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Chapter Text

Chapter One (Fourth Age 8)

The White City loomed over her. Mareke had never thought to see it again, but there she stood. She had only come at the insistence of her son, who was standing next to her peering up at the levels of the city from their vantage point at the very bottom where they had just stabled their horses.

Mareke had been to Minas Tirith once and only once. It had not been kind to her in a myriad of ways and she had wanted to send her son alone to celebrate the first decade of King Elessar’s rule.

ooooOoooo

Mareke was sitting at her desk in her chambers, the ones she had lived in her entire life in the palace in Harad. She had several personal correspondences that she kept up with and she also dedicated a good portion of her life to serving her Kingdom.

There was a light knock on her door and she bid the person enter.

“I thought you had a council meeting this afternoon,” she said to her son who stood in the doorway. 

Mareke could not help but smile everytime she saw him. He was tall and broad through the shoulders, lean everywhere else. His beautiful bronze skin and his tattoos were visible in the light linen outfit he wore to battle the heat of their home. His hair that had once been shorn close to his head had grown long to represent his feats as a warrior and a member of the ruling family.

“We finished early and there were more important conversations I needed to have,” Adnan said.

“And those involve me?” Mareke returned, sliding her parchment away so that she could focus on him.

“They do. I must ask a very large favor of you.” Adnan stepped forward and settled himself in the chair across from his mother.

“I feel as though I have heard this before,” Mareke said with a light laugh.

Adnan did not join her and she grew worried.

“What is it, my son? Is everything alright?”

Adnan pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do not even want to ask this of you, but I have no other option,” he said. He looked up at his mother. To him she looked the same as she always had, but it might be said that there was more gray in her hair and more lines around her eyes and mouth. He had always found her striking. Courtiers whispered that she was handsome, not beautiful and soft as her own mother had been, but self-possessed and distinctive.

“Well proceed then,” she said, brow furrowing.

“There is to be a celebration in Minas Tirith to honor the first decade of King Elessar’s rule. I have been invited.”

“That is wonderful. It will be a great opportunity for you.” Mareke looked at him puzzled. “I do not understand what you fear to ask me. I have ruled in your stead before, while you have campaigned and toured the Realm.”

Adnan was silent for a moment. “Because that is not what I am asking you. I am asking you to go with me to the White City.”

“Adnan-” Mareke began, but her son cut her off.

“Mother, you know I would never, but this is my first foreign delegation as King. I cannot go without you.”

“You have plenty of sound advisors around you. Your grandfather made sure of that. Would I not better serve you here?”

“I do not want advisors, Mother. I want you to come with me. You have seen it before.”

“Under no good circumstances,” she reminded him.

“No, and I understand that returning would be painful, but I have no one else to ask. I have no Queen as of yet. And truth be told, Mother, you are the one constant in my life. You have seen me through everything and I could use some of your fortitude for this.”

Mareke sighed. “How am I supposed to say no to that?” She reached across the table and took his large hands in hers. “Perhaps this might be an opportunity to find you a wife so that I might be able to have some peace at last,” she jested.

Adnan offered her a gracious smile. “Perhaps.”

ooooOoooo

Mareke placed her foot on the first step that would lead them up to the seventh level of the city where the King’s palace was as well as all of the grand halls and chambers for the entertainments.

Her heart rate increased with each step and her palms began to sweat. The noise of the city grew fuzzy around her.

“Mother? Are you alright?” Adnan asked, sensing her unease.

He sounded as though he were a great distance away, but Mareke nodded and continued.

Adnan watched his mother out of the corner of his eye. He knew she had been a captive when the War was over, that she had led a healing party to help those Haradrim that remained and to see to the returning of bodies for those for whom it had been too late.

Ten at the time, he was old enough to remember her absence and the fear that came with thinking he had lost her forever and that he would then be utterly alone with only his grandfather. He remembered not sleeping at all while she had been away and barely eating.

If she didn’t focus on where she was or the presence of her grown son next to her, Mareke could feel the rope around her wrists and the blood running down her chin from her split lip. It had been over a decade since she had last stepped foot in Minas Tirith and still she could remember it as if it were a fortnight ago and still she carried the scar on her face.

As they drew nearer to the top level of the city, Adnan offered his mother his arm. She rested her hand on it after taking a break from the climb to readjust her clothes and hair.

“You look beautiful,” Adnan said quietly.

Mareke offered him a small smile and a gentle squeeze before they ascended the last level.

Mounting the last few steps, they came face to face with King Elessar, Queen Arwen, the Steward of Gondor, Faramir, and his wife Eowyn, the Lady of Ithilien.

Mareke swept a deep curtsy, while Adnan offered a bow next to her. His did not have to be so deep as he was a King in his own right.

“Welcome!” King Elessar exclaimed. “We were so pleased to hear that the delegation from Harad would be in attendance. We have much to discuss after recent events and a decade into our treaty and alliance.”

“I am very much looking forward to it, Your Majesty,” Adnan said with a nervous smile.

“I was terribly sorry to hear of the loss of your grandfather, King Adnan,” Faramir said. “He was a good man. But I am sure he trained you to lead well.”

Mareke was grateful for the words. Even after ten years, not everyone saw just how deep the deception had gone between Sauron and the Realms that had joined him. Her father had been lied to and tricked and came out much the worse for wear after the War, but he had tried so hard afterwards to mend things and set his grandson up for success.

“You are not the little prince I remember at all,” Eowyn said with a bright smile. “But your mother has not aged a day.”

“You flatter me, my lady,” Mareke said, returning her smile. 

“My wife never flatters for the sake of it,” Faramir said.

Queen Arwen stepped forward. “Let us have someone show you to your rooms,” she said. Her voice was like nothing Mareke had ever heard. She had not been in her presence when she had been in Minas Tirith the first time. “I am sure you could use a few hours to yourself before the welcoming ceremony this evening.”

“That would be most welcome, Queen Arwen. My mother and I thank you.”

“You might also find some pleasure in walking through the gardens this afternoon. They are beautiful this time of year,” she said, gesturing to one of her ladies-in-waiting to come forward to show the Haradrim to their rooms.

They followed behind and Adnan took in the palace, so very unlike the home he had known all of his life. 

Mareke kept her eyes ahead. Even in the warm springtime, the palace was cold and she found it to be a place she very much did not wish to be.

Queen Arwen’s lady-in-waiting pushed open a door and allowed Mareke and Adnan to pass before her. As they did so, Mareke caught her staring at her son. The young woman blushed, but Mareke gave her a gentle smile.

Adnan would be unlike anything the women of Gondor and the other northern Realms would have seen. His hair and skin were dark, he was covered in a myriad of tattoos, some of which could be seen even in the more formal outfits he would wear while celebrating and practicing his diplomacy skills in Minas Tirith. All of that beside, he was a King and commanded a great deal of wealth and power. 

Mareke hoped he would be discerning when dealing with the women during their stay and even after when they returned home.

A part of Mareke knew that he had grown and that he would be immensely appealing to young women, but oftentimes she found herself unable to see the man before her and could only see her little boy. It was a very disconcerting effect when he sat on his throne or led his men out of the city.

The young woman showed them around the rooms. They were spacious and well-appointed, but there was no warmth in the design. It was all very functional and unobtrusive.

With one last glance at Adnan, the woman left the Haradrim mother and son alone.

“I think I shall lie down for a while,” Mareke said, running her hand over the back of a sofa in the sitting room they were to share.

Adnan nodded. “Perhaps in an hour or two we might tour the gardens as Queen Arwen suggested?”

“If you wish,” Mareke replied.

She knew it was not the same room she had stayed in before, but it was eerily similar and she wanted to be somewhere where she could close her eyes and pretend to be anywhere else for a while.

“Thank you for coming with me,” Adnan said quietly.

“I would do anything for you. You know that,” Mareke replied before entering the bedchamber that had been appointed as hers.

With the door soundly closed behind her, Mareke let out a deep breath. She slipped from her dusty travelling outfit and slid under the covers. Eventually, her women were shown to her chambers and they began unpacking her things and getting settled, but she never opened her eyes and so they assumed she was asleep.

Desperately, Mareke tried to imagine that she was in her rooms in Harad, but the chill and the memories would not allow her to do so.

She had wanted to escape the scenery around her, but when she did that worse things took over in her mind and so she sat up and looked to her women, who were rather surprised.

“I would have a bath, please,” she said. “With my oils from home.”

Submerging herself in the hot water made her feel a bit better. The scent of cactus blossoms and cedar floated around her and she allowed her body to relax. It did not help matters that during her time in Minas Tirith previously, it had also been a celebration. She was there during King Elessar’s coronation and she had left just before his wedding to Queen Arwen. 

The environment would be the same this time.

As the water grew tepid, she stood from the tub and dried herself off with her own linen towel that she had brought. She had known that she would want as many of her Haradrim comforts as she could manage to pack. It was unlike her. When she travelled around her own Realm, she travelled light and was not usually so picky, but there were few things she could do to comfort herself on her current trip.

Once dry, she rubbed every inch of her skin with a nourishing sandalwood oil and then perused the dresses she had brought. After some consideration, she selected a dusky blue dress made from a gauzy material that would flow over her body. 

She would stand out. She knew that. Like her son, she looked different than everyone else, not to mention their different clothes. She studied herself in the burnished mirror above the vanity. The woman who stared back was not the same one who had been in the White City over a decade before. She was the same in many ways, but both internally and externally there were changes. Her wild, black as night curls, were threaded through with some grey. There were more smile and frown lines on her face, and she was a little fleshier than she had been then.

Mareke put on golden hoop earrings and placed a gold circlet on her head, before walking into the shared sitting room.

Adnan was sitting on one of the sofas, ankle crossed over his knee with a parchment in his hand.

“Working already, Your Majesty?” Mareke asked. His regal moniker had become practically a term of endearment to her over the years.

“I could not rest.”

“You never were very good at such things. You excel at almost everything else and you always have. An early crawler, walker, talker, but I could rarely get you to nap more than half an hour.” She rested her hands on his broad shoulders and kissed the crown of his head. “Too much to do, I suppose.” 

“Would you like to escort me into the gardens?”

Adnan stood and offered his mother his arm. “It would be my honor.”

ooooOoooo

He swore he could smell her before he saw her. He had nearly forgotten the scent of the sandalwood oil and he shook his head as he wandered through the gardens, thinking he must be imagining things. It must be being back in the palace in Minas Tirith. He had been there a handful of times since the end of the War and Aragorn’s coronation and each time, he imagined she was there. But never before had he smelled her. That scent was not of that time in Minas Tirith.

Eomer-King paused before a bend on the garden path and listened hard. People were approaching. A man and a woman. As they got nearer, he knew it was her. He would know her voice anywhere.

Mareke froze as they rounded the corner and were confronted with the Rohirric King’s presence. 

“Mother?” Adnan turned to her, not seeing the other King.

“I did not mean to frighten you, Princess Mareke, but I must admit it is good to see you,” Eomer said, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips. He looked deep into her dark eyes the entire time.

Mareke was too dumbstruck to speak. All she could hear was her breath rattling in her chest.

“You look as striking as ever,” Eomer said, releasing her hand so it fell at her side.

It took every ounce of his effort to turn his attention to the young man beside her, who was still staring at his mother, wondering why she did not speak.

“I had hoped that there would be a delegation from Harad. I forget how much time has passed though and thought that there might have been a boy king at it’s head.” He gave Adnan a warm smile. “I see I was very wrong. You are a man grown now.”

“It is good to see you, Eomer-King,” Adnan replied, glancing at his mother, who was still standing next to him, mute. “The horses you sent for my coronation were exquisite. I cannot properly express my gratitude.”

Eomer waved his remark away. “It was the least I could do. I remembered how obsessed you were with our horses, despite having mumakil at your own disposal.”

Adnan laughed. “Well the heart always wants what it cannot have.”

He was the only to one laugh. The smile immediately disappeared from Eomer’s face and his mother went stonier next to him, if that was possible.

“Indeed it does,” Eomer replied.

Adnan looked between the pair, perplexed. He would have to speak to his mother at some point.

“Shall we finish our walks together?” Eomer suggested when he had gathered himself.

“That would be most welcome,” Adnan said, once more tucking his mother’s hand through the crook of his arm. He walked in the middle of Mareke and Eomer.

Eomer had always been attentive and he asked the young man many questions about coming to rule his Realm and how that was going. He listened carefully, but it was a constant battle not to stare at the woman on the other side of King Adnan.

“And have you kept your mother busy?” he asked.

Finally, Mareke seemed to shake herself back to life. “He always has,” she said as lightly as she could manage. 

“That I remember very well,” Eomer replied with a smile.

“She sits on my council and has been known to rule when I am away from the capital,” Adnan said. “My mother has been instrumental in my rule thus far, as she was to my grandfather.”

“Indeed,” Eomer replied. “You were both lucky to have her. Not all Kings have such women in their life.”

“I am hoping to be left in peace for a month or so after this delegation,” Mareke said quickly. “It has been a busy few years.

“I would not count on it, Mother,” Adnan said with a laugh.

“You are rotten to the core and I have no one to blame but myself,” she replied just as playfully. 

Eomer could not help the smile that came to his face. The bond the two had always shared was unlike anything he had ever seen and he was glad to see it was still there.

Mareke lapsed into silence and tried to keep a smile on her face and to seem interested in the conversation between her son and Eomer, but it was difficult.

There was a commotion behind them and all three turned to see a toddler running toward them, trailed by several guards in Eomer’s livery, as well as a nurse.

“Papa! Papa!”

Mareke found herself gripping Adnan’s arm tightly when she saw the little boy, an exact replica of his golden father. “Oh,” she said quietly.

Eomer gave a roar of a laugh as he swept the child up over his head and then into his huge arms.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” the nurse said with a hasty curtsy. “I was trying to keep him occupied.”

Eomer shook his head. “I will manage him until this evening.”

Eomer turned back to the Haradrim pair. “King Adnan, Princess Mareke, allow me to introduce my son, Elfwine.”

“It is an honor, Prince Elfwine,” Adnan said with a warm smile.

Both of the men laughed as Elfwine stuck his little hand out and Adnan grasped his forearm gently in the way of greeting.

“Well met,” the little boy said.

Mareke could not stop looking at the little Prince, even though every second she stared brought a dull ache to her chest. When she did drag her eyes away from Elfwine, she met Eomer’s and her breath caught once more. 

She gave him the saddest of smiles.

“You have much to be proud of, Eomer-King.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Two (Third Age 3019)
Mareke would not cry. She would not give the men who were pulling her through the city the satisfaction of seeing her break.
Her wrists ached from the rope that bound her. She was tired and filthy from the day of travelling. When she had been taken, closer to her border, she was unsure of where she would be taken, but as she was pulled up the numerous white steps and through the levels of the city of Minas Tirith, there was no longer any doubt. It had been looming ahead of her all of that afternoon from the rickety cart she had been tossed into.
“Where should we take her?” one of her captors asked the other. There were only two of them left. The others had seemed eager to depart once they had reached the White City. Perhaps they had families to return to after the war.
The men who had taken her were soldiers of Gondor, the White Tree emblazoned on their chests, but they were not noble men. Their speech was coarse and unrefined, as were their habits.
“I think I know just the place on the soldier’s tier. There might be some officers in attendance who would pay prettily for this little prize.”
Mareke had not once let on that she could understand them. When they spoke to her she looked at them with vague and empty eyes, never once responding. It was better, she had learned quickly, to merely listen.
They seemed to be midway through the levels of the city, when they pulled her off of the steps and began winding through the streets.
Raucous celebrating could be heard all around them and Mareke could smell roasting meat and the stench of more unwashed men seeping from the establishments around them.
“Just up here,” the man with the plan said. “This public house is a little nicer than the rest.”
The other man turned around and looked at Mareke, coming to a complete stop.
She shied away from him.
“What did I tell you?” The first man demanded. “She’s worth more in money than she is in rutting with!”
“I just want a taste before we sell her,” the man said.
The other rolled his eyes, but did not fight his companion.
“I have never been with a Southron slut,” he practically growled, reaching for her breasts.
In her traditional Haradrim clothing, it was easy for him to slip his fingers underneath the fabric that was wrapped around her chest, neck and shoulders.
Mareke jerked violently away from him.
The man gave a short laugh before the back of his hand collided with her face. “Are you sure you want to play like that?”
Mareke spat blood from her lip onto the ground at his feet before her dark eyes met his once more.
He shoved her against the rough stone wall. “I like my women with a little fire in them,” he whispered, biting her earlobe and running the back of his fingers up her inner thigh, also easily accessible through her Haradrim skirt with the high slit.
There was nowhere for Mareke to go as he had her pinned. Her body gave an unpleasant jolt at the unwelcome touch of his fingers at the crux of her being. She refused to make a sound.
“That’s enough!” the first man said. “Let’s get rid of her and get paid. You can buy another woman.”
Her harasser lingered for a moment longer before releasing her.
They walked further down the narrow street before they were at another public house. A sign reading “The Splintered Shield” hung above the door.
Once more, Mareke was pulled along through the open door and immediately what had been a very loud room, went silent.
The public house was full of men and as soon as she entered, everyone went silent and their eyes were on her. Only a few were curious, most were hungry.
“May we?” one of her captors asked the soldiers sitting on the barstools.
The men nodded and rose.
Deftly, the second man, who had already had his hands all over her body, lifted her so she was standing above everyone else on one of the barstools.
As he did so, he groped her backside. “My apologies,” he said. “My hand slipped.”
Mareke did not even dignify him with a glance. She stared out over the room, though she focused on nothing in particular. She was afraid if she looked too closely at the soldiers she would lose her composure.
The men before her had been through things no one should ever have to experience, she was sure, but her compassion for them would not save her. The men before her considered her an enemy and she knew it would not be hard to find the hostile gazes. She could only hope that whoever bought her was hungrier for her flesh than for revenge against her people.
“Gentlemen!” The man who had known of the public house shouted. He was clearly the one with the brains and initiative. “We have a special treat for you tonight!”
There was no noise at all as the soldiers waited eagerly to see what would happen with the Haradrim woman.
She was unlike the women they were used to in Gondor, or so they thought. It was difficult to get a good measure of her as she was covered in dust and grime. Many of the soldiers present were still in the city because the War had finished only a few days previously and they had not yet returned home. The women waiting for them in the country were pale with modest clothes and fair hair and eyes.
The woman before them in the public house looked untamed. Her skin was the color of raw honey, warm and dark, her black curls were wild around her face. Tattoos covered her body; a snake around her upper arm, a sun around her navel, rings around her wrist, and peculiar spots on her shoulder and chest. And those were only what they could see with her facing them. But most of her body was exposed. Her outfit covered very little.
After having been around men only for more than a month, most of them would have paid all of their war earnings to feel her firm midriff, smooth thighs, and supple breasts. They could see all of those things and they wanted them so badly that many of the men had to scoot their chairs closer to their tables.
It mattered little that her face was not beautiful, but even then it was striking. She had a straight nose, high cheekbones and fierce eyes. Her lips, though still bleeding, were set in a straight line.
“We found this Haradrim whore lurking near our borders, but we managed to capture her! Now we want to share her with you!” the man shouted. “We will give her to the highest bidder to do with as he pleases!”
Cries and shouts erupted throughout the room! The men stomped their feet and banged on the tables with their tankards of ale in their excitement.
Mareke disappeared into her own thoughts, knowing it was the only way to save herself. The shouted offerings of money for her body faded away.
ooooOoooo
“Why are you leaving too?” Adnan demanded as he trailed his mother around her bedchamber as she packed a very small bag.
“Because it is what your jidd (grandfather) wishes. It is what is done. The royal family must meet the returning soldiers.”
“Well then Jidd should go,” Adnan huffed.
“He is busy here. And as a healer, I may be able to help the men who need it more than your jidd could. There is much work to do now that War is over and it will not be an easy time for us. We must all do our part. That means you and I as well.”
Mareke was to meet the returning troops, though it was whispered that there were not many left, at the border and welcome them home.
The messenger that had raced back to the capital had only said that the fighting was over and that the men remaining would be heading home presently. He had said nothing of Mareke’s brother, Crown Prince Na’man, or how many men had survived.
That fact alone left a bad taste in her mouth and she could sense that her father was on edge as well. She was keeping up a positive front for her father and son.
“I will be back shortly,” she promised. “I am not leaving our lands; merely going to the border.”
She looked down at Adnan, no longer needing to kneel. He would be ten in little over a month and he was growing rapidly.
“In the meantime, you are to behave yourself and not add to Jidd’s burdens, do you understand?”
“Yes Mother.”
“Very good.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead and pulled him against her. “Now run along to your lessons. I will see you when I return.”
“I love you,” he said.
“More than you shall ever know,” she replied, watching her son as he left her chambers.
ooooOoooo
“I will take her,” a clear, deep voice said from the back of the room.
Mareke was pulled from her memory as she tried to find the voice with her eyes. The man who stood up was like nothing she had ever seen before. He was extremely fair with golden hair that was tied back, but his handsome face was tanned from exposure. His shoulders were broad under his tunic and there did not seem to be a soft spot on his entire body.
The men who had been sitting with him rose and bowed and at that every other man in the place did the same.
“The king, the king,” they whispered amongst themselves.
As he walked through them, Mareke realized that he towered over even the tallest of the soldiers.
“I can think of no better way to celebrate my ascension to the throne,” he said as he came near her.
Mareke could tell nothing from his gaze.
“Of course you should have her, Eomer-King,” her captor said with a quick bow.
“Eothain,” he called to one of the men who had been sitting at his table.
Mareke looked quickly at them. Where the majority of the men had darker hair and ruddier complexions those who had been sitting with the King were fair like he was.
“Your Majesty?” the slightly older man asked as he came up next to his King.
“Send ahead to the servants in my chambers. Have them prepare wine and refreshments and a hot bath. I would have her clean before I take her,” he said, glancing up at her before dropping a heavy bag of coins on the bar.
There was loud approval at his words and her rope was handed over to the massive man before her. She was not much taller than him from where she stood on the barstool.
The King reached up and his huge hands encased her waist. They were rough and warm on her skin, but he held her gently as he set her on the floor.
She followed him out of the public house after he pulled, not nearly as aggressively, on the rope that bound her wrists.
Several guards trailed them as they went back to the stairs and climbed the levels of the White City to the very top where the distinguished guests were being housed.
“That is all I shall require tonight,” the King said to the men that had followed him. He pushed the heavy door open and entered the room, Mareke trailing behind him.
The rooms were spartan with a few pieces of furniture in the sitting room before a fireplace.
Though it was late spring, there was a chill to the chambers and Eomer went to lay a fresh few logs on the fire so that it was roaring in the grate.
When he turned, the woman was standing right where he had left her. She was rigid in her posture and her eyes darted around the sitting and dining room.
With a sigh, Eomer swiped a hand across his face and sat at the head of the dining table. “Do you speak the Common Tongue?” he asked slowly. He handed her a cloth napkin that he had dipped into a pitcher of spring water. He gestured that she should wipe the blood from her face with it.
Mareke carefully, but quickly, weighed the pros and cons of revealing to him that she could understand everything that had been said around her since her capture. She let the thoughts run through her mind as she wiped her chin and split lip.
The man before her seemed different than the others, but that could’ve just been a show in front of the other men or a show to lure into a false sense of safety.
“I do, Your Majesty,” she finally said, her words having a thick accent. She laid the bloody napkin on the table.
“You are Haradrim?” He glanced at the tattoos on her body.
Mareke merely nodded.
“What is your name?” he asked, as he reached for the flagon of wine and poured two goblets.
“Herenya,” Mareke lied. She did not know what the Northerners would know about the royal family of Harad, but something told her it might be safer to keep her identity a secret. She hoped it would keep the stakes for others involved very low.
“Herenya,” Eomer said, trying the strange word. “I am Eomer of Rohan.” He held the second goblet of wine out to her. She had to lift both hands to take it as they were still bound together.
“What were you doing within the borders of Gondor, Herenya?” he asked.
“I was sent as part of a healing mission,” she replied, lying once more. “I tried to let the others in my party get away, but I was captured.”
“That was quite noble of you.”
“Perhaps. But perhaps not very wise,” she replied, still standing in front of him. She took a tentative sip from the wine goblet. It had a dry, bitter taste to it; nothing at all like the sweet honey liquor from her home that she occasionally indulged in.
“Often, the two qualities do not go hand in hand,” Eomer replied, with the hint of a smile in his eyes. “Now, if I were to unbind your hands, would you try to slit my throat in my sleep?”
Mareke shook her head. “No, Your Majesty. I am at your mercy,” she said, the closest to supplicating she would get.
Eomer nodded and pulled a blade from his boot. He then took her goblet from her and sliced through her bindings.
Holding her wrists at her chest, she tried to rub the soreness away. They were red and raw from the rope rubbing against her skin.
“I have had a bath drawn for you,” Eomer said, rising. “Would you like to wash the day away and then have something to eat?” he gestured at the table that had several dishes on it.
Mareke looked at the bread and cheese hungrily, but nodded to the bath.
“Very well.” He led her through the sitting room and into the bedchamber. It was just as bare with only a large bed and two dressers. Eomer stopped before one of the dressers and rummaged around until he found what he was searching for. “You can change into this,” he said, offering her the garment. “I am afraid it is not very formal or even for a woman, but it will have to do.”
Mareke held his tunic out in front of her. It was very long as he was so tall and she was already very exposed by her own clothes, so it did not matter much to her.
“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she replied.
“I have not quite gotten used to that title,” Eomer said quietly, a kind smile not reaching his eyes. “Please call me Eomer.”
Mareke nodded and followed him into the adjoining room where a tub sat. There was a small table next to it and a heavy towel sat there along with a cake of soap.
“Will you require anything else?” he asked.
“No. This will do quite nicely,” she responded.
“Then I shall leave you to it. Take your time, Herenya.”
Eomer gently closed the door behind him as he left.
Mareke was uncertain what was going to happen to her. Was all of this some sort of cruel trick before he unleashed himself upon her. She was frightened by his sheer size and the damage he could do to her body, let alone what he could do to her with the very power he commanded. Fear coursed through her at the entire situation.
When it seemed like he was not going to come back in, she stripped from her filthy clothes and submerged herself in the tub, tears cutting through the dirt on her face.
ooooOoooo
Eomer sat at the dining table for nearly an hour and a half while he waited on her to bathe and refresh herself.
When he had seen her on that bar, the part of him that could not help but do the right thing sprang into action. He could not let her fall into the hands of any of those other men. His new councilors would definitely scold him if they knew how much money he had dropped on the bar at her sandaled feet.
If he had his way, no one would ever find out that she was there with him. There were a few men who knew he had taken her, but he would tell them that they had had their night together and he had sent her away.
Servants came in and out while he sat and he pulled one aside. “From here on, no one is to enter my bedchamber. Anything that I require should be left out here.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the woman said with a quick bow before leaving.
Eomer poured himself another goblet of wine and just as he brought it to his lips, Mareke stepped back through the bedroom door.
She looked like an entirely different person to him. Her hair was damp and hanging around her shoulders, her skin had an entirely different hue to it without the dirt and grime. She looked younger standing there in his tunic. It reached just above her knees and hung loose around her frame. He had not realized how petite she was when he had first interacted with her.
“Are you hungry?” he asked, gesturing at the chair next to him and the platters of food on the table.
Mareke merely nodded and took a seat. She was too nervous of what came next to speak. Instead, she focused all of her attention on putting a few pieces of bread, cheese and fruit on her plate.
Eomer could sense her nerves and his heart ached for her. She likely had family that would be expecting her home. He sighed. It was a deep part of who he was that he always had to save those who could not save themselves.
“Herenya,” he said gently. “I will get you home. I am not sure yet as to how or when, but I promise you will see Harad again.”
Mareke felt her eyes well at the sincerity in his voice. She tried not to think of where she would be if he had not paid for her, but she knew it would not have been good. There would have been no bath or dinner, no man with calloused, gentle hands and warm words.
“I would be forever indebted to you, Your Majesty,” she said, staring down at her plate. “It seems I already owe you my life.”
“Eomer,” he reminded her gently. “You owe me nothing. It was wrong of those men to bring you here. The least I can do is try to make amends.”
Mareke remained silent and ate what she had put before her. It was not a very exciting meal; the food was bland and not at all what she was used to, but she was famished so she made do.
“Is there anyone waiting at home for you?” Eomer asked.
Mareke nodded and swallowed. “My father,” she replied.
She did not say out loud that only days before she had discovered her brother had been killed on Pelennor Field. It was in search of his body that had led her to be captured within the borders of Gondor at all.
The few living Haradrim men she had encountered had paid their obeisances to their princess and expressed their condolences at the loss of their Crown Prince and her brother. He had not yet married and had no children which meant, in addition to the loss of her only sibling, there would be earth shattering implications for her son, whom she did not mention to the King of Rohan. Mareke wanted no one to know that Adnan existed. Perhaps if she could keep him a secret, she could keep him safe.
“Well I will do my utmost to get you back to him as quickly as can be arranged. I am sure he is worried for you.”
Mareke nodded. She desperately wanted to be with her father when he learned of his son and heir’s passing, but that would be impossible in her current situation.
When she was through eating, she continued to look down at the table.
The King had provided a bath and food for her. She assumed he would want her to repay him in some way. Even the kindest of men had their expectations.
“You must be exhausted,” Eomer said quietly.
Mareke did not respond.
“Let me show you where you will sleep,” Eomer continued, rising and gesturing for her to follow him. “Though I suppose you have already seen it.”
Mareke followed him as they went back into the bedchamber. Eomer went right up to the bed and turned it down on one side himself.
“Do you think you will be comfortable here?” Eomer asked. When she did not answer he pressed on. “I will sleep on one of the sofas in the sitting room.”
Mareke stared up at him, dumbstruck. Why on earth would he do such a thing? He could take her then and there and then make her sleep next to him if he wanted.
“I mean you no harm, Herenya. I had hoped you had figured that out by now. I merely wish to keep you safe until you can be returned to your homeland.”
Mareke shook her head. “Please, Your Majesty, allow me to sleep on the sofa. I will fit better and will be perfectly comfortable there.”
Eomer gave a light laugh. “I will be fine. I have slept in many places much more uncomfortable than the sofa. You deserve to rest after all of you have been through.”
Mareke’s whole body was pulling her toward the bed that had several warm blankets on it. As she realized that she might be truly safe with the man who had paid for her, the adrenaline left her body and was replaced with a bone deep fatigue.
“Are you certain?”
“I am,” Eomer said with a nod. “Now if you require nothing further, I will let you rest. Wake me if you need anything.”
Eomer bowed his head slightly and Mareke found it remarkable that he would show such respect to a woman who, as far as he knew, was only a healer.
“Thank you,” she whispered to his broad back as he, once more, closed the door behind him.
Mareke hesitantly crawled into the large bed and pulled the heavy covers to her chin. She let out a deep breath she had been holding since she had arrived in Gondor and then, before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three (Third Age 3019)

