Here it is, the end. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing this story and reading everyone's reviews, and I thank you all so, so much for keeping me going :) I hope this ending doesn't disappoint, nor seem too sappy!

Cheers, till next time

xx

Time passed. What felt like days became weeks, and the end of May quickly approached. Éomer, Éowyn, and Alandria rode back to Minas Tirith, to retrieve Théoden's body. Upon arriving at the White City, Alandria was surprised - and yet immensely pleased - to find the company of the Fellowship still all resided there. They all followed with, as well, to return Théoden to Rohan. Aragorn came with his Queen, Faramir with Éowyn, Legolas, Gimli, the hobbits, and a fair number of Gondorian soldiers travelled as well, as guard for the new King. The journey back to Rohan took even longer than the previous leisurely one, and Alandria found herself often stolen from Éomer's side to talk and laugh with the hobbits, especially Merry and Pippin, who, despite all that had happened, still kept their normal cheerful silliness. Frodo was obviously more somber and thoughtful, Sam as well, though perhaps not as obviously. But Alandria let them be, pleased rather to talk with the younger hobbits and Legolas or Gimli. Aragorn spoke with Éomer often, learning of the Horse-lord's hard work at restoring order to Rohan.

Éomer had learned the names of all the Edoras-Riders that had fallen, and a ceremony had been held to honor all of them and their families. Then he left nearly every day to scout the land with the remaining Riders, trying to flush out whatever Orcs they could find. The foul creatures had gotten wiser though, and were proving difficult to find. They appeared to know they were outnumbered. But whenever Éomer and his men gave up the hunt for Orcs, he would retire to his study in Meduseld, and pour over documents, speak with advisers and counsellors a-plenty, unceasingly trying to understand the politics and economics of being a King - and he didn't even hold the throne yet. Aragorn appeared to understand the younger man's difficulty and frustration, experiencing similiar instances himself. But the Ranger-King clearly knew better how to govern people, his noble-blood naturally applying such skills to him - but of that advantage, neither man mentioned.

After many long, leisurely days, the company finally arrived at Edoras. The hobbits seemed thrilled to be done travelling for a short while, as they all admitted they'd had quite enough of moving about in the previous several months. Merry in particular though seemed pleased to be back at Rohan, even if for such a somber occasion. He had somehow procured the little pony, Stybba, that he had ridden to Dunharrow, and now pranced the little creature proudly up the streets to Meduseld. Many curious peoples peered out of their homes, and then stepped out, as they recognized at the head of the approaching column, next to their soon-to-be-King, the Ranger-turned-King they'd heard about. Now they all believed Éomer's tale. No one doubted the elegance and power and ease with which Aragorn held himself, nor could they see anyone but the King of Gondor deserving such a beautiful Queen. It was not long before the people were bowing to the passing company. Aragorn and Arwen modestly smiled and nodded to the watching crowd, and then at Éomer's signal, dismounted before the steps of Meduseld. Several stable boys immediately flocked to lead the horses away, not even needing a command in their excitement. Éomer paused then, as if unsure what to do next. After a moment he gestured for the company to follow into the Golden Hall, and they did so readily.

In the Hall, Éomer suggested that the people that would like to should clean up, and dress for the funeral ceremony. Each person disappeared to follow his suggestion, but Alandria rushed, happy to be back home, and with the whole Fellowship. Well, a part of her nagged, as whole as the Fellowship could ever be again. As she entered the Hall she found it quite busy, filled with serving girls and cooks and a couple of the boys in the house-staff. They were all rearranging tables and chairs, creating one large, long table for all the company to sit at after the funeral. She could smell the food already cooking in the kitchen, as well.

"Funny, don't you think," a voice chirped from her elbow, and she looked down in surprise to find Pippin already washed and clean beside her, "that after a funeral there's always a bunch of food?"

Alandria smiled softly. "Yes, I do think it's funny. Rude, actually, is how I've always found it."

Merry appeared then too. "I don't know if I'd say rude - we're just tryin' to enjoy bein' alive ourselves, y'know?"

"Yes," Alandria smiled widely, "I suppose I do. I'm actually quite surprised you two are already out and about. Quick baths, for you."

