at the first kiss of the king and queen and I could barely hear it. It was as if a fire were burning between us and a voice in my head kept cheering He’s yours, he’s yours. I know our kiss was not very long, though there were some nearby who chuckled or let out wolf-calls at us. When it did end, both of us were grinning madly at each other.

            “Shall we?” he said, taking my hand and raising it, eliciting another round of cheers from the assembled people. “The people want to see their new queen.”

            I laughed and nodded, and we began the procession through the city.

The next morning, I lay awake and watched Eomer sleep in the early light of dawn, one arm behind his head, the other stretched out beneath me.     I traced my finger along a scar on his shoulder, my hand resting possessively on his chest as his eyes opened, blinking away the sleep before he saw me and smiled. “Good morning wife.”

            I lowered my face to him, my hair forming a curtain around us as I kissed him. “Good morning. His hand tugged me down and I let him bring me down to lay atop his chest. “How you sleep my love!” I teased. “I was beginning to think that the poor maidservant would wind up walking in to find us both indecent.” I left series of kisses across his chest, his hand stroking the small of my back. It had surprised me a little, when I knew that war and work had roughened them, to discover how tender and gentle his hands were. When the maid did come with breakfast and wash-water, I thought I caught an amused smirk on her face at finding her king and queen still abed and somewhat out of breath. Feeling a blush creeping on me, I thanked her and reached across Eomer for my shift. I put it on and then watched, with some regret, as Eomer pulled on his breeches from the night before. We made our way to the table and breakfast, with Eomer insisting I sit as he waited on me.

            “What celebrations were to take place today?” I ask, picking up of piece of bacon.

            He looked a little sheepish. “Well, there is the greeting when we leave. It can get a little, well ear-burning.”

            I titled my head. “Funny, I don’t recall such a ceremony at Eowyn and Faramir’s wedding.”

            “Only because the men were too afraid of Eowyn’s ire to jest at Faramir’s expense.”

            That got a snort out of me. “And not yours?

            He chuckles. “Eothain and I got drunk for the first time together; Elfhelm was the one who found the tow of us vomiting our guts out that night. I grew up and fought with most of the men here, or learned from them in Elfhelm’s case. Beocca- the barrel chested one who was singing about bears and honey last night- I had to field dress the wound when he took an arrow to the arse. Don’t ask.” He said, just as I was about to do so. “And the year before the war began, he did the same for me when I took a knife in the side. It’s hard for a man to stand on dignity with such as they.”

            I take a slice of bread and slather it with honey; I’ve heard similar talk from Elphir and Erchirion, as well as my father. They all have a bond with their fellow warriors that none of them seem to be able to fully describe. “And after the greeting? What comes after that? More feasting?”

            “Not until tonight.” The excitement on Eomer’s face is clearer than dwarvish crystal; he has something planned. “Before then, I thought we should ride out around the Kingsfold. I didn’t show everything when last you came.” He takes my hand and I let him pull down into his lap and feed me a slice of apple, nipping his fingers playfully.

            “Admit it,” I say once the fruit’s been swallowed. “You just want to show me off.”

            He kisses me. “That too.”

I looked up from the maps of the Westfold and the Gap as Lothiriel entered the council chamber. The thanes in attendance bowed to her, which she returned with a nod.

            “Congratulations are due to Beocca,” she announced as she took her seat in the chair beside mine. “Lady Ingyth has just been delivered of twins- a boy and a girl.” The thanes voiced their approval while Lothiriel nodded towards the maps. “Have we gotten any closer to a solution to our quandary my lords?”

            Leofwine pointed to where one map showed the Fords of Isen and some of the lands near it. “We built a camp for the newcomers outside of Marton, my queen, but it is already full. My people have had to intervene due to fighting and killing. We can’t afford that with the harvest coming on.”

            I looked closer at the map, trying to find an answer to the riddle before me. In the six months since Leofwine had first brought the matter before me, the problem of Dunlendings wishing to settle in Rohan had only grown. Enough grain had been sent from the Eastfold and the Wold that there was food, though barely, but now there was the issue of the number of fights and assaults between the two folk. I couldn’t blame the people of the Westfold; they’d seen their homes and farms burned and the families slaughtered at the hands of the Dunlendings and orcs of Saruman. But knowing the history of the Mark as I did now, I could not help but feel a despised bit of understanding towards the folk of Dunland. What made it worse was that the Dunlendings who had come into Rohan had made it clear that they wished to swear loyalty. It would have been so much easier to deal with if they hadn’t.  I had to resist the urge to rub at the crook of my nose, because the only answer I could see before us that would end in the least amount of bloodshed was the one that Lothiriel had said to me two days before and that I had dismissed as being impossible. Unless we wished for conflict with the Dunlendings- which some of the thanes did, no doubt- we would have to make the impossible happen.

            “Marton is still not entirely rebuilt, and Leofwine is right, with the harvest coming up, we need folk in the fields, not in the gaols or the healer’s beds. Allow them to settle in the town and they can help rebuild it.” As I had known it would, the thanes burst into protest. I held up my hand. “If they have sworn to abide by our laws and customs, then they must be given the chance to do so. If they break it, then they will be cast out of the Rohan and our border closed to them.”

            Ecbert of Cliving openly glared at me. “My king, you would let the enemy take over our own lands? It is folly!”

            I rose from my chair, my temper rising. “You should have you ears checked Ecbert. I am allowing them to join with us, not take over.”

            “As I understand it, my lords,” Lothiriel’s voice was raised and clear over the tumult. “It is really only one clan that has sought to come into the Mark. Is that so, Lord Leofwine?” Leofwine nodded and Lothiriel surveyed the room before her. “Has anyone asked of them why they wish to?” The thanes and I froze, for in truth, no one had. My wife nodded. “I cannot believe that they do not know of the hatred of the folk of Rohan for them, nor that they would willing seek shelter our land unless there was a greater threat against them. I assume that these Dunlendings have a leader of their own?”

            Another nod from Leofwine. “He calls himself Diarmid.”

            Lothiriel turned to me and smiled. “My lord, if this Diarmid were given safe passage to and from Edoras and allowed to answer this question, I think many of the problems before us would lessen, if not disappear completely.”

            Cynwulf of Torsbury gave her a doubtful look. “And if he refuses to come my queen? What then?”

            “What true man who had sworn loyalty to the Mark would refuse an invitation for its? Lord? I suppose if he did, it would call into question the truth of that oath, would it not?”

            Several of the thanes nodded in agreement, some even smiling a little at the cleverness of their queen’s plan, myself included. I turn to Leofwine. “Extend our invitation to this Diarmid then, as my as my promise that he will have safe passage both to and from Edoras. Should any man, woman, or child attack him, he will face my wrath.” Leofwine bowed and I turned to Lothiriel. “My lady, shall we?”

            She took my hand and rose as the thanes bowed to us both. We made our way out of the council chamber and towards our own rooms. Once there, she poured us both a small glass of ale. “Uinien’s mercy, I thought that would never end!”

            I took the ale she offered and drank. “It’s thanks to you it did. That was wonderfully clever.”

