10 January 1 F.A., Edoras

Lothíriel was careful to drink the tea to help her stomach before supper that night. She dressed in the most-forgiving or her formal frocks (for despite her illness, she was decidedly more plump 'round the waist). Éomer's eyes were shining with pride when he took her arm to lead her to the hall.

It was not quite as loud as Yuletide, but the air more excited than usual for supper. Lothíriel guessed, by the glances and smiles their way, that her condition had already been surmised—her absence from regular duty and the midwife's regular attendance would have made it rather obvious. But still, it was proper to announce it all formally, and she allowed Éomer to lead her to the dais, and the hall quieted.

Oh, dear—she had supposed he would speak at the conclusion of the meal. Evidently not.

Éomer's voice resonated through the silent hall easily, and the richness of his voice made her shiver with pleasure. Slightly behind him, Lothíriel stood as tall as she could, which was not as much as she liked.

"My lord and ladies," he said. "We welcome you to this special feast tonight, in honor of the anticipation of a child and heir of Rohan, continuing the House of Eorl."

He certainly did not waste his words! Lothíriel bit back a smile as she heard laughter and calls of good wishes echoed in the hall. Then Éomer turned to her, blinding her with his beaming smile, and his fingers tightened 'round hers.

"And we honor my wife and queen—" he continued, and his voice grew quieter, though it still thrummed through her being. "—whom I love."

Lothíriel felt her cheeks grow warm, and her smile broke through as Éomer's eyes held her captive. The noise around them was growing, but she did not care—she saw only her husband. By the hand he drew her near, and she went to him and he wrapped her in an embrace, uncaring that they were in full view of everyone. Then he was lowering his head, kissing her tenderly, and she understood his every sentiment.

He loved her!

This time, her dizziness was not from the child she carried—their child—but of pure, complete, joy. She wound her arms around his neck, her heart beating from her breast—

Lothíriel's face ached from smiling so much over the course of the evening. Accepting the congratulations of the nobles of Edoras, and the kind words of those she knew within Meduseld, and having Éomer hold her hand throughout the entire night—she was overflowing with happiness. How different this was than those first days after their wedding, when she had dreaded a lonely life forever!

And despite the ache in her cheeks, she was still smiling when she combed her hair out for the night in front of the silver mirror. The hearth was warm, and the light flickered pleasantly in the chamber. Her eyes were distant, full of hopes and dreams as she absently stroked the come through her hair. Éomer was removing his clothing nearby, and she drew comfort from the familiar sound of his moving about the chamber.

After a minute or two she heard him approach, and his fingers drew the loose hair away from her shoulder. Lothíriel bit her lip as he lowered his head, kissing the skin of her neck gently, slowly. Shivers crawled pleasantly down her spine.

"Éomer…" she murmured, her eyes fluttering shut. The pleasure of his touch could not be overstated; it had been many days since she had been well enough to appreciate the full force of his nearness. His warm hands were clasping her arms, and she sighed a little moan. The comb clattered to the table, completely forgotten.

"If you are too ill—" His voice was low in her ear, and she quivered, arching her neck to feel him graze his teeth along her jaw.

"Not too ill." Indeed, the nausea was held at bay. And all the sickness of the last weeks were forgotten as Éomer lifted her into his arms, bearing her to the bed without delay.

Lothíriel was all too pleased to allow her husband to arouse her and please her as he wished—her participation was not equal, but he seemed unconcerned. Their feelings were matched, and that was enough. Nor did the gentle movements did not aggravate any illness, and she was smiling a contented smile when they were finished, tucked together in the bed with nary a word passing between them, for none were needed.

No, that was wrong—words were needed.

"Éomer," she said softly into his shoulder, her eyes already closed, "I love you, too."

His response was a hmm of contentment, which she understood to mean that he knew. But after a moment passed, Éomer spoke. "When we wed, Lothíriel, I promised myself that I would give you as much of my heart as you wished."

"Oh?"

"It was a vain promise; I fell quite in love with you without any clear instruction on your part of whether you wished for my love or not." Éomer's hold 'round her tightened. "You know full well that I rarely offer my feelings without prompting. But I sense that it would be wise to tell you plainly, rather than leaving them to be guessed at; for I know you as well.

"I was certain I loved you that night you told me plainly that you wanted me." His voice was low, his fingers gentle as they tangled in her hair. "Though I suspect my heart was yours long before. Your devotion to me, despite our being strangers; your willingness to become queen to a land you hardly knew. I sensed that you were often uncomfortable around me, and while I feared it stemmed from dislike, I came to know it was merely your own shyness. How grateful I am that you determined to overcome that, that you found me and my company to be worth striving for! I have made my own attempts to prove to you my commitment, and if you do not already know, I shall tell you plainly: I do not simply love you out of duty, Lothíriel. I would choose you again a thousand times over, under any circumstances."

Lothíriel's skin was prickling with pleasure at his words—they felt a promise she would treasure forever. She lifted her head from her shoulder, beaming up at him even as her eyes burned with happy tears.

"Oh, Éomer! I have learned to value your plain-speaking more than I thought I ever could. I am sure I could not have loved another as much I feel for you." She paused, and with a crooked smile added, "I shall likely have to tell my father he was quite correct in predicting that we would make a fine match."

"Do," Éomer said, returning her smile. "But I will refrain from offering such compliments to my counsellors, for I do not need them thinking they are wiser than they are. They might attempt to rule over more of my life, and I am quite content now."

She laughed then, and he tucked the blankets tighter around them. Her stomach was feeling a little queasy, but it did not overcome her, and she found peace and rest in the arms of her once-stranger, now-beloved husband.