The two hobbits flushed and grinned, but Pippin just shrugged. "Merry was in a hurry. I just figured he'd need some company."

Alandria turned to Merry, and he just smiled faintly. "In truth, I missed Rohan. Gondor is lovely an' all, but...well I'm sure you understand, Alandria."

"Aye, Merry, indeed I do." She smiled kindly at the little hobbit, but then a shadow of sadness passed over her features. Merry had been Théoden's loyal little esquire only for a couple days, and then the King had died. She had heard that the hobbit had looked to Théoden as a father-figure for a while, and it was unnervingly depressing that he should lose such a man so soon. "Are you going to be alright, Merry?" She asked. "At the funeral, I mean?"

The hobbit immediately sombered, eyes dropping for a moment. "I dunno. As alright as I can be, I s'pose."

She only nodded, and reached out to gently grasp his shoulder.

"There you all are." Alandria and the two present hobbits looked up at the woman's voice, and Alandria smiled to see Éowyn and Faramir approaching from across the Hall.

"Hello, my lady." Alandria greeted, then bowed her head to Faramir. "My lord."

He grinned, shaking his head. "Faramir, Alandria, please. You know better."

She smiled crookedly. "Fine then, Faramir. Are you well situated? Was your room comfortable?"

The man chuckled. "Very comfortable, from what I could tell of being in there for scarcely twenty minutes."

Alandria flushed at her eagerness. "Right. Well how long are you planning on staying? I'm not sure I ever really heard a length."

Faramir and Éowyn exchanged a glance, then both shrugged. "We're not sure." Éowyn replied. "It all depends on how things...turn out." Alandria, confused, opened her mouth to ask a question, but Éowyn quickly turned to the hobbits. "What about you guys? How long shall we have your company?"

"I'm not right sure." Merry answered. "It's up to Frodo, really. I think he wants to be gettin' on back to the Shire soon."

"I'm sure we'll find out in time enough." Alandria said, smiling down at the hobbits, only to look back up at the sound of footsteps. Legolas and Gimli approached. "Nice to see you two."

The both nodded in reply, and then Legolas politely claimed their attention. "I have been appointed to inform you all that the others - Queen Arwen and King Aragorn, with Gandalf, Éomer, and Sam and Frodo - shall meet us outside at the burial grounds."

"So are we to go, then?" Asked Pippin.

"Indeed."

"Well then," Éowyn said with a deep breath, "let's go."

The small gathered group followed her and Faramir out the doors of Meduseld, down the steps and the long road winding down through the city, out the main gate. Merry and Pippin stayed close to Alandria, while Legolas and Gimli walked a couple steps behind, talking quietly. The hobbits were surprisingly quiet during the long walk, sombered by the event they knew was coming. Finally they came to a stop amongst a small crowd of already-gathered people. Alandria turned to talk to Legolas, and was surprised to find a trail of people had followed them from the city. She stared in alarm, and Legolas followed her gaze in confusion.

"Ah, yes," he said, "Éomer told the people that if they wanted to come, they could. He feels they should all be able to say farewell to their King, who died so valiantly in such a battle." He turned back then to face Alandria, but she turned quickly away.

She bit her lip as she waited for the rest of the town to empty; tears of grief over the fallen King Théoden, and of compassion for the man that would be King, were beginning to overwhelm her. She stood at the side of an aisle that had been formed, much like when Théodred had died. To her left stood both Merry and Pippin, and from somewhere had come Sam and Frodo to join them. To her right was Legolas, next to Gimli. Across from her stood Faramir, with Éowyn on one side and Gandalf on the other. Aragorn stood also next to Gandalf, with Arwen holding his hand. She may not have known the King Théoden, but she understood the importance of such a death. The rest of the aisle was formed by guards and Riders, while behind stood what Gondorian soldiers had travelled with Aragorn. The townspeople were steadily filling in any other spaces. Éomer, though, Alandria could not find.

