A/N: Well, here we are! Finally to the end :)

The "bloopers" were written at the suggestion of , for whom this story was written.

I hope you enjoyed this story! I had a great time writing it, and I hope it brought you some smiles :) All the best, dear reader!

EPILOGUE

T.A. 3021
25 June

Éomer barred the door against the crowd of wedding guests. For a few minutes, they stood without speaking, listening to the guests calling out well-wishes and blessings as Éomer's steward and other servants urged them back to the hall for more music and celebration.

As silence fell in the corridor, Lothíriel turned to look at her new bedchamber. She had never seen this room before. She'd only arrived in Rohan a few days ago, and despite her curiosity to see every inch of her new home, she knew very well how much people were watching her. Propriety was key. And all of her brothers seemed to have gained a new level of overprotectiveness. She was glad to be out of their sight at last.

The walls here were dark panelled wood. A few tapestries had been hung; Lothíriel guessed more would be up in the wintertime. The floor was stone, though there were many rugs to ward off the chill, including a fur rug by the hearth. A blazing fire had been lit along with candles on the small table by the narrow window, casting a warm glow around the room. And the bed was much higher and longer than any she'd ever slept in. She swallowed a giggle at the thought of trying to share her old bed at Dol Amroth with Éomer. How much of his legs would dangle off? Half?

Éomer stepped up behind her and squeezed her shoulders, sending a chill down her back. "Hello," he said.

"Hello," Lothíriel answered, all her nerves coming back. She turned to face him. He was resplendent in his kingly clothes and golden circlet; his hair shone softly in the firelight. Her own gown was blue silk embroidered with silver thread, and her crown had been wrought in white gold to match. Her mother had cried to see her dressed so, but it was Éomer whose expression Lothíriel had cared about. When he'd first seen her at the ceremony, his eyes had gone dark and wide as he drank her in.

He looked at her that way now, too. Lothíriel's heart pounded; she couldn't take her eyes from him. He was beautiful, and she wanted him. She swallowed.

Éomer ran a hand up the side of her neck. "Well, my queen," he murmured. He turned her head to face the bed and kissed the hollow behind her ear. "Shall we?"

FIN

..

..

BLOOPERS

1. Éomer barrels through (from chapter three). Featuring a dislocated arm!

"We are not friends," he told her. "Pray excuse me." He put one foot on the step right below hers and put his weight on it.

Lothíriel stuck her hands on her hips. With her elbows out, she was a greater obstacle, though a man of Éomer's size and strength could easily barrel past her if he chose.

She swallowed and opened her mouth, but Éomer kept moving towards her. Lothíriel held her ground, and Éomer's eyes widened just before he knocked into her yet again. Lothíriel grunted as she fell back; she squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of a bruised tailbone.

Éomer managed to grab her upper arm before she hit the steps, and his powerful grip jerked her arm out of its socket with a sickening pop.

"Ow!"

Éomer rapidly set her down—gently, thank the Valar—and knelt before her. Tears sprang to her eyes as painful spasms shuddered in her right shoulder. It was suddenly much higher than her left shoulder, and the whole arm felt wrong. Éomer winced and reached towards her, but she leaned away, careful not to move her arm.

"Princess, I am so sorry," Éomer said. "But don't pull away. Let me help you."

His contrition was genuine enough, but did he know anything about dislocated shoulders?

Probably, she decided. He was a warrior, and even her brothers knew some healing.

Lothíriel blinked back tears and carefully held up her hand, keeping her upper arm in place. Éomer met her eyes, not ready to start without a clear signal. She nodded, and he pressed his large hands to her shoulder and upper arm. Only squeezing her eyes shut stopped the flow of tears.

After a long minute, Éomer stepped back. "I can put your shoulder back in place," he said. "I need to get behind you to lift your arm. Do you trust me?"

"Of course," she said, dazed. "Of course I do." She leaned aside to make room for him.

Éomer seemed surprised at her quick agreement, but he stepped carefully over her. "Lean forward, and relax your arm as much as you can," he instructed. He took her right arm and pulled it back, straight past her ribs, with his free hand pressed against her shoulder blade for purchase. Lothíriel let out a weak cry and tilted her head away from the awful pain in her shoulder.

