Lothíriel was fed, bathed, and put to bed before the noon bell rang in her father's house. She could hardly bring herself to care about any of the questions she would normally have. Heartache was making her miserable and so in the mood for languishing in bed, but too unhappy to lay still. But despite all this she slept soundly through the remainder of the day and the following night, and late the next morning.

Over the midmorning meal, delivered to her chambers so that she could continue her brooding, her father arrived to explain everything that had happened.

"You do not look any worse for the adventure," he said kindly. They were sitting out on a terrace, the sun bright and warm. Lothíriel was picking at a dish of cheese and apples, and only lifted her shoulders in response. Imrahil continued, "I am glad Amrothos found you when he did. Otherwise…" There was no need to finish the thought, for Lothíriel knew exactly how the 'adventure' would have ended. Éomer could not have possibly fought their way out the house.

"Go on, Father," Lothíriel said wearily.

"We were about twenty leagues from the city when we came across a messenger from Elphir bearing a message that all was well. It was so baffling, considering the message we received at dinner, that Amrothos and I had an hour-long argument. Eventually we realized that the messenger at dinner was unknown to us, though we knew the second one. Most suspect, do you not think?"

"Oh yes." Lothíriel took a sip of water.

"We hastened back and found you three missing—that is when we knew something was terribly wrong. Since gates had been closed all that night, you could not have been taken out of the city. Elessar helped us organize a search."

This much Lothíriel knew, or suspected; Amrothos had revealed enough to be tantalizingly mysterious on their way back to their home the day before. "I am glad you returned, Father," she said. "I—I do much care for adventure, I think."

Imrahil laughed. "The way Erchirion is going on, it was a tale worthy of novelization. Do you not agree?"

Thinking of her awkward confession to Éomer, Lothíriel shook her head abruptly. "No! I would rather keep it private, if at all possible."

Her father was looking strangely at her, noticing with narrowed eyes that she was hardly eating. "Are you well?" he asked. "I suppose I have dismissed any idea of harm, since Erchirion and Éomer have recovered so quickly and are in good spirits. But you, Lothíriel—you are not hurt?"

"No, of course not." Then she added bitterly, "I was to be a bride to their king. I would not have been harmed, at least not by those men at that time."

"Yes, that is what Éomer said. A deplorable plot, to be sure. Elessar has taken their king's man for questioning. You need not worry any further."

Lothíriel gave her father a watery smile, and for the rest of the hour the conversation turned to general topics. When at last he took his leave, she felt drained and ready for more rest.

But it was after that short rest that she felt energized enough that she could not rationalize moping any longer. She would have to face Éomer sooner or later. It was her own shame keeping her cooped up, which Lothíriel did not like one bit. She had, after all, been honest with him; that much she could not regret. Éomer was an honorable man, and he would not take advantage of her vulnerability.

Lothíriel dressed for dinner, feeling years older than she had the previous time she had gone through this routine. Her maid helped her to arrange her hair and to fasten a silver necklace about her neck. Confidence made her sweep from the chamber with her chin lifted, and as it was still early, Lothíriel decided to take a walk about the house before the meal. It did feel wondrously good to exercise.

Eventually she wandered to a massive terrace that faced east, the vibrantly orange sun making her blink as she stared down at the city and plains below. The city did not seem as safe as it had been, and Lothíriel shook herself.

"Lothíriel."

A shivering took her body, and she tensed, recognizing at once the voice and the presence it brought. She turned to see Éomer, standing tall in the archway to the terrace, clean and handsome and serious and making her feel very dowdy. "My lord," Lothíriel said courteously. "Good evening."

Éomer did not reply, and instead walked forward to take a place by her. "I hope you are recovered," he said.

"Well enough. And you?"

"I have been in worse scrapes."

A brief temptation to scoff at such a comment had to be quashed. For all his nobility, Éomer did seem inclined to some very subtle (though perhaps deserved) arrogance. But this did not damped Lothíriel's feelings at all; in fact, she discerned in that moment that their incident had only made her fall more in love with him.

He spoke suddenly. "Lothíriel, I have sought you out privately for a reason."

She met his eyes, baffled. What on earth—why was he so solemn?

"Do bear with me; this is a challenge I have never before faced." His face was still, and so if he was nervous, it did not show. Lothíriel could only stare, and Éomer's deep voice continued, "Lothíriel, I have come to supplicate your hand."

"My hand?"

"Yes; your hand in marriage."