Mareke woke the next morning to the sun streaming onto the bed. She blinked and then rolled over, away from the glaring rays. When she opened her dark eyes again, she caught sight of the nightstand that was laden with a breakfast try, a stack of books and a roll of parchment.

She sat up and stretched. Her body was stiff as though she hadn’t moved all night and she supposed she had been so tired that that was probably the case.
After a moment, she reached for the parchment.

Eomer had written that he would be gone all morning for meetings, but that he would be back in the afternoon. He asked that she stay in the bedchamber until then so that no one would see her. He apologized for the inconvenience, but indicated the books he had left her. He signed his note simply ‘Eomer.’

Mareke set it aside with a small smile and turned her attention to the pile of books. They seemed to be a wide variety and it warmed her to think that he had gone early to the library and pulled them for her to keep her interest in his absence. There was a book on the history of Gondor, a love story of Luthien and Beren,and a book on the herbs found in Gondor and Arnor.

Mareke picked up the heavy tome on the herbs and leaned back against the pillow, while picking at the plate of fruit on the tray.

She did not get a page into the book before her mind wandered back to Harad and her son and father. They would be worried about her as she was worried about them.

Her father would know of the loss of her brother and then he would be confronted with the loss of his daughter. What would he say to Adnan? The boy would be his responsibility if he thought his daughter dead.

Mareke wanted to be with them more than anything, the rebuilding after the War would be grueling and she wanted to be there to help, not adding to their burdens or worries.
She spent the morning thinking of her family and her homeland, the book on herbs discarded next to her on the bed.

If Adnan had not been told of the fate of his uncle or his mother, he might have been wondering the gardens as he loved to do between his lessons. Na’man had taught him many things about the flora and fauna of their desert home.

After her husband had passed, it had been a great relief to have her brother so involved in her son’s life. Jibran, her husband, was not the most attentive of fathers and he had not been particularly good with the boy when he was very small, but as he grew he took some pleasure in showing the boy weapons and the mumakil used for warfare. That was all the father knew and so it was all he could pass down to his son.

Na’man was the one who showed the boy beautiful things, who read to him, who explained the oil paintings throughout the palace to him.

Mareke and Adnan had been alone for much of the boy’s life, but Jibran had always tried to take him for short periods of time, to give his wife time for herself and she was grateful to her brother that he tried to continue to do that for her.

Adnan had been spending more and more time with tutors and trainers as he approached his tenth birthday and so they had only been spending time with each other for dinner, when Mareke was able to privately dine in their rooms. Often, she had been called to attend to her father. With Na’man at the head of their troops heading North to Gondor, he had relied heavily on his daughter to take the place of his son.

Mareke had not had time to question him on this. It was unconventional to say the least, but she did her best to learn quickly. She wanted to help her people and her family in any way she could. Her involvement had come at the price of time with her son, but she tried to explain it to him as best she could. He understood that the entire world was in upheaval, but Mareke tried to explain things to him without letting him know how dire the situation in Harad was.

Once her brother left with the troops he and her husband had recruited, they heard very little from the men marching North. They had not expected a long campaign. It had been made to seem like they would win an easy victory and they would be home within a month at the very latest. Even so, there was work to be done.

A Realm without the majority of its men was hard to run and many women, like Mareke, were thrown into unfamiliar roles that made the Realm bump along rather roughly while they waited for the soldiers to return bearing the news of victory.

A little after noon, there was a gentle knock on the door and she startled back to the present.

Eomer peered around the door and gave her a smile.

“I am sorry. It looks as though neither the food nor the books were to your liking,” he said, a furrow appearing on his brow. “I was sure the book of herbs would do the trick as you are a healer.”

Mareke shook her head. “No, I was lost in thought was all. I am grateful that you thought of me this morning.”

Eomer stepped fully into the room. He was dressed more formally than he had been in the public house the night before.

He wore a deep red tunic with gold stitching and his long, fair hair was tied back a little neater than it had been previously.

Obviously, his handsomeness had struck her, but she had been too afraid to take it fully into account. She studied him as he looked at her for a brief moment.

He was so unlike the men she was used to in his sheer size. Her father, brother, and husband had been plenty tall, but they were lean and dark.

Once more, his fair hair was tied back from his face so that she could get a good look at his kind, brown eyes.

“You are worried,” Eomer said quietly.

Her eyes met his and she nodded. “Are not we all at this time? I am sure my worries are minimal compared to those of you and your fellow rulers.”

“Do not discount your worries in that way,” he said. He gestured for her to join him in the sitting room. “How about some food and a new view for a while?”

“That would be much appreciated,” she replied, following him out into the dining room.

They both sat and he put food on her plate before his own. “I have a few more meetings this afternoon, but I will be back this evening. I apologize for keeping you confined to the bedchamber while I am away, but servants spread gossip faster than anyone,” he gave her another small smile. “I think it is best if we keep you a secret while I figure out how to get you home.”

“Of course.” Again, Mareke thought of how much worse a state she could be in. A chill ran down her spine to think of it. Eat a little something,” he bid her, as he watched her just look at the plate before her. “Whenever it happens, your journey home will be long. You should keep up your strength in the meantime.”

Mareke nodded and ate a little of what he had served her. She found the food to be strange in Gondor. It was rather flavorless, but surprisingly heavy.

“I assume this fare is not what you are used to?” Eomer asked with a chuckle, when he noticed Mareke’s face.

“Not at all,” she admitted, meeting his smile with her own.

“I would offer to find something else, but the Gondorans are very rigid. I am afraid that is an issue even I cannot fix.”

“I will be alright,” Mareke replied.

They passed the rest of their lunch together in near silence. Outside of the few pleasant exchanges Eomer had extended, they were still strangers and Mareke was on very unsure footing in regards to what would happen to her.

“I have to leave you once more, but I will be back this evening,” Eomer said standing.

Mareke had to crane her neck to look up at him.

“Do not worry about me. I am sure there are many festivities taking place.”

Eomer shook her head. “I am just about through with all of the festivities,” he admitted.

Mareke nodded and remained silent as he left the room.

ooooOoooo

Mareke spent the afternoon lost in thought once more. She tried not to panic when she thought of how far away she was from her son. There was nothing she could do to close that distance and it was because of her own foolishness that she was in Minas Tirith in the first place.

She could not have returned home without her brother. The thought of his remains staying forevermore on Pelennor Field was too much for her to bear and she could not go home to her father without his heir.

Her reflection stared back at her in the burnished mirror in the bathroom. She sighed, looking at the lines around her eyes and mouth that had not been there only a few years before. The War had aged her, as had the death of her husband and the raising of their son with only her father and brother to help.

Once more, a soft knock alerted her to Eomer’s presence. She emerged into the bedroom to find him standing there.

“I brought some wine and dinner if you’re interested,” he offered with a small smile.

Mareke nodded. “The wine at least will be most welcome.”

Eomer gave a deep laugh. “I could not agree more,” he replied, again leading her out into the dining room. “I tried to get something a little different tonight.”

“You need not have gone through the trouble,” Mareke replied, though the roast chicken and vegetables did look more appetizing than the heavy stew at lunch had.

“For both of our sakes, I assure you. I did not think I would find so many differences between Gondor and Rohan, but I was mistaken.”

Eomer sat at the head of the table and poured two very full goblets of wine.

“I imagine you are ready to go home as well,” Mareke said.

Eomer did not answer as he drank deeply from his goblet.

“Indeed,” he said with a sigh, setting the goblet back on the table. He refilled it immediately. “Though it is an intimidating prospect. There is much work to be done.” He rubbed at his shoulder and winced slightly.

“An injury from the War?” she asked.

Eomer laughed. “No, from the sofa I am afraid.”

She immediately felt guilty. “Please take your bed back tonight. I am quite well rested and the sofa will not give me any trouble. I cannot deprive a King such as yourself from his comfortable bed for my sake.”

Eomer waved her words away. “I do not think myself much of a king.”

He lapsed into silence as he filled his plate. Mareke did the same and once more they ate in silence. She tried not to count, but he refilled his goblet twice more.

For the first time that day, she grew nervous. Alcohol and lonely men did not often mix.

“I never expected to be a King, so I did not expect to have to do all of the work of rebuilding that now faces me,” Eomer said, as he pushed his plate away a quarter of an hour later. He picked up his thoughts where he had left off. He took another pull from his goblet. “My uncle was supposed to rule for many more years and then the throne was supposed to go to his son. But here I am.”

Mareke remained quiet. She could see the stress and anxiety and uncertainty that rolled off of him. She had been too afraid to see it before.

“And not only was Rohan weakened by this infernal War, but for many years beforehand there was a shroud over my uncle and his rule. He was possessed by evil magic and evil men so that Rohan would bow under the pressure and be easy to get around for Sauran and his forces. So not only do I have to account for the lost lives and the devastation to my Realm from these most recent events, but there will be work to be done that goes back over a decade of a neglectful ruler and a weakened Realm.”

Again, he filled his goblet and looked into its depths before drinking half of it in one swallow.

“I do not know what I am doing sitting in these meetings with other rulers. I am a mere soldier, at best a Marshall, but that is all. I do not understand diplomacy or treaties. I feel so out of place not only in Gondor, but in the presence of these men who were meant to rule, who have ruled for decades already. This should be Theoden. Or Theodred. At least he was raised knowing that one day this would be his responsibility. I know nothing besides mustering men and protecting our lands.

“I did a piss poor job of even that at the end, when it really mattered. I could not protect any of them. Theodred is dead because I did not get to him soon enough. After Theoden took my sister and I into his care, when our parents died, Theodred and I became closer than brothers. He looked up to me and I could not help him.

“Theoden was half the man I knew him to be because I could not stop Grima from performing his dark magic and feeding our secrets and weaknesses to Saruman. I could not even stop him from harassing my own sister,” he said the last bit with nearly a growl.

The names did not mean anything to Mareke, but she could tell he was in pain. It went beyond anxiety and stress. He was tormented by the things he said, that he could not release.

“And now, Eowyn is in the Houses of Healing. Aragorn assures me she will survive, but I have never seen her like this. And if she does survive, the Steward’s son is waiting for her. I am sure he means to marry her and take her to Ithilien with him. Then who will I have? There is no one left.”

Mareke remained silent. She could sense that, internally, there was still a battle waging in Eomer. The thoughts that he had spoken out loud were tearing him apart, she could see that through his very eyes, even though they continued to stare into his empty goblet.

Mareke had been raised around men of war. She knew they were rarely open with their feelings, but what happened within them could be just as brutal as what happened on the battlefield. She had seen her father lose his temper when he could not say what most needed to be said. Her husband had often lost himself in their native liquor, and her brother…

Her heart ached to think about her sweet, younger brother. Na’man had been a gentle soul when they were children. They were close enough in age to spend a great deal of time together before he had gone to lessons and training. He had always loved books and music and time spent outdoors, but after he had seen his first few skirmishes, he was a changed man.

When he returned to the capital the first time, he was not the boy Mareke remembered, but a man with battle wounds. She had insisted on tending to him herself.

When her brother had been sent to his tutors for the first time, she had begged her father to let her be trained as a healer, the life of an idle princess being quite distasteful to her. King Hashad had eventually relented and so she used her skills and knowledge on her brother.

Na’man had never been hurt too badly, but he had found comfort in his sister stitching his cuts back together, covering them with a salve, and wrapping and setting his broken bones.
When he was healed enough, Na’man lost himself in parties and women. He was able to be the disciplined soldier for long stretches of time, but when he returned he sought solace in debauchery.
It had vexed her father to no end, but there was nothing he could do while Na’man tended to his duties responsibly.

The only thing that had saved him was the birth of Adnan. The way he had looked at his nephew just after his birth, was unlike anything Mareke had ever seen. There was more emotion and tenderness from her brother than her husband and Adnan’s father. The two had shared a bond that she had thought unbreakable.

ooooOoooo

(Flashback)

Mareke was alone in her huge bed with only her newborn son cradled in her arms for company, but it was plenty. He was mere hours old and Mareke had not stopped looking at him since he had first been placed in her arms.

His eyes were the same milky blue of all babies, but Mareke knew they would turn very dark over the next few months. They were wide open and peering up at her.
“Adnan,” she said over and over.

She could not stop herself from pulling his tiny hands and feet from his swaddling to stare at the perfection in such a small scale.

It was true what she had been told by the women of her father’s court. Mareke had never experienced such an earth shattering love until she held her child in my arms. Of course there had not been much love, outside of her father, mother and brother, in her life up to that point, but it was certainly powerful.

There was a soft knock on the bedchamber door and her brother poked his head in, grinning at Mareke. “I know you are not to be disturbed, but I heard from Father that my nephew is here.”
She could not help but meet her brother’s smile with her own.

“I can come back,” he offered.

Mareke shook my head. “No! Come meet him!”

Na’man practically bounded into the room. Before he even looked into his sister’s arms, he took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead emphatically.

Mareke had not yet mustered the energy to have a bath after the delivery and she certainly did not want to leave her son with his nurse so soon, so she was afraid that she was not her usual pleasant self in a physical sense, but her brother said nothing.

“Oh,” he whispered, when he finally sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at his nephew. “He is perfect,” he said with a watery smile, looking up at Mareke.

“Well I certainly think so,” Mareke replied. She carefully tightened the swaddling around the babe once more and held him out. “Greet him properly,” she said.

Na’man took the bundle as though he had done it a hundred times. Mareke realized her brother may have never held a babe before.

“The next in line,” Na’man said quietly.

“Do not get any ideas,” Mareke said sternly. “I would like my son safely away from the throne. Have your own sons,” she jested.

Na’man said nothing. He merely studied the bundle intently.

“Where is Jibran?” he asked when he finally pulled himself back to the present.

“Celebrating.”

Na’man gave a noise of disgust. “He should be here with you and his son.”

Mareke shook her head. “It is alright.”

They once more lapsed into silence.

“Na’man,” Mareke eventually said. “Could you stay in here with him while I have a bath?” she asked. “I do not want to hand him off to a nurse so soon and would feel better if he were with you.”

“Of course,” he said.

A servant came in to tend to some of the laundry from the delivery and Na’man bid her draw a warm bath for the Princess.

The bedding had already been changed and Mareke had been put into a fresh nightgown, but she had wanted to cuddle her son for a while before leaving him, even if just a room away.

When the bath was ready, Na’man sent the servant away and stood up.

In one arm, he cradled Adnan and with the other he helped Mareke to her feet. She winced as she stood and his brow furrowed in concern. “I am alright,” she assured him.

Na’man left her in the bathroom only after he was positive that she would be alright and that she would call out to him if she needed anything.

When Mareke emerged a half an hour later, she found her brother fast asleep in the bed on his back with Adnan, freed from his swaddling but covered up with a blanket, sprawled on his Uncle’s chest.

ooooOoooo

“You must think I am absolutely out of my mind,” Eomer said quietly, shaking his head and coming back to himself. “I apologize for all of that. I do not normally drink this Gondoran wine.”

Mareke found herself inexplicably reaching across the table and taking his hand in hers. “Please do not apologize.”

Even after Adnan was born, Na’man never spoke of the things he had seen or the terror he carried inside his body at all times. It devastated her to think of how lonely that must have been for him, right up until the end of his life.

“You should not let all of that fester within you.”

“You are very kind for a woman who was captured and sold to your enemy,” Eomer said, squeezing her hand a little tighter.

“I cannot think of you as an enemy,” she replied. “You saved my life.”

“Another burden of mine,” Eomer said. “I cannot let anything lie if I think I may be able to fix it.”

“I am grateful for that. Your countrymen will be grateful for that when you come into your rule.”

“I hope you are right.”

Something about him, the state of him troubled her.

Despite all of the wine, he was still very tightly wound.

A memory popped into her head, or perhaps a series of memories, of her husband returning from battles and taking her straight to bed without a word. It had never been intimate, but it had seemed to release something in him, to ease a burden of sorts. Mareke had come to think of it as another of her healing duties for the men in her family. She eased her brother’s broken body with salves and bandages and she eased her husband’s mind with her own body.

“Come, Eomer-King,” she said, standing and pulling him to his feet.

“Where are we going?” he asked. The room spun a bit as he stood. “What are we doing?”

Mareke pulled him into the bedchamber without a word and closed the door behind them.

Eomer’s eyes were glued to her as she wiggled from his tunic. It dropped to the floor around her feet. He shook his head, even as he drank her in.

Her tattoos were visible once more, but he could not focus on them. He drank in her breasts and legs; her stomach to her hips and everything in between.

“Herenya,” he began. “This is not why I paid those men.”

“You have made that abundantly clear.”

Eomer had frozen a few paces away from her and so she stepped forward, taking his hand and guiding it to a breast.

“It is alright,” she whispered when he did not move.

He briefly looked down into her dark, nearly black eyes, and then he looked away, bending his head over her body, kissing her neck and shoulders as he kneaded her breast.

Mareke felt his arousal against her as she helped him out of his tunic, boots, and breeches.

Eomer lifted her up and laid her on the bed and that is where the gentleness ended, but Mareke had known what she was doing when she brought him to the bedchamber.

Without preamble, Eomer pushed into her and Mareke hid a hiss of pain in his muscular chest.

One of his huge hands buried itself in her wild curls and pulled hard so that her neck and chest was exposed to him. The other hand gripped her buttocks with such strength there would be bruises in mere hours.

His teeth sunk into her unprotected flesh and Mareke closed her eyes tightly. His body slammed into hers over and over again until he was moaning into her wet neck; saliva mixed with something hotter and wetter. Tears.

She laid beneath him, immobile as he sobbed into his release, his hips stuttering to a stop between her legs.

Eomer tried to hide his face from her and roll away to the edge of the bed. He curled into a ball and continued to sob.

Without thinking, Mareke reached a gentle hand out to rest on his shoulder. “Eomer,” she said tenderly. She did not want him to close himself off again.

He rolled back towards her and buried his face in her neck. This time there was no biting, but the tears continued.

She did not say a word. She nimbly pulled the blankets up and around both of them and then settled in for the night.

While her husband had always left her to find a bottle of liquor when he was through with her body, Eomer let himself be held.

Mareke held his massive body in her arms and ran her fingers through his hair over and over again while his tears burned her neck. She did not say anything, instead trying to soothe him as best she could with her touch.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four (Third Age 3019)
Mareke blinked awake in the sunlight. At first she did not know where she was, but then she remembered. Minas Tirith. Far away from her father and son.

As she propped herself up in bed, she glanced over and saw another tray laden with food, much more than the day before, as well as more books.

With a sigh, she rose from the bed and made her way to the washroom. As she washed her face, she caught sight of her neck and shoulders in the burnished mirror and the night before came rushing back.

Her own body ached, but more than that her heart hurt when she thought of the raw pain that Eomer conveyed through his words and how he used her body the previous night.

Mareke returned to the bedroom and nibbled at a strange pastry.

ooooOoooo

Eomer did not appear in the bedroom that day or the next.

It was on the third morning that Mareke woke to hear him replacing the tray from the day before with a new one.

“Eomer-King,” she whispered, blinking up at him as she sat up.

“I did not mean to wake you, forgive me,” he said quickly, his neck flushing pink.

“I was hoping I might catch you,” she said quietly.

“Did you need something else? Have things not been to your satisfaction?” he asked.

Mareke shook her head. “No, they are fine. It is just...I understand you must be terribly busy with all of the diplomacy and celebrating required of you right now, but I cannot help but feel that I have displeased you.”

“You? Displease me?” Eomer sighed and swiped a huge hand over his face. “Of course you have not displeased me, Herenya.”

“Then might we dine together tonight? Or share a glass of wine after the celebrations?” Mareke looked away from him. “I realize I have no right to ask anything of you, Your Majesty.”

“Please,” he said gently. “Call me Eomer. Just Eomer.” He bit his bottom lip, chewing at it for a moment. “I will return earlier this evening,” he promised.

ooooOoooo

To Mareke, the day seemed to drag on and on. She thought the sun would never set, but eventually she heard the door to the outside world open and close and Eomer loudly dismissed the servants from his chambers.

After a few moments, just to be safe, Mareke peeked out of the bedroom. Eomer was setting the large dining table and he gestured for her to join him.

“I hope you are not missing anything important,” she said quietly, only sitting when did.

Eomer shook his head. “I am tired of celebrating. I cannot make it make sense when there was so much loss as well.”

Mareke nodded.

Eomer remained silent after that and they were both thinking of his admissions from a few nights prior.

“I have been avoiding you, Herenya, because I am enormously ashamed of myself,” he said, taking a long drink from his goblet of wine.

Mareke remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“I showed you all of my weaknesses and then how I treated you was despicable.”

She could sense that he was growing frustrated once more.

“And I am supposed to be a King.” He shook his head. “I should be above such things. I am meant to carry all things stoically and silently. I am certainly not supposed to act on my emotions in such a way.”

“Eomer, you must remember that I all but invited you to bed,” she said quietly.

“And I do not even have the fortitude to turn you down. You are so far from home, grieving your own losses, scared and alone. I cannot fathom what kind of King I will be nor what kind of man I am. I am disgusted with myself.”

Mareke reached across the table and took his hand. “If I may say so, you are far too hard on yourself, Eomer.”

“Please do not feed me any nonsense about ‘everyone making mistakes.’” Eomer looked at her and there was steel in his gaze. “There is no more room for mistakes in my life. I have made plenty.”