A murmur began then, a soft whispering passed through the crowd. Alandria waited anxiously, glancing uneasily into the dark tomb that she stood beside again and again. The clink of armor, the thud of booted footsteps - all signalled that the King's body was coming. She looked down the aisle, and saw a handful of soldiers carrying a bier with a covered body on top. For a moment she was dismayed not to see her King's face, but then she was comforted, as she realized the face he would have now, over a month after his death, would not be the same face he had in life. And that she did not want to see. So the body was carried slowly down the aisle, and those that wanted tossed flowers on the body. Alandria took a shaky breath, her vision smudged slightly with tears. She remembered a crowded battlefield, a winged monster, and a white horse over a broken body. With a choked sob, she turned her face down, closing her eyes for a moment. The bier was closer now, only footsteps away. Éowyn sang no song, no one murmured - the air was still and silent for this death. The bier was passing by, into the tomb. Alandria did not lift her head. She heard the soldiers rest the bier down inside the tomb, and then back out. Slowly, she raised her eyes.

Éomer stood before her, but he was not facing her. He had been at the back of the procession, and now stood looking down into the grave that darkened with the waning light. His audience waited, watching him silently. He took a breath, swallowed nervously, and spoke, "Valiant beyond many. Strong beyond thought. Kind beyond belief. Such as thus was Théoden, son of Thengel, and such as thus shall we remember him." He looked up then, and slowly turned to face the crowd watching him. His dark features were stern, and strong, as he continued. "He led our Riders into a battle that we should not have been able to win - yet we emerged victorious. Victorious in a battle unlike any battle before - a battle that determined whether Middle-earth as we know it would stand or fall. And with this great victory there must always be losses - so we've seen from the hundreds that lay slain on that field, never to return to their homes. Amidst those losses not only did our husbands and our fathers and our brothers and our sons die, but our King. A King whom all loved, and all still love. And he loved us. Because of this love, he gave his life for us, and for all of Middle-earth. Such as thus was his never ending kindness. And such as thus, shall we remember him." Éomer turned back to the grave below him, and bowed his head. "Wes pú hál." He murmured, and was echoed by all that were gathered around him.

Then Éomer picked up one of the shovels that was still thrust into the ground beside the grave, and plunging it into the mound of earth that lay nearby, he dropped the first shovel-full and began the burial. Alandria hesitated a moment, then stepped forward and took up the other shovel, to drop her own in the grave. She extended her arm to hand it to Merry, and as she did Éomer caught her eye. He smiled slowly, then nodded his approval and handed his shovel to Legolas. Then one by one, each and every person gathered at that funeral - which was every person in a currently-emptied city - donated their own shovel-full of dirt to the burying of King Théoden. It was a funeral for a great King in a great battle, and it was forever remembered.

Later that evening, once the townspeople had dispersed back to their houses and those

of higher ranking had returned to the Great Hall, there was a feast. Alandria understood Pippin's comment about the awkwardness of eating after a funeral, and she picked uneasily at her chicken and vegetables. The hobbit himself seemed to have forgotten his words, and he and Merry both delved happily into their large meals. Not so for Alandria. Her stomach churned, threatening lest she dare put anything in it. She recalled the mound of grass and flowers now over King Théoden, and the sixteen others that lay around him. She recalled the talk with Éomer several nights ago, about such tombs. And she realized how right his words were, how easily he too could be laid under a mound of earth. Fear of that thought crept upon her, further sickening her gut. Already she lost a father, a Prince and a friend, a King, and a lover. All to the same evil force. She was hesitant to lose the last thing she had.

The seat to her right creaked, and she started in surprise as Éomer returned to his seat beside her. He caught her alarmed look and smiled warmly, slowly melting her anxiety. "Hello, love," he murmured softly, "how've you been holding up?"

She smiled nervously. "Well enough. What about you - you're the one that lost an uncle."

He sighed, dropping her gaze for a moment and glancing around at the gathered peoples, all talking merrily around the table as they ate. "Well enough myself, I suppose." He looked slowly back at her, and smiled weakly again. "Don't worry about me."

"Don't? You worry about me plenty, I ought to return the favour." She smiled and took his hand, entwining his fingers with hers.

Éomer smiled down at their hands for a moment, before clearing his throat, his smile fading, and looking back up. "Alandria, I have been thinking... About us, and our..our marriage."