"Shh, it's alright," Éomer murmured. He rubbed little circles on her back with his thumb. "Just a little longer."

It was more than a little longer, though, and Lothíriel sniveled the whole long time while Éomer pulled her arm back.

Finally, her arm popped back into place, and Lothíriel gasped for air. All of her strength had left her, and she leaned heavily against the stairwell wall. Her eyes slid closed.

Éomer came back around in front of her. He gently pressed her hand. "Are you alright?"

Lothíriel nodded, eyes still shut and body still oddly weak. "Thank you," she said. She waited for him to leave; there was no way to stop him now.

But Éomer did not leave. Lothíriel eventually opened her eyes, and blinked in surprise to see how close he was. His face was troubled, but he nodded at her. "You are well enough to walk? I cannot leave you here like this."

"Oh." She tried to stand, but her legs had turned to jelly. She fell back heavily. "I'm sorry." Her face burned; this was not how she had hoped this encounter would go. Éomer seemed to be considering his next move, and she reached out with effort and grabbed his hand. He stared at her, and she smiled weakly. "I need to tell you something," she said.

"What is it?"

"I wasn't his crony. I did it for my father. For Gondor." She wasn't sure if he understood, but her mind had been rendered senseless.

Éomer sighed. "Let's get you home."

He wrapped her good arm in his and helped her to her feet; she leaned heavily against him. If only he hadn't knocked into her, she thought. Then she could have explained everything. But now…

Tears blurred her vision, and she slipped on a stair. Éomer caught her easily under the arms. He looked her up and down, sighed again, and picked her up under the knees. She fit snugly against his broad chest. If she'd had more strength, she would have wrapped her arms around his neck. As it was, she only rested her head against his shoulder.

By the time they made it to the bottom of the stairs, the rocking motion of his steady steps was lulling her to sleep. She pressed her face into his neck and whispered her whole truth into his skin. His breath hitched as her lips brushed against the hollow of his throat, and he paused halfway down the corridor.

"Princess," he said, "I…"

But Lothíriel was already asleep.

. .

. .

2. Lothíriel's bed in Dol Amroth is just as small as she predicted

Lothíriel leaned against the windowsill and breathed in the sea air. "It's nice to be back," she murmured.

"I can see why everyone loves it here." Éomer came up behind her and rested his chin on the top of her head. "The noise is soothing."

"The smell, too."

They were in Lothíriel's old bedroom in Dol Amroth. Lothíriel hadn't been home in almost two years, and so Éomer had arranged a trip to the south of Gondor. The sight of him struggling to find his sea legs had been endlessly entertaining for the days on the water, and Lothíriel had lost no time in teasing him about it with Amrothos.

Now it was past sunset, and the sea was a dark blur against the gray cloudy sky. The gauzy curtains rustled in the breeze, and Lothíriel shivered. Her shift was a poor covering against the evening chill. Éomer ran his hands up and down her arms.

"Cold?"

"Mm. It's a little chilly." She turned around and leaned against him. "You're warm, though."

"Warm and tired." Éomer yawned. He shuffled back towards the bed, keeping her close. She giggled and squirmed against him. "Time for bed, wife." He suddenly picked her up, his arms around her shoulders and knees.

Lothíriel looped her arms around his neck. "Lead the way, my lord."

Two quick strides and Éomer tossed Lothíriel onto her bed. She reached up for him, and he pulled off his tunic and climbed in next to her. He stretched out, then paused.

"What is it?" she asked.

Éomer glanced down the length of the bed and wiggled his feet. Lothíriel sat up on her elbows and burst into giggles. His feet and almost a third of his shins were dangling off the edge of the bed.

"I'll admit," Éomer said, "I wasn't expecting that."

Lothíriel flopped back down, laughter bubbling out of her uncontrollably. "I wondered about this! When I first saw your bed, before it was ours." She wiped her eyes and turned onto her side to look at Éomer. "I'm sorry," she said, still giggling a little. "I guess you'll just have to curl up around me."

Éomer grinned wickedly, turned onto his side, and curled his legs up around hers. He gripped her hips and pulled her close. "I guess so."