She blinked several times, a hundred thoughts clamoring in her mind to be articulated. She seized one, and stammered, "You do not have to marry me because…because I told you I love you," Lothíriel said shakily. "That is ridiculous. In fact—" A sweeping anger overtook her. "I am rather offended that you think it requisite! And that you would bind to me with no affection on your part…I—I…I should call you out for that, I really should!"

Éomer did not seem perturbed by this outburst, though he wasted no time in responding. "You are misunderstanding my reasoning, Lothíriel. I do not wish to marry you because I feel it necessary to preserve your dignity. Where I am from, the freely offered heart of a woman is no small matter, especially if the woman is as passionate and brave as you. There is none better to be the queen of Rohan and no woman I would rather have by my side."

A small squeak escaped her, and her ears were ringing. To her even greater surprise than Éomer's declaration thus far, was the slightly sheepish expression that overtook his features.

"You say there is no affection on my part? That is not strictly true. I am not accustomed to showing my feelings, and so it would not stand to reason that you do not notice them. When I met you, princess of Dol Amroth, my heart responded in a way I did not immediately recognize. But I also beheld your elegance and refinement, and I knew it was impossible that you would ever deign to consider me. Even after our captivity, during which I learned that your intelligence leaves me leagues behind. I cannot pretend to very much cleverness; in fact, I worry whether I am enough to keep you interested."

Lothíriel was sniffling, and traitorous tears were building in her eyes, blurring Éomer's suddenly concerned expression. "Deign to consider you?" she said hoarsely, with an awkward laugh. "That is exactly what I thought of you! Though not the elegant and refined part, perhaps. But you mistake me, Éomer. I am not so mighty as you suppose."

"Nor I. I am afraid that the man who stands before you is merely an ordinary being that wishes to marry you, despite misgivings of my own worthiness. Without any other considerations…would you?"

Her heart was hammering, but despite that she felt that she could sing and fly and conquer anything. A smile grew on her blushing face. "Yes," Lothíriel said. "Yes, please!"

Éomer returned her smile, looking very pleased and a bit relieved. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, and Lothíriel thought she might swoon. "Lothíriel…my darling." His voice was low. "May I kiss you?"

It was all she could do not to beg, but rather nod her head as serenely as possible. Now she was sure she would swoon—but Éomer wrapped her up in a very pleasant embrace and so Lothíriel knew at least she would not topple over. Her eyes fluttered shut, and as his lips pressed to hers, her blood hummed with unseen fire and her mind with a cloudy haze. Somehow her hands were taking on a life of their own, searching him out—his chest, his shoulders, his face—everywhere she had admired from afar but could not properly touch until then. Éomer's breath was hot and pleasant, and Lothíriel felt that as far as first kisses went, this one was utterly perfect. Her aching heart was suddenly feeling very whole, and very rapturous.

Several moments later, she remained snug in his embrace, and his hands were stroking along her arms as they stood in a peaceful silence, watching the last rays of the sun disappear. Lothíriel was sure that they were late for supper, but she was too content to move, and a euphoric sigh escaped her.

"You have made me a very happy man," Éomer said. "Whatever I have done to deserve a love such as you…I dare not question."

Lothíriel lifted her head to study him. Even in the dimming light, his eyes were so very green and warm as he looked down at her with a smile. This was much more feeling radiating from him than she was accustomed, and so it must be true. He truly cared for her! One niggle of doubt remained in her heart, however, and Lothíriel took a deep breath.

"Éomer," she said slowly. "Why did you not tell me you had a knife in the dungeon? It might have made more of a difference, were it counted among our assets. And—and acting as though you were going to your death when you clearly had a plan…you made me a complete milksop."

He brushed his fingers along her chin, smiling. "You are a very pretty milksop in any case, Lothíriel," Éomer said. "I wanted a genuine reaction from you; were you too confident the guards might have suspected. I was depending almost entirely on surprise. The knife was part of it."

Lothíriel huffed. "Well, they did a terrible job of searching you for weapons! Not to mention there were not guards posted at all times. If they had really been intent on killing you, they ought to have done so straightaway instead of gloating about it. I say, there are dozens of things I would have done differently."

"All of this, and you are pointing out the failings of our captors!" Éomer's voice held more than a hint of amusement.

"Well," she said mildly. "They were not very good villains."

"But I, for one, must always be in their debt, as without their interference we might not have reconciled our sentiments. Darling Lothíriel!"

It was all still very astonishing that such a serious man could possess such a tender heart, but Lothíriel would not complain, and she tilted her head upwards to be kissed again.