Alandria watched him intently. "Yes?"

The man glanced up at the oblivious people still around them, and gently - self-consciously - pulled his hand from hers. "Um, well, I was thinking that we ought to have the wedding when I am coronated - officially, you know. And I think that'll be happening shortly, for the sake of Aragorn and the hobbits and such. I think they ought to see you married, and they likely won't be staying here for very long. Does that make sense?" He gazed anxiously into her eyes again, his dark hazel pools wide and nervous.

Alandria nodded, puzzled by the man's anxiety. "Yes, of course... That's soon, but.."

"Are you sure you still want to get married?" He asked. "I will understand if you say no. And I just...I don't want to leave you alone. I don't want to be like..like your father, and my uncle, and-and Boromir." He still stared at her, concern etched deeply into his handsome features.

"Éomer-" Alandria started, but he interrupted her again.

"I love you, you know that yes? I love you more than I've loved before. More than I thought I could. But I don't want to hurt you."

"'Eomer, you could never-... I know you're scared for what might happen. I am too. I'm terrified, really." She admitted, trying to smile. "But I...I have faith that we'll be alright. Because I love you too." She smiled a little more, reasurringly. "I love you."

The Horse-lord smile easier now, and leaned forward to kiss her, but checked himself just in time. He glanced around the feasting table again, ignoring the knowing smirks from his sister, Faramir, and Merry; dismissing the puzzled looks from some of the Riders. He looked down at Alandria again, with a faint smile. "We ought to be more careful."

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "You're the one that decided to have a heart-felt conversation in the middle of a feast - with you at the head of the table."

The corner of Éomer's mouth turned up in an apologetic smirk. "Just had to get it out."

"Suit yourself."

He grinned briefly, then glanced at her plate and furrowed his brow, his grin vanishing. "You're not eating again?"

Alandria glanced sharply at him, taking offense to his term of 'again'. "I'm only not eating right now. I don't feel right." He still eyed her small-and-untouched-plate carefully. "Trust me, I'll be eating normally by tomorrow. Right now I'm just uneasy."

"I'm just worried you...y'know, something might happen like last time."

She smiled gently. "Éomer, last time I was heartbroken, and over something bigger than losing my King - and last time, I didn't have you to keep my head up." She sighed, and ran her hand along his arm, before gently touching his hand, and then pulling away. Damn being in public.

Éomer merely smiled in return, and then a mishchevious glint came into his dark eyes. Alandria furrowed her brow in confusion but he merely grinned, and then stood. The peoples seated around the long table quickly silenced, looking to the young lord in curiosity. He let the silence deepen for a moment, before breaking the stillness with a nervous half-smile. At his smile, anxious fear struck Alandria as she realized what he was about to do.

"Éomer, d-" she started, but he cut her off.

"Thank you all for your attention. I apologize for interrupting your feasting, but I have an announcement to make that I feel I shall not be able to contain." He paused here, clearing his throat as he glanced down at Alandria with a small smile. She flushed nervously, and looked out at the people surrounding the tables. She caught faint smiles on Éowyn, Faramir, and Aragorn's faces, and assumed they knew as well as she did what the golden-haired Horse-lord was about to say. "First - my coronation shall be two days from this sunrise. Abrupt, perhaps, but it has been delayed for weeks already. Yet, there is another reason I wish to have it so imminently..." He glanced down at Alandria again, assurance in his warm gaze. "Immediately after the coronation - the very day of it - I am..am to be married. To this lady here, Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn." He reached down and gently pulled Alandria to her feet, smiling all the while. She trembled with anxiety, uncomfortable being under the gaze of so many people - a fair amount of them strangers - and to have them all know she loved the man beside her. "And so, in two days hence, Rohan shall have a proper King, and his wife. Thank you." Éomer bowed formally to them all, and then leisurely sat back down.

Alandria stared at him, overwhelmed by his sudden announcement, but he pretended not to notice and began talking with Éowyn, whom sat on his right. Alandria too had her own attention claimed as Merry, who sat beside her, began eagerly talking. Pippin too jumped in, both of them babbling about Alandria and Éomer's engagement and how happy they both were, with Merry saying that now he had all the more reason to visit Rohan again. Modestly and nervously, Alandria followed their conversation, flattered and anxious. In two days time, she was to be married.

