Wherefrom the Seasons Come | Whereby a Gift is Given | Wherefore Art Thou Éadig? | Wherein the Queen is Celebrated

Wherefrom the Seasons Come

Just about the time of the equinox, Lothíriel Queen sent word out that she would need help setting her garden straight for winter. Many herbs and vegetables had been picked throughout the season, but now it was time for a real effort. She enlisted a number of servants to be ready to make pickles and preserves, while asking others to find more good spots to dry herbs. Once the jars and barrels and racks were ready, Hliehhan and Lothíriel went around to look for the children from whom the compost had been secured in the spring. Would they like to help in the garden over the next week? Many said yes, overjoyed that they would be allowed to keep a portion of what they picked for themselves.

Better yet, Éomer received word that his sister would be visiting for a number of weeks, and that they could expect her and Faramir in the first week of October. He brought this news to his wife in the garden, reading to her from the letter as she showed two little boys how to cut the last of the horehound and lemon balm for drying. Lothíriel smiled at Éomer.

"That's wonderful! I haven't seen those two since our wedding."

"I think Éowyn would love to see your work here."

She looked at him funny. "Are you sure? She didn't strike me as the gardening type."

Éomer laughed, "Oh, I'd wager the two of you will find plenty to talk about."

"Faramir, too, might like this. He actually taught me how to grow some of these," she said thoughtfully. It was now Éomer who looked at Lothíriel funny.

Autumn came and the days passed quickly. The drying racks had filled up very quickly, and some herbs were now hanging in the Royal Apartment. Éomer suggested they be hung from the rafters in the main hall, but Lothíriel said that might not go over well with some of the more uptight members of court. It probably was enough of a shock to see their King going around and tightening strings on the bundles of herbs to keep them in place.

Everything in the vicinity of the kitchen smelled of sugar and vinegar. Cucumber, carrot, cabbage, and onion were being pickled in barrels. Jars of preserves were taking over the shelves. Lothíriel didn't bat an eyelash at the volume of food her garden had produced. Those who had doubted her earlier in the season now stood gawking. In no time at all, the Prince and Princess of Ithilien – and their guard – had arrived.

After being greeted by the King and Queen, many pressed forward to welcome Éowyn back to her childhood home. Hliehhan gave her a cheeky smile and a soft slap on the shoulder.

"Come back to see what civilization looks like?" she teased. Lothíriel was almost certain this would turn into a scandal, but then Éowyn cackled.

"Yours is the only example I follow," she shot back.

Lothíriel felt better knowing that these two were friends. In fact, it seemed to make quite a bit of sense.

Faramir and Éowyn were duly impressed with the garden of Meduseld and all it produced. Éowyn suggested some other ways (and places) to dry herbs that had not occurred to Lothíriel. Faramir commended her for the garlic, coriander, and saffron she had put in, saying it was no mean feat to grow the like in such a climate. Rather than unpacking, the two set about to helping Lothíriel find the root vegetables she had planted among the flowers.

On seeing these flowers, Faramir said to his wife, "I have one or two books left, if you want to press these for your collection." Éowyn blushed, and he turned to Lothíriel to explain: "I might not have encouraged her gardening if I had known she would use my whole library to press flowers. I never know which book might have flowers between the pages, and I must ask my wife's permission before removing any book from my shelves."

Nearby, Hliehhan called out, "Better yours than mine!"

Éowyn was now beet-red, and Faramir swept her up into a hug, kissing her cheeks as he laughed. Lothíriel couldn't remember ever seeing one of her cousins so happy.

After supper, in the sitting room, Éowyn told Éomer of their plans.

"I had hoped to spend enough time here that I may attend the Harvest Festival. Faramir has never seen it, and I wanted to come before traveling is too difficult. And we have reason to believe that you will have many guests."

Éomer raised an eyebrow. "First, what do you mean 'before traveling is too difficult?'"

"I'm expecting," she said bluntly. So bluntly, that it took a moment for it to sink in.

"Congratulations!" cried Lothíriel. "That makes two of us!" The two women were ecstatic, and it took a moment for them to calm down.

"And second," Éomer continued, "How do you know that we will have many guests? Did you send out invitations?" Lothíriel snorted; Éowyn waved him off.

"No, no, they will write for permission of course. King Elessar mentioned off-hand to the dignitaries from the South how the Harvest Festival in Rohan is a thing to behold. They are in Minas Tirith for the winter because parts of the way back into their kingdom are always blocked between early Autumn and late Spring."