            “Is that you’re way of saying I was right?” Lothiriel smirked at me, good-naturedly. “The people of Dol Amroth feel the same way about the people of Umbar as the Rohirrim do about the Dunlendings, but sometimes the greater good requires us to put those feelings aside.” She held up a finger, as if she had just recalled something. “On that note, wasn’t Reeve Ingbert’s daughter-in-law from Dunland? The wife of the son who died on the Pellenor?”

            “I believe so. Why?” She had the look on her face that I now knew meant she was planning something.

            Lothriel smiled back at me. “I’d like to ask her to join the court as one of my ladies.” I grimace and she sighs. “Yes, some you’re your thanes and their wives will cluck, but I should think that the wife of one of the honored dead of the Pellenor would be an honored addition to the court. And one that might make our coming Dunlending guest a little more likely to trust us.”

            I blinked, realizing what her plan was here and more than a little humbled that I hadn’t seen this earlier. Shaking my head ins disbelief, I wrapped my arm around Lothiriel’s wait. “I think I will always be amazed at how brilliant you are my love.”

            She smiled and kissed my cheek. “Good.”

I am sitting with my ladies in the solar, working on a tapestry with Heburga as Ethelflad play the harp for us, when a maidservants brings work that Reeve Ingbert has arrived and Eomer waits for me to welcome him.

            “There’s no need.” I say as my ladies move to rise with me. “I’ll return shortly. Lady Ethelflad, your playing was beautiful. Please continue.” She nods to me and resumes her song as I leave the room. I find Eomer waiting in the great hall, seated upon his throne as a man, woman, and small child stand before him. The man is white-haired with age, wearing his hair braided down his back. Though he is dressed in travelling clothes, they are well cared for. The woman is far younger, no more than a few years older than myself. Her hair is red as fire and wrapped about the crown of her head in a braided coil; the little boy clutching onto her hand is no more than three or four. His hair isn’t quite as red as his mother’s, more pale fire than burning flame. Eomer turns and sees me approach.

            “My lady, this is Reeve Ingbert, Nona, his daughter-in-law, and Aedric,” he pauses and gives the shy lad a smile, “is her son.”

            I kneel down and give the little boy a smile; he ducks behind his mother. “Hello Aedric. I am pleased to meet you.” I straighten and turn to his mother and grandfather. “Welcome.”

            Reeve Ingbert bows to me. “My queen. We were honored by the invitation.” He casts a sidelong look at his daughter-in-law, who has not moved to bow or curtsy. Our eyes meet, and I can tell she is judging me, measuring me up. What judgement she reaches is hidden behind cold green eyes, but I reach my own conclusion. This a woman who will give me loyalty only if she feels I have earned it.

            “I thank you for coming, Lady Nona.” I say, turning to Eomer. “My lord, I will take my leave. Lady Nona, please join me.” I give little Aedric a smile. “Perhaps the cook might send us some biscuits.” That earns me a timid smile. His mother nods and follows me out of the hall and towards the sitting chamber of the royal rooms. True to my word, there is a small plate of biscuits waiting for us. I gesture for Nona to sit in the chair next to mine. “Here you are Eadric.” I say, offering him a biscuit. He takes it.

            “What do you say?” Nona prompts gently.

            “Thank you.”

            I smile and turn to his mother. “He is a sweet lad. Reeve Ingbert told you the purpose of your coming to Edoras?”

            Nona nods. “He did, though we were both surprised by it.” She eyes me warily. “You know that the folk here will not be pleased?”

            “To be frank, I do not give a fig for what they think on this. Your husband gave his life for my birth-country; I do not know what the traditions of Rohan are in such matters, but in Gondor, we honor the families of such warriors.” Her face is a mask, showing no emotion. “Aside from that, I believe you will be able to help us. We have invited the chieftain of the Dunlendings who have come into the Westfold to Edoras. You could help us prepare.”

            “Could? I was not aware I had a choice.”

            I blink; taken aback. “You do. I would not force you to join my household against your will.”

            She looks from me to her son. “And what of my son?”

            “He is welcome as well. Three of my other ladies have their children with them. Eadric would be a welcome addition. I know our armsman would not mind having another student.”

            “Even one who is a half-breed?” Nona sees my shock and gives me a wry smile. “I’ve heard the whispers and mutterings since Horn first brought me to Rohan. They may have lessened since,” she pauses, her throat tensing for a moment, “since Horn died, but they haven’t gone away. My own people cast me out when they learned I carried a half-forgoil child. Aedric is at least accepted in Eaworth, if only for his father’s sake.”

            “Would you not change that, if it were in your power? You and your husband are proof that the people of Rohan and Dunland can exist peacefully with each other. And I know that Aedric cannot possibly be the only half-Dunlending child in Rohan. If this is the manner in which such children are treated, then I would change that. We have the chance to make that change a reality.”

            She says nothing and at the sudden falling of silence, Eadric looks up and sees the turmoil on his mother’s face. He climbs up into her lap and hugs her; Nona holds him, brushing his hair with her hand and kissing the top of his head as she murmurs something to him in her own tongue. Sitting him up, she asks him a question in the same tongue; Eadric thinks for a moment, looks at me, and then nods at his mother. Nona turns back to me. “I suppose that settles it then. We’ll join your household.”

            I smile and thank her before taking the two of them to the solar to introduce them to the rest of my ladies.

I urge Firefoot to go faster as Lothiriel, at least ten yards ahead of us, turns in her saddle and laughs. We gallop across the meads and past the crofts, making our way towards the river. Lothiriel reaches it first, bringing Gwileth to stop beside a willow and dismounts, letting her mare wade into the water as Firefoot and I arrive.

            “Took you long enough.” She teases as I jump down from the saddle. She notes my wince and frowns. “Is all well?”

            “A storm must be brewing; my shoulder’s acting up again.” I reply, rotating my arm a circle a few times. Three years gone since I dislocated it at the Morannon, and it still aches with a fury whenever the weather changes. Lothiriel steps towards me and gently rests her head on my good shoulder for a moment.

            “You should have told me. I’ll rub the bone balm on it when we get back.” She tilts her head up and I kiss her. Lothiriel looks around us. “Well, this is as good a place as any.” With a whistle, she calls Gwileth over to her and unties the canvas she had rolled up behind her saddle; she spreads it out on the ground and looks up at me. “Hild said she put a flask and cups in your saddle bag.”

            I look where she says and take them out, along with some bread and cheese. Lothiriel is already sitting on the canvas, her legs stretched out before her when I turn back. She crooks her finger at me and then pats the ground beside her. She rests her head on my shoulder and we sit and watch the river flow by. “It will be some days until we have quiet like this again.” I say with a sigh. The Dunlending chieftain is due to arrive any day now and the air is tense around Meduseld; it’s why Lothiriel and I slipped away for this ride.

            Lothiriel nods. “True, but if this ends well, I think it will be worth a few lost days of quiet and calm.” I feel her draw her fingers slowly up and down the top of my leg, going higher each time. She lifts an eyebrow at me and my breath comes out in half and laugh, half a groan. “I had not thought the women of Gondor would be willing to do such things out in the open under the sky.” She has already moved closer to me, half sitting in my lap as she twines her arms around my neck.