The sun was high, bright and warm, and a soft breeze carried the smell of grass and flowers all through Edoras. People bustled about in the streets, everyone visiting everyone else, all urgently talking about the exciting marriage about to occur. The soon-to-be-new-king Éomer had recently changed some of the old laws, yet the only one that caused any talk was the one of marriage: now, under his ruling, it was acceptable for a King - or Queen - to take as partner in marriage a person of any birth. Some thought this change selfish of the new King, and outrageous. Others were simply excited. Either way, it was happening, and soon.

Alandria was again in the chambers she'd first stayed in at the Golden Hall, and was again taken care of by Lynwen. Éomer had tried to move her to larger chambers, but she had refused, insisting she would change to a different chamber only when it was theirs to share. Reluctant but amused, Éomer had given in. Now Alandria was victim to Lynwen's primping and fussing, twisting and pulling on her hair, while Éowyn retrieved the dress. She'd searched for the perfect one constantly in the short time between the announcement and the wedding day, but had finally decided the best dress would be one made from scratch, and despite Alandria's alarmed arguments, her measurements were taken and sketches drawn up in record time. But now the day had arrived, and Alandria was trying to catch her breath as Lynwen took command of her hair.

"Really, Lynwen, it does not matter-"

"Of course it does, milady! It matters just as much as the dress. Which, yes," she added as Alandria opened her mouth to speak, "that does matter."

Alandria merely sighed, giving up. "I really don't think I can wait for all of this to be over with, Lynwen."

"But it's your wedding day, milady!"

"And it's turning into a madhouse. Must we have the ceremony on the steps? The whole town will be there."

"That's the point, milady. Not to mention Éomer is being crowned king, too. You know, I heard there are even people coming from all over Rohan!"

Alandria closed her eyes wearily. "No, I hadn't known that."

Lynwen glanced at the dark-haired woman in the mirror, and noting the tense lines on the woman's face, smiled softly. "Try not to worry, dear. It'll all be over in a couple of hours, and you'll be happier than you've yet been."

A soft knock came at the door then, relieving Alandria of furthering the conversation. Éowyn's head peeked around the door, and at Lynwen's word, she entered. The golden-haired woman held a small bundle, but the grin on her fair face gave away any surprise; Alandria knew what she held.

She eyed the bundle, unable to mask her fear. "That's it, then?"

Éowyn nodded.

"I suppose I should put it on... Lynwen, are you finished?"

"Just, milady," Lynwen smoothed her hand over the many braids and pins in the woman's dark hair, and then stepped away with a smile.

Alandria stood and took a slow breath, then faced Éowyn. "Ready."

Éowyn smiled wider, and unfurled the bundle of cloth in her hands. The dress fell open: it was floor length, slender, a soft white, with silver running down the center, lining the swooping sleeves, and patterned like stars along the lower half. Dangling from her fingers, Éowyn also held a necklace of silver, pearl, and glittering diamonds. Alandria couldn't help but stare.

"Well?" Éowyn finally asked with a smile.

"I can't wear that," Alandria breathed, still shaken by the beauty of a dress she'd never dreamed could ever be hers. "Especially the jewelry. I can't...is that yours?"

"It was my mother's. I never wore it and at my wedding I wore Faramir's mother's jewels...you deserve this."

"Éowyn.."

"Please, Alandria. You're going to be a Queen soon. You must wear this."

Alandria stared for a moment more. "As you wish," she finally replied.

"No, Alandria, as you wish." The pale lady smiled again. "Come now, we shan't keep my brother waiting too long."

The dress laced up in the back, and thanks to that addition, it could be opened wide enough to drop over Alandria's shoulders without bothering her intricately done hair. Lynwen and Éowyn set to work swiftly, tying the delicate cloth around Alandria's waist, dropping the jewels around her neck. She stood in the small room breathing shakily, under the beaming smiles of the two women. A nervous nod, and she was led into the Hall.