Lothíriel sat up straighter, knowing her face must have lit up. She looked to her husband, saying, "Oh, they must come! I do wish I could have gone with you this summer, but if they visit, I can meet them in person and thank them for the gifts. And ask them how to better care for these plants."

And so it was that when letter seeking permission to attend the festivities arrived, Éomer King was loathe to ban anyone from coming. He added a post-script to each response that "the Queen would never let him hear the end of it if she missed this opportunity to meet them."

Whereby a Gift is Given

A sennight before the Harvest Festival, Éomer finally revealed what had become of the roses: they had been used to make bath soaks and massage oils for his wife. The rosehips had been used to create a stock of tisanes and dried food for her pregnancy. He also admitted that Éowyn had had to supplement his inventory. Lothíriel suggested that they try some of the bath soak together.

That night, they giggled like small children, sitting in a large tub and drinking a little bit of fruit wine (courtesy of Faramir).

"I received another letter today," said Éomer.

"From whom?"

"Legolas. I would have expected one from Gimli to be not too far behind, though he may be settling into the Glittering Caves already."

"In which case Erkenbrand would receive a letter," Lothíriel said dryly.

"Undoubtedly. However, Legolas has requested to bring a number of Elves…"

"How many?"

"Three-score and seven."

Lothíriel's jaw dropped.

"He said that they would be bringing quite a few barrels of Dorwinion to make up for the short notice. He also writes to say that the barrels have been checked for dwarves beforehand - whatever that means. I think he may have sampled some of the wine before writing this. Anyway, it seems that this is a stopping point, for he is moving to Ithilien. Faramir can bear witness to this; he seemed to believe that I had foreknowledge that the Elves would be leaving with him and Éowyn."

"What an amazing new world this is," Lothíriel said absent-mindedly. She looked back at him, "Are you sure you read that number right?" His silence was her answer.

Then he said, "Legolas also expressed a wish to see his rival in gardening before starting on the gardens of Minas Tirith."

"Who might that be?" Lothíriel asked.

"You."

She blushed. "Hardly."

He splashed a little water at her, getting some in her wine.

Wherefore Art Thou Éadig?

Edoras was absolutely bustling two days before the Harvest Festival. Wild game was being roasted on spits over fires throughout the streets. Tents were being set up outside the gates of the city in anticipation of many arrivals. Early in the morning, the emissaries and diplomats of Harad arrived, being larger in number than Lothíriel had been led to believe, including men and women and even a child or two. She had to consciously prevent herself from staring rudely at them, for they had varying degrees of dark, dusky skin, and thick, textured hair. Their hair was fashioned in ways Lothíriel had never imagined possible (and knew would be impossible with her own anyway).

When she acquainted herself with them they were very kind and gracious, finding humor in the fact that there was still some language barrier. They were as quick to laugh at their own mistakes as they were to laugh at hers. The duration of their stay provided much amusement in communicating half in Westron and half in Adunaîc, which Lothíriel needed help to speak since it had not been heard in the North for quite some time. She was informed that this group represented seven of the ten tribes in the Kingdom of United Tribes. They were also happy to point out their tribal regions on the new map of Harad gifted to the Kingdom of Rohan. Lothíriel suggested that the map be on display the next day, when the hothouse was officially opened.

After the greetings, most of the group was settled either into guesthouses or in tents, but two of the Haradric diplomats stepped away to talk to Éomer (in halting Westron, since Éomer's Adunaîc was nonexistent) about the herd recently brought to the Mark. They and several others (all from grassland regions) wished dearly to see the herd once more, and were hoping to see some of the Rohirric horses in turn. It was later revealed that two of the tribes were known as Horse Lords in the South! They, too, had lost many horses to Sauron's agents who had come to rule the land.

While her husband was otherwise occupied, Lothíriel asked around if anyone in the group had knowledge of the plants she had received. She was directed to a wizened old man who always began speaking by giving a brief, toothless grin. He seemed fragile, stooping over when he walked and speaking in a wispy voice. His Westron, though doubtlessly practiced over many years, still bore a thick accent. Lothíriel attributed it to poor translation on her part, but the estimates of his age ranged from fifty and one hundred years to upwards of thirty and two hundred years. The Queen gave her arm for his support as they slowly made their way to the hothouse, Éowyn and Hliehhan joining in as they approached their destination.