            “Are you saying no to me, my lord?” she teases, kissing me and dragging her teeth lightly over my lower lip as her hands fumble with my belt and mine pull at her shirt. Later, as we lie there spent and smiling, I plant on final kiss on her bare shoulder. A few feet away, both of our horses suddenly look up and the sound of approaching horses soon reaches us. Lothiriel swears and grabs for her shirt. We both scramble to get dressed, though it will be obvious to whoever is coming what they nearly caught their king and queen doing.

            “You talk to whoever it is.” Lothiriel mutters to me. I nod and get to my feet, seeing Eothain riding towards us. He rides over when I call out to him, a smirk slowly spreading across his face as he takes in my appearance.

            “What is it?”

            “A rider’s brought word of the Dunlending’s party. He’ll be here by nightfall.” He snorts. “Also, you have grass in your hair.”

            I held up my middle finger to him and he laughed and turned his horse to depart. When Lothiriel and I return to Edoras, we have managed to fix our appearances somewhat. Hild meets us at the stables and rushes the both of us back to our chambers to wash and change. An hour or so later, we were in the great hall, me upon the throne and Lothiriel seated next to me in the queen’s chair. She had insisted that we wear what she called “full court dress”, which meant that I also wore the heavy gold crown of Eorl in addition to my feast-day finery. It had only taken me wearing the crown three times to discover why my uncle had rarely worn it. The attention of every occupant of the hall was drawn to the great doors as they opened and Eothain entered with three men dressed in the manner of Dunland. The oldest, who I guessed to be Diarmid, looked near enough to my father-in-law’s age. That in itself was worthy of some grudging respect; with their love of raiding and fighting, any Dunlending man who reached such an age meant he was a skilled warrior. His age, in addition to the plaid cloak he wore spoke to his skill. Only clan leaders wore that plaid, and if he held it still at his age, he had won many challenges. Eothain brought Diarmid and his Dunlendings to halt a few feet from the throne.

            “Hail Eomer King, Lord of the Mark!” he began. “Diarmid, Chieftain of the Tuatha Tire, answers your summons.” Eothain shoots Diamid a shark look, to which the older man nods and then bows his head a little.

            “You are welcome to my halls Diarmid.” I turn to Lothiriel, who has risen already and taken the welcome cup from one of her ladies. She stepped down and presented the cup to Diarmid, who took it and drank.

            “I thank you lady. ‘Tis not often a man receives welcome from one so fair.”

            Lothiriel nods. “You are most gracious.” She took the cup back and handed it back to her lady before returning to the chair.

            I turned back to Diarmid. “Meat and mead are prepared. Rest from your journey and then we will talk.”

            The welcome feast is hardly that; the air in Meduseld is anything but merry and feels more like the air before a summer storm breaks. Still, Eothain brings Diarmid and one of his warriors to the council chamber where Lothiriel and I are waiting. Next to her stands Nona, whose presence actually seems to surprise Diarmid somewhat.

            “I had not expected to see one of my people here.” Diarmid offers after the silence has become awkward.

            “Nor had I thought that the great Tuatha Tire would ever seek refuge in Rohan.” She retorts, her arms crossed definitely. I wince; we should have found out what clan Nona came from. Lothiriel gestures at the chairs across from us.

            “My lord, your people seek to settle in the lands of the Mark,” she begins, “and we would know why.”

            My eye catches the wolf’s head clasp holding his cloak. “Tire is your word for wolf is it not? I remember warriors bearing that mark at the battle of Helm’s Deep.” With a nod at Nona, I look back at Diarmid. “And her greeting of you alone tells me this request is unusual. So why make it?”

            Diamid stares at me for a long while and then lets out a sigh that only those truly weary can make. It is the sigh of the defeated. “Because my people have lost our homelands. We were driven out from them.”

            Lothiriel and I turn to each other; it is clear that she is struggling to hide her shock at this as much as I am. “What do you mean, ‘lost’?” she finally asks.

            “You might wear your woad marks no longer, but even a daughter of the Ox clan knows of the Falcon clan.” Diarmid gives Nona a terse smile. “I only rode to battle with your father once, but Sulvuch was a doughty warrior. It saddened me to hear of his death.” Nona’s face went pale and Diarmid turned back to us. “You faced the Falcon at Helm’s Deep as well, Eomer King. Their leader was killed in an attack on the caves there, and the Falcon clan fell back to their mountains. All the folk of Dunland were too busy licking our wounds to pay mind to who claimed the Falcon’s cloak. By the time we took notice, Mordu had already forced three other clans under his banner.” Diarmid’s shoulder’s sag. “At the start of the year, his messenger came to our dun. The time had come, he said, for the Wolf Clan to submit their swords to the King of Dunland. Yes,” he said with a rough laugh, “Mordu had grown too mighty for the title of chieftain to satisfy him. I laughed in the messenger’s face and had him cast out from the dun to fly back to his master. Our neighbors, the Bear Clan, also received such a message, and their chieftain refused it as well.”

            “I thought Uthair had died two years ago.” Nona said. “Who leads the clan now?”

            “His son, Ardhair. He is young, but he is as great a warrior as any man of the Mark. We joined forces and faced Mordu’s army when battle came in late spring.” His face tightens with grief. “It was slaughter. Mordu had found some of Saruman’s black powder and had his slingers launch it at our forces. We could not form a shield-wall for the fires it started. Then his archers pinned down our flanks as his riders swept up behind us. My son forced two of my warriors to haul me onto a horse to escape before an arrow took him in the throat. We made our way south towards the bogs, and there what remained of our clan took refuge for a time. But Mordu put out a bounty for the head of any man, woman, or child of the Wolf clan, and so I knew I had to lead my people to the only place that was outside of his reach.” To my utter shock, Diarmid actually got to his knees before me. “I care not what happens to me, but I beg you, let my people stay in safety in your land, even as thralls. If they return to Dunland, they will be killed.”

            “We keep no thralls in the Mark.” I tell him before turning to Eothain. “Send word to every lord of the witan. We will meet on the morrow to discuss this. And send a rider to Gondor. King Elessar’s Dunedain may be of help in this matter as well.”

The arrow thuds into butt, missing the center of the target; I haven’t had time to practice since coming to Rohan and my skill is rusty. I pull another arrow from the ground, knock it, draw, and then focus my breath and my mind, waiting for the stillness I need. I loose the arrow, feeling the string slap against my arm guard. The arrow strikes better this time, but I am still missing my target. I turn at the sound of someone letting out a low whistle and see that Lothrandir, the ranger Aragorn has sent to help us, has arrived.

            “Impressive my lady.” He says. “You’ve a good eye.”

            I shook my head. “I’ve missed my target.”

            Lothrandir gives me a quizzical look. “But all of those shots would be mortal ones, and you are shooting with a warbow. I know few enough men who have the skill to draw one, let alone women.”