“I did not see any of what has happened between us as a mistake,” she replied. “You should be able to unburden yourself. If you do not, then I would worry what kind of King you will be. You cannot carry the weight of a Realm and your own burdens for the rest of your life. You will crumble under the pressure.”

“I must be stronger.” He glanced at what he could see of her throat. The bruises were fading and yellowing, but he could quite clearly see a few bite marks. “I hurt you,” he said.

“I am fine,” she replied.

Eomer remained silent once more.

“Please Eomer,” Mareke said. “I am to be here for who knows how long. I do not wish to spend that time locked away in a bedroom.” She tried to make eye contact with him. “Unless that is what you wish and then there is nothing I can do about that, but overall I have found being a hostage to not be as terrible as I might have thought.”

Eomer gave a reluctant chuckle and finally looked at her. “Well I am glad to hear that. I have rather enjoyed your company as well.” He filled her plate first and then his. “And as for how long you will be here, there is actually an end in sight.”

Mareke looked at him in surprise, her spoon raised halfway to her mouth.

“I have told King Elessar that you are here. I explained everything to him. He was very angry that his men should have treated you so. He and I are working on a plan to get you home. Unfortunately, it will have to wait until after his coronation and the majority of people have left the city. He thinks that should be in roughly a week. I hope you can bear all of this until then.”

Mareke nodded. “That is much quicker than I had hoped. I cannot thank you enough for working on my behalf, Eomer.”

“I know that I yearn to be home and I have friends and family here,” he said. “I imagine you want to be with your people right now.”

“I do,” she agreed. Immediately, her mind went to Adnan and her heart ached.

“I will get you out of here as soon as I can,” Eomer promised, noticing that she had gone somewhere else in her mind.

Mareke nodded and gave him a small smile.

They passed the rest of the evening talking about what was going on in the city to prepare for the coronation festivities and what all Eomer had accomplished in his meetings with his fellow leaders.

“And your sister?” Mareke asked.

“I visited her today. She is chomping at the bit to be released from the Houses which should be in the next couple of days. The Healers have assured her that she can attend the festivities. The Steward’s son was with her again,” he said ruefully.

“He is a good man?”

“As far as I can tell,” Eomer said. “That does not mean I like the notion of her marrying and living so far away. King Elessar has said that he will give Ithilien to Lord Faramir.”

“That will be difficult,” she agreed.

“Do you have siblings, Herenya?” Eomer asked politely, not wanting to linger too much on the impending changes within his own family.

“I did,” she replied quietly. “He was killed here though. It was one of the last bits of information I had before all of this,” she waved her hand, gesturing at the rooms she had been confined to.

Eomer closed his eyes and sighed. “I am so sorry for your loss,” he said. “This War was entirely too cruel to entirely too many.”

Mareke could only nod.

“Were you close to him?”

A pang shot through her at that. It would be impossible to explain their relationship to Eomer and it would bring her dangerously close to discussing Adnan if she did.

“Yes,” she said simply.

“All the more reason to get you back to your people as soon as we can,” Eomer said.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Eomer drank more wine, while Mareke refrained.

The meal was finished in silence and they continued to sit there.

“It is getting late,” Eomer finally said, rising and finishing his final goblet of wine. “I will bid you goodnight, Herenya.”

Mareke stood as well. “Do you not think it a little silly for you to continue to sleep on the sofa? All things considered?”

Eomer looked down at her, trying to judge if she was serious or not. “Are you sure?” he asked quietly.

Mareke nodded. Something in her inherently trusted the giant of a man before her. “I am.”

Tentatively, she held her hand out to him and he took it in his rough, calloused paw, following her into the bedroom.

“I do not expect anything of you,” Eomer said quietly after he had closed the door behind him.

“This may seem rather forward,” Mareke said. “But you and I have lost loved ones and have much to be anxious about upon our returns to our homelands shortly. Perhaps some distraction and comfort might be found here.”

“I hurt you the last time,” Eomer said shamefacedly even as he reached out to run his fingers over her exposed collarbone where he could see the marks he had left with his teeth.

“Who said that?” she asked. Slowly, Mareke drew his hand down to her breast.

His eyes leapt to meet hers.

“It is alright,” she whispered.

There was something about him that made her heart ache. He was carrying so much and it was evident how much it weighed upon him.

“I want nothing from you,” she said. “I do not wish to add to your burdens. You lightened mine. I would like to return the favor if you will allow it.”

Eomer shook his head. “I do not wish to use you as I did before.” His hand slid down to her hip. “I would wish for us to find mutual pleasure in these few days that we shall have together.”

With one last look at her, he bent over her and kissed her soundly on the mouth, his other hand moving up to tangle in her unruly, black curls.

As they went along, Eomer showed more prowess than he had before. It was not brute power, but a knowledge of what a woman might want to experience at his hands. He slipped his tunic over her head and guided her backwards toward the bed, not once breaking the kiss.

When the mattress caught behind her knees, Mareke fell backwards. Eomer stood above her and kicked his boots off and removed his tunic.

Then he stared down at her, taking every inch of her body in hungrily.

“I wish I would have taken a little more time before, but I suppose now is better than never.”

Mareke felt almost unnerved under his direct gaze. He seemed to be drinking her in, wanting to memorize every piece of her with his eyes and hands.

As his hands ran over her most sensitive areas she jumped beneath him. He bent over her and his mouth trailed kisses from her neck to the sun tattoo around her navel, stopping short as Mareke tried to breathe and retain some control over herself.

She had never experienced such pleasure or anticipation. Her nights with her husband had been brief and to serve the purpose of having a son. She had been nothing more than a womb to fill for him. When Adnan was born, her husband came even less frequently to her bed to try for another child.

She never knew for certain, but she imagined that he found his passion elsewhere. It was kept a secret from her.

Tension built in her body like she had never felt and she was uncertain of what would happen if it reached a peak.

Mareke did not have to wait long to find out.

Eomer freed himself from his breeches and pushed into her, much more gently than before. Mareke gasped to be so filled. The feeling had been masked by the pain during their first coupling.

His hands slipped under her back as it arched off the mattress and then he was gripping her hips tightly as he thrust into her.

Perhaps someone his size could never be completely gentle for his grip was vice like.

Mareke’s legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him closer and deeper. The tension continued to build low in her stomach until she was sure she could not stand it for another second.

And then the wave broke over her and had her crying out as spasms of pleasure she had never known travelled all the way to her fingers and toes.

She was so lost in the sensation, that she did not realize anything as Eomer easily moved her to the middle of the bed so that he could get closer to her, pressing his chest to hers that was still heaving.

One huge hand went into her wild, dark curls and the other stayed on a hip as he ground himself against her.

He did not want to separate himself more than he had to.

“Herenya,” he moaned against her neck, inhaling the scent of the bath salts she had used earlier that day.

When she came back to herself a little bit, Mareke slipped her arms around his; hips moving to meet him of their own volition.

Soon he was grunting, hands tightening in her hair, hips stuttering rather than moving smoothly as they had.

Everything went still.

“Bema above,” he muttered, face still pressed against her neck.

Eomer pressed kisses all the way up to her earlobe.

Mareke could not breathe beneath the sheer bulk of him, but she did not care. The pressure was exquisite against her charged skin. She ran her fingers gently through his sweaty, tangled golden hair.

“Thank you,” Eomer whispered as he pulled away from her, causing her to wince at the separation.

She could not speak to return the sentiment.

ooooOoooo

The day of the coronation came around two days later. Eomer had been in his rooms as much as he possibly could. There was not very much talking when he was with Mareke and she was fine with that.

In the morning, Mareke rose and found Eomer in the washroom before the burnished mirror trying and failing to pull his hair back.

“Can I help?” she asked quietly.

Eomer turned to look at her over her shoulder. “Please.” He handed her the leather thong he had been attempting to use.

“You will have to crouch down, I am afraid,” she said with a light laugh.

Eomer went all the down to his knees and Mareke stood behind him. He closed his eyes when she began to run her fingers through his hair.

“I wish you could accompany me,” Eomer said while he was not looking at her. “Or that I might stay here instead.”

“I am not sure a Haradrim captive is the best guest for this coronation,” Mareke said as she tied his hair back and rested her hands on his shoulders. “And you must go. It is the dawning of a new Age with new kings. The people should see you as well. And this will be good practice for your own coronation upon your return to Edoras,” she continued.

“You are very wise,” Eomer said when he opened his eyes and met her gaze in the mirror. He reached for the heavy golden crown near the wash basin and handed it back to her.

Eomer noticed that she did not seem nervous at all to be handling something so meaningful and valuable.

Mareke carefully placed the crown to not muss his hair and to lie straight across his forehead.

Eomer rose back to his full height and turned to face her. “Well?”

“You look every inch the king,” she said with a smile.

He did look regal and entirely suited to the role even if he still did not feel it was so.

Mareke followed him back out into the bedroom and watched as he fastened his sword belt around his waist and then pulled a heavy emerald cloak with gold embroidery around his shoulders. She helped him attach it to his spaulders and rested her hands on the heavy metal covering his torso.

“Try to enjoy it?”

Eomer gave a heavy sigh. “I suppose. I will try to snatch a flagon of good wine to bring back tonight.”

“Do not rush back. It would be rude. You will want to appear confident and amiable and ready for all that is before you. If you disappear people will think that you are a brute and not prepared for the diplomacy required to be a king, even in a social setting.”

Eomer arched an eyebrow. “You seem to know quite a lot about these things.”

Mareke shrugged and shook her head. “Just my silly ideas and opinions.”

He looked at her for a lingering moment. “I should be off. I must prepare my retinue and meet once more with Elessar.”

Mareke nodded and stood until he was gone. Already she could hear the thundering of the people in the streets.

ooooOoooo

“Eomer!”

Mareke’s head whipped up from where she was propped against the headboard of his bed, reading the book on herbs he had brought. When he had told her that she would be returning home sooner rather than later, she had been able to focus a bit more.

When she looked up, she was faced with a tall blonde woman.

“Bema’s balls!” the woman exclaimed. “Who are you?”

Mareke’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she could speak. “Herenya.”

“Herenya,” the woman repeated, a hand to her chest. “And what are you doing in my brother's bed and in his tunic, Herenya?”

So it was Eowyn.

“It is rather a long story,” she began.

“I do not have time for that,” Eowyn said. “So the shortened version will have to do.”

“I am a captive. Your brother saved me and is keeping me here until I can return home.”

“Always noble, Eomer.” Eowyn continued to stare at her. “I am Eowyn,” she offered.

Mareke was not sure if she was being kind or not, but she stood anyway and bowed her head in obeisance.

Eowyn quickly waved away the manners. “Where is he?”

“He left early to meet with the King and to prepare.”

Eowyn sighed and nodded. “Very well.” She gave one more glance to the woman before leaving.

Mareke stood in her wake, heart pounding.

However, it was less than an hour later when Eowyn returned dressed in her coronation finery. She wore a beautiful yellow gown that complemented her skin and golden hair and a coronet around her forehead.

“I thought you might be more comfortable in this,” she said, handing Mareke what turned out to be a woman’s nightgown.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, surprised at the kindness.

ooooOoooo

Eowyn sidled up next to her brother, Faramir on her other side, at the coronation ceremony outdoors.

“I know what you keep in your bedroom,” she whispered.

Eomer looked sharply down at her. “Then I would recommend keeping your mouth shut among so many people.”

“What are you doing harboring a captive?”

Faramir peered around at the pair. “Harboring a captive?” he repeated in shock.

“Please. Now is not the time.”

He knew his sister would not let it drop and he was correct. After the festivities had gotten started and the dancing and drinking was in full swing, she pulled her brother out into the garden until she found a secluded spot.

“Tell me what is going on,” she commanded.

“It is good to see you looking healthy once more,” he jested. “Glad to see you did not lose any of your nosiness.”

“Nosiness?” Eowyn laughed incredulously. “My brother is harboring a Haradrim woman in his bedroom. I am not being nosy. I am concerned.”

Eomer briefly filled his sister in on how Herenya had come to be in his possession.

“And what do you intend to do with her?”

“I have spoken to King Elessar. We will get her back to the border when the city has cleared out a bit. She will only be here for a few more days.”

“Have you bedded her?” Eowyn asked bluntly.

“Eowyn!”

But she knew from the slight coloring of his neck and the way he instantly looked away from her that he had.

“Bema’s balls,” she muttered again.

“Do not be so crude,” Eomer replied automatically.

“Crude!” she exclaimed. “You think I am being crude. I am not bedding a person I paid for! A person from enemy lands, no less!” She threw her hands in the air. “Have you lost your mind? In a few years, we shall have a half Haradrim bastard strutting into Meduseld! Think of what she could gain and how high she could climb from the lowly life of a desert Healer.”

“We?” Eomer thundered before he remembered they were in a public space. He looked around him before he continued in a lower tone. “We will not have anything. You will be in Ithilien so I am not sure why you care who will be ‘strutting into Meduseld.’”

“What a stunning and noble first act as King.” Eowyn rolled her eyes.

“Enough of that,” Eomer said shortly. “This is none of your concern.”

Eowyn stood rooted to the spot as she stood and watched her brother return to the great hall.

ooooOoooo

When Eomer returned to his rooms it was long past midnight. He tried to be quiet as he freed himself from his heavy, ceremonial outfit, but was unsuccessful as he had had quite a lot of wine to drink.

Mareke blinked awake when she heard him on the other side of the bed. “How was it?” she asked.

She flinched as he accidentally dropped his crown onto the bedside table.

“Just as expected,” he said quietly, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed.

Mareke rolled toward him and kneeled behind him, untying his hair and then running her fingers once more through the golden strands.

“I am exhausted,” he murmured. Eowyn’s admonitions were ringing in his head.

Mareke pulled the blankets back for him and covered him up as he laid down. “Then sleep,” she whispered.

ooooOoooo

Three days later, after midnight, Mareke was dressed in a riding outfit and cloak that Eowyn had provided. She had not seen the woman again, but Eomer had come bearing the clothes earlier that day.

Gently, Eomer pulled the hood over her dark hair. “I am not sure what to say to you,” he admitted.

“Then allow me,” Mareke said. “Thank you. You saved my life, Eomer.” She caught his hands in her darker ones. “I will think of you every day. You shall be the finest King your people have ever known, I am sure of it and so you should be sure of it too.”

“Were that it was that easy,” he replied with a sad smile.

There was a knock on the outer doors and the few soldiers of Eomer’s that would be escorting Mareke to the border were there waiting.

“Be safe,” he said. “I am grateful that we have had this strange time together.”

He then opened the door. Mareke lowered her head and walked in the middle of the group of men all the way to the stables.

A horse was saddled and waiting as was Aragorn and a few of his men. It was to be a joint effort in the hopes that the men from the opposite Realms would hold each other accountable and take Mareke’ safety seriously.

Eomer had threatened his within an inch of their lives.

“King Elessar,” Mareke said with a deep curtsy when she saw the other king.

Eomer once more noted that she did not stumble at all.

“I am terribly sorry for the part my men played in your capture. It is not a representation of all of us.”

Mareke nodded.

“You have plenty of provisions and should be to your border within the week. I bid you a safe journey and a peaceful return home,” Aragorn said.

She bowed her head to both men once more and only glanced at Eomer before mounting the horse and riding out of the stables amongst the men in the red of Rohan and deep blue of Gondor.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five (Third Age 3019)

“Where is my son?” Mareke demanded of every servant she saw. She had come flying into the sandstone palace from the stables as soon as she had made it back to her home. “Where is the Crown Prince?!”

“The Princess,” the servants murmured over and over again, clearly never having expected to see her again.

“Adnan!” Mareke called moving through the corridors toward the private residences of the royal family.

“Mother?” Adnan came flying around a corner, but when he saw her, he stopped short.

Mareke sprinted to him and wrapped him tightly in her arms, sobbing into his curly hair, barely able to breathe.

“Habibi (sweetheart),” she murmured over and over, before finally holding him out at arm’s length.

“They told us you were-” Adnan had tears in his eyes and when they spilled over, Mareke wiped them gently from his cheeks.

“I know,” she whispered, kissing all over his face. “I know.”

In that instant, she truly realized just how close she had come to never seeing her son again and leaving him an orphan with no one but her father to care for him.

She choked on another sob as they clung to one another.

“Mareke?”

She glanced up, vision blurry, to see her father, the King of Harad.

He sank to his knees and held both his daughter and grandson as the servants stared on.

“I thought this impossible,” he whispered.

“It is a long story,” she replied.

“I cannot wait to hear it,” Hashad said as they all stood. He wrapped his daughter tightly in his arms. “I thought to never see you again,” he said in a strangled voice so only she could hear. “You have no idea how happy I am that that is not the case.”

Adnan, at ten years old, had long since done away with showing his mother much affection, thinking himself too old and mature for such things, but as they made their way toward her rooms, he slipped his hand in hers and rested his head on her shoulder.

“Get cleaned up and rested. You and I shall talk later,” Hashad said, though he seemed hesitant to let her out of his sight.

Mareke nodded and let Adnan escort her to her rooms.

Once upon a time, they had shared rooms, with his nursery attached, but as he had grown older he had moved down the hall.

She had missed the vibrant colors of her home. Everything in Minas Tirith had been white and grey. She rejoiced to see the colorful silk cushions and heavy rugs that adorned her rooms.

“Jidd (grandfather), has put me in Uncle Na’man’s old rooms,” he said quietly.

“You are the Crown Prince now,” Mareke replied quietly.

“Maybe he will come back like you did,” Adnan said hopefully.

“I do not think we can hope for too many miracles,” she replied sadly.

They were both silent as they thought of Na’man, who had loved them both so dearly.

Mareke asked the servants to draw her a bath.

“Can I stay here?” Adnan asked quietly.

He looked scared. As though she might never emerge from the lavatory and he would be alone once more.

“Of course. I will not take very long,” she promised.

Mareke hugged her son once more and found it difficult to release him.

The door closed behind her and she sagged. The feelings of relief had crashed over her so hard, but then so had the fear that was almost retroactive.

While she had been in Eomer’s care, she had known she would get back to her son, but seeing him made her realize that had anything gone differently in Minas Tirith she would never have made it home.

She shed the Rohirric riding outfit that had been leant to her by Eowyn and submerged herself into the warm water. It almost immediately turned brown from the dirt and dust of her travels.

As she closed her eyes and went under the water, she thought about where she might have ended up if it hadn’t been for Eomer.

Everything from the bed she had slept on to the food she had eaten would not have been the same. She could have been beaten and violated in so many ways it made her head spin to think about. She would never have been sent home. She probably would have either been killed or kept as a servant.

Mareke came up gasping for air, trying to ground herself in the knowledge that she had made it safely back home to her father and son.

ooooOoooo

That evening, her father had dinner served in her private dining room for just the three of them.

“Tell us how it is that you are back here, when we had heard reports that we would never see you again,” Hashad said as he sat at the head of the table.

Mareke took a deep breath. “I was captured. I strayed too far onto Pelennor Field, hoping to be of more use, but that did not end well for me.” She avoided saying that she had been looking for her brother, but she was sure her father could guess as much.

King Hashad looked tired and haggard and Mareke could not begin to imagine the strain he was under with the loss of the War and the death of his son.

Mareke then proceeded to tell her father how she had been saved and kept safe for the duration of her stay and had been sent home after King Elessar’s coronation. She did not mention that she had made love to the man that had bought her several times and that she had, all things considered, enjoyed her time in Minas Tirith.

“And who was this man who acted so nobly?” Hashad asked.

“Eomer-King of Rohan,” Mareke replied quietly.

She thought her father’s eyes would fall out of his head if he opened them any wider.

“A king treated you so well and saw so closely to your care?” he asked.

Mareke nodded. “It was unexpected. Very unexpected.”

“I should make some overture to thank him,” Hashad said, more to himself than to his daughter.

“I am not sure that would be wise,” she said. “I did not disclose my identity to him. I thought it might be safer to keep that a secret and it proved to work. He was under the impression that I was a healer from the southern reaches of Harad; a woman of no importance.”

“I see,” her father responded. “I shall think about it. After all that has happened, you might be just the tie that is needed to move towards peace.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. Mareke turned her attention to Adnan and for the remainder of dinner, she asked him all about what he had been doing since she left. He filled her in on his academic and tactical lessons, the adventures he and his leopard, Duma, had been on, and everything else he could think of.

After a while, Hashad sent his grandson to bed and despite every part of Mareke aching to accompany him and tuck him in, she knew that being back at home meant tending to her duties to her father, King, and Realm. Many times before, it had been at the expense of other parts of her life.

She held no official role within her father’s administration, but ever since her mother passed when Mareke was little older than Adnan, he had turned to her for the sort of intimate conversations and advice he had always relied on his wife for.

“I am at a loss, Mareke,” he said, after she had kissed Adnan goodnight and sent him to bed, promising that they would spend the following day together. “What am I to do without your brother?”

“I can help you,” she replied. “Unofficially of course and until Adnan is of an age to take over more responsibility. You are not alone, Father.”

Hashad reached across the table and took her hands in his. “Neither are you, daughter.”

Both of their eyes welled and they sat in silence for a while, realizing fully all that had been lost and all that was still to be faced.

ooooOoooo

Nearly two hours later, after discussing all of the horrible outcomes of the War for their people and deciding what to deal with first, Mareke thought she might have to crawl to her bed, she was so exhausted.

When she pulled the silk sheets back, she was surprised to find someone else already in her bed.

“How did you sneak back into my rooms?”

Adnan’s dark eyes blinked up at her in the dim candlelight. “I did not sneak. I am allowed anywhere now.”

“Do not take advantage of your new status,” Mareke admonished him gently, crawling next to him. “But I am glad you are here.”

In the dark, Adnan seemed less self-conscious and spoke to his mother freely.

“I was so scared without you, Mother,” he whispered.

“I was scared without you too,” she replied, running her fingers through his thick, black curls.

“You will not leave me again, will you?”

“Not as long as I live,” she promised, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

ooooOoooo

Edoras came into view and instead of relief, as he usually felt when returning home, Eomer felt only dread.

There had been no respite upon leaving Minas Tirith, as an entire royal cavalcade had accompanied him back to Rohan to bury his uncle. There had been no time to let his kingly facade fall away as he was constantly among those he felt the need to impress.

Outside of the Fellowship, Frodo and Sam riding alongside Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas together on Arod, and Gandalf, there was Queen Arwen and father Elrond and her twin brothers. Faramir, now Steward of Gondor and Lord of Ithilien accompanied his sister. The Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim, Celeborn and Galadriel were in attendance to pay their respects, as was the entire royal family of Dol Amroth; Prince Imrahil and his three sons and daughter, Lothiriel.

Pippin rode with the knights of Gondor and Merry, Eowyn’s faithful companion through the final battle, rode next to the golden bier that Theoden laid upon.

Eomer found that throughout the journey, he could not turn around to look at his uncle in all of his battle wear, holding his sword, Herugrim, on his chest. It was how a King of Rohan should be returned home. His final hours were spent in the defense of his people, and the world as they all knew it. He passed without shame and helped to bring about the end of the darkness that had threatened to consume them.

But Eomer could not look at the man who had raised him since he was eleven. Then more than ever, he needed Theoden’s guidance. He had not expected to take over the role of King and he felt abandoned.

As they approached the city, Eowyn rode up next to him, leaving her betrothed behind.

Eomer had not been surprised when Faramir had come to ask him for his permission to wed his sister, but he had been heartbroken nonetheless. The couple would not be staying in Edoras for very long after Theoden’s funeral and his own coronation. Many parts of Ithilien needed rebuilt and Eowyn was to go with Faramir to get acclimated to her new home and see what service she could be to her future husband and people.

And then Eomer would be alone with his rule.

As the siblings led their party up the hill to the Golden Hall, people came out from their homes and lined the road. There was no raucous cheering and celebrating to see their King returned. It was not because Eomer was unpopular, but it was out of respect for Theoden-King and for the recognition of all they had lost in the War.

The men who had not returned were countless, but outside of that, so many of the Rohirric people had lost their livelihoods in the raids that had come at the hands of Saruman. He had sent his wildmen to pillage the villages of Rohan and homes, crops, and livestock had been destroyed.

Eomer wanted to sag under the pressure of it all, but he knew that he had to remain upright at all times. He would forever be under the scrutiny of not only his people, but his peers as well.

“Welcome to Meduseld,” he said, once the group had climbed the steps to the large stone and wooden building.

He knew not what awaited him inside. Meduseld had not been kept up during the last few years of his uncle’s rule. Entertaining guests had fallen to the wayside and so had the maintenance of the royal home.

Eomer led them in, his heart pounding nervously, but as the heavy doors were opened for him he saw that the servants had seen to cleaning the hall until it gleamed.

There were some tapestries hanging that could stand to be replaced, but the hall itself shone. The horse heads that were carved throughout and the gold inlaid in the pillars were radiant in the firelight and Eomer felt himself relax as he turned to his guests once more.

“You will be shown to your rooms and then we shall share a meal this evening. If you require anything, please let me know.”

He smiled and bowed as they all passed before him to take their rest and refresh themselves after the long journey from Minas Tirith to Edoras.

“Your Majesty?”

Eomer turned to see Eothain approaching. He had led the majority of their remaining men home before the coronation of King Elessar and his following wedding to Queen Arwen.

“Please, Eothain. I cannot stand the formality from you,” Eomer said with a sigh.

He and Eothain had grown up together at the Aldburg and Eothain had joined Eomer’s eored when he had been named Third Marshal of the Mark.

“I am sure you are tired, but there is much that needs your attention. Your council has gathered.”

Eomer nodded and followed his friend, though he wanted desperately to find his way to his new chambers and sleep for a fortnight.

ooooOoooo

The events leading up to Theoden’s funeral were somber. All those gathered remembered not only the loss of their king, but their own personal losses as well.

Eomer’s coronation had been the day after they arrived. It could not be put off. There was hardly time to prepare anything and so it had been a small affair, though Eomer had promised his people that they would be able to take part in the funeral for their late king and the celebration of his life afterward.

Eomer was grateful for his coronation. He was not sure he could have feigned grace and excitement at the prospect of being crowned. He was terrified and filled with dread, in all reality.