Once there, he shook her off, and walked around, inspecting the plants, sometimes tasting the leaves or a piece of bark, sometimes rubbing them between his fingers and smelling. He was alert and focused, suddenly very serious and intent. The only time he acknowledged the women was when he went to a new plant and turned to give them its name: lemon, patchouli, myrtle, olibanum, henna, bdellium, vanilla orchids, red bush, devil's weed, olive, jasmine, verbena, and red currant (even though it looked nothing like the red currant Lothíriel knew). He inspected each one top to bottom, sometimes even testing the soil. The longer he took, the more Lothíriel worried that she did something wrong – her two companions caught on to her anxiety.

Finally, he turned to her with one of his smiles, and declared that she was doing a commendable job, especially for the fact that she was a Northerner. The comment sometimes bothered her in the years since, but at the time, she accepted the compliment graciously. He took her around to each plant, explaining the uses of each one. The other two women left as the afternoon wore on, and by the evening, Lothíriel had a headache from all the new information. She confessed to this man – whose name was very long, but only asked to be called Tau, and in turn called her "Lottie" – that he may have to repeat some of what he had told her. Before going to bed that night, she made sure to write down everything she could remember.

o0o

The day before the Harvest Festival, Lothíriel stood beside Éomer as they presented their subjects with the hothouse. Tau insisted on standing next to Lottie, and every person who neglected to thank the Queen for her hard work got an earful from the old man. Her husband seemed a little baffled at this man stepping in at first, but soon realized that this freed him up to show some of the Eorling nobility about the hothouse, directing them to the map of Harad which had been placed near the front.

By noon, Elves were spotted from afar, and soon they were at the gates of Edoras, chatting merrily, laughing, dancing, and generally being much more lively and boisterous than most thought Elves would be. The large barrels of Dorwinion were unloaded, as promised (though one or two were suspiciously empty), and put up in the Hall of Meduseld. This group of Elves took up all the rest of the hitherto unoccupied tents, and even had to set up some of their own. Legolas was given space in Meduseld, meanwhile, so that he could be free to discuss matters of state with Faramir and Éomer.

o0o

The morning dawned clear, crisp, and cool. Lothíriel woke up to see Éomer staring into one of his boots, squinting into its depths.

"Something the matter?" she said hazily.

"There's a small kitten in here. I'm surprised his mewling didn't wake you."

She was now fully awake, crawling over the bed to stare into the boot. She wrinkled her nose, and looked back to Éomer, saying, "He couldn't choose a more aromatic place, I suppose."

"He keeps scratching and biting me whenever I try to reach in to get him," he said, disregarding her comment. "And turning the boot upside-down has proved fruitless."

"Did you try unlacing the boot and giving him room to crawl out?" He gave her a look that told her he had not thought of this. A heart-wrenching slew of cries came from the boot as he unlaced it, and the bewildered tabby kitten stumbled out slowly. He put him on the bed so that he and his wife could go about getting ready for the day.

The King was usually expected to give a speech at the beginning of the day to start the celebrations, and Éomer had been long thinking of what he might want to articulate to his people. He had noticed that many were uneasy around the Elves and especially the Haradrim, so he would need to address that – hopefully doing so would alleviate the tension. But he wanted to address so many things while keeping the speech short enough so that his wife wouldn't have to stay on her feet too long. And while he was at it, he may as well announce her pregnancy.

The Queen, on the other hand, knew that she was not expected to say anything, but rather to stand demurely at his side. Today, she felt like doing just that. Her gown felt heavier than before, and it was becoming tighter – not just around her belly. She could have done without the stares sent her way the whole morning, but before the speech, Faramir pulled her aside, the corner of his lips almost breaking into a smile.

"You are sure you can stand?" he asked.

"Yes."

"For both speeches?"

"Pardon?"

"I was going to give a speech, too. A very short one, just before Éomer King."

"Oh. I did not know that. I look forward to it," she added with genuine enthusiasm.

"He promised to keep his short as well. I was also wondering …"

"Yes?"

"Why have you been walking around with that on your dress?"

She felt her heart skip a few beats, and she panicked about what might be on her dress. Lothíriel gathered her skirts around, looking for the offense. The small tabby kitten was clinging on for dear life. Her head snapped back up to her cousin. "How long has he been there?"

He laughed openly now. "Ever since you came from your chambers!"

Lothíriel quickly righted the situation, placing the kitten on her shoulder, praying that it would not piddle on her while her husband spoke.