            “I have three older brothers. If I wanted to learn the bow, I had to learn the one they knew.” I bring the bow to full draw, aim, and loose another arrow. It is closer, but still a little but shy of the target’s center. With a sigh, I unstring the bow. “Is there something I might help you with?”

            “I’ve made final plans with Diarmid regarding our travel plans. He is sending his nephew with me; I know the hills and plains of Dunland well enough, but I’ll need a guide if I’m to find this Arthair.”

            I gesture for him to follow me back to Meduseld. “Eomer has ridden out to inspect the local crofts, but he will be back before nightfall. I assume you want the cover a dark for your departure?”

            Lothrandir nods. “It would be best. The fewer who know when we’ve left, the less chance there will be of word getting back to this upstart.” He stops talking and I feel his eyes on me. “Forgive me lady, but is all well? You seem upset.”

            Inwardly, I curse the insight that the descendants of Numenor have in greater or lesser degreees. One thing I have enjoyed about moving to Rohan is how much easier it is for me to conceal my thoughts and feelings; Lothrandir is just as perceptive as my father and brothers. He isn’t wrong though; Eomer and I had argued this morning, which was the true reason for him riding out on a task that one of men could have seen to and why I was out with my bow. All is not well, but it would be improper for me to say as much to this near- stranger, welcomed guest thought he is. “I am well or will be. I think part of it is that I am still not quite use to this northern cold.” There is enough truth in that lie that it should appease him.

            It gets a smile out of him in any case. “I hope you were warned that it will get much colder than it is now. Still, after living among the Lossoth in Forochel for so many years, weather like this feels warm to me.”

            We arrive at the front entrance to Meduseld and I see that Nona is there, watching a group of little boy, Eadric among them, playing with wooden swords in the courtyard. She smiles at us and turns back to watching her son.

            “They never seem to tire do they?” she says.

            “It is the gift of the young.” Lothrandir replies, drawing Nona’s attention back to him. She frowns slightly.

            “Your face is familiar to me, though I cannot place it.”

            “Nona, this is Lothrandir of the Dunedain, come from Gondor to help us with the matter in Dunland.” Lothrandir bows to her and I see realization dawn on Nona’s face.

            “You were with the company of other rangers that stayed in my village during the war. My father was Sulvuch.”

            Lothrandir blinks for a moment, as if he has encountered a ghost. “Indeed, I was part of the Grey Company, and I remember your father. He was one of the few friends we found in Dunland.”

            I turn at the sound of horses approaching and see Eomer is riding up to the stables. “Excuse me.” I tell them both as I make my way over to meet him. He is grooming Firefoot when I enter, his face still as grim as a storm cloud. I clear my throat and he looks up, the storm cloud vanishing.

            “Lothiriel…” his voice trails off and he sets the curry brush down and steps out of the stall. I walk over to him, feeling awkward and not sure who should speak first. He takes it upon himself. “I’m sorry. I can see why you were upset, and if I had heard one of my thanes speak thus about one of the honored fallen they would find themselves out of my service.”

            I bite my lip. “And I’m sorry as well. I would no doubt feel the same way that your people do if someone were to force me to accept the Umbari living amongst the folk of Dol Amroth. And I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you with her brother.”

            Eomer offers his hand to me and I take it, letting him pull me into a hug. “Ach, I asked her to her face in front of him if she called the son of one of the heroes of Pellenor a ‘dirty halfbreed’. Let her brother deal with the insult she paid us and Horn’s memory.” He brushes some hair off of my cheek and kisses me.

            “There are a few reasons why we are not doing that here.” I mumble, my mouth still pressed against his.

            “Hmmm?”

            “One, there are other horses out whose riders could return at any moment. Two, hay has an annoying tendance to get stuck in the most embarrassing of places, and three,” I catch my breath as a shiver rolls down my spine. Damn him, knowing just where to kiss me to turn my legs to jelly. I regretfully place my hand on his chest and push. “And three, Lothrandir is looking for you.” I can’t help but laugh as his shoulders slump in dejection.

The wind bites into me like a sharp knife, promising snow on the morrow if my shoulder is any judge of such things. I turn to one of the yeoman who helped to carry in the deer from my hunt.

            “Get the liver to the kitchens as soon as you can and tell the cook I want it roasted up for the queen.” The man nods to me and I turn and head into the hall, straight for our chambers. Lothiriel has not been handling the cold well, and roasted deer liver is an old remedy I thought she might try. She’s not in our chambers though; instead she’s out in the hall, directing the preparations for Yul. I sneak up behind her, holding my finger to my mouth at the servants and her ladies, and then lift her up and spin her around.

            “I take it you had a good hunt then?” she says, laughing.

            I grin at her. “Indeed. Already the cook is preparing the fruit of my labors for you.”

            She grimaces. “It’s roasted liver isn’t it? Hild mentioned it to me a day or so ago.”

            “Come now my love, if I could manage to eat mussel, squid, and all of the other strange manner of creature you sea-folk call food, surely you can try some freshly roasted liver.” I tease. I lean close to whisper to her, all teasing put aside. “It truly does help. Just try it this once.”

            Lothiriel kisses my cheek. “Very well. Though I don’t think I will be able to make the same face you did when you tried the squid.” She grins. “But come! I want to check the measure of your new feast tunic.” Without waiting for a reply from me, she takes my hand and near drags me back to our chambers. Soon enough, she and Hild have me stripped of my tunic and in this new feast tunic as they fuss with pins.

            “Do not forget, my lady, we’ve still your gown to fit.” Hild remarks with a mouthful of pins. “My lord, hold still. Honestly, you squirm as much as a man grown as you did as a lad that I might forget myself and get out my spoon!”

            I feel my face color as Lothiriel giggles. I should try to stand on my dignity as king, I know, but that is near impossible to do with Hild. Soon enough, she pronounces the task done and has me change back as she takes the feast tunic to finish trimming it. Before she leaves, a maidservant brings in the deer liver, sizzling with steam. My mouth water as the smell of roasted meat, garlic, and juniper hits me.

            Hild nods her approval. “Very good. Do try to eat some my lady.” She tells Lothiriel. “I’ll see to this.” She adds, raising the arm that holds my tunic.

            Lothiriel cross the room and sits down at the table, staring at the plate before her like it is her doom. “It does smell good.” She concedes, picking up the eating knife and skewer with a grimace. I could tease her about how small the first piece she cuts is, but as she sets it in her mouth, her eyes widen in astonishment and she quickly cuts another, larger piece. She eats that one as well. “It’s good!”

            Grinning, I go and sit down next to her, reaching to cut a slice of my own only for Lothiriel to swat at my hand. I blink, caught off guard by this sudden possessiveness. Sheepishly, she cuts a small piece and pushes it over to me; there’s almost nothing left. “Well,” I say once she’s eaten the last bit, “what do you think?”

            “Honestly, I’m surprised it tasted so good. You may have to go out hunting again soon.” She pulls the thick shawl she wears everywhere now a little closer. “But if it is supposed to make me feel warmer, I don’t know that it has worked.”