The expansive Golden Hall was unnaturally emptied, all peoples having already gathered before the steps of Meduseld in preparation for the ceremonies soon to come. Only the rare maid or soldiers stalked by, but they too were dispersing to the steps. Lynwen and Éowyn walked on each side of Alandria, leading her to the large doors, from which she could hear the murmur of the enormous crowd, and the shifting of those important enough to stand on the landing.

"Alandria!" A cry broke the quiet air of the Hall, and Alandria jumped as she turned towards it.

"Merry? Pippin? What are you two doing still in here?"

The two curly-haired hobbits scrambled towards her, beaming. "You look amazing, Alandria!" Merry exclaimed with a crooked grin.

"You're absolutely beau'iful," Pippin agreed, smiling warmly.

Alandria flushed, twisting her hands nervously. "Thank you, very much. But shouldn't you two be outside by now? Where are Frodo and Sam?"

"Oh they're out there," Merry answered casually, "but we've just got somethin' to give ya first. If you don't mind."

"I'm sure I don't. What is it?"

"Give it to her, Pip," the golden-haired hobbit nudged his friend.

Pippin then pulled his hands from behind his back, revealing a simple crown of white flowers. Simple, but beautiful, the flowers woven together so finely, their intwined stems could not be seen. Alandria took it carefully, gazing at it in surprise.

"You don't 'ave to wear it," Pippin added quickly, "we just thought you might like it, with yer white dress an' all."

"Of course I'll wear it," Alandria replied with a chuckle, "it's beautiful! And perfect. I knew I was missing something. Lynwen, can you..?"

"Aye, milady," the maid immediately took the flower-crown from the woman's hands, and carefully nestled it into her hair, shifting some of the pins already there to help hold it in.

Alandria smiled down on the two travel-worn hobbits, reassured by their gift that she was making the right choice. "Thank you, both of you, so much." They grinned happily. "Now get on out there so I can see you when I get married, hm?"

"Absolutely, Alandria," Merry nodded, flashing one last grin, and pulled Pippin after him out the door, stopping as close to the landing as he could.

"Are you ready now, Alandria?" Éowyn asked softly, watching her friend carefully. "Everyone is out there, Éomer included. He has only to be coronated and then-"

"I know, Éowyn," Alandria breathed, watching the large doors, "I know. But I'm ready."

The fair Queen of Ithilien smiled, nodding, and gently led the soon-to-be Queen of Rohan into the sunlight.

The sun was dazzlingly brillaint, blinding Alandria as she first stepped out of the Hall. Murmurs from the crowd reached her ears. She turned, swallowing nervously, and her eyes roved quickly over the faces gathered near her. Each member that remained of the Fellowship lined the crowd at the edge of the steps, joining her on the top step was Gandalf, opposite him stood Éowyn, with her autumn-haired husband. But opposite of herself was her entire reason for even being on those steps. Éomer stood patiently, a soft smile on his lips. He was dressed as tradition called for: in his battle armor, freshly polished and gleaming like a hero from a fairy-tale; rich leather, bronze, and silver. His golden hair was pulled back from his face with a leather tie, better revealing the dark brows that framed his dark, warm hazel eyes. He stood tall and straight, hands clasped politely behind his back. Calm and collected as he appeared, chaos and panic were a whirlwind inside him. There was no doubt in his mind that this was what he wanted, but he could not beat away the fear that Alandria might not truly want him. She was only obliging herself with him because better men were either dead or taken. But as Éomer saw a fear similar to his own reflected in her eyes, and odd reassurance washed through him.

"Hey there," he dared to murmur, reaching a hand out to her.

Alandria offered a small, shaky smile and eagerly accepted his touch, her fingers grasping his with a strength and desperateness only they knew. "Hey," she breathed back, already feeling emotion choking her.