Éomer King stood on the top of the steps of Meduseld just before midday and looked out at the multitude gathering to hear him speak. His subjects, his guests, his friends, his kin … everyone here looked happy and healthy, and he felt that the greatest sorrows of his life ended here at this moment. He was quite pleased with himself when his voice remained clear and steady, speaking first in Rohirric and then in Westron. That alone would have made a decent speech rather long, but he kept his promise and made it short. He acknowledged the losses of each group present, and then their contributions to the peace of the Fourth Age. He put forth the hope that many in Arda could bear witness to the growth of the Eorlingas, saying that the days of greatness were not merely in the past, but that they were both at hand and yet to come. With that, he beckoned forward the youngest of his councilors, who had offered to coordinate festivities, but a great roar went up from the crowd, startling the Elves and the Haradrim at first.

His people cried, "Hāl, Éomer Cyning! Éadig Cyning!"

As he looked at his wife in astonishment, he saw that she was beaming at him, tears in her eyes, as she took his hands.

o0o

In the evening after a long day of game and competition the ale was flowing and the winners lauded. Lothíriel Queen did her best to lead some of the dances, and was excused graciously when she begged to sit down from time to time. Her husband joined her for one of her breaks, and later along came Tau.

The three of them looked on at the revelry, as the different races all danced together. Lothíriel had a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that this would not happen again for many Ages of Man. She shook that sadness away and turned to speak with Tau.

"I am sorry if this is rude," she started, "but I understand from your relations that you aren't a winter younger than one hundred and fifty."

This caught Éomer's attention. At first Tau stared blankly at her, but then gave his grin and said, "I once treated Éomer King's forefathers at a battle in the South long ago. Two brothers, I believe." His smile looked bitter. Éomer and Lothíriel were surprised by the clarity of his Westron and strength of voice, and wondered if his feebleness had been an act. "If I had been caught by my people, I would have been executed for treason. But the brothers passed away even after all I had done. I prepared their bodies for when they were found by their people, and my secret remained safe."

"What are you talking about?" Lothíriel asked softly.

"The Battle of the Crossings of Poros?" Éomer asked urgently.

Tau replied in the affirmative, adding, "I was part of the spy network acting on behalf of Gondor and allies. The brothers' names were Fastred and Folcred, who knew me before I ever had to tend to them."

Éomer sat back, scrutinizing Tau, and then confirmed for Lothíriel that he may very well be telling the truth. This would put his age well over one hundred and thirty years. Tau then leaned in, pulling something from a pocket concealed in his shirt.

"I should have returned this sooner, but I confess I grew attached to it." He gave a small medallion of gold, cast into the shape of a horse's head, over to Éomer, whose expression became disbelief. "It was clearly an heirloom and a thing of power. The brother called Folcred gave it to me, saying that I should think of the North when the light fades from the South. Immediately after that battle I deserted my kin's army, and gathered as many of the descendents of Númenor as I could still find. Warriors, scholars, and perhaps most importantly, gardeners," he said with a wink to Lothíriel, "who could help me build a force to keep the light of the Valar shining in the South."

As Éomer turned the medallion in his hand, Tau took out another amulet on a long silver chain, and held it out for them to see. It was glass, with a sky-blue rim around a clear rim, and at the center was a white circle and a black dot in the middle. "This is the symbol of the good in the South; it is like an eye, meant to ward off the Evil Eye by staring right back! Though Sauron has fallen, evil still walks the earth. Oft-times in the guise of Man. Please, take this, Lothíriel Queen. Many of the plants sent from the South will keep you in health in your years to come, but I cannot leave without giving you this last protection. Consider it repayment for the medallion I kept from your country all these years."

She took it breathlessly, and felt a lightness come into her heart as she fastened the clasp of the chain behind her neck. Her last question to ask was, "You are the one responsible for the creation of the Kingdom of United Tribes?"

"Only one of many, my dear," he answered. "For what is a battle among grasshoppers but a joy to the crow? And never underestimate how far gardening can go in the face of despair." A tinge of sea-grey appeared in his eyes from the firelight, and she saw that this man was her distant Númenórean kin.

o0o

In contrast to the merrymaking of their subjects, the King and Queen were very quiet when they went to bed that night. They said nothing of Tau's revelation to Faramir or Éowyn – or even to Legolas – but they knew they must. Eventually, Lothíriel got out of bed, wrapped herself in warm clothes, and went to the garden. Éomer was close behind her.

There she stood in a garden picked bare, staring up at the moon. He led her to a wooden bench against the side of the Hall, and wrapped his arms around her to keep her warm.