            And it doesn’t seem to have. I wake up the next morning to Lothiriel retching over a basin. She feels so wretched that when I say she should stay abed she doesn’t argue. When word comes that Leofwine is asking to see me, I almost refuse but Lothiriel sends me out of the door after threatening to see to the man herself. I find him waiting in the council chamber and not alone. The taller figure next to him takes down his hood, revealing Lothrandir, who nods at the second hooded figure. He is a young man, near to Lothiriel’s age, and marked with the woad tattoos of the Dunlendings. As if to confirm my siscion as to this stranger’s identity, Eothain enters with Diarmid, who sees the younger man and hurries over to clasp his arms.

            “Ardhair. Thank the Huntsman you’re still alive.”

            “I would say the same for you old friend.”

            Lothrandir clears his throat. “King Eomer, this is Ardhair, son of Uthair, chieftain of the Bear Clan.” He looks at me and then down at a nearby chair; I nod and he sits down. I turn to this young chieftain.

            “Welcome to Meduseld. I will not waste words or time; I take it that your coming here means you accept King Elessar’s offer?”

            Ardhair seems taken aback by my bluntness, tensing as if he is preparing for a confrontation. “If the King of the Horselords still means to play his part in it, then yes.”

            The room is tense for a few moments. Slowly, I turn and take pick up a nearby pitcher of ale, pour some into a tankard and slide it across the table to him before taking my own chair. “In better days, it would be my wife who would offer you the welcome cup, but this will have to serve for now.” Ardhair takes the tankard and eyes it warily. “And from what Diarmid told us, I’d rather deal with you as my neighbor than this Mordu.”

            Ardhair watched me for a moment longer and then, as if he does this before he thinks better of it, he takes a long drink of ale. “Well, if nothing else, I have a better sense of humor than he does.”

            I snort and then turn to Eothain. “Fetch what thanes of the council are in Edoras. We meet within the hour.”

            We settle into an awkward silence to wait for their arrival. A quarter hour or so after Eothain’s departure, Nona arrives with fresh ale and food. I motion her over. “How is my wife? Is she feeling better?”

            “She’s out of bed, but still feeling chilled. Hild has bundled and drinking tisanes. The queen did want me to tell you that you’d better tell her everything that is said here.”

            I smile. “Send her my love and tell her I would not dream of doing otherwise.”

            Lothrandir and Ardhair have finished their meal by the time that the first thanes arrive. When Eothain returns with the last of them, I let them settle into their seats before wrapping the table to draw their attention. “My lords, I have called you here today so that we might all hear the news brought to us by Lothrandir of the Dunedain and to make plans to end the this upstart Mordu who would name himself Dunland’s king.” I turn to Lothrandir. “Lothrandir, if you would.”

            He nods and rises. “My lords, as you know, I was sent by King Elessar and Eomer King to assess the situation in Dunland. It is as Diarmid of the Wolf Clan said. This Mordu has gathered essentially all of the clans under his banner. Those who oppose him, as Diarmid,” he nods to the older man, “and Ardhair of the Bear Clan,” he nods to the newcomer, “are slaughtered without mercy. When I left Dunland with Ardhair, the price that Mordu had set upon his head was thirty gold. A king’s bounty indeed.”

            “If we want peace in the Mark, we cannot allow this Mordu to remain.” I begin. “But if all we do is kill him, another upstart may well rise up to take his place. We have no claim to the moors and fields of Dunland; the lands west of the Fords of Isen fall into the Northern Kingdom of King Elessar. To that, the High King also sent Lothrandir to find Ardhair and present an offer that will be ensure that peace is established.” I pause for a moment, reading myself for the uproar that is about to erupt. “In exchange for his oath of fealty, King Elessar will make Ardhair the Lord of Dunland.”

            The uproar is more of loud murmuring and I see Ardhair shirt uncomfortably in his chair; I wonder if perhaps my doorwards may have missed some hidden weapon. I raise my hand for silence. “It is his right to make such a choice; Dunland is part of the Northern Kingdom.”

            “I know that the Horselords think little of my people or our ways,” Ardhair suddenly says. “But if it is of any matter, if any man of Dunland has claim to lordship over all the clans, I am he. My father’s line traces back to the Horned Kings who ruled before the Westmen reached these shores.”

            That is a surprising bit of knowledge; if true, Ardhair’s line is far older than that of the House of Eorl. The murmuring has quieted somewhat until Ecbert turns to me. “And how is this lordship to be claimed my king?”

            “It is our borders that are threatened my lord. I will lead our riders into Dunland and take care of the upstart.” I turn to Lothrandir, who nods, and then back to the council. “King Elessar is sending a supporting force as well. Either my sister’s husband or one of my wife’s brothers will be in command. We will throw down Mordu and bring peace to our border.” I pour myself a tankard of ale. “My lords, I know you may have misgivings as to King Elessar’s plans for Dunland, but this gives us the best chance our people have ever had to settle our score with Dunland once and for all.” Several of the thanes start to nod in agreement, even Ecbert. I raise the tankard to them all. “Let us drink to victory!”

It is a three days until the Yul feast and I am in a panic. Try as Ingyth might, she cannot get the laces at the back of my underdress for the feast to close.

            “I don’t understand,” I cry, “It fit perfectly when it was sewn last month!”

            “I’m sorry my queen, but it is no good.” She replies. “You won’t be able to move if I pull them any tighter and even then it won’t be closed all the way.”

            I sigh. “Help me out of it then. I’ll have to think of something else.”

            Nona looks up from laying out my feast dress as I change back into my gown. It is as if the same thought has occurred simultaneously to both her and Ingyth as they in turn look to each other and then back at me. Ingyth seems to be trying to hide a smile.

            “Forgive me, but how long has it been since your last bleeding?”

            I stagger, at first not sure why she is asking that and then being hit with the realization within seconds. My thoughts run back. “I would say two, perhaps, no, it would have been three months ago.” I say slowly. My hands go up to my breasts. I had thought my gowns had felt tighter of late. A sudden wave of shaky excitement washes over me. “Would you fetch Hild for me please? Quietly.”

            As she leaves, I look to Nona, who gives me a smile.

            “Well, you have been bundled like a hill bear of late. And as, um, busy, as you and the king have been, well,” she raises an eyebrow at me, letting the implication dangle unspoken between us.

            I sit down. “It still doesn’t answer the question of what I am going to do for the Yul feast.”

            Ingyth returns with Hild a few moments later. The older woman smiles at me kindly.

            “I was going to say something if you hadn’t noticed it by the feast my dear.” She takes my hand and pats it. “As little as you’ve been eating these last few weeks, there is little else it could be.” We talk a bit more to confirm dates and symptoms before I make them all swear to secrecy for the time being.

            “You’ll tell the king soon I trust?” Hild asks.

            I nod. “I shall. Perhaps when things are a little more quiet.”

            She nods. “It will be quite the Yul present. Now, let us see what we can sort out for your feast gown.” We end up taking Eomer’s old feast tunic and using to make a short undergown- albeit a very short one.

“You’ll just have to wear an extra layer of socking.” Hild decides.