"Quiet!" Gandalf commanded, raising and deepening his voice, demanding silence and attention from the gathered crowd. Sound vanished in an instant, and the wizard of shimmering white smiled softly at the man and woman holding hands before him. "We are gathered here to see the crowning of a king, forming of a leadership, and bonding of two people. Firstly - the crown!" He turned, and Éowyn bore the wizard the crown of bronze and gold, intricately knit together. Gandalf held it towards Éomer, who had turned to face him. "Éomer, son of Éomund, sister-son and heir to Théoden, previous King of the Mark, I place this crown upon your head as a symbol of power without corruption, and leadership without selfishness. You are now, and shall be until the day you pass, the King of the Riddermark. May your reign be blessed."

With those words, Gandalf placed the crown firmly upon Éomer's brow, just as a roar errupted from the people behind him. Alandria couldn't help smiling, a thrilling rush cascading through her, and she could only imagine how the man felt. A slight sweat was upon his brow, and his wide dark eyes stared numbly before him. He appeared to be trembling.

Gandalf raised his hands for silence, and it quickly came again. "Now to an equally important matter," he paused and smiled comfortingly at Alandria, his deep blue eyes sparkling like sunlight on the sea, "it is my duty to bring together Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn, Rider of Rohan, Walker of the Fellowship of the Ring, and Éomer, Rider of Rohan and King of the Riddermark, to be bonded together for their natural lives. Alandria - you have faced leagues and perils never expected even in your worst imaginings, and you have prevailed. You have overcome the loss of a loved one, and found friendships in unlikely places. You have survived losses and fears, and come now to the steps of Meduseld to create a life for yourself that you never dreamed of. Do you, Alandria, willingly take this duty and burden and these joys, with the King Éomer, to be yours? For you to be his wife, and he your husband?"

Alandria could hardly breathe at the end of Gandalf's speaking. In his words she saw the entire journey of the Fellowship played out a hundred times fast, and every emotion from all of it - Rivendell, Moria, Lothlórien, Boromir, Amon Hen, the Plains of Rohan, Meduseld, Helm's Deep, Isengard, Éomer, Gondor, Faramir, Éowyn, Éomer, Éomer.. - flooded her at once, taking her breath and sending her reeling. Only faintly did she hear the wizard's last words. Her eyes, brimming with the strenuous emotions of past memories and current moments, fell to the handsome man across from her. Éomer looked expectant, almost afraid, but just as beautiful as ever. Life had gone ways Alandria could never have predicted, and come to a point she could not believe, and would not turn from. She nodded, never moving her gaze from the golden-haired King. "Yes, I will take him."

The warmest and most uplifting smile Alandria had ever seen shone on Éomer's features then, and he shifted, impatiently waiting for Gandalf to speak the second part. But first Alandria found a bronze goblet handed to her, half-way filled with a dark wine. She knew what it was without explanation, and took a tenative swallow, and then waited.

"Éomer, King of Rohan, the burden of kingship was never intended to be yours, nor was it expected by any. But, as we all are beginning to find, the unexpected chance is often the best opportunity. In a matter of weeks you lost a cousin that was like a brother, friends and soldiers that were like family, and a King that was like a father. You very nearly even lost the rest of those you love, and yet you risked your life for the lives of all Middle-earth without hesitation. You are strong, and have become wise beyond your years. You are offering a life of lordship to a woman not of noble birth, and therefore changing laws laid down for centuries. You do understand this?" Éomer nodded, his warm gaze never wavering from Alandria. "Do you, Éomer, King of the Riddermark, take this change and duty and joy, with the lady Alandria, to be yours? For you to be her husband, and she your wife?"

Éomer swallowed and nodded quickly, releasing a heavy sigh. "Yes, gods yes," he whispered. Alandria handed him the goblet of wine, and he took it in trembling hands, emptying it of liquid.

"With these words, the wine that both their lips have drunk, and the love they share, I join Alandria, daughter of Elrendyn, and Éomer, son of Éomund, King of the Riddermark, in marriage until their time in this world is spent."

Gandalf smiled, applause and cheers errupted from the crowd, and Éomer pulled Alandria to him. His lips claimed her own, one hand caressing her face, and Alandria could hardly stand. The King's touch and embrace was protection and love and strength, and it was everything she needed. Boromir of Gondor was dead, gone, and would never return. The place he had in her heart would never be filled again. But she could bear that loss, because she had gained something in it's place. A life and a love foreverlasting.

Namarie