"Everything is so different than it was at this time last year," she said. He seconded this. "I never thought I would be so happy as I am now."

"You don't miss Dol Amroth, do you?" he asked, suddenly doubting he had anything to do with her happiness.

"I miss it every now and then, but I could never go back." She kissed his cheek quickly but softly. "There's something to be said for making a place your own. I felt welcome to do that since the moment I stepped into the Mark. And there's something about you, you know…" she added coyly.

He kept himself from grinning like an idiot. "I am glad. You seemed half-hearted when the betrothal was announced."

Lothíriel stared up at the moon again. "I will admit that I was at the time. I will even admit that I was somewhat frightened and intimidated by you. Elphir was quick to point out that I wasn't being true to myself; that I had never let myself be afraid of anything before in my life. I hated him for saying this, of course, but he was right."

Éomer chuckled. "No, it doesn't seem like you to be afraid. You hid it very well … and made me begin to question myself."

"Question your agreeing to the betrothal?"

"No, no: question my confidence and ability to be a good husband for you. You see, you take after your aunt a little bit." That made her giggle. "When did you stop being afraid?"

Lothíriel didn't even have to think about it: "After I got that letter from you around Yule last year, where you rambled on and on about nothing in particular." She decided not to add that she had found it endearing how he had demonstrated a lack of expertise in several areas.

Éomer groaned. "I had hoped that that letter would never reach you. I realized too late that I wrote in an unguarded manner."

"I thought it was really sweet how a seasoned warrior would let his guard down like that."

"There's just something about you, you know…" He trailed off, deciding he'd rather kiss her.

And so he did.

Wherein the Queen is Celebrated

Some months later, February to be precise, came Lothíriel's name-day. She had spent the cold winter days on crewel-work, on translations of old manuscripts, and on building up the still room. Most times she had to leave the tending of the indoor plants to servants. Éomer worried whether or not she was overworking herself. She was getting larger, and he started massaging her feet after her long days.

They expected Ivriniel and Imrahil yet again, even though it was generally discouraged to travel long distances through the Mark in the dead of winter. Neither Lothíriel nor Éomer would admit any worry about seeing Imrahil. The Prince of Dol Amroth had not mentioned anything they had spoken of before he left Rohan, and for all intents and purposes he seemed as amiable as ever.

They arrived the morning of Lothíriel Queen's birthday, bearing presents and letters from friends and relatives. There was a quiet luncheon for the four of them in the sitting room of the Royal Apartment, where Lothíriel was encouraged to open her gifts. As the snow began falling gently outside and the fire crackled, it became a very cozy little gathering.

Elphir and his wife had sent several bolts of soft linen in different colors; their four-year-old son Alphros had decided to send a much-loved toy "from when he was little." Erchirion sent a number of spices he had acquired on his recent travels; Amrothos sent a lovely painting. Ivriniel brought Lothíriel scrolls of herblore (and later hinted that there may be scrolls of racy poetry mixed in there somewhere). Then they procured the gifts from Faramir and Éowyn: a number of clever arrangements of dried flowers, already framed.

Once these presents were all put neatly out of the way, Ivriniel stood up. "Éomer, my dear, would you help an old lady to see that her bags made it to her room?"

He acquiesced, grinning at the formidable woman's characterization of herself. That left Lothíriel with her father. Once the two had gone, Imrahil cleared his throat and drew out a few more parcels.

"These are from me…and your mother, in a way," he said quietly. The smile on his face could have been either sorrow or joy, depending on how the light flickered.

Lothíriel unwrapped the first one, and found it was a large folio of old papers, with scribbles and sketches. She gasped. "These can't be what I think they are."

"Your mother kept meticulous records, and so left behind a record of every garden plan, every year, going back to the first year we were married," he said in a choked voice. "If you ever yearn to see the gardens from your childhood, you now have them at your disposal."

"I thought-"

"That I took no notice of the women in my life?"

Lothíriel looked down, feeling a little ashamed of herself. Imrahil continued, "I regret that I have not always expressed how important you all are to me. The only person who was never given a chance was Finduilas – and her husband suffered the consequences of not paying heed to the importance of what she did." He took a deep breath before saying, "Open this one next," as he nudged a second parcel towards her.

She opened it and found two books. They were both written in the same hand, and appeared to be novels of some sort; the stories were accompanied by illustrations in vibrant ink.