The night of Yul sees the mead flow freely and the air thick with the scent of cut pine and roasted meat. Hild has subtly ensured that my own cup is only filled with a spiced tisane; as it is in Gondor, pregnant women are strongly discouraged from drink. I watch as Eomer cheers on a drinking contest between Leofwine and Eothain, roaring with laughter and clapping Eothain on the back when he is the first to slam down his tankard. Even Diamid and Ardhair seem to be enjoying themselves; Ardhair even appears to have begun a friendship with Cynwulf of Torsbury. The midwinter festivities in Dol Amroth are far quieter than this, but the sheer joy and air of celebration that fills the hall is infectious. I turn as Eomer comes back to his chair, stumbling slightly even as he laughs.

“How did I manage to get the most beautiful woman in all the lands as my wife?” he says as he takes my hand and kisses it.

I grin at him. “How much have you had had to drink?”

Eomer leans back into the chair, still holding my hand. “Not as much as you think. My uncle used to say that Yul mead should be twice as strong to give us strength for the rest of winter.” He spears a bit of meat with his eating knife. About to bring it to his mouth, he stops. “Have you been able eat anything?”

Thanks to Hild and her tisanes, what I now know to be morning sickness has been made manageable. I lean closer to Eomer and bite the meat from his knife, grinning wickedly at him. “Yes.”

Laughing, he cuts another piece and feeds it to me before eating a piece of his own. The feast carries on, with Eomer presenting gifts to his thanes and I to their wives. As the ale and mead flow, inhibitions lower; the songs grow bawdier. I am not so naïve as to blush, but certainly such songs would never be sung in Dol Amroth, much less Minas Tirith, with women present. In Rohan though, the women are singing right along with the men. After a particularly colorful tune about a drunken rider, Eomer stands, a little unsteady on his feet after finishing a drinking game with Eothain.

“There is one last gift I have to give this night!” he declares to the hall before turning to me with a look of pure mischief in his eyes. I can feel my face reddened with pleasure and a little embarrassment as the hall cheer. Eothain hands Eomer a small casket; he opens it and my eyes grow wide at the sight of the glittering necklace that lies within. Eomer is grinning from ear to ear. “A gift for my wise and beautiful wife.” The cheers in Meduseld are deafening when we kiss.

It is the late watches of the night when we finally find our way back to our chambers. Eomer removes his belt and boots before throwing himself down on the bed.

“My love.” I softly call.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t move, even when I sit down on the bed; a moment later, there’s a soft, muffled snore. With a sigh, I undress down to the short shift of his old shirt and crawl into bed beside him. I’m woken in the morning by Eomer’s pained groan and curse at the sun.

“That’s a cheerful thought.” I remark, sitting up and seeing him pull his pillow over his face to block out the light. “I’d say this should serve to remind you not to try and out-drink Eothain, but that would be rather pointless.”

Eomer groans again. “Don’t remind me. Orc’s club, I’ll not touch of drop of ale for a week from this headache.”

I bite my lip; I want to tell him my news, but I don’t want the joy I know he’ll have to be tainted by drink. Instead, I lean down and kiss his shoulder before slipping out of bed. “I’ll see if I can get some remedy from Hild.”

When I find her out in the hall, Hild is already handing out cups of some foul smelling brew; she hands me one with a smile. “I’ll have some bread sent in with your breakfast my lady.” She tells me. “There’s nothing better for a feast-head than bread.”

It’s a quiet morning with the majority of the court sleeping off the feast; Eomer has gone back to sleep when I return to our rooms. It’s mid-morning when he wakes again, his head mostly clear. I am working on some embroidery when he comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me. “Do you like your present my heart?” he asks, nodding at the casket that sits at my dressing table.

I reach up to touch his cheek; he catches my hand and kisses it. “It is beautiful. Dwarvish work if I ever saw it. I take it Gimli had a hand in its crafting?

Eomer nods, grinning. “Only fair, after the wedding sword.”

My heart is doing somersaults and I set down my embroidery, taking Eomer’s arm and pulling him down to sit besides me. “I have a Yul present for you as well.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Is it a present if it is something we both enjoy?” His hands rubs up my leg.

I smirk at him. “I would think so, since it comes from such great enjoyment. It won’t be ready until early summer though.” The dawning look of realization is so sweetly comical that I almost laugh. Instead, I lean in close, taking his hand and placing it on my stomach to confirm what he is already suspecting. “I’m with child.”

Now it is Eomer’s turn to grow wide-eyed. I watch as he struggles to speak for a few moments. “Truly Lothiriel?” he finally says, rising to his feet. “Truly?” I nod, grinning and he lets out a whoop of excitement. Suddenly he stops. “Should we send for a healer from Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith?” he asks, concern suddenly carved onto his brow.

“There’s no need.” I assure him. “Hild has served as midwife for dozens of babies- including yourself I might add. She says that the morning sickness should pass in the next few weeks or so, and her tisane truly do help.”

Eomer nods and sighs. Timidly, as if he is unsure it is allowed, he places his hand back on my stomach. “Hello little one.” He says in Rohirric; it is so strange to hear such sweet sentiments in such a tongue. With a smile, he leans in and kisses me. “No gift could be greater than you.”

I weave my fingers into his hair, tracing them down his neck. “I love you too.”

The banners of the Mark fly proudly in the wind as I survey the camp from atop the small hill. On a horse next to me, Faramir does the same.

            “We’ll have this business taken care of in no time.” He says. “Elphir and I will have you back to Thiri before the first plantings are done.” My thoughts are still back in Edoras though, and he knows it. “Eomer, come. The captains will be waiting for us.”

            Soldiers of Gondor and Rohan salute us as we ride by. We turn our horses over to hostlers outside of the command tent and enter. Eothain, Elphir, Leofwine, and a few other thanes and captains of Gondor are already waiting there, as are Arthair and Diarmid.

            “Where do things stand with our foe Leowine?” I ask, unbuckling my sword belt and laying it on the table. Leofwine points to a spot on the map of Dunland lain out before us. “Here. Our scouts reported the banners of the Ox clan in a camp just across the river. It’s a good-sized force from what they saw, though not so much that we couldn’t overthrow them.”

            I eye the map, noting that this Dunlending camp has been placed in the hills so that there is only one way of attack. “Are they entrenched there? If we can engage them in open battle, that’s one thing, but if we have to lay siege- I’d rather not risk having reinforcements trap us betwixt and between.”

            Ardhair gets up from his seat. “Then let us attack them from within.” He turns to Faramir. “I heard it said that your warriors are skilled at skulking and woodcraft. Do you think a small group of them could manage to get inside their camp?”

            “Possibly.” Faramir answers. I note the way he looks at Ardhair, getting his measure and judging the intent of his words. When Eowyn had told me of the strange gift he possessed, I had only half believed her. Thiri confirmed it reality by explaining it as an ability that ran in some Numenorean bloodlines; she’d nearly bent-over double with laughter at the horrified expression at realizing that my brother-in-law could essentially read my mind if he wished. Now though, it proved to be a tool I was most grateful for. “What would they do once inside?”