Eowyn had placed the heavy crown on his head, though he had worn it in Minas Tirith, and he had spoken the solemn vow to serve his Realm and people until his dying breath and it was over.

Three days after the coronation, a huge crowd made their way to the burial mounds. Theoden would be entombed in the same mound as his son, Theodred, had been less than a month prior.

The women were veiled and the men wore dark colors. It was the first time that Eomer had donned all of his regal finery in Edoras and he felt as though he would suffocate in the heavy garments, despite the cool air of early spring rolling across the plains.

He and Eowyn followed the bier, Theoden still in his finest armor. His sword would be entombed with him as well. Behind him the rest of the royal party followed as they all passed through the parting of people who had come to pay their respects.

“Your uncle was a great man,” Aragorn said, beside him, when they finally stopped. The mound was closed and there was a deafening silence.

“Aye.”

Before Eomer could say more, Eowyn began the keening song of mourning on his other side. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

He knew Eowyn sang not because she wanted to, but because if she did not, she would fall. His sister was a warrior as he was and she would be strong whatever it took.

The women in the crowd joined Eowyn and the sound was raw and heartbreaking.

When the song was over, he wanted to remain, but he knew it was his duty to lead his people back to Meduseld so that they might celebrate the life of Theoden. The time of mourning was for the burial mounds. Back in the Golden Hall, the ale would flow freely and stories of Theoden’s courage and wisdom would be told.

On the return walk to Meduseld, Eowyn took the arm not of her brother, but of her betrothed and Eomer walked ahead of the crowd alone.

It seemed too much in that moment to have to let both his sister and his uncle go. After all of the loss he had suffered in his life, he wanted to rail against these latest ones, but he knew he could not. Instead, he raised his crowned head and walked up the hill to the Golden Hall.

Once everyone was seated, Eowyn brought her brother a mug of ale as he stood to address those gathered.

“If there was ever a man as strong as Theoden, I know him not,” Eomer said, his clear, deep voice ringing across the hall as a hush fell. “Though he found himself shrouded in darkness and deceit, he found his way back to the man who was a source of light and courage to our family and our people. With his final acts, Theoden was able to rekindle hope with the unsheathing of his sword. Over fear and doom, he rose. Even as we mourn the loss of his life, we celebrate the glory he brought to Rohan and to our world. The people of Rohan thank our most esteemed guests for joining us in honoring the life of Theoden-King.” He nodded to where the rulers of Gondor, Dol Amroth, and Ithilien sat, along with the Hobbits, Gimli, and the Elves. “Never has any king of the Mark had such company upon the road as came with Théoden, Thengel’s son, to the land of his home.” He raised his mug of ale and waited for the rest of the hall to do the same. “To Theoden!”

“To Theoden!” The hall rumbled as though with thunder as everyone drank to the memory of the late king.

Food was served and more barrels of ale were tapped, but Eomer sat in silence at the head table for a while.

“You must go amongst them,” Eowyn said.

Eomer quickly swiped a hand over his face. “I know.”

Suddenly, there was a flash in his mind of Herenya the night of Aragorn’s coronation. Eomer had lamented to her how he had not wanted to attend, but she had told him he must, that he needed to be seen by the people; that it would make them think of him as charitable and diplomatic, fully capable of the role into which he had been cast.

A small smile played across his golden features at the thought of the woman he had saved in Minas Tirith. With everything going on, he had not had much time to think of her. Eomer hoped that she had made it home safely. His soldiers had reported that they had seen her to the Haradrim border with no incident and he had been glad of it.

He rose from his throne, gratefully for it was uncomfortable, and stepped down amongst the people, who began to bow to him. He waved them off and spoke to them as though they were friends. And many of them were. He had known most attendees of the funeral for almost his entire life.

Eventually, he relaxed a bit and found himself enjoying the mingling and the opportunity to hear so many stories about his uncle that he’d never heard.

The night came to a close for Eomer earlier than it had used to, but he was truly exhausted from the events over the past few days. Some had dispersed from the hall, but many more stayed to enjoy the generosity of their new, young King.

Eomer slipped away, not wanting to be seen, not wanting to be bowed to, not wanting to have the celebration come to halt on his account.

When he returned to the King’s chambers, he dismissed the servants and saw to undressing himself for bed.

Again, Herenya came, unbidden, to his mind. Having her in his rooms in Minas Tirith had made them all the more a sanctuary in that very trying and confusing time. Having her in his bed…
Eomer gave a frustrated groan and bunched the blankets in his fists.

He found that though he was past exhausted, sleep eluded him that night.

ooooOoooo

The following days were spent in council meeting after council meeting. Reports were pouring in from all over the Realm of the destruction that had been done and subsequently of the impasses most communities found themselves in. There were not enough men to help with the rebuilding that would have to happen. It would be a long and slow process of bringing Rohan back to her former glory.
Eomer had surrounded himself with men he knew and trusted and they were a balm to him as he made difficult decision after difficult decision.

In other meetings, Eomer sat with Aragorn, Imrahil, Faramir, Elrond, and Celeborn. The Elves were leaving Middle Earth in droves and those that had come to Edoras were no different, but they offered wisdom that was invaluable to the Men who were trying to rebuild the world after so much darkness.

“Peace and prosperity will come once more,” Elrond said, Celeborn nodding at his side. “We have seen destruction and loss before. Always, the world comes back to the light. You must rely on one another now. For too long, the Realms of Men have fought and distrusted one another. Your alliances will be of the utmost importance if you wish to lift up not only your own Realms, but all Men as well.”

ooooOoooo

On the last night of their stay, Eomer put on a feast for the royal guests who had accompanied him back to Rohan to pay their respects to Theoden. Luckily, there was enough in the stores to provide lavishly enough to avoid disrespect.

It had been decided that, during what would hopefully prove to be a season of peace, what men could be spared from the royal eoreds would become farmers and go out to the villages to plant. Rohan desperately needed a successful harvest in the fall to help get the Realm back to its former glory.

“This is wonderful,” Queen Arwen said in her melodic voice, once the meal was over and the musicians had taken up their instruments.

“I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your presence here, Your Majesty,” Eomer replied.

He had been absolutely dazzled by the Elvish Queen and the rest of her family. Besides Legolas, he had never seen a member of the fairest race before.

Arwen was extraordinarily kind and pleasant to speak with, but Eomer found her grandmother, Galadriel, rather unsettling.

When Arwen left his side, Galadriel glided into place next to him. “Your rule shall be quite illustrious,” she said in her low voice.

“You flatter me, my lady,” Eomer said uneasily.

“I never flatter. I am only telling you what I have seen. These halls shall prosper once more, but there will also be pain here. Pain that you will carry with you until your death.”

Without another word, she was gone. Eomer felt chilled to the bone at her words, but he tried to shake them away as Eowyn came up to him.

“Ask Lothiriel to dance, brother,” she said.

“Lothiriel?”

“Yes Lothiriel,” Eowyn sighed. “She has been practically begging you to ask her with her eyes all night. You have not left her line of vision.”

Eomer shook his head. “Your imagination runs wild, sister.”

“It does not. I could tell she was taken with you when we began this journey. She is quite kind and likeable. You never know.”

He shook his head again. “I am not in the dancing mood tonight.”

“Not everything is about you,” Eowyn said, leaving him once more.

“Do I not know that,” Eomer scoffed to her retreating back.

He stood on the outside of the celebration, talking to those who came up to him and being as polite as he could manage. He was anxious to have the Golden Hall back to himself and to get to work on all that needed to be done. Eomer could only give half of his attention to the matters at hand when he was responsible for entertaining royal emissaries as well.

“I have been thinking.”

Eomer jumped and turned to see Aragorn at his shoulder. “There really is no need to move like a shadow at a celebration such as this,” Eomer said with a chuckle.

“I cannot help it,” Aragorn replied with a smile. “As I said, Elrond’s words have got me thinking. We need alliances. We cannot afford another War.”

Eomer nodded in agreement.

“Your little Haradrim friend popped into my head recently.”

“Herenya?” Eomer asked, turning to the other man.

“Yes. We should offer a peace agreement to Harad. It would take away the uncertainty and anxiety of not knowing what their plans and movements are.”

“It is a very good idea. Do you think they will be receptive?”

Aragorn shrugged. “I intend to write to the King and find out. If he is willing, I would suggest that we take envoys south and meet in person. If he responds favorably, I would suggest we go in a year. That will give us all time to prepare and to get things settled at home.”

“I would be happy to go,” Eomer said, his mind immediately skipping to Herenya, but he faltered. He would not see her even if he were to go to Harad. She had said her home was far away from the capital, in the southernmost reaches of the Realm.

ooooOoooo

Three months later, Mareke entered her father’s study to find him smiling absurdly at a piece of parchment in his hand. It had been a long and difficult few months of getting the very first recovery initiatives off the ground.

“What could you possibly be so happy about?” she asked.

“We are to host a royal delegation from Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan.”

Mareke’s pulse quickened. “Pardon me?”

“The King of Gondor himself has written. They are extending overtures of peace and alliance with us. This is incredible!”

“Indeed it is,” she said quietly.

“With the young King of Rohan in attendance, your secret will be out in the open,” Hashad mused.

“Yes it will.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Six (Third Age 3020)

Mareke had not been able to sleep or eat for nearly a week and it was all coming to a head that afternoon. Early that morning, scouts had returned to the palace saying that the guests from Minas Tirith, Edoras, Dol Amroth, and Ithilien would be arriving that day.

Mareke stood in front of the mirror in her room looking herself over. She looked nothing like the healer who had been in Minas Tirith a year before.

She was arranging her wild curls for the thousandth time when there was a knock on her bedroom door.

“Your Highness.” The servant bowed. “The royal guests have entered the city. His Majesty requests your and the Crown Prince’s presence in the entrance hall.”

Mareke nodded. “Thank you.”

She cast one last look at herself in the mirror and then left. Adnan was sitting at the dining room table pouring over a document on strategy that he was supposed to critique for an upcoming lesson.

“Come Adnan,” she said gently. “They will be here shortly.”

“You look nice,” he said as he held the door open for her.

“Quite the gentleman,” Mareke said with a gentle smile, squeezing his shoulder as she passed.

Mareke had had a year to prepare herself and yet she was not ready to see Eomer again. She had thought that their parting would be permanent, but now they were to meet under completely different circumstances.

“Are you alright?” Hashad asked when his daughter and grandson joined him.

“Nervous,” she replied.

He merely nodded.

They waited there for another quarter of an hour before the heavy doors were pushed open. Sunlight came streaming in along with a hot blast of air and it took Mareke’s eyes a moment to adjust.

The sun was behind the newcomers as they made their way in. It was only when the doors were closed once more that everyone was able to take in their new surroundings.

“Welcome!” King Hashad said, stepping forward. “Welcome to Harad!”

“We are glad to finally be here,” King Elessar replied.

“I am sure you are exhausted. Before you are seen to your rooms may I present my daughter, Princess Mareke and my grandson, the Crown Prince, Adnan.”

Eomer’s mouth actually opened when he looked upon the princess.

She gave a practiced curtsy as she had done to King Elessar in Minas Tirith. “Your Majesties,” she said quietly. “Welcome to Harad.”

When she straightened back up, Eowyn, Aragorn, and Eomer were all gaping at her in shock.

“Bema’s balls,” Eowyn muttered.

Eomer was too shocked to rebuke his sister for the foul language. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. It was unmistakably Herenya, the healer, but she was dressed much more regally with kohl rimming her dark eyes.

The royal blue outfit she wore was unlike anything he had ever seen. The skirt was long and flowing with a slit all the way up her thigh on one side and the top left her entire midriff bare, wrapping around to cover her breasts, but also leaving her arms exposed. She wore golden bangles on both wrists and many of her tattoos were on display.

“Adnan and I shall show King Elessar and Prince Imrahil’s family to their rooms and Mareke will take the Lord and Lady of Ithilien and Eomer-King.”

Mareke glanced quickly at her father, but nodded.

“Please follow me,” Mareke said quietly. “We are very grateful that you have taken a vote of confidence in Harad and chosen to visit; to talk of peace,” she continued on, even though her heart was hammering.

She had not forgotten how handsome Eomer was, but she had forgotten how his sheer size could move the air around her.

Faramir looked between his wife and brother-in-law, wondering why no one was going to speak. “We are quite glad to be here, Your Highness,” he replied, looking between the pair beside him as they followed the princess. He could not fathom what had possessed them to act in such a way. “Your home is unlike anything I have ever seen.”

Finally, as they approached the rooms that Eowyn and Faramir were to share, Mareke turned and looked at them for the first time since they had left the entrance hall. “The Lord and Lady of Ithilien shall stay here.” She pushed the door open so that they could peek into the colorful sitting room, which was covered in sumptuous pillows and lush fabrics. “You are all to rest for the remainder of the day, dinner shall be sent to you, and then tomorrow I have planned for you to enjoy what Harad has to offer before the talks begin the following day. If you need anything at all, please send someone to me directly. I wish to ensure that you have the best possible stay in Harad.

Eowyn elbowed her brother in the ribs before she disappeared into her rooms. “Are you not going to say something?” she hissed.

Eomer looked as though he might never speak again. His face had gone white and he was still a bit slack-jawed.

“I lied to protect myself,” Mareke said, before anyone else could say anything. “I thought if I was no one, if everyone thought I was no one, the stakes might be lower and I would be able to make it out of Gondor and back home. And it worked. I hope you can understand that. I did not mean to hurt anyone.”

Before Eowyn could speak, Faramir placed his hand on her lower back and guided her into their rooms, finally understanding just who Princess Mareke really was.

“Your rooms are just across the hall, Eomer-King,” Mareke said, leading him to another door. “I hope they will be to your liking.”

Once more, she pushed the door open.

Eomer looked down at her briefly, gave a quick shake of his head, and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

Mareke sighed when the door was safely closed behind him. She could not read him.

In the time they had spent together in Minas Tirith, he had been so open to her, but it seemed it would take some convincing for him to understand what she had done and why.

When she returned to her rooms, she excused everyone but her lady-in-waiting that was closest to her.

“Are you alright? You have not seemed yourself recently,” Oyna said. She no longer referred to her mistress by her royal title. Though of course there was no mistaking the nature of their relationship, they had been together since they were girls, Oyna a few years older than Mareke, and had been through everything together; marriages, a few children between the two of them, and loss.

“There is something I did not tell you about my time in Minas Tirith that now makes this royal visit fairly difficult,” Mareke said.

With another deep sigh, Mareke then went into all of the details of her time with Eomer. When she was through, Oyna was gaping at her.

“I do not know what to say,” she said, finally recovering.

“It was foolish, I know,” Mareke replied, sitting heavily on a low sofa.

“I do not know about that,” Oyna said with a shrug. “No one need know. Clearly there were no consequences,” she said, referring to the fact that there had obviously been no child. “Are you planning to take him back to bed while he is here? I can send for the herbs to ensure that there will be no repercussions.”

“Oyna!” Mareke exclaimed with a laugh despite everything. “After all I have told you, that is what you ask me.”

The other woman shrugged. “It seemed like you might have enjoyed yourself. That is not a bad thing considering what it was like before,” she said, referencing Mareke’s late husband.

“Yes well, be that as it may, I am not sure I will be able to get Eomer to speak to me let alone anything more intimate than that.”

She knew the revelation of her identity would change everything between them. No longer was she a woman of no consequence who could be taken to bed without a care. She was royalty in her own right, the daughter of a King and mother to the heir. In the dawning of a new age, she might be a person of some importance.

ooooOoooo

It did not take long before she had her chance to speak with Eomer alone.

Mareke had spent her dinner with her father and son going over the plans for the next day. She had arranged various activities for all of their guests; there were to be mumak rides, tours of the city and market, and relaxing time spent in their steam rooms, mineral baths, and with the very capable masseuses of the palace.

Not long after Hashad had departed and Adnan had been sent to bed, there was a knock at her door.

Oyna answered it as Mareke was preparing for bed.

“It is him!” the woman said frantically as she popped her head into Mareke’s lavatory where she had been wiping off the makeup from the day.

“Of course it is,” Mareke said, looking at herself in the mirror. “See him to the sitting room and offer refreshment. Dismiss everyone else. I shall be there in a moment and you shall give us as much privacy as possible without leaving my rooms completely.”

Oyna nodded and then hurried out of the room once more.

Mareke put her head in her hands briefly. She did not have time to fix herself back up, so she merely pulled on a long, flowing green dress. It was not as revealing as her earlier outfit, but some of the tattoos on her arms and hands could still be seen as the sleeves had clasps to her wrists, but there were patches where her skin could be seen.

If she had thought she was nervous when the entire group arrived, it was nothing compared to what facing Eomer alone was doing to her heart. Mareke was afraid she would lose her breath as she left her bedroom, passing Oyna as she went.

“Eomer-King,” she said quietly, approaching him from behind the sofa he sat on.

He immediately rose and dipped his head. “Your Highness,” he replied, once more looking her up and down. Even without the makeup and jewelry, she looked much different than she had in Minas Tirith. He thought it might be her surroundings, but he realized it was her regal bearing. It had slipped through once or twice in Gondor, but in her own home she wore her heritage and blood status like a crown.

“Please,” she said. “My name is Mareke.” She gestured for the massive man to sit back down.

Eomer had to extend his legs in front of him to fit on the low sofa. Mareke folded hers beneath her, giving him a glimpse of the woman he had thought she was in Minas Tirith.

“Is it?” he asked, his words barbed.

Mareke met his brown eyes. “Yes.”

His brows were furrowed and he crossed his thick arms over his chest. He too had changed into something more comfortable and wore only a linen tunic with his plain breeches and boots.

Mareke was sure that their guests would soon find the heat to be quite unforgiving.

“The more I think about everything, the more I do not understand why you felt you could not trust me,” Eomer said evenly.

Mareke sighed. She had been doing quite a lot of sighing that day.

“I have no real reason. My intuition told me that I would be safer if I lied.” She shrugged. “I was not wrong. I made it home.”

“Do you think me some brute that would have kept you a prisoner if I had known you were a princess?”

“No!” Mareke shook her head. “I do not think that at all. I think I might have been delayed in getting back to Harad. There would have been more questions, more conversations needed about the right way of doing things. But if I did not matter to anyone, then I could be released. I had to get back here, Eomer-King.”

“I told you everything,” he said, looking away from her. “I told you things that I have never told another soul. I spoke of fear and doubt and shame.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw and then pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing, emotion rising.

Mareke heard the restraint failing in his voice.

“I told you everything and you could not even share your name!” His brown eyes flashed to hers and she could see the rage, like a fire, behind them. “I am humiliated!”

Mareke’s eyes closed briefly in the face of his anger.

“It was not out of disrespect for you,” she said, after he had taken a few shaky breaths. “I can assure you of that. I am still honored by what you shared with me.”

“I do not trust anything you have to say, Princess,” he replied sharply.

“You must believe that though I was dishonest about my name and my heritage, nothing else was a lie,” Mareke said sincerely.

“How do I know that?” Eomer demanded. “How do I know that you have not been sharing all of my insecurities with your father? Is ready to pounce on the fact that I still have no idea what I am doing as King?”

“You will know when you meet with him. He will be nothing but gracious for what you did for me,” she assured him. “I shared nothing with him except the bare facts of the matter; that you saved my life and were instrumental in my return to Harad.”

Eomer finally looked back at Mareke.

“He will be grateful to you for my return to him,” she repeated.

“As your nephew is?”

Mareke paused in her confusion and then realization dawned on her. “Adnan is not my nephew.” She looked directly at Eomer. “He is my son.”

Once more, Eomer’s face drained of color and he was shocked into rage. “You say you did not lie to me, but you certainly were not open! This is lying by omission! You could have told me you had a son without giving yourself away! And where is his father? Am I going to have to contend with an angry husband while I am here?”

Mareke shook her head. “That would be impossible. Adnan’s father is dead. He took ill long before the War and he did not recover.”

“I am sorry,” Eomer said quietly, abashed in the face of her loss.

“It is alright. There was not much love lost there,” she replied. “I did not tell you about Adnan because I thought I might protect him by staying silent. And I know it would have broken me to speak of him when I was, at first, very uncertain if I would ever see him again. You will understand someday what it is like to have a child and to watch your heart walk around outside of your body. You would do anything to protect them even if it does not make absolute sense in hindsight.”

Eomer was silent for a long while.

“Please, Eomer,” Mareke said, when it was evident he would not speak. “I only meant to survive and to see my son again. The conversations we shared were not deceitful on my end. They were quite real and genuine.” She reached across the low table between their two sofas and took his hand. “I have thought of you often since we parted.”

Eomer looked at their hands, his much larger and lighter than hers, for a long moment before pulling himself free and standing up. “As have I, Princess.”

He did not say another word as he left her rooms.

ooooOoooo

Eomer did not sleep at all that night and so when it was finally time for him to go and receive his massage and dip in the mineral baths, he was a little grumpy and wary. They did not have such things in Rohan.

“Your Majesty,” a woman greeted him with a curtsy. He had been led very deep into the palace and it was much cooler in the buried rooms.

Incense burned. He could detect hints of lavender that immediately made him want to go to sleep.

“Right this way,” the woman said in her heavily accented Common Tongue. She led him into a private, dark room, only illuminated by a few candles. “I shall give you a moment to disrobe and wrap yourself in the sheet. We shall start face down,” she said, indicating the high, narrow bed in the center of the room.

Eomer stood there after she had closed the door behind her and stared at the bed. He was unsure if he would fit or not.

Reluctantly, he began to unbutton his tunic and then he kicked his boots off and pushed his breeches down, reaching for the linen sheet folded neatly on the bed. He wrapped it securely around his waist and then clambered as carefully as he could onto the table.

A moment later the woman returned. She stood next to the table and rested her hands on Eomer’s broad back for a moment before she began to move them back and forth to get him used to her touch.
The pressure gradually became more firm and Eomer found himself groaning as she forcefully ran the heel of her hand around his shoulder blades.

He hissed in pain when she used her elbow to work through a particularly bad knot.

“Is that too much, Your Majesty?” she asked, pausing. “You are very tense.”

“Keep going,” he ordered.

All said, it was more discomfort than relaxation, but when he stood from the table after an hour and a half, he felt like a new man. He rotated his shoulders and for once they did not creak and crack. The massage had erased some of the years he had spent slaving to the sword, shield, and spear.

“I will show you to the mineral baths so that you might soak for a while. It helps the work on your muscles to settle in,” the woman said.

Eomer followed her through a couple of corridors before they emerged into a very large room with high, mosaic ceilings.

The woman hung back by the entrance to the corridor. “This bath is for the men. You can wear the sheet into the water,” she said. “Enjoy.”

Before she left, she peeked around the huge king and bobbed her head to the only other occupant of the bath. “Your Highness,” she said, before disappearing.

Eomer turned and saw the boy from the day before, which brought the conversation with Mareke flooding back to him.

“Prince Adnan,” he said, when had finally gathered himself. Eomer used the stairs and stepped down into the warm water.

The boy watched him closely from where he sat at the far edge of the pool on an underwater bench that went around the entire thing.

“Your Majesty,” the boy said quietly.

Eomer took a seat and they continued to study one another. He had never been very good with ages, but Adnan was alone in the pool, besides the chamberlain who seemed to be the boy’s companion. He had straightened up when Eomer appeared and the King could see that the boy was nearly identical to his mother from the wild curls on his head to the cut of his jaw and cheekbones. He even bore himself as Mareke did, cloaking himself in his role of the Crown Prince.

“Have you enjoyed your day, Your Majesty?” the boy asked.

“It has been quite interesting. The mumak ride was a bit frightening,” he admitted.

Used to horses, Eomer had not enjoyed being so far up on something that swayed so much. He had been quite glad to get back on the ground and continue the rest of their tour on foot.

“I have heard rumors that you killed a mumak by yourself in Gondor,” Adnan said, more fascinated than disturbed by the act. “Is that true?”

“Per usual, the rumors exaggerate,” Eomer said, shaking his head. “It was a chain of events and I was not alone. I took no pleasure in the act.”

Adnan seemed to be hoping that the man would say more about the War, but Eomer would not. He did not want to fuel the boy’s fascination with war and death. He did not want to portray it with any bravado.

“The War was a terrible thing. Many lives were lost, homes destroyed. When you are King, you will make better choices than many of us have had to face, I am sure.”

Adnan nodded solemnly. “We almost lost my mother, but she said you saved her. For that, I must thank you, Eomer-King.”

Eomer waved the gratitude away. “Please, call me Eomer. I think we shall be friends while I am here and long after.” He sank a little lower into the warm water, letting it lap at his chest and shoulders. “As for your mother, she exaggerates. I merely helped her get home to you.”

“My grandfather and I are grateful,” Adnan continued. “She is all we have now.”

“You have lost much,” Eomer agreed softly. “How old are you, Prince Adnan?”

“Ten,” the boy replied.

“And how long has it been just you and your mother?”

“My father died when I was six. A long time,” he said.

To someone so young, Eomer imagined it felt like a lifetime.

“But he was not around very often, even when he was in the palace.” Adnan shrugged. “I spent more time with my Uncle Na’man.”

Adnan looked away and Eomer was confronted with how very young ten years old really was. The boy had carried on an eloquent conversation; a product of his lessons and training no doubt, but the sudden presence of very strong emotions made him look even younger than he was.

“I lost two people who were very dear to me as well in this War,” Eomer said quietly. “It is very difficult to go on without them.”

“How do you?” Adnan said, practically whispering and still looking away from the King.

Eomer sighed heavily. “I try to act in a way that I know they would be proud of. I try to live the lessons they taught me and to think of how they would act when I do not know what to do.”

A tear slipped down Adnan’s cheek, but he nodded.

A male servant came into the room. “Your Majesty,” he bowed to Eomer. “Your Highness,” he did the same to Adnan. “Your mother would see you in her rooms. It is nearly time to get ready for tonight’s feast.”

“I will see you tonight, Prince Adnan,” Eomer said kindly as the boy left the pool.

Adnan gave a wave and disappeared.

ooooOoooo

Mareke had learned long ago to play the role of Queen to her father’s King. When her mother had died, her father had been bereft and left anchorless amongst his court. Though Mareke had not been much older than Adnan, she had tried to follow her mother’s example in running the court. Those duties had fallen to the wayside as War approached, but with the arrival of such distinguished guests she was fully back into the role of hostess.