"I only just discovered these before leaving to come here! Do you remember my mother? No, I suppose not. She came from a family famed for talent in horticulture, but she turned out to be a rather indifferent gardener: her talent was in writing and painting. My sisters and I were raised on these books, written by her, even after she had been told to pursue more feminine activities countless times. You should have these for your children; I don't think your brothers would appreciate them."

Lothíriel couldn't stop the tears that were beginning to fall, and she tried in vain to wipe them away. When she looked at her father, she saw that he was crying a little, too. They laughed at themselves, and Imrahil spoke again.

"I learned early on to look for the significance in things that go unnoticed by many. Not all heroes come from the battlefield, and more importantly, women don't like to be reminded by the men they love that they are all too often forgotten in the annals of history." A wry smile twisted his lips. "There's a reason two of your brothers are bachelors, and it is not the flattering reason they believe it to be."

Lothíriel scoffed at this, almost shocked that her father would speak this way of her brothers. He bade her to open the last parcel.

It was heavy and somewhat large, and something was clanging around inside: a new set of hand-tools for gardening, wrought of quality metal and fit with handles shaped for the curve of her grasp.

"I had these commissioned after my last visit here. I realized that I needed to give up the pretense of being a distant father, who felt his daughter's interests to be inconsequential." He grinned at her and said, "I remember when you told me how you would battle the growing darkness by bringing more light and life into the world. You always seemed bitter after telling me, and I suppose I shouldn't have laughed. Such wise words for one so young! But, my lovely daughter, when this child you now carry is a scrappy twelve winters, and tells you he or she will defy one of the greatest and most evil Maiar in the history of Arda by gardening, I defy you to bite your cheek."

Upon seeing it through his eyes, a weight she hadn't known to be on her chest lifted.

o0o

The Prince and Princess of Dol Amroth stayed for a week or so, and when a break came in the weather, they left. Éomer remarked that his Father-in-law seemed much more at ease than before; Lothíriel told him about her talk with Imrahil. She showed him the books and the tools and the folio of garden plans gifted to her, and he seemed to show the exact appreciation she had wanted from him. After that, Lothíriel began to turn her attention to creating her own garden plan, leaving behind the crewel, and manuscripts, and still-room.

The inspiration seemed to be catching, for soon the sleepiness that Winter cast over the denizens of Edoras began to melt away. The projects left behind by the Queen were taken up by others, and even the Royal Council was more cooperative than usual. Each day, the Queen tended the hothouse garden, and every night made minor changes to her plans. Though much would remain the same in the coming season, there were certain plots she wished to rotate in order to keep the nutrients in the soil. In addition, she now intended to use a portion of the hothouse as a nursery for young plants, while some of the hothouse plants could bear to be moved into the garden. If the King had been impressed by his wife before, he was now stunned at the depth of knowledge she possessed as it pertained to the natural world. He began to join her on the nights he could spare, wishing to learn from her.

One such night, Lothíriel leaned back and sighed after showing Éomer one of her favorite garden designs from her mother's records.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"I was just thinking – I hope the baby comes before I have to work in the garden."

"You can't seriously be thinking of working right after giving birth."

Lothíriel quirked an eyebrow at him over a raised cup of tea like she had so many months ago. "It's not as though I will push the babe out and immediately turn for my trowel."

He snorted, picturing her doing just that. "Well, what do you mean?"

"I mean that I will take enough rest to recover, and then work in my garden to avoid being idle. And it's no trouble to watch the babe while I work: he won't be able to wander off when my back is turned for some years yet. If he's close, then the nursemaid won't have to fetch me every time he is hungry."

"He?" Éomer asked.

"Perhaps. That is my feeling, at least."

"And you intend to nurse the child yourself, unlike most noble ladies?"

She looked at him askance. "Why, of course. I would prefer to be as close to my child as possible than to maintain maidenly breasts. Do you have a problem with that?" If Éomer was going to disagree with his wife, he would have worried over her increasingly aggressive posture.

"Whatever you choose to do is fine, I assure you," he said nonchalantly. "One of my fondest memories of my own mother is of watching her nurse Éowyn."

Lothíriel's expression relaxed. "You were all very close, weren't you?"

"Yes." Éomer looked down and fiddled with a loose string on the hem of his sleeve. "Very much so." She reached over to cover his restless hand with hers.

"I'm sure we will have that too. And it can be our own."

And so it was that the Third Line of the Kings of the Mark was renowned for remarkable beginnings and high estimation of family.

So there it is. I've had this ready to go for about two months now, but the very very very ending was tripping me up.

Thanks again for the reviews and favorites and follows!