            The younger man smiles. “My people kept a small stockpile of black powder salvaged from Isengard. If your warriors were to set some small barrels of it inside the camp and set them off, the Ox clan would be dealt with without need for open battle or siege.” Every eye in the tent focuses on Ardhair, who shrugs. “We are allies now, and it is only a small amount. It would be used up in this attack no doubt.”

            “That could work, if the powder is good. If we were to destroy their stockade, they’d be too vulnerable to mount any sort of defense.” Faramir turns to me. “It’s a good plan.”

            I nod. “I agree. Have we more recent word as to where Mordu has holed himself up?”

            Eothain produces the latest scout report and the next few hours are spent in planning strategies and contingencies. It is late afternoon when we finally finish; Elphir and Faramir remain behind when the others leave and I lean back in a camp chair.

            “What are your thoughts on Ardhair Faramir?” I ask. “I’m assuming you did that Numenorean mind-trick?”

            He chuckles. “Eowyn told you about it? You know, Aragorn has the gift even stronger than I do.” I look from him to Elphir, who nods. “But you’re right, I did seek to learn if he sought to hide anything from us. I found no deceptive intent. He seeks to overthrow Mordu.”

            I lean back in the camp chair. “Good. The last thing we need is to worry about knives at our back.”

            Elphir grins. “As if Thiri would forgive us if we let you walk into a trap.”

            Five days later, we’re standing in the burned out rubble of what remains of the Dunlending camp, the air thick with the smell of burnt wood and bone. I turn and see Ardhair walking up to me; his face is still covered with soot from last night’s mission. For all that I am not fond of Dunlendings, I do admire his taking on the same risks he asks of his men.

            “Just how much powder did you have stored?” I ask. He grins.

            “Enough. My father believed in being prepared for any outcome.”

            With the supply line to Rohan secured, we press eastward. About a week and a small battle after the destruction of the Ox clan camp, a rider brings both Faramir and I a letter. I catch a glimpse of my sister’s hand on Faramir’s letter before turning eagerly to see Lothiriel’s on my own.

My love,

I hope this letter finds you well and safe. I would also add victorious, but seeing as it is you, that is a given. We are both well; the baby has started moving and kicking even more, especially in the morning.

Edoras is going about life smoothly in your absence, though I feel it only right to tell you that certain lords from the Wold who are not riding with you have come to Meduseld and grumbled about our involvement in Dunland. It is nothing I cannot handle, my love; you set your mind to the battles ahead so that you can come home safely and before my belly gets much bigger. I may have taken several of your old shirts and repurposed them as tunics.

As I am sure you are still frowning about those certain lords, I have asked their wives or daughters to attend me during your absence. I feel this will provide enough incentive for the lords to hold their tongues until you return, and if not, it would surely be a small matter to send one of your captains back to Edoras to wield a blade? Truly though, I doubt it would come to that. My new ladies are enjoying providing their queen with an education in “proper” motherhood.

Be safe, my love, and come home to us soon. The welcome cup is already and ready to present to you.

Namarie,

Lothiriel

I feel my eyes water and quickly blink, trying to make the tears vanish. It isn’t working, so I cough, using it as an excuse to swipe at my eyes before folding the letter and tucking it into my shirt. If Faramir took any note of the sound, he gives no sign. Instead, he smiles and tucks his letter into his belt.

            “How does my sister and Elboron?”

            He smiles. “Both well. He’s crawling everywhere- we’ve set up a little pen with his toys in my study.”

            I grin at him. “I’ll have to send his first horse before too long then.”

            “Wait until he’s walking, I beg you.” Faramir answers, laughing. Someone calls for me from outside the tent and I depart to see what matter requires my attention now.

It is month of fighting, a month of small, annoying skirmishes, of marching and riding from outpost to outpost, before Mordu finally faces us directly. Our battlefield is the open plain that leads to the pass into Tal Methedras; Faramir leads his company of rangers to come up in the rear, while Elphir and I act as the anvil to his hammer as Ardhair and Diarmid harry their foe from the flanks. The ground is too rocky for heavy horse, so most of the fighting is on foot. Steel sang, spears splintered, and the shields of Mordu’s warriors shattered. The mad tide of battle swept me in the end towards the center, where I saw the banners of Bear and Hawk fighting with the ferocity of pure, unyielding hatred. A warrior bearing the crest of the falcon charge at me, screaming, I swung my sword up and into his belly before delivering the mercy stroke to his neck. As he fell, I caught sight of Ardhair, wielding his axe against a foeman who put me in mind of Saruman’s Uruks with his size. I called for my warriors to rally to me and began the slow and bloody task of hacking my way towards Ardhair. I’m but a few yards from them when Ardhair’s foe lunges towards him, his sword ready for a killing blow. Ardhair barely maneges to avoid it in time; the missed strike send his foe off balance, giving Ardhair an opening. He takes it. His axe strikes once, twice. It is the third strike that stills his foe, the fourth that claims his head. With a mad battle-cry, Ardhair lifts the head by its hair, screaming in triumph. Later, I learned that his foe had been Mordu himself. It takes most of the afternoon for the battle to truly end, and runners are gathering the wounded, dying, and dead late into the night. Our losses, when the report comes the next day, are small. Twenty men have received injuries grievous enough that they must return to Edoras. Ten of my Riders have given me their all. The losses among the Dunlendings are far heavier; Diarmid has lost an arm and his nephew. Ardhair’s band has lost a third of its warriors, but the Falcon Clan has been decimated. Whereas warriors from the other clans have surrendered, the Falcons drive their blades into their bellies instead. It is done though, and I raise my face to the sun with the knowledge that I will soon return to my wife. Our child will have peace.

I feel the baby give me a sharp kick, like a spirited young foal, when Heburga runs into my chamber and shouts that the king’s banners have been spotted on the road. I rise, a little more clumsily now, and my ladies follow me behind him. Nona collects the welcome cup from Hild and we make our way down to the city gates. Crowds have already begun to form, reminding me so much of the crowds at my arrival here, little more than a year ago. The city is abuzz, with children already running about with flower boughs and ribbons to hail the returning heroes. The people part for me, bowing their heads as I pass, the women smiling as the wish me their blessings. As I wait at the gate, my heart jumps in my chest and the baby kicks again when I see the green banners top the rise and see the beloved golden head at the head of the riders. I turn and take the welcome cup from Nona as Eomer rides up to the gate.

            “Be welcome in victory and in honor to your hall and city, my lord!” I say. He dismounts, handing the reigns to a hostler as I present the cup to him. “Drink deeply from the welcome cup.”

            He does, giving me the cup back with a grin. I’ve barely had time to give it back to Nona before he has me in his arms, kissing me to the delight and cheers of the crowd. He holds me out and beams at me.

            “How are the two of you?”

            The baby kicks again. “Both well, though your child has taken to kicking at me like a foal in spring. I suppose it’s to be expected of from an heir to the House of Eorl though.”

Eomer laughs and sets a hand on belly; his eyes widen a little as he feels the next kick. He gives me a quick kiss and then kneels. “Behave yourself little one. Your poor mamma has her hands full dealing with me.” The smile on his face when he looks up at me is playful and teasing. I pull him pack up to his feet and kiss him again, just happy to have him home and safe. Later that night, after a quickly thrown together welcome feast, we lie in bed together and he recounts for me what few details he did not put into his letter.