Eomer came through the door last, trailing his sister and Faramir.

“Welcome, Your Majesty,” Mareke said, straightening from her curtsy. She gestured to where he would be sitting with the other guests, her, Adnan, and King Hashad.

But Eomer lingered for a moment. “You look quite striking, Princess,” he said, taking her in.

Mareke was wearing a dress the color of blood. There was a thick, gold collar around her neck that the fabric was attached to, which then criss-crossed across her chest and stomach, again leaving her midriff bare, before falling from her hips into a frothy skirt.

She was a bit taken aback by the compliment after their conversation the night before. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

With a slight bow of his head, Eomer followed Eowyn and Faramir to the table.

Mareke then began rushing around, while still managing to look elegant and in control, to check that the food was ready to be served and the music to be played after dinner.

She finally joined the high table and the food followed her shortly after.

Adnan was on her right and Eomer was on his other side. Her son had mentioned that he had spent some time with the King that afternoon and so she had paired them up once more.

“I must admit,” she heard Eomer whisper to her son. “I have found myself to not be up to the challenge of your spicy food.”

Adnan laughed. “I will show you,” he promised.

Mareke could not help but smile as the pair laughed through dinner, Eowyn and Faramir joining in while Prince Imrahil and King Elessar had already seemingly begun their talks of politics with King Hashad.

“You need more rice!” Adnan exclaimed.

Mareke chanced a glance around her son to see that the King of Rohan was actually sweating from the spices.

“Try the honey liqueur,” she suggested. “But be careful. Though it is sweet, it also has a bite.”

Eomer took a drink and sighed, pushing his plate away. “I do not know how you do it, Prince Adnan.”

“Try this,” Adnan held out a plate of fried bread rolled in cinnamon and sugar.

Eomer closed his eyes as he took a bite. “Now that I can handle,” he laughed. “Pass me another.”

Mareke rose from the table and went to where some of the noblewomen had gathered at the back of the room. Her father had insisted she lead the entertainment, though she was not looking forward to it.

Before she could dwell too long on the potential for embarrassment, the drums started up and the women took the dance floor.

The guests had never seen anything like that type of dancing before and all eyes were glued to the women as their hips rolled back and forth to the beat of the drums. As their arms moved and their wrists flicked above their heads, their bangles created their own music.

All of the women were wearing similar outfits to Mareke’s in different colors and the skirts billowed out as they twirled and kicked their legs.

Adnan glanced over at Eomer to find that his gaze was not moving from his mother. He had seen her dance many times and so he studied the fair king instead.

Eomer had leaned back in his chair and was drinking the princess in. Of course, he had thought her pleasant to look at when they had been in Minas Tirith, but to see her move in such a way, in such a daring gown was completely different.

What he had experienced in Minas Tirith had not been so powerful. It had not been lust exactly, but a release he craved. In Harad, he could not take his eyes from her breasts as he shoulders moved back and forth. Mareke’s hips rolled, beckoning to the young King. He wanted to take her there and then on the very dance floor.

But she was no longer just a healer from Harad. She was the widowed mother of the Crown Prince and the daughter of the King. He could not have her so simply as he had before and perhaps he could not have her at all.

What terrible torture that would be.

“Now I see why you took her to bed,” Eowyn muttered on Eomer’s other side.

He finally glanced over at Adnan, who was staring back at him.

“Hush,” he whispered, hoping the boy had not heard.

When the song was over, music of Gondor began playing. King Hashad had had their musicians practicing since they had first learned that there would be a delegation from the North. He wanted their guests to feel at home.

Eomer went to stand and go to Mareke, but he was beaten there by Prince Amrothos, the youngest of Imrahil’s sons.

With envy, he watched as the younger man spun Mareke around the floor and had her smiling up into his handsome face as they chatted.

Before the song was even through, Eomer went to the pair, damning all of the eyes that were watching him from the head table and tapped Amrothos on the shoulder. It was rude to do such a thing, but he did not care. He could only think of his hands on her body and he would do whatever it took to feel that sensation once more even it must be during a polite dance in front of others.

“May I cut in?”

Whether Amrothos wanted to allow it or not, he had no choice when someone of Eomer’s rank asked him to do something.

“I suppose,” he said with a perfunctory bow.

Eomer stepped into his place and held Mareke in his arms, one holding her smaller hand, the other on her bare waist.

“You are not the dance partner I expected to have tonight, Your Majesty,” Mareke said.

“Go back to calling me by my given name,” he said. “I much prefer it.”

“Very well, Eomer,” Mareke said.

She could not deny that there was a flare of heat rising in her body at being so near to him once again. There had been many a night after her return to Harad when she had woken in a sweaty tangle of sheets having dreamt of the nights they had shared in Minas Tirith.

“I wanted to apologize for last night,” Eomer said. “I cannot imagine the strain you were under, now that I know everything, and how desperate you must have been to get back home to Prince Adnan.” Eomer smiled sadly down at her. “He and I spoke in the mineral baths today. He is a very special young man. I can see that you mean a great deal to one another.”

“He is my whole world,” Mareke said. When the song ended, she separated herself from Eomer and looked up at him. “Does this mean we shall be friends while you are here?”

“I think so.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Seven (Fourth Age 8)

After their stroll through the gardens, Mareke was shaken. She had known she would see Eomer, but she had wished their first meeting to take place in a crowd of people when she was expecting to see him. Instead, it had been a surprise and one she was entirely unprepared for.

Seeing his son had felt like a knife thrust deep into her chest. He was the spitting image of his father. The longing she had felt to take the little boy into her own arms had been staggering.

"Mother, are you alright?" Adnan asked, once the door was firmly shut behind them and they were back in the sitting room of the rooms they were sharing.

"Of course," she replied.

"You barely spoke to Eomer," Adnan continued. "I thought you had been friendly when he was in Harad all those years ago."

"We were," Mareke said, wishing very much that her son would leave the subject alone. "It is strange to see all of them after so long, is all."

Adnan continued to stare down at his mother, trying to puzzle out what was going on. "Alright. I hope you will be more sociable this evening."

Mareke sighed. "Of course."

His brow was still furrowed, but he pressed a kiss to his mother's forehead. "Prepare yourself."

Mareke did as he bid and disappeared into her bedroom.

Oyna was there, laying the gown Mareke would wear out on the bed. It was a beautiful, pale lilac silk that she knew would flow over her body. It had been made just for the occasion of the celebration in King Elessar's honor.

"I saw him," she said quietly.

"Eomer-King?" Oyna asked, eyes wide. "Already?"

"It was a surprise in the gardens," Mareke murmured, sitting heavily at the vanity and putting her head in her hands.

Oyna watched her mistress and her friend and her heart ached for the woman.

"I am not sure what I was expecting, but it was worse; much more difficult than I anticipated."

"Oh Mareke," Oyna said gently. She went to the princess and ran her fingers through her wild curls, beginning to prepare the woman for the feast and celebration.

Mareke looked at her lady-in-waiting in the mirror. "I could curse that son of mine for insisting I be here," she muttered.

"The King needs you," Oyna reminded her gently. "I do not think he would have asked if he had known."

"He believes I hesitated because of my capture, but that is not it at all."

Oyna nodded, understanding in her eyes, as she wrestled with Mareke's pitch black hair, trying to mold it into something the Gondorans would find acceptable.

"We saw his son. A toddler who looks exactly like his father." She hastily wiped a tear from her cheek at the impossibility of the emotions she was still feeling nearly a decade later.

"We will get through this," Oyna assured her mistress. "There are many others who you will enjoy seeing."

Mareke nodded grudgingly. "It shall be a long visit."

ooooOoooo

"I am sorry. My mother is Haradrim. You must have the wrong rooms," Adnan said when Mareke emerged from her bedroom.

"Oh hush," Mareke shook her head.

Oyna had managed to gather Mareke's curls into a bun at the base of her neck. She had adorned her friend with a golden coronet and emerald earrings that dangled, brushing her neck.

The gown had been an attempt to keep the Haradrim style without being too revealing. Of course, she no longer wore the revealing garments that the younger Haradrim women wore, but still there was more flesh exposed than the Gondoran women would ever dream of showing.

The silk was light and airy and would keep her cool in the warm Great Hall, but it was also modest.

Adnan stood and surveyed his mother as she straightened his tunic. It was a gorgeous royal blue with gold embroidery at the neckline, hem, and sleeves.

"Your crown is crooked," she said, trying, with some difficulty, to get the gold circlet to lay flat on his curls. Despite its solid weight, Adnan's wild hair seemed to be the predominant force.

"Every inch the King," she said, as she always did to him. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous. Inexperienced," he replied.

"The nerves I cannot help with, but you are not inexperienced. You have sat upon your throne for nearly three years now. You have ridden out at the head of your men, negotiated with our tribes, and have ruled Harad with no incident."

"It still feels like it is Jidd's throne and I am merely playacting," Adnan admitted quietly.

"Nonsense! Your jidd would be very unhappy to hear you say such a thing. He trained you well and you have taken over with your own strengths and nuances. Harad is yours. You cannot go out to face these other rulers thinking anything different."

Adnan met his mother's eyes with his and it was as though they stared into a mirror. "Our people adore you. I love you more than life itself. You are competent and capable to handle not only these social situations, but the negotiations that will follow."

Mareke reached up and took her son's face in her hands and rubbed her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Settle into your rule. You have so much to offer and these people will understand that immediately."

Adnan nodded and closed his eyes briefly.

Mareke dropped her hands as he took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders back so he was standing to his full, impressive height. He offered his arm to his mother and they left their rooms.

She had encouraged him through his nerves, but her own fears were not as straightforward and it was not something she could share with her son.

The corridors leading to the great hall were bustling with guests, but as the Haradrim mother and son made their way towards the celebrations, the people parted and stared.

Mareke had expected such a thing, but she worried that it was rattling Adnan even more.

She squeezed his arm and gave him a brief smile before the doors were swung wide open for them. They were immediately engulfed in the sound and the swirling of different colors of gowns and tunics.

"Oh my," Adnan muttered.

"Relax," Mareke bid him gently.

They made their way deeper into the hall, but before they could get much further, Eowyn approached them.

"My goodness, Your Majesty, I cannot get over how handsome you have grown to be," she said, smiling up at Adnan.

"Please, my lady, call me Adnan," the King said, giving one of his charming smiles.

"How have you managed to remain unwed up to now?" Eowyn asked.

"Because I have not pressed the issue," Mareke said with a roll of her eyes.

"It is true. My mother has long run my court, and my grandfather's before me, successfully," Adnan replied with a shrug. "I am happy to let her continue to do so."

Mareke shook her head. "Well I would enjoy a respite, not that anyone asked," she laughed. She felt more at ease around Eowyn. They had grown quite close during her visit to Harad all of those years ago and had kept up a correspondence since, pointedly avoiding some topics, of course.

"I think you might get that sooner than you think," Eowyn said, looking around the room. "Your son can have his pick of eligible brides it would seem."

It was true. When they looked through the crowd, maidens of all ages and from all Realms were staring at the tall, dark King.

"They stare because I am exotic," Adnan said with a chuckle.

"And wealthy and powerful. Do not sell yourself short," Eowyn returned with a rogue grin.

"You are terrible," Mareke laughed.

"I know."

"Where is Elboron?" Mareke asked, looking around for the rest of Eowyn's family.

"Oh, terrorizing his nurse with Eldarian if I had to guess. The servants and governesses and really everyone else dread when the two of them get together. They cause such a commotion."

"Little boys will do that," Mareke agreed.

"Adnan, go and mingle. There are many eager to meet you it would seem," Eowyn said, turning back to the young man.

"If you insist." He dipped his head to his mother and the Lady of Ithilien. "Ladies," he said, before disappearing into the crowd.

"They age me, these children of ours," Eowyn said, watching him go.

"Wait until Elboron is twenty," Mareke laughed.

"Hopefully, he will at least be a bit more calm by then," Eowyn replied. "Would you like a goblet of wine?"

Mareke nodded and the pair set off to find where the libations were being served.

"Princess Mareke," Faramir joined the pair of them, a little girl clinging to his hand.

"Speaking of aging us all," Mareke said with a smile. "I remember when you wrote that Finduilas was born."

The little girl took her mother's hand in her other one and buried her face in Eowyn's skirts.

"Our children are complete opposites," Faramir said with a laugh. They all caught a glimpse of Elboron chasing Eldarian around the edge of the room, guards hustling after them.

Mareke looked once more at the fair little girl between her parents.

"And where is King Adnan?" Faramir asked, taking a goblet of wine for himself.

"Hopefully finding a wife," Eowyn laughed.

"It would not be the worst thing he could find while we are here," Mareke agreed.

"It looks like he might be successful," Faramir said. They all swivelled to see Adnan surrounded by a handful of young women.

Mareke smiled, though it brought a pang to her heart to think of some other woman coming into her son's life. In the very near future, Adnan would be a husband and perhaps a father. His life would be so full and she feared what her life might become then.

Everyone began moving toward their tables so the feast could begin.

"I will be right there," Mareke said.

Eowyn gave her a quick look and Mareke gave her a smile, assuring her she was fine. Mareke lingered to get another goblet of wine and to watch her son.

Not so long ago he had been a little boy who sometimes caused all manner of mischief and sometimes needed to be clinging to his mother.

She was not naive. She knew her son was not an innocent, and knew that he often spent his nights with a woman in his room in Harad.

A wife would be a different matter. A wife would mean that Harad would have a Queen for the first time since Mareke's mother was alive. Mareke would no longer have as much influence in the court or in political matters.

She took a long drink of her wine, still watching her son.

After another moment, Adnan caught his mother's eye and arched an eyebrow. He turned back to the last remaining young woman and when she had walked away, he gestured for his mother to join him.

Mareke did and looped her arm through his once more.

"How are you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Fine," she assured him. The memories of her capture in Minas Tirith were not as traumatic as her son thought they were, but she did not want him to know the various conflicts that were truly affecting her.

They were to be seated at a table with Eowyn, Faramir, and Prince Imrahil's family from Dol Amroth. Adnan pulled his mother's chair out and sat next to her.

Mareke immediately noticed that the young woman who had captured Adnan's attention was sitting across from them.

"Princess Mareke," Prince Amrothos said, seated to her left. "It is wonderful to see you again."

Mareke gave him a genuine smile. "The pleasure is mine, I assure you."

"Mother," Adnan said, pulling her attention back to him. "I do not believe you have had the pleasure of meeting Princess Haleth," he said, indicating the young woman.

"I have not," Mareke said, trying to keep the smile on her face, nodding at the young woman. She had the fine features of her family and their dark hair and fair skin.

Throughout dinner, she learned that Haleth was the oldest child of Prince Elphir. Erchirion had married as well, but Amrothos was unwed.

Imrahil was in his seventies and had lost some of the vitality he had possessed in Harad a decade earlier, but he was as polite and charming as ever.

While Mareke was regaled with updates from Imrahil's family, she noticed that Adnan and Haleth could not keep their eyes off of one another and were not participating fully in the conversation around them.

Eowyn raised an eyebrow in her direction. Mareke gave a shake of her head and a chuckle.

Once the plates and platters had been removed from the tables the music started up and Aragorn and Arwen took to the floor first. They were such an elegant pair and were still obviously very much in love a decade after their wedding.

Faramir extended his hand to Eowyn and they joined the King and Queen on the dancefloor, laughing to one another as they spun around.

Mareke's heart caught in her throat when the next pair stepped onto the floor. Eomer and who could only be Lothiriel situated themselves and then executed the steps perfectly. As they moved around the floor and weaved through the other couples joining the dance, Mareke caught a glimpse of Lothiriel's very swollen stomach. If it was possible, it was more of a blow than seeing Eomer with his son earlier that day.

The color drained from her face and her hand instinctively went to her own flat stomach. Her womb had been empty since she delivered Adnan. It was not what she had imagined for her life, but so many things had not happened how she might have wanted them to.

Mareke could not tear her gaze away from Eomer and his Queen. They were a very handsome pair. Lothiriel was nearly as tall as her brothers and lean, besides the child she carried. She looked much like her niece, beautiful and fair, with long, dark hair and grey eyes. Her golden crown sat across her forehead as though she had been born to be a Queen and torchlight glinted off the large ruby wedding ring she wore.

Mareke could only mirror the woman and she rubbed her thumb against her ring finger. She wore no jewel and there was only a tattoo there from her marriage. She would have that all of her life.

Lothiriel smiled up at her husband, listening intently as he spoke to her. Mareke could only imagine what they might be speaking of; their children, their Realm, their friends and family. After nearly a decade of marriage they would have created a very full life with many interesting things to talk about and plan for.

As they completed a turn in the dance, Eomer caught Mareke's eye over his wife's shoulder and the Princess quickly looked away, filling her wine goblet once more with shaky hands.

"Princess Haleth," Adnan said, standing and offering his hand. "Might I interest you in a dance?"

Mareke was sure she could not take another blow. At every other formal function, Adnan had always asked her to dance with him first to open the festivities.

The young woman blushed and stood gracefully, placing her hand in Adnan's. Mareke tried to smile, but she was afraid her face might shatter.

Despair was rising in her chest, causing her ears to ring and her eyes to lose focus on all that was around her.

"Princess Mareke, would you like to dance?" Amrothos asked her. "I remember another welcome feast we danced at."

"I would be honored, but I am not feeling so well," she managed to get out. She tried to avert her eyes from the dancefloor, not wanting to see Adnan or Eomer. "I think I shall retire for the evening."

"Would you like me to accompany you to your rooms? I would hate if something were to happen to you, Your Highness," Amrothos said.

Mareke shook her head. "No, thank you. I shall be just fine. I am a bit worn out from our travels is all."

Amrothos gave her another concerned look. "If you are sure…"

"I appreciate your concern. I shall see you tomorrow. Give my farewell and regrets to the others."

Amrothos nodded as Mareke rose and left the hall.

She had nearly made it to the bend in the corridor, where she could disappear, when she heard someone calling after her.

"Mareke!"

She turned to see Eowyn, hustling down the hall. When the Lady of Ithilien caught up to her, she took Mareke's upper arms in her hands and looked at her closely.

"I thought this would be difficult for you," she said quietly.

Mareke shook her head. "I am tired. That is all."

She had never been certain how much Eowyn knew about their stay in Harad. She had never told her any of the intimate details of her relationship with Eomer, but she knew the siblings were extremely close and had been especially so during and immediately following the War.

"He told me," Eowyn said. "Almost everything I would imagine."

Mareke felt her eyes welling and so she looked away.

"I did not want to come here," Mareke whispered. "Adnan thinks my reluctance was because of my time as a captive, but that is not it. Obviously."

"Life can be so very, very cruel," Eowyn said quietly. "My heart broke for you both back then and it does again now."

"Mine has been broken ever since," she replied.

"Can I do anything to help?" Eowyn asked sincerely.

Mareke shook her head. "I am going to retire. If anyone asks, tell them I was not feeling well after our long travels."

Eowyn nodded and squeezed both of Mareke's hands before letting them go and turning to go back into the great hall.

Mareke wiped at her eyes and continued on her way back to her chambers.

When she was safely in her rooms, Oyna appeared in the sitting room, ready to prepare Mareke for bed.

"How was-" she was cut off by the look of despair on her mistress' face. She quickly sent every other servant away.

Mareke collapsed into the older woman's arms, sobbing into her neck.

Oyna stroked her back gently, murmuring to her in their own tongue. After a few moments, she gently pulled Mareke off of her and began to unbutton the long row of buttons on the back of the lilac dress. When Mareke was in only her slip, Oyna gently guided her to sit before the vanity, immediately removing her coronet and earrings and gently unpinning her curls.

The two women did not say a word. After a lifetime together, they often did not have to speak what was on their minds.

Oyna helped Mareke into her bed and fetched a cool rag to place over her eyes. She stood above her mistress for a few moments and stroked her hair away from her face.

ooooOoooo

Several hours later, Mareke was still lying in bed awake when she heard the door open. She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing.

Heavy footsteps approached the side of the bed and she knew it was her son. She could smell the wine and sweat from all of his dancing exertions.

Adnan looked down at his mother, brow furrowed, but glad to see that she was getting some much needed rest. Without a word, he bent over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

ooooOoooo

Eventually, Mareke could not lie in bed any longer and so she slipped into the gown she had worn to the gardens earlier and tiptoed out of her room. One of the guards who had been posted outside of her and Adnan's chambers followed at a distance as she made her way back to the gardens.

In Harad, the palace was much more open and fresh air blew through the rooms and corridors. In Minas Tirith, everything seemed much more closed off and claustrophobic.

It was still a few hours before dawn and so Mareke hoped that she might have a few moments to breathe in the night air and scent of the plants and flowers to calm herself before returning to bed.

When she had been in Minas Tirith the first time, she had seen nothing but Eomer's rooms, so it was interesting to walk through the palace. She took a longer route, having forgotten the way to the gardens, but that was fine with her. She saw more paintings and works of art as she meandered through the corridors in the dim torchlight.

When she finally emerged into the gardens, she took a slow, deep breath, shutting her eyes briefly.

"Mareke?"

She quickly turned back to the entrance and saw Eomer standing there, his own guards a few paces behind him.

Even in her most flustered state, Mareke could execute a perfect curtsy. "Your Majesty."

"Please do not do that," he said quietly.

They stood and looked the other over.

"You left the celebration rather early," he said.

"It was a bit much after our long travels," she replied.

Neither of them believed the lie.

"Mareke-"

She shook her head. "We should not be here. This is more inappropriate than the first time, if that is possible."

"I have thought about you every single day since I left Harad," Eomer said, his voice catching.

"Do not say such things." Mareke felt her eyes welling once more.

"You never responded to my letters."

"I was doing what was best for you."

As Eomer nodded, a tear slipped down his bearded cheek.

Mareke barely remained on her feet when he turned and left.

Chapter Text

Chapter Eight (Third Age 3020)

After the initial parties from Rohan and Gondor arrived, more representatives from King Elessar’s princedoms arrived. The halls of the palace in Harad were more full than they had been in a century and Mareke was very busy ensuring that all of their guests were having an enjoyable experience when they were not in conference with one another.

She made sure that meals were sent into her father’s council chambers during the day so that the men need not break focus on the very precarious and very important deals they were striking for peace.

It was nearly impossible to convince Adnan that his life had to go on much as it had before all of the visitors had arrived. He thought as the Crown Prince, despite his mere ten years of age, that he should be included in the negotiations.

One morning, as they were sitting at the high table in the dining hall, with the same people who had sat with them at the welcome feast, Mareke was at her wits end.

“I will not be discussing this with you every single morning,” she hissed to her son.

Adnan had his arms stubbornly crossed across his chest.

“You are going to your tutors. Now quit fighting me on this. It is not a discussion. You have no other options. Do not make me bring this to your jidd’s attention while he has so many other things to tend to.”

“Between you and I, Prince Adnan, the negotiations are painfully boring. I cannot imagine that your tutors can be any worse.”

Mareke glanced behind her to see Eomer joining them for the morning meal. He pulled his chair out on the other side of her son. Adnan glanced at the huge man from the corner of his eye.

“Perhaps this afternoon when the meetings are over, you and I might go for a horseback ride through the desert?”

Mareke watched as her son instantly brightened.

“That is, of course, if your mother agrees to such a thing,” Eomer said, finally looking across the boy to the princess.

“You may take him wherever you like. As long as it is not a burden to you. You also have much to tend to at this time.”

“It is not a burden at all,” Eomer assured her. “Firefoot will be wondering where I have been. We are used to spending much more time together than this.”

“I have not ridden very much since before Na’man left to fight,” Adnan said quietly.

Eomer saw his mother flinch at the name of her brother.

“Well we shall have to remedy that,” Eomer said. “My people are known for our horsemanship. Perhaps I can teach you a thing or two.”

Adnan nodded enthusiastically.

Mareke busied herself with the fruit on her plate, not actually eating anything. 

“I will fetch you before dinner,” Eomer promised, putting food on his own plate.

When Adnan finished his breakfast, Eomer studied the mother and son as she straightened his hair and tunic.

“Behave yourself today,” she said quietly. “Maybe try to learn something instead of thinking you are missing out. You will be grown soon enough and all of these responsibilities will be yours. Do not rush it.”

She had her hands on his cheeks and she was running her thumbs over his soft skin.

Eomer could not help but smile to see the affection. Adnan tried to act embarrassed, but it was very clear that he adored his mother.

“Come to my rooms when you are through for the day,” Mareke said, placing a kiss on his forehead and sending him on his way. She turned back to Eomer. They had not had much time for any further conversations after the dance they had shared. From morning to evening, the men were in meetings with one another and in the evenings, Mareke would flit from guest to guest to entertain them at the evening meals.

“You really do not have to go out of your way to take him riding,” she said. “I do not want to add to your already busy schedule. I would imagine you are not getting enough time to yourself.”

“I have not had time to myself since before the War,” Eomer said with a chuckle. “Adnan will be much better company than most I spend my days with now.”

“If you change your mind,” Mareke said. “He will survive.”

Before Eomer could speak, Prince Amrothos was laying his hand on Mareke’s forearm, stealing her attention away.

“Is there anywhere I can escort you today, Princess?” the younger man asked.

Eomer rolled his eyes. The youngest of Imrahil’s sons was proving to be rather superfluous, all things considered. He was not attending meetings as the middle son was doing so with their father and so Amrothos was free to shadow Mareke’s steps.

Mareke turned back to Eomer with a small smile, excusing herself from their conversation.

“Actually, I need to go to the kitchens first thing to discuss tomorrow’s dinner. With all of the guests finally here, it shall be a little more festive than they have been.”

“Excellent,” Amrothos replied. “I am quite looking forward to it.” He stood and pulled Mareke’s chair away from the table before offering her his arm, every bit the courtly gentleman.

“Your Highnesses,” Eomer said with a slight bow of his head as they left him at the table alone. He grumbled to himself, wishing he had the free time to escort Mareke to tend to her duties.

He was not left alone long. Eowyn sooned joined her brother at the high table.

“What has you looking so sour?” she asked, taking a seat across from him.