“Ardhair is established then?”

Eomer nods. “With a company of Gondorian soldiers and Dunedain rangers to help him keep the peace for now. No doubt he’ll have some eager to test him at the first chance, but I left a company at the Fords to help keep things, civil.” He brushes his hand over my hair and tucks a strand behind my ear. “Now tell me my love, how much trouble did Freowulf and the other Wold lords give you?”

I lean back into the pillows. “Nothing I couldn’t- and haven’t- handled before. They were testing my mettle. It was little more than a pissing contest.” He snorts and chokes on a laugh. “What? How else would you describe it? In a manner of speaking, they wanted to see- and thought that I couldn’t- piss. I simply had to show I could, and far better than they. Your tithes to the king are suddenly “late”? Fret not, my lord, your daughter can bring them with her when she comes to join my household as my lady.” Even now, I can’t help but smirk a little at how easily Freowulf was outsmarted. “It won’t ever come to that, but it does provide us with a certain amount of, leverage, to have one of their close family members in our keeping. And what can they do? Whine about how much their wives and daughters are honored? The other nobles will quiet them for us.” With a sigh, I squirm further under the covers. “In fact, I shall probably need to address any feelings of favoritism towards the Wold nobles. After all, their contribution to your campaign was scant at best.”

Eomer kisses and wraps me in his arms. “You know you are maddeningly brilliant? I hope out child takes after you in that.”

I smile and kiss him. “As long as he has your good heart, I’ll be happy.”

Peace settles over Rohan that spring; the season itself is near bursting with life. The foaling fields are full, lambs and calves fill the meadows in the meads, and the crofters are already speaking of how rich the harvest is promising to be. My father arrives about a month before my time, along with Faramir, Eowyn, and little Elboron, who is already in leading strings as he toddles about holding on to his parents’ hands. It is a few days before Midsummer when my pains begin; Eowyn and I are out by a paddock watching Eomer trying to teach Faramir how to properly break in a young horse when I suddenly feel a sharp pain and look down to see water pooling beneath my feet. With a grin, Eowyn takes my hand and calls out to her brother; Eomer drops the saddle to the ground and sprints over to us as we start to make our way back to the hall. We stop at the suddenly sound of something crashing into wood and turn to see that Eomer has fallen flat on his face in an attempt to vault himself over the fence.

“Calm yourself.” Eowyn scolds once he gets to his feet and catches up with us. “You know the japes there would be if the healers had to tend to the king at the same time as the queen!”

“I’m alright love.” I assure him before grabbing onto his hand as pain rolls through me like a wave. “Truly.”

“Should I carry you?” he asks, looking from me to his sister. Eowyn looks straight to me.

“If you can mange it, the walk might help your body relax a little.”

With a nod, I set my mind to the task ahead. “I can manage.”

Soon enough, though it felt like hours in the walking, we are back at Meduseld and I am in our chambers as Hild and the midwives bustle about with calm practicality. Bruna, the chief midwife, gives Eomer her attention only long enough to ask “Do you intend to attend to your wife my lord?”

Eomer nods. “I do.”

Bruna hands him a damp cloth. “Then sit over there, at the head and out of the way. If she wants it, you can help keep her cool with that.” She gives him a wry smile. “Though there have been some who have thrown punches when their husbands tried.”

To the best of my recollection, I did not punch Eomer, though he tells me at one point, during a particularly hard contraction, I snapped at him not to touch me. I truly don’t remember. I do remember feeling extremely smug at knowing that I had three older brothers who would take revenge on my husband for me if I asked. It is the late watches when our son finally makes his way into the world; once I am back in bed from the birthing chair, Hild proudly presents to us, handing him first to me as Rohan’s tradition dictates. He is perfect, his baby hair down to the touch, his little mouth pink as corral. I smell him, breathing in the new scent I will forever know as his I think. Gently, I hand him to Eomer as Hild gives instructions to mind his head. Eomer’s breath is coming out in short gasps; even though my own tears, I can see his glistening on his face.

“He is so small.” He finally says, almost as if he doesn’t believe what sight his eyes see.

“As fine and as fair as any elf-child.” Hild declares. “I will go tell your father he has a grandson, my lady.” She gives us a little curtsy and then leaves.

Eomer begins to gently rock the baby back and forth in his arms. “Perhaps that’s what we’ll call him.”

I wince, feeling more than a little sore at the moment. “Elf-child? He won’t be a child forever.”

“True. Friend then. Elfwine.” When I laugh, he looks at me, his face worried. “What? You don’t like it?”

“No, it is a fine name, truly. I like it.” I reach out and run my fingertips over Elfwine’s head. “But you know what that name translates to in my language? Elendil.”

It takes a moment, but Eomer grins. “Elfwine it is then.” He looks down at our son in his arms. “You’ll be as great a king as he was someday.”

It’s early autumn and Lothiriel and I are walking through the fields, inspecting the local harvest around Edoras. Seven-year-old Elfwine runs ahead of us toy sword in hand, calling back at his little sister. Rowena, born two years after her brother, chases after him, her own sword held high. The crofters pause in their work as we pass, smiling at the sight.

            “How goes the harvest Ulf?” I ask one grizzled old farmer.

            He beams. “Proving to be a bountiful one, my king, even better than last year’s.”

            “And your grandchildren? How are they?” Lothiriel asks.

            “Growing like weeds, my lady. Oldest’ll soon be learning to ride.”

            We talk a bit more before moving on. Elfwine and Rowena have gathered a small pack of children around them and are staging a mock battle of sorts.

            “Elfwine, mind your sister!” I call, more as a reminder to my son than anything else. Somedays I feel as though I am watching my own childhood again, with Elfwine being as protective of Rowena as I was of Eowyn.

            Lothiriel leans in close. “You know she’ll give it as good as she gets.”

            I smile and draw her in closer. “I do. She’s like her mother in that respect.”

            Eight years we’ve been married now. I’ve ridden off to war twice more now, both times to support Aragorn as Gondor reclaims part of Harad. Even the Wold lords have come to respect Lothiriel’s rule when I am gone, and the land has flourished. Some bards have even taken to giving me the epithet of Eadig, “blessed” and I have to agree with them. I am blessed, beyond what I thought I ever would be. With a grin, I look to Lothiriel and hold my finger to my lips. She nods and I quietly come up behind Rowena. With a roar, I sweep her up, her shriek turning into laughter as I spin around. I set her up on my shoulders and we charge at Elfwine, who clambers up onto a the seat of a wagon to gain a better vantage as Lothiriel cheers the three of us on. The children whack their swords about for a little while before I let Elfwine land a “mortal” blow; groaning, I set his sister on the wagon seat besides him and crumple to the ground as the children cheer.

            “As good a performance of any player of Minas Tirith.” Lothiriel announces as she gives me a hand up. I use the excuse of holding her hand to pull her in close and kiss her as our children cheer.