“Nothing,” he replied.

But Eowyn had already followed his gaze to the retreating pair. She raised a pale eyebrow at her brother, but said nothing.

ooooOoooo

Mareke spent the rest of the day preparing for the larger dinner that was to take place the following day. Amrothos was her constant companion and she found him rather interesting. He was quick to tell her all about his seaside home and the boats that the Swan Knights utilized.

“I have never seen the sea,” Mareke said, as they stopped outside her door. 

Amrothos had escorted her back to her rooms as she was expecting Adnan to be done with his lessons shortly. 

“It would be an honor to host you and Prince Adnan when we return home,” Amrothos offered. “There is much Adnan could learn from our court and from the Knights.”

“That is a very generous offer,” Mareke said, not giving any indication as to what she intended to do with said offer.

“Is Eomer here?” Adnan asked excitedly as he came bounding around the corner of the corridor.

“Do not be so rude,” Mareke admonished. “Say hello to Prince Amrothos.”

Adnan looked the man up and down before speaking. “Good afternoon, Prince Amrothos.”

“We will see you at dinner tonight,” Mareke said, bidding the man farewell. She ushered Adnan into her rooms before her and closed the door gently behind them.

“Where is Eomer?” Adnan demanded.

“Patience. He is very busy. He will not forget about you.” She gestured at the fruit on the dining table. “Have something to eat while you wait.”

Adnan sat at the table and popped a cherry into his mouth, not amused with having to wait for anything. Mareke sat next to him and tried to ask him questions about his day, but he had very few words for his mother.

A quarter of an hour later, Oyna opened the door and ushered the large king into the sitting room. 

“Eomer!” Adnan exclaimed, leaping up from the table.

Mareke noticed that he looked very weary from his long day, but he smiled at her son nonetheless.

“Run to your rooms and fetch your riding boots,” Mareke said, looking down at her son’s sandaled feet.

Adnan groaned, but did what his mother said.

“Truly, Eomer,” Mareke said. “If you do not want to do this, you do not have to.”

“I do want to,” he assured her. “It will be the best part of my day, I assure you.”

“I will take your word for it. If he becomes too tiresome, please bring him back to me. I do not want you to feel as though he is your responsibility.”

“He is very well behaved,” Eomer replied, having watched the boy closely. Of course he had his mischievous moments, but overall he was very respectful and down-to-earth.

“Are we talking about the same child?” Mareke asked with a light laugh.

“I am sure he is different behind closed doors, with someone he is familiar with.”

Adnan came bursting back through the door. “Speak of the devil,” Mareke said with a smile at her son. “Behave yourself,” she said as Eomer put a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I shall be asking for a full report from Eomer.”

“Yes, Mother,” Adnan called over his shoulder.

When they had left her chambers, Mareke looked around. After a moment, Oyna came back from the nursery which had been empty since Adnan moved to the Crown Prince’s chambers.

“Where did you go?”

“I wanted to give you some privacy.”

“I was not going to take him to bed in the few minutes when Adnan was in his rooms,” Mareke laughed.

Oyna shrugged. “You never know.”

ooooOoooo

Two hours later, Mareke was answering another knock at her door.

“Oh Prince Amrothos,” she said, surprised to see him there.

“I thought I might escort you to dinner,” he said with a bright smile.

“Thank you.” She slipped her hand onto his forearm and they set off down the corridor.

When they entered the dining hall, Adnan came sprinting toward his mother. His hair was windblown and his eyes were wide with excitement.

Without pleasantries, he pulled his mother away from the Dol Amrothian prince. “I went so fast!” he exclaimed. “But you should have seen Eomer and Firefoot.” The boy finally stopped when he was at Eomer’s side once more and he stared up at the man in awe.

“Oh do not flatter me, Adnan,” Eomer said with a chuckle.

“Compliments do not come lightly from this one,” Mareke said, running her fingers through her son’s unruly curls. He must have been tired because he was leaning his back against her chest, allowing her to touch him in front of others.

Eomer studied the pair and he felt the desperate urge to know what it would feel like to have her tend to him as she did her son. He had seen how gentle she was with Adnan and he had experienced it briefly in Minas Tirith before Aragorn’s coronation. He wanted to know what it would be like to have her concerned over his well-being; making sure he was eating and sleeping enough, taking breaks from his work, and making sure he looked presentable.

“Well thank you,” Eomer replied. “Adnan sat his horse quite competently. His uncle taught him well,” Eomer said gently, looking down at Mareke.

“He would be honored to hear that from one of the Rohirrim,” Mareke said, trying to speak around the lump in her throat. “If you will excuse me, there are a few things I need to see to for tomorrow.”

Eomer watched the woman go.

“She misses Uncle Na’man,” Adnan said, following Eomer’s gaze.

“I am sure she does.”

Dinner was served and Mareke did not join them, presumably talking to the cooks in the kitchen about the larger dinner that was to take place the following day.

It was only after the dishes had been cleared away that she appeared again. Before she could get to her son though, she was intercepted by one of the newcomers.

“Princess Mareke,” the man said. “We have not yet had the pleasure of meeting. I am Prince Eldacar of Pelargir.”

Eomer watched the meeting with a furrowed brow.

Pelargir was one of the southernmost princedoms in King Elessar’s realm. Out of everyone in Harad besides those who resided there, he was easily the darkest.

“Prince Eldacar,” Mareke said with a friendly smile and a slight curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I hope we might spend some time together while I am here,” he said, white teeth gleaming against his amber skin. “Of course, I am rather busy. King Elessar has entrusted me with the building of Gondor’s navy, which will highly impact the trade negotiations that are taking place.”

“Oh my,” Mareke said. “That is quite the task.”

“I am up to the challenge, never fear.”

Adnan had been chattering to Eomer, but when he realized that the King was not listening to him, he adjusted his gaze to where his mother was. He found nothing odd about the interaction she was having with the newcomer. Mareke had spent so much of her time recently talking to everyone who was staying in Harad.

“What are we looking at?” he asked Eomer.

Eomer uncrossed his arms and looked down at the boy. “Nothing,” he said quickly, neck flushing. He should have known better. The child had become his shadow whenever he was not in council chambers or his own quarters.

“You were looking at Mother,” Adnan said.

“Not so,” Eomer said. He quickly searched around Mareke for anything else that he could have been looking at. “I was studying the mural on the wall behind her.”

Adnan continued to stare at the Rohirric king for a long moment before his grandfather bid the boy to join him with King Elessar.

“You were just caught by a child,” Eowyn snickered on her brother’s other side.

“You do not know of what you speak,” Eomer shot back quickly.

“Oh I think I do,” Eowyn replied, still laughing to herself. “You make it rather obvious. I would be more careful if I were you.”

Eomer dropped the conversation, not wanting to speak about it.

When Adnan was through with his grandfather, he hurried to his mother’s side. Eomer tried to heed his sister’s warning; he knew she was right, but still he watched Mareke.

Prince Eldacar visibly soured when the Crown Prince joined them. It made the hair on the back of Eomer’s neck rise. 

Mareke took Adnan aside and once again he was taken with the amount of care she showed to her son. The boy threaded his arm through his mother’s and they walked around the hall, speaking with those who stopped them, but making their way towards the dessert table.

Eomer had learned quickly that Adnan possessed a colossal sweet tooth. 

He could not take his eyes away from the pair as they laughed at some inside joke between them; he very much wanted to know what it was. 

Mareke lifted a napkin, even as she giggled, to carefully wipe away some cream filling from Adnan’s face.

Eomer’s countenance turned gloomy when Prince Amrothos joined them at the table, easily joining in on their conversation, laughing right along with them.

He remembered what it was like to have Mareke’s midnight laugh directed at him; what it was like to have her smiling up at him. He hated to see her giving those things to someone else and he wondered what had come over him. He did not know her well. They had spent only a few weeks together in Minas Tirith and she had not visited his thoughts often when he was back in Edoras. The more he was around her the more affected he found himself.

“I am going to retire for the evening,” Eomer said stiffly to his sister, rising from his seat, unable to look at the laughing threesome any longer.

Eowyn tried not to laugh as she watched her brother depart, his stormy mood going with him.

ooooOoooo

The next day, Mareke was bustling around the palace preparing for the feast and celebration that night. Adnan was with his tutors and all of the men were huddled in her father’s council chambers discussing trade routes, war alliances, and all other manner of political topics.

“Princess Mareke!” 

Mareke turned and saw that Eowyn was following her down the corridor, waving.

“Ah, Lady Eowyn,” Mareke paused with a smile. “Are you well?”

“Quite. I was just wandering around, admiring your home. And please, Eowyn will do just fine.”

“I hope everything has been to your liking thus far,” Mareke replied.

“Very much so. I never thought to see a place such as this.” When Mareke raised an eyebrow, Eowyn continued. “It is a good thing, I assure you.”

“I am glad.”

The conversation hit a lull, Mareke not knowing exactly what the other woman wanted from her.

Eowyn sighed. “I must admit I am terribly bored while they are all in their meetings. It is infuriating to be left out.”

Mareke nodded.

“Do you not find it insufferable to be relegated to taking care of the women’s work while important conversations are being had?”

“We cannot all be shieldmaidens,” she replied with a light laugh. “Come with me while I finish a few things for tonight and then we can go to my rooms.”

Eowyn trailed behind Mareke for another hour as she stopped into the kitchens, checked on the cleaning of the dining hall, and made sure that the musicians had arrived and were preparing. 

When they arrived back in Mareke’s rooms, she sent Oyna to fetch a cool beverage and refreshments.

Mareke led Eowyn outside. Near to her private pool there was a shaded area where a breeze blew through. They settled themselves under the canopy on silk cushions, Mareke folding her legs underneath herself and studying the other woman.

They had not spoken much since Eowyn’s arrival in Harad and they had had the briefest of encounters in Minas Tirith.

“I do not find it insufferable to tend to the happenings of my father’s court,” Mareke said, answering the question from before. “I have put more meaning into it than just making sure the food is right and the musicians play music that will have everyone dancing.”

“And what is that meaning?”

“Forgive me for being forward, but I think you might understand it very soon,” Mareke said with a small smile. “I know that if this visit from other Realms goes well, my son will have an easier time of it when he comes to the throne. If you and our other guests can at least look back on your time in Harad favorably, then perhaps Adnan will not have to deal with the strife and uncertainty that my father has had to overcome during his reign.”

“How did you know?” Eowyn asked, laying a gentle hand across her still flat stomach.

“I am a healer and a mother myself. It is rather obvious if you know for what you’re looking.”

Eowyn laughed. “I suppose that is true.”

“Does Lord Faramir know?” Mareke asked.

“I did not tell him until we arrived here,” Eowyn said with a rueful smile. “I was afraid he might not let me come if he had known beforehand. That is why Queen Arwen remained in Minas Tirith after all, though she is much further along.”

Eowyn was silent for a moment and Mareke studied her. Her long, fair hair was pushed behind her shoulders and she was looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. She briefly looked up when Oyna set a tray between them and then went back into the cool chambers.

“I am nervous,” Eowyn said quietly.

“As are all mothers. Especially the first time,” Mareke said. 

“I did not have my mother for very long. I was only seven when she passed. My uncle had no queen in his halls. The only women around me were serving women and there was such a distance there.”

Mareke nodded. “I lost my mother when I was a little older than Adnan.”

“You seem to be both a natural at running a court and at being a mother. I am afraid I am not what Faramir needs in a wife and I fear I will not be what our child needs in a mother.”

“I have been doing both things for a long while now, but I can assure you I make mistakes all of the time. I left my son and got myself captured. He thought I was dead. Of course, that is a large mistake, but there are daily errors that I make with him.”

“But he is happy.”

“Children are resilient and they see the best in most situations. They have an innate ability to be delighted by the smallest of things. No one knows how to be exactly what their child, or their people for that matter, need. You all learn and grow together.”

Eowyn nodded. “I will take comfort in your words.”

“You should. You will be just fine and your child will love you. Lord Faramir clearly adores you.”

“Mother!”

Adnan came sprinting outside, crashing down onto the cushions, not realizing that his mother had company.

“You are a heathen, child,” she laughed. 

Adnan looked over at Eowyn. “I am sorry, Lady Eowyn.”

“I was quite the reckless child as well. No need to apologize.”

Adnan reached for a biscuit and immediately took over the conversation. While he lounged against his mother’s side, much more acceptable amongst women, he quizzed Eowyn on Rohan and their horses. He wanted to know much more from Eomer, but he did not get to spend enough time with the King.

Eowyn happily went along, telling him also of their shieldmaidens. He was fascinated with how they were trained to fight and protect their Realm right alongside the male eoreds.

Adnan rose to prepare for the feast. He looked back down at his mother and Eowyn. “I think I shall marry a shieldmaiden.”

“Eomer can introduce you to plenty when the time is right,” Eowyn replied, barely containing her laughter as the boy left.

ooooOoooo

Eomer wanted to turn around and go straight back to his rooms the second he walked into the dining hall.

Mareke was greeting the guests once more, or that is what he imagined she was supposed to be doing, but Prince Eldacar had drawn her aside. She was visibly uncomfortable, knowing that she was neglecting her duties to her other guests.

Eomer stepped closer to the pair.

“I am making major renovations to the Prince’s home in Pelargir. The princess’ chambers will be unlike anything seen before. The epitome of luxury,” Eldacar was saying. He continued detailing those plans until he noticed that Eomer was behind him.

“Your Majesty,” both Eldacar and Mareke said.

“Princess Mareke,” Eomer said after a curt nod to the other man. “I was hoping you might be able to help me with something ahead of the meetings I am having tomorrow.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Mareke said, taking the arm he offered and excusing herself from Prince Eldacar’s conversation. “What can I help you with? I am not sure I am exactly the right person,” she said, when they were further away.

“Oh,” Eomer laughed. “There was nothing. You just looked rather uncomfortable with him.”

Mareke gave a sigh. “You have no idea.” She released his arm and looked around until she found Adnan. “Enjoy the feast, Eomer,” she said quietly, walking towards her son.

He wanted to keep her with him, preferably all night. Her presence at his side had been a comfort. After the days of long meetings and returning to his empty rooms at night, he often found himself thinking back to the counsel she had offered him in Minas Tirith on the nights when he would return to her. After watching her move around the court and engage with her father, he then understood where her wisdom came from and he wanted it for himself.

The night went on and Mareke barely had time to sit down. There were many more people to talk with and entertain.

As soon as the music started up though, Amrothos was back at her side. “Would you care to dance?”

Mareke smiled warmly at him. “That would be lovely. It might even be relaxing after the evening I have had.”

“You have designed an absolutely wonderful stay for all of your guests,” Amrothos said kindly, spinning her under his arm and onto the floor.

“It is important,” she said, summarizing the conversation she had previously had with Eowyn in those few words.

“Indeed. You make it look very easy, I must say,” Amrothos said, looking down at her. “It seems you were born to do it.”

Mareke shook her head and gave a laugh. “I assure you I was not. You can learn anything if you make enough mistakes.”

Eomer sat once more and watched the Princess. Even more than her conversation with Eldacar, he hated to watch her with Amrothos. He had to admit that the Prince was handsome. Tall and lean like his father and brothers with dark hair and chiselled features, it could not be denied.

It was easier to watch Mareke with the Prince of Pelargir because it was obvious that she did not enjoy her time with him, but watching her with the youngest of the Princes of Dol Amroth was a different story entirely.

Her laughs and smiles were genuine and it seemed as though there was not one single break in their conversation.

The feelings he was experiencing were still bewildering to him, but growing harder and harder to fight nonetheless.

Eowyn studied her brother, but she did not say anything that night. She could tell that whatever he had felt for Mareke in Minas Tirith, which she had thought might just have been born out of desperation, was becoming much more.

After a few more dances, Eomer stood to leave. He had not bothered to cut in and Amrothos had only left Mareke’s side for a couple of dances, bending to his Gondoran propriety like the perfect gentleman would even though he was clearly anxious to have her back in his arms.

“Eomer,” Eowyn said gently to her brother.

He glanced back down at her, but continued on his way.

ooooOoooo

The following evening it was another subdued meal without the lavish feast and music. When Mareke managed to finally sit down and eat her own meal, she glanced over at Eomer’s empty chair.

“Where is Eomer-King?” she asked Eowyn.

“He said that he had quite a lot of work to do before his meetings tomorrow. He has requested his meal in his rooms.”

Mareke nodded and sat there for a while longer before she quietly stole away to the kitchens.

“Do you have a tray for the Rohirric King?” she asked the head cook.

“Yes, Your Highness,” the woman gestured to the counter to her right. “A servant is on their way to take it to his rooms.”

“No need. I shall do it,” she said, lifting the tray herself.

Mareke took the long way, sticking to less traveled corridors as she made her way to Eomer’s rooms.

“Come in,” he called, when there was a knock at his door.

Mareke balanced the tray and opened the door. Eomer did not look up as she sat it on the dining table where he was working.

When she did not disappear, he looked up in annoyance, only to flush scarlet when he saw her and realized his mistake.

“Mareke,” he said quickly, standing. “I am so sorry. I did not think it would be you to bring my dinner.”

“I was looking for something else to do,” she said with a smile. “Why sit down and enjoy myself when I can continue to bustle around.”

Eomer gave her a small smile.

“Why are you not eating with everyone else?” she asked.

“I have work to do.”

“Hmmm. I am sure you do. So does everyone else and they are all in the dining hall mingling and continuing on with the diplomacy.”

Eomer gave a shrug. “I cannot speak to what they are doing.”

“True enough,” she responded. “I shall leave you to it.”

Mareke headed for the door, but Eomer called out to her.

“The work is a lie,” he said quietly, when she turned back around. He took a deep breath and released it. “I could not stand to see you with that Dol Amrothian princeling another evening,” he grumbled.

“Prince Amrothos?” Mareke asked, trying to hold back a laugh.

“Yes, Prince Amrothos. He is not worthy of you,” Eomer said, not looking up from the scroll before him. “He flounces around here, not attending meetings, not adding anything of value really. He has no role at home and he serves no purpose here.”

“Surely you are being rather unfair. He has done nothing to you,” Mareke said.

“He takes your time,” Eomer replied forcefully, finally looking up.

The heat of his gaze stopped Mareke in her tracks. 

“You have not asked for any of my time,” she replied quietly. “I thought you quite disliked me after our initial encounter here. I am not sure why Prince Amrothos bothers you so much.”

“Because I would that it were I dancing with you and laughing with you.”

Mareke looked a bit taken aback. “I do not know why it could not be,” she said.

“I have known you. I want more than to twirl you around a dancefloor,” Eomer said, not breaking eye contact. “And so I must remain aloof.”

“Must you?”

“Dammit, Mareke!” Eomer said, irritated that she was purposely, it seemed, missing his point. “Nothing is the same as it was in Minas Tirith. You are a princess now. I cannot take you to bed, which I want more than anything. It did not matter then. No one cared about the honor of a healer far from home, but you are the daughter of the King and the mother to the next one.”

Mareke looked at him for a long moment, lingering in the burning of his anger and desperation.

“I was a princess then. I was a daughter and mother then. I knew those things and still I bedded you,” she finally said in as even a tone as she could manage.

“What are you saying?”

“I would do it again.”

Before Eomer could reach for her, she had slipped out of his rooms, disappearing like smoke. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Nine (Third Age 3020)

Eomer thought he would lose his mind. 

It was three days after his conversation with Mareke about going to bed in Minas Tirith and possibly doing it again in Harad. He had not had a spare minute to himself to speak to her about the matter and even if he had, he had not seen her stop moving through the palace either. She was constantly working on plans for the next meal or entertainment or handling the guests.

The few times he had seen her, she was being tailed by either Prince Amrothos or Prince Eldacar and it made his skin crawl.

No matter how tired he went to bed, he could only think of having his hands and mouth on her body once more. He could barely focus enough to eat or contribute anything to his meetings and conferences with his fellow rulers.

“You look awful, brother,” Eowyn said to him as she sat down next to him at dinner on that third night.

“That is kind of you to say,” he replied shortly.

Eowyn shrugged and turned to her husband.

Towards the end of the evening, Eomer saw Mareke saying what he assumed were her goodnights.

Taking a chance, he got quickly to his feet, trying not to draw attention to himself, and hurried from the hall.

Mareke had managed to convince Prince Amrothos that she did not need an escort to her room that night. She sighed loudly as she closed the heavy doors behind her. The constant entertaining was beginning to take its toll on her. 

She walked slowly toward her chambers, enjoying being alone for the first time in weeks. Oyna would be waiting for her and she was not quite ready for another interaction, even with her closest companion, just yet.

As she walked, she practically dozed off. She had walked the same path so many times the princess could have done it in her sleep.

Eomer heard her soft footsteps and he thanked his gods and hers for the good fortune. As she walked past him, his hand darted out and clasped her upper arm, pulling her into the shadowy corridor where he waited, tight against his body.

Before she could scream, he clamped a huge hand over her mouth. “It is me,” he whispered against her neck.

Mareke’s body went slack in his arms. When he knew she would not make a sound, Eomer released her.

She did not say a word. Instead, she grabbed his tunic in her fists, pulling him down so that she could kiss him hungrily.

It has not been Eomer’s intent to share their passion in the corridor, but he kissed her back nonetheless. His hands buried themselves in her raven curls before they traveled down her body, whispering over her breasts, stomach, and hips.

His lips moved to her neck and collarbone.

“What took you so long?” she murmured.

Eomer smiled against her warm skin. “You are a very difficult woman to track down and get alone,” he replied, as he pulled away and straightened, looking down at her.

“Well here I am. You have successfully stalked me.” Her hands ran underneath his tunic and before he could answer her, he found himself kissing her deeply once more.

One of his hands found the slit of her skirt and Mareke moaned into his mouth as he cupped her. She could not hear anything over the rush of blood in her ears and her pounding heart as heat gathered low in her stomach.

She broke the kiss, instead pressing herself into his hand and panting against his chest, nearly tearing his tunic off of him as she was clutching it so tight.

Eomer could have had her then and there. She was ready for him, he could feel it.

“Not here,” he rasped. “Not like this.”

Mareke groaned and thumped her small, dark fist on his chest. Eventually she took a step back, breaking their embrace. “Come to my chambers after midnight,” she said, straightening her skirt and hair.

Eomer merely nodded and watched her leave their shadowy corner to head to her rooms. He had to take a moment to slow his breathing and get a hold of himself.

As soon as Mareke entered her rooms, she glanced at the water clock in the corner and could have cursed herself. She would have to wait nearly two hours for him to arrive. It would be an exquisite torture after the encounter they had just shared in the corridor.

“Oyna!” she called.

Her companion came hurrying out of the bedchambers. “Your Highness?”

“Is the Prince in bed?”

Oyna nodded. “The guards reported that he was safely in his rooms half an hour ago.”

“Thank you.” Mareke ran her hands through her wild hair, looking at the other woman. “I am going to need the herbs.”

Oyna’s eyes widened and then she gave the princess a devilish smile. “I will fetch them myself and then we will find you something ravishing to wear.”

Mareke sank down at the dining table when Oyna was gone. She poured herself a full goblet of wine, drinking deeply in an effort to calm herself.

Time passed extremely slowly. Part of Mareke wished that she and Eomer could have just had their reunion in the corridor, but a larger part of her wanted him for much longer.

Oyna came bursting back into Mareke’s chambers and she set two jars on the dining table in front of her mistress.

Mareke was familiar with the wild carrot seed and the disc of clay, mugwort, and honey. She had never used them herself, but as a Healer she had taken it upon herself to provide a way for women to have some control over their life if a child was not something they were interested in for whatever reason. She never made them explain themselves.

“Steep the carrot seed in your tea afterwards,” Oyna said. 

Mareke nodded. “Every eight hours,” she recited, having given the instructions to others several times.

“You see to that,” Oyna nodded at the other jar, “and I’ll find a nightgown and robe.”

Standing, Mareke took the smaller jar in her hand and disappeared into the lavatory. It was unpleasant business to place the disc, but she would not tempt fate a second time. She and Eomer had gotten lucky the first time, though she had waited nervously for her cycle after returning home. She could not have another child, especially not his and especially not while she was entertaining guests on a diplomatic visit. She would have been stoned publicly.

“What do you think?” Oyna asked when Mareke emerged back into her bedroom.

“Is that not a little much?” Mareke replied, eyeing the red silk nightgown and matching robe.

“Do you not want it to be a little much?” Oyna asked. “You are no longer the Healer he saved in Minas Tirith. You are a princess!”

Mareke had to admit that she had a point. It might be exciting to have Eomer come to her while she was in all of her splendor, rather than his tunic that she had worn several days in a row.

“Perhaps you are right,” she agreed.

Oyna helped her from her gown and slipped the nightgown over her head. Once the robe was settled around her shoulders, she fluffed Mareke’s curls once more.

The princess held out her wrists as Oyna dabbed perfume there, behind her ears, and behind her knees.

Oyna then reached for a kohl pencil and reapplied the lining around Mareke’s dark eyes. Next, she put on larger gold hoop earrings and a gold necklace with a moon pendant that dropped right between her breasts.

“Looking like that, this will all be over fairly quickly I would imagine,” Oyna said with a mischievous smirk.

“Oh hush,” Mareke laughed, though she was still feeling nervous.

“Tis nearly midnight,” Oyna said with a straight face. “I shall be in the nursery if you need anything.”

Mareke reached out and gripped her hand. “If any rumors spread…”

“I will say I was present the whole time and you all did nothing but sit at the dining room table. I shall send everyone else away until the morning. I assume he will be gone by then?”

Mareke nodded. “He will not stay the night.”

Oyna gave her a cheering smile. “Very good. I will see you in the morning as well.”

After a moment, Mareke followed Oyna out of the bedroom and took a seat on the low sofa. Then it seemed like the minutes were passing by too quickly as she indulged in another glass of wine.

It had been over a year since she had taken anyone to bed. She had thought her time in Minas Tirith with Eomer would happen only once and had been prepared to spend the rest of her life without the touch of a man or the intimacy they had shared, but here he was again. 

Even if she had wanted to, she would not have been able to stay away from the Rohirric King. Having his arms around her in the dim corridor earlier that night had nearly been her undoing.

She rose. Just thinking of his hands sliding up her thighs had the heat simmering low between her hips.

Her eyes closed remembering the feel of his lips on her throat.

She jumped as there was a light knocking at her door.

Once more, Mareke had to try very hard to still the racing of her heart. She stood and went to the door, standing behind it as she pulled it open, not wanting to risk being seen by anyone letting the King of Rohan into her chambers in her red ensemble.

When she carefully closed the door, Eomer’s back was to her.

“Oh,” he said, looking down at her when he turned around. 

He did not say another word before he was upon her.

Mareke’s feet lifted off the floor and she twined her arms around his neck as he kissed her hard, bruising her lips.

Her fingers went into his golden hair as he kissed down her neck, her head falling to the side.

“What is that?” he asked, inhaling her scent deeply.

“Sandalwood,” she murmured.

“It is intoxicating,” he said, looking down at her. “Just like you.”

He straightened and looked her over. His fingers barely touched her, grazing from her collarbone to her hip. There was something even more seductive in seeing her in the blood red silk ensemble, bedecked in her royal jewelry. It was just as it had been when he had first seen her in Harad. She commanded her status and wore it like another garment. Somehow she had hidden that under his tunic in Minas Tirith, but now he would have her as a princess.

“Show me to your bedroom,” he commanded. He was still a King and could make such demands of her if he so wished.

Mareke twined her fingers through his and pulled him after her. Eomer turned her back around to face him and he gently pushed the silk robe from her shoulders, exposing the patterned tattoo that spread from her shoulder down her chest, back, and arm. 

He kissed the dark markings until he was met with her silk nightgown. He eased it down her body until it was pooled at her feet. 

Eomer kicked out of his boots and pulled his tunic over his head before crushing Mareke’s naked body against his bare chest. His fingers carded through her hair, pulling gently so that she was looking up into his face. “There were some very tortuous nights in Edoras spent thinking about you,” he said. “And some even worse nights here.”

“You can be through with those,” Mareke whispered.

“I intend to be.” He lifted her under her dark thighs, her legs wrapping around his waist. Carefully, he laid her on the low lying bed and knelt between her legs.

Mareke was nervous as it had been so long since she had laid with him, or anyone else for that matter. But she was anxious, remembering what unknown pleasure he had brought to her in Minas Tirith.

She assumed there had been shieldmaidens to warm his bed in Edoras, but she was not going to think of that then. She could not have dwelt on it if she had wanted to, lost in the sensation of his fingers teasing her as they were.

His rough hands trailed up the inside of her thighs and before he had even reached his intended destination, Mareke found herself biting her lip and moving in an effort to have him touch her where she most desired.

Her dark eyes closed slowly as one of his fingers slipped inside her.

Eomer very nearly could not contain himself at the mere sight of Mareke enjoying his attentions. His finger curled and her hips lifted off the bed of their own volition as Mareke gasped. 

Quickly, he removed his touch and shoved his breeches down. He had to feel her around him.

Without much warning, he plunged himself into her, gathering her up into his arms at the same time so that she was straddling his lap. This put her at the perfect height for him to bury his face in her breasts, feeling the coldness of the moon pendant she wore, while still being able to press her lower back so that she took him as deeply as she could.

“Eomer,” she breathed. Her dark fingers were in his hair. Not even in her most vivid rememberings had it felt so good to be one with him again. 

The heat in her belly was almost too much to bear and it was not doused at all by Eomer kissing her neck and pinching one of her peaked buds between her fingers.

“Yes,” he murmured as he felt her body tense; legs tightening around him, fingers pulling his hair roughly.

Mareke cried out as the ripples of ecstasy coursed through her entire body. She was too delirious to even notice when Eomer laid her flat on her back and drove deeply into her.

As Mareke came back to herself, she was once more confronted with the sheer size of Eomer. She felt as though she were being consumed by a mountain.

The muscles on his arms, shoulders, and chest rippled under fingers. Eomer’s brown eyes were closed and his chin was tucked to his chest, causing his hair to fall in a golden curtain. 

Eomer moaned into his release, but was aware enough to withdraw himself from Mareke, spilling himself on her stomach instead.

“We were fortunate once,” he said, having caught his breath, echoing the same sentiment that she had to Oyna earlier in the evening.

He rose and fetched a linen sheet from the lavatory, wiping her clean before he laid back down on his side, propping himself on an elbow so that he could stare down at her.

Mareke was still revelling in the delicious afterglow of their reunion.

Eomer’s huge hands brushed the wild curls from her forehead. Mareke turned her face into his palm and placed a kiss there.

“You should get some rest,” Mareke said quietly.

“I do not want to leave,” Eomer returned, sinking down next to her and adjusting them both so that she was lying with her head on his chest.

“You still have much to tend to.”

“The most frustrating part of being a King,” Eomer grumbled, chest rumbling under her cheek. “I would much rather stay locked in your bedroom than ever see the inside of a council chamber again.”

“I would not mind that either, but what would we say to the servants? Or better yet, Adnan?”

Eomer sighed. “I know.” He pressed a deep kiss to her lips, being very tempted to take her once more right then and there. “Might I return?” he asked, standing and pulling his breeches back on.

“I was hoping you would come back tomorrow,” Mareke said, propping a pillow behind her so she could get a better look at him.

“As you wish, Princess.”

ooooOoooo

Eomer came to Mareke’s rooms every single night for a week after that. He could barely get through his meetings during the day or the social pleasantries required of him at night. It was torture to think of her bare flesh, the inviting warmth of her body, the scent of sandalwood that always lingered in the air around her and have to wait an entire day to get back to her bedroom.

Their coupling had, however, made it easier to tolerate watching the Princes Amrothos and Eldacar follow her around during the evening festivities. 

He knew that what she was giving to him was so much more important and meaningful than the smiles and laughs and dances she bestowed on her two suitors.

Of course, that did not mean that he liked what he saw, but he was able to content himself knowing that only he had access to the princess during those dark nighttime hours.

One afternoon, Eomer set off to King Hashad’s study where he was scheduled to have a private conference with the man.

When he arrived at the door, it was slightly ajar and he peered inside upon hearing voices, not wanting to intrude.

Mareke was leaning over her father’s shoulder with a quill in her hand as they looked over some document or another. She was capably and definitively circling certain portions and scratching others out completely.

“I do not like this wording here,” she said. “It is too vague. What exactly is the amount of grain that they will be providing in return for all of the spices that we have very clearly detailed and set out?”

Eomer found himself smiling.

He had watched her run her father’s court for the duration of his visit, but he had not seen this side of her. He remained quiet as father and daughter went back and forth. It was not surprising exactly, perhaps just something he had been unaware of, but Mareke was intelligent and shrewd.

Eomer was grateful that it was not Rohan’s treaty and trade agreement that she was picking apart piece by piece. Whoever’s it was was being torn apart by both her astute remarks and the flashing of her quill.

When it seemed as though they were done, Eomer knocked on the door.

“Ah Eomer-King,” King Hashad said, standing with a smile. Mareke dropped back behind her father and bowed her head. “I hope you were not waiting too long. I was just being enlightened on the finer points of trade agreements by the princess here.”

“Not at all,” Eomer replied. “Perhaps she could tutor me as well. I am not sure I am being as effective as possible in all of these meetings.”

“I am sure that is not the case,” Mareke demurred. She came around from behind her father’s desk. “See to it that those changes are made. I would also consider demanding more horses from the King of Rohan,” she said with a smirk as she left the study.

King Hashad shook his head, sitting back down with a sigh. “She actually had nothing negative to say about what Rohan is offering.”

“I am pleased to hear it,” Eomer said, sitting across from the older man. “I caught the last bit of work you were doing and was afraid that I would have to answer to the princess if she was not satisfied.”

“I hope you do not think it unseemly that I have her helping me at this time. Without her brother…”

Eomer shook his head. “It seems quite normal to me. In Rohan, our shieldmaidens have been known to go to battle amongst the eoreds, defend the strongholds, and the Queens have long sat in council meetings and acted as advisors.”

“Quite the progressive place.”

“I would like to think so,” Eomer replied. After that they set to work to make sure that their treaty and trade agreements were in order.

ooooOoooo

A few days later, there had been a meeting of all of the royalty and nobility gathered to discuss what would be done if war ever came back around to Middle Earth. Of course, it was decided that everyone would be allies. Not one of their Realms would be left alone if a threat ever emerged.

It was a quick meeting as no one had wanted to argue against being a united front in the face of future evil.

Mareke, Oyna, and Adnan were near the entrance to the public gardens, about to take a walk together when Prince Eldacar approached them.

“Ah, Princess Mareke,” he said, bowing slightly to her. “Just who I was looking for.”

Adnan eyed the oily man from beside his mother.

“I was wondering if you would accompany me on a walk through the gardens. Just the two of us. Your maid can escort the Crown Prince back inside.” He glanced at Adnan, trying to make it very plain that the Crown Prince was not invited.

“I have promised my son that we would spend the afternoon together,” Mareke replied as diplomatically as she could manage. “We have not spent nearly enough time together since all of the guests have arrived.”

“Surely you might enjoy a quick stroll. I will return you to Prince Adnan promptly.”

“I really must insist that we do so another time,” she said. “A promise is a promise, after all.”

“You would not really be breaking a promise. You can walk with him when we are through.” Prince Eldacar grasped Mareke above the elbow, pulling her close to him. Mareke struggled in his tight grip, but the man would not release her.

“She said no!” Adnan exclaimed.

Oyna stood back with a hand pressed to her mouth.

“You are a little young yet to be your mother’s defender, boy,” Prince Eldacar said roughly.

Before Mareke knew what was happening, there was a flash of silver as Adnan pulled a small blade from his belt and gave the other prince a menacing glare.

Prince Eldacar gave a cold laugh and then looked cruelly at the boy, releasing his mother. “It will take a little more than that, you Southron brat!” 

Adnan stood his ground even as the man lunged around Mareke for him. She tried to stop him, but there was a scuffle she could not explain and then the sound of bone against bone. There was a scream from Oyna.

When Mareke had gathered herself, Prince Eldacar was flat on the floor, not moving, and Eomer towered over him, chest heaving, rubbing his knuckles.

“The Crown Prince,” he said quietly, nodding behind Mareke.

She whipped around to see Adnan struggling to his feet, hand pressed to his forehead. Blood was pouring from between his fingers and his lips were trembling.

“Oh habibi,” she murmured, drawing him against her chest, not caring about the blood that was certainly ruining her dress. “Let us go back to your rooms and get your patched up.”

Without a word, Eomer followed the women and Adnan, who was tucked tightly against his mother’s side. He had still not let tears fall.

“Oyna, fetch my healing things and a jug of wine, please,” Mareke said. She turned to Eomer, ushering Adnan into his bedroom before her. “You do not have to stay. I would speak with you later.”

“I want to,” he said resolutely.

“Very well.”

As they waited for Oyna, Mareke gently pried her son’s hand away from his face. There was a deep gash over his left eyebrow, a result of hitting the hard stone floor, she imagined.

Eomer stood to the side, trying to stay out of Mareke’s way as she went to the basin in the corner to wash her hands. She returned with a linen square and sat on the edge of Adnan’s bed, pressing it to his forehead.

“Thank you for what you did,” Mareke said to her son, smiling down at him. “I am not sure what I would do without you and your courage.”

“He should not have touched you,” Adnan said, still defensive despite his injury.

“You are right about that,” Eomer said, huge arms crossed over his chest, brow furrowed just thinking about the scene he had found as he walked through the corridors.

Before anything else could be said, Oyna returned, holding a goblet of wine out to the young boy. “Only take a small sip,” Mareke bid him.

Adnan did as he was told and to Eomer seemed like he had done it before.

“This is not the first time I have acted as a healer to my son,” Mareke said when she saw the King’s face. “He has broken a handful of bones already and this is not the first set of stitches he has had either.”

Eomer actually laughed. “You are the epitome of a young man then, Prince Adnan,” he said warmly. 

Mareke ran a needle through a candle on the bedside table and then threaded it with a very fine strand of mumak tendon. “Ready?” she asked her son.

Adnan nodded and closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillows.

Eomer would have thought he was relaxed, but he saw the way his small, dark hands clutched the silk sheets around him. 

“You were very brave, Adnan,” Eomer said to distract both himself and the boy. “Your mother is lucky to have you.”

“It was nothing,” the boy replied.

“It was everything,” Eomer corrected him, but then changed course. “I picked this up.” He laid the small blade on Adnan’s beside table. “It is quite remarkable craftsmanship. Where did you get it?”

“My Uncle Na’man. He said I had to protect Mother after he was gone to fight.”

The adults went silent. Mareke kept her head bent to her task and blinked tears rapidly away.

The boy only hissed in pain once as his mother sewed him back together with five neat stitches. She knotted the last suture and leaned back to admire her work. Once more, she took up the linen square and dabbed away the blood from his forehead before she carefully rubbed a salve over the cut with her index finger.

The wine had clearly done what it was intended to do as Adnan had fallen asleep under his mother’s gentle touch. She pulled his sandals off and pulled the sheets up around him.

Oyna was cleaning the mess and taking Mareke’s things back to her rooms.

“He will be alright?” Eomer asked.

For one who had seemingly endured many injuries, he was pale from watching the actual healing of one.

“He will be fine,” Mareke sighed, swiping her hand over her face. “Perhaps a headache tomorrow.”

“And you?” Eomer asked. He glanced around to make sure that no servant was present and then he wrapped her in his arms, tight against his chest. 

Mareke could not relax, still shaken from the encounter with Prince Eldacar and fearful that someone would walk in and catch their embrace.

When Eomer realized that he was not offering her much comfort, he released her.

“I am grateful you were there,” she said as a consolation.

“Adnan had it under control,” Eomer said with a sad smile.

“He is too young to think that protecting me is his responsibility,” Mareke said.

Eomer noticed a rawness in her voice that he had never heard before.

As though she realized the same thing, she shook her head. “You must have things to see to,” she said, not wanting to add a new layer to their physical relationship with her vulnerability.

Eomer nodded in understanding, not contradicting her. With a slight bow he left the Crown Prince’s rooms.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten (Fourth Age 8)

Mareke blinked awake the morning after her encounter with Eomer in the gardens. She had not slept well, tossing and turning. She was not sure she would describe what she had experienced in those early morning hours as dreams or memories, but they had tormented her nonetheless.

She had seen Eomer interacting with Adnan when he was a young boy, returning from the horseback lessons, covered in sand from the desert, she had felt his hands on her waist as they had danced at the dinners. 

Slowly she rose, going to the basin in the corner to wash her face before slipping into a robe.

When she entered the sitting room, she found Adnan sitting on the sofa looking over another document. He did not hear his mother and so it gave her a chance to study him.

He had a small smile playing on his features and Mareke could not help but do the same. Clearly his night had gone better than hers and she wondered if the smile was not a remnant from his time with Princess Haleth.

For all she feared what would come next for them when Adnan eventually married, she could not hide the fact that she wanted her son to be happy. He was in a much better position to do so than many of those of their stature. As an unwed King, he would ultimately be in charge of who he was to marry. It might be too much to hope for a love match, but he could certainly find someone that he liked, respected, and enjoyed among all of the eligible women that would be presented to him, if not at King Elessar’s celebrations, than certainly later on. Many would be interested after they had seen how handsome he was and learned of Harad’s newfound wealth and power.

“You do not look as though you feel any better,” Adnan said, catching his mother in her own reverie.

“I am just tired is all,” she responded. “I am not used to these long travels.”

“You are acting as though you are twice your age,” Adnan replied with a chuckle.

Mareke went to the sideboard and poured herself a cup of tea. “Talk to me when you are my age and undertake such a journey.”

“I will be sure to do that,” he replied.

“Do you not have meetings to attend?” Mareke asked her son after a few silent moments.

“Not until this afternoon. Are you trying to get rid of me, Mother?” he asked, still looking down at the document in his hand. With his quill, he scratched out a few lines and scribbled in the margins.

“Of course not, my love. I was merely curious.”

After they dressed for the day and shared a light breakfast, there was a knock at the door. Mareke went to open it, waving Oyna away.

“Ah, Princess Mareke,” Prince Amrothos said with a bright smile. “I am glad to see you up and about. We were worried about you last night.”

Mareke waved his concern away. “I was just telling King Adnan this morning that I am merely not accustomed to such long travels. He does not understand, as he is in the flower of his youth.”

Prince Amrothos laughed. “I understand that. Even the trip from Dol Amroth has become much more taxing than it used to be.”

Mareke nodded. “Was there something my son or I could help you with?” she asked, when the conversation lulled.

“Oh, not particularly. I was just wondering if you would like to go on a walk through the city with me this afternoon? King Elessar promises that the market is flourishing and there are extra people in the White City to witness his celebrations.”

“That would be lovely,” Mareke agreed, smiling once more, glad at the prospect of leaving her rooms and getting some fresh air.

“Wonderful. I shall fetch you at three this afternoon.” Prince Amrothos gave a quick bow and retreated down the corridor.

When Mareke turned around after closing the door, Adnan was looking at his mother with one dark eyebrow raised.

“Prince Amrothos seems rather interested in you,” he said.

“Oh nonsense,” Mareke said, shaking her head. “We spent a great deal of time together when he was in Harad, that is all. We are old friends.”

“Hmm,” Adnan nodded. “I am sure you are.”

“Do not be inappropriate. It is unseemly for a king.”

Adnan laughed. “I am not being inappropriate. Merely calling it how I see it, Mother.”

Mareke shook her head once more. She did not want to dive too deeply into inappropriate behavior during the time they hosted the foreign delegations in Harad. Obviously, she did not want to discuss such things with her son, but she also did not want to think of the late nights she had shared with Eomer. 

“We are old friends,” she repeated. “That is all.”

Adnan stood and straightened his tunic. “Whatever you say.” He gathered his stack of parchment and prepared to head to his first meeting with the other leaders.

Mareke wondered if perhaps his jesting had not been to cover up his nerves. 

“You will do just fine,” she promised him. 

Adnan took a deep breath, looking down at his mother.

“You have been preparing for this for months. You know what you have to offer. Be confident.”

“It is more difficult than that,” Adnan replied quietly.

“Is it? Often in your life, I might have called you arrogant,” Mareke said with a teasing smile. “Surely you can at least be confident while we are here.”

Adnan laughed despite himself. “Surely,” he agreed.

“Now go. I cannot wait to hear all about it this evening,” she said. She stretched up on her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“Have fun with Prince Amrothos,” Adnan retorted with a cheeky grin.

Mareke closed the door behind her son with a sigh.

She spent the rest of her afternoon with Oyna before Prince Amrothos arrived. He was wearing a light blue tunic in the colors of Dol Amroth. His long, dark hair was pulled away from his face and Mareke could not deny that the years had been kind to him.

“This seems like those long ago days in Harad,” he said, as they made their way out into the city. 

“Indeed it does,” she responded. “I have not had so attentive an escort since then.”

“Well I am happy to be of service,” he replied. “It is very good to see you again,” he repeated, as he had said the night before.

“Likewise, Prince Amrothos. Ten years is far too long for friends to be apart.”

“I could not agree more. Although of course it does not seem like it has been ten years. You have hardly aged a day.”

“You are too kind. I only wish I could believe you. After rearing Adnan through adolescence and into adulthood, I know I have aged and it is entirely his fault.”

Prince Amrothos laughed. “I do not know about all of that, but it seems as though you have done a good job.”

“Thank you,” Mareke said with a smile. “That is the highest compliment I ever receive.”

“My niece could not stop speaking of King Adnan this morning at breakfast.”

Her smile faltered briefly, but then she nodded. “Yes, I caught my son smiling to himself first thing this morning. I cannot imagine that it was the document he was looking over that caused such a thing.” 

“You must be ready for your son to find a wife. You have acted as a Queen for a very long time now,” Amrothos mused.

Mareke nodded. “It will be nice to share some of those responsibilities.” She looked up at the man beside her. “How do you think your brother would feel about sending his daughter to Harad?” she asked. “Of course, nothing is set in stone, but it would be a very large request on Adnan’s part.”

“Things have changed in the last decade. I am sure he would see the benefit and also the honor being bestowed upon Haleth.”

Mareke nodded once more and lapsed into silence as they approached the bustling market.

Almost immediately, she regretted agreeing to come into the city. All eyes were on her as she walked among the tents and stalls.

“I have been in Harad too long,” she murmured. “I have forgotten that I am so different.”

Amrothos patted her hand. “Do not flatter yourself. Everyone is different in Minas Tirith. They even look down their noses at us sea dwellers.”

Mareke tried to stifle a laugh, but was unsuccessful.

They spent the afternoon moseying through the market, Amrothos buying sweets for them as they went.

“This has been lovely,” Mareke said, as they climbed back up to their level of the city. “I am very glad you asked me to accompany you. Otherwise, I would have spent the entire day in my chambers, bored to tears.”

“I am glad you agreed to it. I enjoyed myself very much. I hope we can do this a few more times before we all depart.” Amrothos turned and looked down at her, standing in the entrance hall. “I must admit, I have thought of you a good many times since my stay in Harad all those years ago.”

“That is kind of you to say,” Mareke said. She did not want to lie and say the same. It had not been Prince Amrothos who had visited her thoughts.

Eomer, having left the meeting with all of the other rulers, was crossing the entrance hall to return to his chambers and family when he saw the pair. He froze, watching Amrothos bend over and place a kiss on the back of Mareke’s hand. The man gave her a meaningful look before he departed.

It took all of his willpower, but Eomer continued on his way rather than going to the Princess of Harad.

ooooOoooo

Later that evening, Eomer’s fortitude had worn down after a few goblets of wine. While most of the guests were up and mingling, he spied Mareke at the table with the casks of wine from where he sat. Though his goblet was full, he downed it in one go and stood.

He felt Lothiriel’s eyes on him and merely indicated that he would be refilling his goblet before he left.

“Ah, Eomer-King,” Gimli said, seeing Eomer over Mareke’s shoulder before she knew he was there. “I was just telling the Princess here how much I regretted that I was not present for the negotiations in Harad. I heard many good things from Aragorn and Princess Mareke was telling me more about her home. It seems a fascinating place.”

“Indeed,” Eomer said, nodding down at Mareke when she turned. “It was quite the affair.”

Mareke felt heat rise to her cheeks at his choice of words.

“The Hobbits are beckoning me to join them. No doubt, they would like to lose in a drinking competition,” Gimli said with a hearty laugh. “Excuse me, Your Highness, Eomer-King.” He bowed to them both and left.

“Some things have not changed,” Eomer said, reaching for Mareke’s empty goblet and filling it from the tapped cask.

She merely raised an eyebrow in his direction, taking the goblet back.

“Prince Amrothos is still useless and available to escort you around while the rest of us are locked in the King’s council chambers,” he said quietly.

“I am not sure what business that is of yours,” she responded, taking a drink and eyeing him over the rim of the goblet.

“I do not like it any more now than I did then,” he replied.

Mareke might have found some enjoyment in his jealousy if it were not so cruel. Of what did he have to be jealous? Why would he begrudge her what bit of pleasure she had found that afternoon when his own life was so full?

“Well I am sorry you feel that way.”

Eomer remained quiet for a moment, not quite realizing that he had stepped out of line.

After a moment, he tried again. “Your son was very impressive in the meetings this afternoon.”

Mareke brightened at the mention of Adnan. “Truly?”

“Indeed. He was very capable. You would have never known that it was his first time in such a meeting. He represented Harad very well with his tact and strategies.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” Mareke responded. “Do not tell him I told you, but he was very nervous.”

“I remember that feeling well from my first time here for the coronation.”

“As do I,” Mareke said with a  smile, remembering how she had tried to bolster his courage those many years ago.

“Adnan reminded me of you, actually.”

“Of me? Whatever do you mean?”

“I remember you working with your father. Even if you had to remain behind the scenes, you were very decisive and shrewd. All credit went to King Hashad, but I am positive it was you who made sure that Harad received the best possible results from those negotiations.”

Mareke shook her head. “You give me far too much credit for the outcome of those talks.”

“I do not think so, but regardless, your son inherited your wisdom.”

“Thank you,” Mareke said.

Eomer glanced back to where his wife was sitting with her family. Her grey eyes were watching him, until she was caught. “I should go,” he said. “Goodnight, Princess.”

ooooOoooo

A couple of days later, while on her way to the immense library of Minas Tirith, Mareke ran into Eomer and his son.

“Princess Mareke!” Eomer said, smiling. “What are you doing indoors on this lovely afternoon?”

“I was heading to the library.”

“That can wait, can it not?” he asked. “We were just about to head into the gardens to get some fresh air. I have been locked away all morning.”

Prince Elfwine was hanging on his father’s hand and Mareke melted at the sight of the huge man with his little son. The boy smiled up at the foreign woman.

“Join us,” Eomer said.

“Oh, I would not want to intrude.” Mareke shook her head.

“Nonsense,” Eomer waved her words away with his free hand.

“If you insist,” Mareke replied, looking around her before she walked next to Eomer into the gardens.

There was still a spring chill in the air, but the sun was warm on her face and she was glad for the fragrant scent of the early blooming flowers.

“It looks as though we were not the only ones with this idea,” Eomer said quietly.

When Mareke looked up at him, he nodded at a path that was running parallel to theirs. A little ways ahead of them, Adnan was walking arm-in-arm with Haleth.

Mareke watched them talking and laughing for a moment before training her eyes forward once more. “How are things coming along in the meetings?” she asked to distract herself.

“There have been some pain points,” Eomer replied. 

“Indeed?”

“Some of our group has grown too used to the abundance most are experiencing now and are hard put to part with it for the good of the order.”

“Well would everyone not benefit from increased trade? More foreign goods in markets would mean more income for all. All around taxes on the goods could be raised if everyone is flourishing.”

“Perhaps you should discuss it with your old friend, Prince Eldacar of Pelargir,” Eomer said with a chuckle.

“Perhaps not.” Mareke had seen the man lurking around at the festivities. It seemed as though some poor woman had married him and she looked very unhappy when Mareke had spied her at his side.

“I do not know how to convince some of them,” Eomer said, looking straight ahead.

Elfwine was trailing at his side, smelling every variety of flower that he saw.

“Perhaps you might have a private meeting with Adnan; actually work out the numbers for what such a trade agreement with Harad and Rohan would look like. Show them the cost to profit and I am sure they would be interested. You have to spend money to make money, is that not what they say?”

Eomer smiled down at her. “A very good idea. I will approach your son about it tonight.”

Mareke nodded and looked away from him.

Eomer could not help but feel the way he had in Harad. Mareke was wise. She would have been a fantastic ruler at his side. He had known that then and the realization still lingered.

“Princess, I shall show you my favorite fountain!” Elfwine exclaimed, coming around his father and taking Mareke’s dark, tattooed hand in his own.

“It would be a pleasure, Your Highness,” Mareke replied with a smile, allowing the little boy to pull her down the path a little ways ahead of Eomer.

“Look!” Elfwine exclaimed when they reached the edge of the fountain. “It is my favorite because of the fishes!”

Mareke crouched down next to him and followed his finger to the spots of bright orange that were swimming through the clear water.

Eomer had to stop a few paces away from them as his chest constricted and he found it difficult to catch his breath. To see the woman that he had loved so much with his son was nearly too much to bear. He could not count the times he had thought about the family they might have created. He had daydreamed of it nearly constantly when he was in Harad and supposed to be working on treaties and agreements.

It was all too easy to imagine a child of Elfwine’s size, but perhaps a bit darker in his coloring. He could not stand to think of how much he had wanted such a thing for himself. 

Eomer had not necessarily expected to see Mareke at all in Minas Tirith for the anniversary celebrations, but now that she was there every single day, the feelings had come rushing back with a force that he very nearly could not withstand.

“How wonderful,” Mareke murmured. She smiled at the little boy and was immediately transported back to a time when Adnan had been that small. It had been nearly twenty years since she had smelled that distinct toddler smell of the outdoors and sweat.

She had thought to have many children, but after her husband passed that had become impossible. Very soon, she would likely be contenting herself with grandchildren if all went according to Adnan’s plans.

Abruptly, as little boys often did, Elfwine took off running down the path. One of the guards that had been trailing the trio followed the little boy leaving Eomer and Mareke alone.

“He is very sweet, Eomer,” Mareke said, looking after the boy until he rounded a bend in the path.

“Indeed. He must get that from his mother.”

“I am not so sure, having never met her,” Mareke replied. “You have a certain warmth and inclusiveness about you as well.”

They lapsed into silence, both thinking of what might have been.

Eomer imagined the same family he had back in Harad, though they were ten years older in his imaginings on that afternoon in the gardens. Rather than his seven year-old daughter, there might have been a teenager waiting in his and Mareke’s chambers.

He was pulled back to reality, away from the home and family he had so wanted to build a decade ago, by the sound of Elfwine wailing from a ways ahead.

The blood drained from his face and he took off at a rapid clip after his son; Mareke following close behind him.

When they found the little boy, the guard was crouched over him, though Elfwine was refusing to be touched. He clutched his arm to his chest, still screaming, tears rolling down his red cheeks.

“Elfwine, sshh, I am right here,” Eomer said, immediately taking the guard’s place. He looked up at Mareke with pleading eyes. 

She knelt down as well. “Elfwine,” she said gently. “Might I take a look at your arm?” she asked.

He shook his head adamantly, burying his face against Eomer, which only caused him to shout in pain.

“Please. We need to see it to make it feel better,” she persisted, still in her gentle tone.

“Let the Princess have a look,” Eomer urged his son.

Elfwine looked at Mareke warily.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. As tenderly as she could, she felt up and down the boy’s forearm. His crying slowed to a hiccup as he watched her closely.

“It is broken, Eomer,” Mareke whispered. “He needs to see a Healer to have it set.”

“Could you not do it?” he asked, desperation in his eyes.

“Me?” She shook her head. “I have not done any healing work in years.”

“Please? I want him to be in the best of hands and I know those are yours.”

Mareke gave a sigh, but finally nodded. “Bring him to my rooms where my things are.”

Eomer lifted the boy into his arms and they hurried down the corridor until they came into her sitting room. Mareke indicated that Eomer should set the boy on one of the sofas and prop him up with enough pillows.

Oyna had come out to greet her and her eyes widened when she saw Eomer. She was quickly gone though when Mareke sent her after the necessary supplies. 

Even though she had not healed anyone in a very long time, she still travelled with her things.

“Can your Papa and I take your tunic off?” Mareke asked, kneeling next to the sofa.

Elfwine nodded and Mareke began to try to strip him of his shirt without causing him any pain.

“I am so sorry,” she said when the boy yelped as she tried to pull his injured arm free.

Eomer could not bear to touch his son, afraid of causing him more pain. 

When Oyna returned, Mareke reached for the goblet of wine she had brought. 

“Just a few tiny sips, alright? It does not taste very good, but it will make you feel much better,” Mareke promised.

Elfwine grimaced and did as she bid. At his size, the wine quickly took effect and Elfwine was awake, but not quite with them.

Mareke asked Oyna to help her and Eomer watched, face drawn, wringing his hands, as the women efficiently wrapped the arm in dry linen followed by smaller strips dipped in plaster.

When it was all over, Oyna stepped away and Eomer looked down at Mareke who was still holding Elfwine’s arm away from his body so that it would dry to his soft skin.

“My, my little prince. What have you done to yourself?”

They all turned to see Adnan enter the sitting rooms.

“It is not too bad, King Adnan,” the boy said, much more nonchalant under the sedation of the wine.

“I can see that you are handling it all quite well. Of course, you have been seen by the best of Healers.” Adnan said, stepping past Eomer to rest a hand on his mother’s shoulder. “She has fixed many of my bones as well. In fact, your father was there one time when I needed a few stitches.”

“Oh hush,” Mareke said with a weary smile. She tested the plaster and deemed it dry enough.

“Perhaps you should take him to his mother,” she said to Eomer, who was still hanging back, frightened by his son’s fragility and overwhelmed by watching Mareke’s tenderness. He had forgotten that he would have to return to his chambers and explain what had happened to his wife.

“You shall be right as rain with a little rest,” Mareke promised, brushing Elfwine’s golden hair away from his forehead.

Finally, Eomer stepped forward and once more took his son in his arms. 

“Give him a little bit of wine as he needs it for the pain. There is nothing better for an injury than to sleep, do you hear me?” she asked, looking at the Crown Prince.

He nodded and rested his head on his father’s broad shoulder.

“I cannot thank you enough for this, Mareke,” Eomer said in a low murmur. 

“It is not necessary.”

He looked at her for a long moment, wanting so badly to reach for her, to hold her, to kiss her. 

Adnan cleared his throat as he looked between the pair of them. With that, Eomer turned on his heel and left.

Chapter Text

Eomer was going to fail his Realm. There was no other outcome if he could not bring himself to focus in the meetings he was in nearly every day.

He would be asked a question and then he would have to shake himself from the daydream he had been inhabiting.

If he did not fail Rohan because he did not pay attention, it would be because he would collapse from a lack of sleep.

There had not been one night since their first reunion, that he hadn’t gone to Mareke’s chambers around midnight. He never stayed, but when he returned to his rooms he could not quiet his mind enough to rest.

It was not visions of a sexual nature that kept him awake, but of a future he had never imagined to be possible before he came to Rohan.

He would lie awake all night, envisioning strolls through the gardens of Meduseld with the family he so desperately wanted to create. In those visions, Adnan went running along the path, being chased by a little boy who was a shade or two darker than Eomer. Mareke was at his side, with her arm looped through his. In some of his imaginings, her stomach was swollen, expecting another child of theirs as she sat next to him in the throne room and in his council chambers, sometimes across from him in his study helping him to rule his Realm.

“What do you think of that, Eomer-King?” Aragorn asked him one afternoon.

Eomer stared at the other man blankly. “I apologize. I was elsewhere. Could you repeat yourself?”

ooooOoooo

Mareke had changed up the evening routine of the palace one night.  Instead of dining in the great entertaining hall as they had been, she had arranged for their meal to be served outside in the desert, under the stars.

The air in the evening was refreshing rather than stifling as it could be during the day and so she thought that it might be a nice change of pace for those who spent their days locked away in council chambers to get some fresh air.

Thick rugs and colorful pillows had been scattered about so that the guests could eat on the ground in some comfort.

“This is beautiful,” Eowyn said, awestruck, as the group made their way toward the canopied structure with Faramir and her brother.

“Indeed it is,” Eomer agreed, though he was looking at Mareke who stood in the middle of all she had created with a welcoming smile on her face. 

“Have a seat wherever you like,” she said, gesturing at all of the space. At the edge of the tent, food was being prepared and it smelled heavenly.

“Princess, when you are ready, would you join me?” King Elessar asked Mareke. “I have learned much of Harad’s politics, but would learn more of your culture.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Mareke replied with a gentle smile. “I would be honored.”

Eomer sighed inwardly. He knew Aragorn had no interest in the Haradrim princess with his own wife waiting in Minas Tirith, but it was just one more demand on her time. 

With every hour that passed, he felt his time in Harad slipping through his fingers. He detested having to spend most of that time in council with the other rulers, but even more he wanted to remove everyone else in the evenings so that they could be together for more than the few hours they stole.

Eomer sat with his sister and brother-in-law and a few nobles from Rohan and Ithilien respectively.

He was broken out of his reverie by Adan plopping roughly down next to him, already munching on the cinnamon dessert bread he loved so much.

“I like a girl too, Eomer,” the little boy announced loudly, commiserating with the Rohirric King.

“‘Too?’ I am not sure what you are talking about, little prince,” Eomer replied, though he could feel his face flushing.

“Yes you are,” Adnan insisted. “You look at my mother like I look at Sumaya.” Adnan sighed and looked wistfully across the tent to where an adolescent girl, perhaps a few years older than Adnan, was standing with who were presumably her parents. “And I look at Sumaya like I look at cinnamon bread.”

Eowyn nearly choked on the fruit juice she had been drinking. “Presumably like you wish to devour her,” she said when she had recovered.

Adnan nodded and then looked back up at Eomer.

“At least Mother dances with you all of the times you ask,” Adnan said dejectedly. “Sumaya is not interested.”

“That is kind of your mother, for Eomer surely asks her to dance a lot.”

“Eowyn,” Faramir tried to sound stern, but at the same time was suppressing his laughter, or trying to.”What is it you like about Mother?” Adnan asked. “She is rather strict and bossy.”

“She is stern because you are a hellion,” Eowyn told the boy with a playful pinch.

Eomer wished he could sink into the sand dunes they sat upon rather than answer the prince in front of those who were sharing his rug.

“I do not like your mother more than anyone else,” Eomer said in a fierce whisper. “I am not sure why you think that.”

“Well it could be because you are always staring at her, trying to be near her, dancing with her, grumbling when others are spending too much time with her in your opinion,” Eowyn chimed in helpfully. “And the other things I will not mention in present company,” she whispered so only her brother could hear.

“Thank you, Eowyn,” Eomer grumbled. “Fine then. I think your mother is very bright. She is kind and hardworking.” He looked over to where she was sitting with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. They were all laughing at something she had said and she was still talking with her hands as she explained something to them, eyes shining. “She is witty and charming and very beautiful.” Eomer looked down at the little boy. “Oh and she somehow manages to put up with you, which speaks to her limitless patience.”

Adnan stood and stuck his tongue out at Eomer before trotting off to try once more to engage Sumaya in conversation.

“Well that was rude. You did not have to be mean to him,” Eowyn said.

“I do not want to hear another word from you for the rest of the evening,” Eomer replied, no jest in his voice

ooooOoooo

“I heard that Adnan embarrassed you this evening,” Mareke said, late that night as they were curled around one another, her head on his broad chest.

“Who told you that?”

“Adnan,” she laughed.

“Yes well,” Eomer sighed. “He did make me enumerate all of the reasons I admire you in front of a crowd.”

“He told me what you said and that your neck was bright red,” Mareke laughed again. She propped her chin on his chest so that she could look at him. “You said very kind things.”

Eomer grumbled. “How could I not? You are all that I think about.”

Mareke’s brow furrowed. “Do not let me cloud your mind,” she said quietly. “You are here to do very important work.”
“Easier said than done,” Eomer replied, pushing her curls away from her face.

“You flatter me,” she responded, pressing her lips to his still warm skin.

“It is not flattery. I do not flatter for the sake of it.”

Eomer leaned down and kissed her deeply. He held back from telling her of all of his daydreams. He could not be sure that she felt the same way or if she was just using him as a form of entertainment while he was in her home.

As he laid there with her warm, soft body in his arms, Eomer felt the powerful urge to tell her everything he was feeling, but even in the dark he kept his eyes trained on the ceiling, not wanting to look down at her.

“I do care for you a great deal, Mareke,” he said.

Mareke did not respond. When she realized what he was confessing to, she tried with all her might to deepen her breathing and put on the air of sleeping soundly on his shoulder.

Eomer sighed as he stroked her arm, laying there until his own eyes grew heavy and he drifted off into more dreams of the future he so desperately wished to create with her.

ooooOoooo

Eomer woke to sunlight falling across his face and he immediately cursed to himself in Rohirric. When they had begun their nightly visits he had been very good about leaving Mareke’s rooms so that no one would ever know he had been there, but he had overslept that morning.

Luckily, Mareke was sleeping peacefully and she remained that way as he gently untangled himself from her and stood, dressing quickly. If he woke her, he knew he would have to deal with her anger at putting them in such a position.

Once he was dressed, he quietly crept from her chambers, letting out a breath as he shut the door behind him without running into a servant.

“Eomer?”

Without turning around, Eomer cursed to the door.

“What are you doing here so early?”

Finally, Eomer turned to see Adnan, his curls a wild mess and face still puffy from sleeping, staring up at him confused.

“Oh,” Eomer said slowly, stalling as best he could. “I was coming to ask if you and your mother wanted to have breakfast in my chambers later this morning, but your mother was sleeping so perhaps another day.”

Adnan rubbed his eyes with his fists. “That sounds nice,” he said before stepping around Eomer and going into his mother’s rooms.

“Mama,” he said, as he entered her bedroom and made his way to her bed.

“Hmmm?” she murmured, scooting over a little bit so he could crawl in.

Her son did not often come to her bed as he had when he was younger, but she relished it.

“Eomer was here. He wants us to have breakfast in his chambers someday.”

Mareke’s eyes shot open. “Eomer?”

“Yes. He was outside your door.”

Mareke gently stroked his unruly curls. “I think you were still dreaming. I am sure Eomer was not here. He would be sleeping in his rooms, you silly little prince.”

ooooOoooo

When he was safely back in his rooms, Eomer shut the door and leaned his forehead against it. He knew that Mareke was going to be furious with him when she found out that Adnan had spotted him.

“You should be more careful or everyone here will know that you have taken the Haradrim princess to your bed. Or, more aptly, that she has taken you to hers.”

Eomer jumped in fright and whirled around, his hand going to the knife at his belt. “Bema’s balls, Eowyn!” 

His sister was sitting at the dining table looking at him with a bemused smile. It was truly just about the last thing Eomer could handle in that instant.

“What? I was just going to see if you wanted to go for an early morning ride before it got too hot, but I see that you were previously occupied.”

“Now is not the time,” Eomer grumbled, taking a heavy seat across from her.

Eowyn reached her hand out and took her brother’s on the table. “We are here making alliances. Why do you not just marry her, Eomer?”

ooooOoooo

“You seem rather distracted today,” Amrothos said, sitting next to Mareke at the small lunch she was hosting. Most of the men were still in the council chambers and so it was the few women who had come to Harad and Haradrim nobles who were not participating in the talks.

“Hmm?” She turned to look at him and shook her head. “Oh. I just did not sleep well is all,” she replied.

“Well hopefully you can get some rest when all of us have departed,” Amrothos said. “Though I must admit, I am not looking forward to that day.”

“Nor am I,” Mareke said. “These halls will be rather quiet without all of you here.”

Mareke could sense that there might be another admission of strong feelings about to be shared and she was not in the correct state of mind to receive that, so she stood on the pretense of visiting with the other people present.

After a few minutes more of mingling, Mareke left the small dining room and went back to her chambers.

“I did not expect you until this evening,” Oyna said, looking up from where she had been mending a set of Adnan’s breeches in the princess’ sitting room.

“Yes, well it is all getting to be a bit much,” Mareke said, sitting heavily on the sofa across from her companion and putting her head in her hands.

“The entertaining?”

“I understand that this is what is best for Harad and what will ultimately be best for Adnan, but I wish I was not playing such a central role,” Mareke said as though she had not heard Oyna. “I feel so visible and exposed.”

Oyna’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I do not know,” Mareke sighed. “I wish I had been able to disappear and be forgotten after my time in Minas Tirith.”

“You have seemed to enjoy yourself,” Oyna responded. “Have I misunderstood?”

“No, you have not, but that is the problem. This cannot last.”

“I think you are making a hasty decision if you are going to close yourself off to some more enjoyment. They say everything happens for a reason. All of these people are meant to be here and meant to see you.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may…”

ooooOoooo

Later that evening, Eomer sought Mareke out as she went from table to table talking to the guests once more. He could see the routine was beginning to wear on her.

He took her arm gently and pulled her away from Faramir and Aragorn.

“Princess Mareke, might I speak with you?”

“Excuse me,” Mareke said to the other men, allowing herself to be led away.

“I am not quite in the mood for this, Eomer, all things considered,” she said when they were safely away from the crowd and in the garden.

“I am sorry for this morning,” he said. “I fell asleep. I was so comfortable in bed with you. It felt so natural.”

Mareke softened. “You are lucky I convinced Adnan that he was still dreaming.”

Eomer took both of her hands in his much larger ones.

Mareke looked around them frantically, trying to free herself, but Eomer’s grip only tightened. “What are you doing?” she hissed.

“It does not matter anymore,” Eomer said, looking deep into her dark eyes.

“What do you mean? Of course it does.”

“Mareke, I want to marry you,” Eomer said earnestly. “It is all I can think of. Rohan is going to go to ruin. I have not been able to focus on the councils in days. All I can think of is you and Adnan in Rohan. I see our lives there together. I see our children. I see the Realm thriving. I have to have you by my side. I learned that a man at war is desperate to make plans for the future because it is so uncertain if he will have one or not, but I never made a single plan. I sat around fires and rode leagues and leagues with men around me talking of the homes they would build and the children they would father, but I could not see my future until I met you. I have seen to the Realm, but not once have I thought of what would happen for me. Until I came here and we have spent all of this time together. Mareke, you are all I think about. I see us strolling the gardens of Meduseld with an absolute gaggle of children. You must marry me and make that my reality.”

Mareke’s eyes widened in panic. “Have you lost your mind?”

Eomer’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Marriage?”

“I am here to forge treaties. What better way to do that than with a marriage?” Eomer squeezed her hands again. “And you could use my protection. Do you think Prince Eldacar will be the last to harass you if you remain unwed? No one would ever dream of harming you if you were my wife and queen.”

Mareke’s breath caught in her chest.

Finally, she managed to calm herself. “Have you spoken to my father of this?”

Eomer shook his head. “I respect you too much to not speak to you first, you surely know that.”

“Do not mention this to him,” she commanded.

“Why not?”

“Because if you did, he would surely agree to it.”

Eomer dropped her hands. “And that would be such a bad thing?” He was growing angry. He had thought the situation would go very differently. He had imagined Mareke going weak with joy in his arms and smothering her with kisses, perhaps taking her to bed when no one was watching.

“Yes!” she shouted, before quickly looking around. “How could it be good? I would be sent to Rohan to rear your children, while having to leave my son behind. My father may send me to you, but he would never agree to let his heir grow up somewhere else. As a King yourself, you can surely understand how detrimental it would be for Adnan to grow up away from his land and people.” Mareke looked up at him desperately. “How much more detrimental would it be for him to grow up without his only remaining parent? Without his mother?”

Realization crashed over Eomer and he dropped her hands, staring at her for a long moment. “This cannot be happening,” he whispered, voice raw.

“Eomer,” Mareke said his name quietly, realizing that she had been harsh.

Without another word, he stalked off, leaving her alone in the garden.

Adnan caught sight of the King making his way quickly through the hall and the boy followed him through the huge doors and out into the corridor.

“Eomer!” Adnan began to run to catch up with the tall man. “Eomer wait!”

“I do not have the time right now, Adnan,” Eomer said, not even bothering to look over his shoulder at the boy.

“Could we go for another ride tomorrow?”

Eomer whirled around. “I said I do not have the time!” he yelled venomously.

Adnan stood stock still, trying not to let the King see that tears were pricking his eyes. He was confused and frightened. Eomer had never been anything but kind to him.

Eomer’s chest was heaving as he stared down at the dark child. Right there before him was the biggest obstacle he had ever encountered and he had never hated another person more.

Adnan shrunk at the look in Eomer’s eyes and went hurrying back into the hall.

Chapter Text

After Mareke’s rejection of his idea to marry, Eomer kept to himself. He did not eat his meals publicly nor did he linger after the council meetings to which he was still subjected. He couldn’t bear to see the princess or her son in his shame.

One evening, after the meal had concluded in the great hall, Eowyn had excused herself from her husband and went to check on her brother. She realized that she had not seen him in nearly three days and she began to worry.

She knocked on his door gently and was met with a grunt.

“Where have you been?” she asked, when she found him at the low dining table, ethnic Haradrim food on platters surrounding his papers and scrolls.

“Working,” he replied.

“To not be social at all is not like you, even when you are busy,” Eowyn replied, sitting across from him.

“Yes well,” Eomer said, not finishing his thought. He had not once looked up at his sister.

“Is something the matter, Eomer? You do not seem like yourself at all,” Eowyn reached for the document he was reading and slowly pulled it away from him. 

Instead of meeting his sister’s eyes, Eomer continued to stare down at the table.

“Please tell me,” Eowyn urged her brother when he did not fill the silence.

“I took your advice,” Eomer whispered rawly, finally looking up at his sister with tear filled eyes.

“My advice?” Eowyn arched a pale brow.

Eomer nodded. “I asked Mareke to marry me. I told her that I could not stop thinking about her and our future, how I wanted her by my side to rule as Queen of Rohan and to mother my children.” 

Eowyn went silent, understanding immediately that the conversation had not gone how her brother had pictured.

Eomer drew a ragged breath, tears slipping into his beard. “She will not leave him. She begged me to not ask her father for her hand in fear that he would agree and she in turn would be forcefully separated from Adnan.”

Eowyn got to her feet and made her way around the table, kneeling next to her brother, pulling his head tight to her shoulder and stroking his golden hair.

For many years when they had been growing up, Eomer had sheltered and comforted Eowyn, but in that moment the roles were reversed.

“She did not even consider my offer,” he whispered against the green fabric of his sister’s dress. “I thought she loved me.”

“I think she does,” Eowyn replied softly. “But that is not always enough.”

Eowyn stayed with her brother until he gathered himself and shooed her away. When she had closed his chamber door behind her, she leaned against the wall, pressing both hands to her still flat stomach, closing her eyes.

She had not yet met her child, but she understood. She knew that in any scenario, she would choose the life inside of her over anyone or anything else.

ooooOoooo

“Mama.”

Mareke looked up from where she had been proof-reading a contractfor her father. Her eyebrows raised in surprise as Adnan rarely called her anything other than “Mother.” He had grown too big for the affectionate and childish names he had once called her.

The little boy stood next to her desk. His cheeks were pink and he seemed to be working up the courage to utter whatever it was he needed to say.

“What is it, habibi? Are you alright?”

Adnan sighed. “I think I made Eomer mad.”

Mareke had assumed that she was due for such a conversation and still had not prepared herself for it.

“Why would you think such a thing?”

“He shouted at me in the corridor after dinner the other night.”

“He what?” Mareke demanded.

“I had asked if he wanted to go for a ride the next day. He shouted that he did not have the time.” Adnan’s eyes welled. “I did not mean to upset him.”

“Oh habibi,” Mareke sighed and pulled her son to her chest. “Something else had upset him previously, I am sure of it.”

Adnan sniffled and looked at his mother.

“You know how your jidd sometimes gets when he has much to deal with,” Mareke continued. “It is stressful and difficult to be a King. The men here are under a lot of pressure to succeed. They are determining their futures and the futures of their Realms and people. So much is dependent on the decisions that are made here. He is under much strain is all. It had nothing to do with you.”

“Do you think?”

“I know,” Mareke promised her tearful son as she smoothed his curls. She hated to think that her son was in such turmoil because of her. “Give it a few more days. He will ride with you again before he departs.”

Adnan gave a nod and wiped at his eyes.

Mareke pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I love you.”

“Well yes,” Adnan sighed again. “But you do not ride very well.”

ooooOoooo

Later that night, after the servants had been dismissed and all guests had gone to bed, Mareke and Oyna sat in her sitting room mending a few pieces of clothing for the King and Crown Prince of Harad.

“Why must we do this when there are servants?” Oyna asked wearily.

Mareke laughed. “I find it rather soothing after a long day, do you not?”

“I find my bed soothing after a long day.”

“Then go to it. I am not far behind you.”

Oyna gratefully set aside the tunic she had been repairing and stood. “If you insist.”

Before she made it to the door though, it banged open and both women jumped.

“Eomer!” Mareke exclaimed.

“I must speak with you,” he demanded roughly, speech slightly slurred.

“Surely that can wait until a more appropriate hour,” Oyna said quickly, hands on her hips, glaring at the drunk man.

“Dismiss your handmaid, princess,” Eomer said, not bothering to even look at Oyna. He only had eyes for Mareke and they were burning fiercely in her direction.

“Over my dead body,” Oyna said heatedly.

Eomer arched a fair brow in her direction as though to say, ‘do not tempt me.”

“Oyna,” Mareke said gently. “Leave us, please.”

“You want me to leave you with this drunken brute?” Oyna asked incredulously.

“I do,” Mareke said calmly, giving her companion a nod. “All will be well.”

Oyna stood there for a moment longer. She had been told of Eomer’s marriage proposal, his reaction to Adnan, and was no longer an admirer of his as she had been when the delegations arrived.

With a huff, she left the sitting room through the nursery.

When the door had closed soundly behind Oyna, Mareke looked back at Eomer who had not moved and was still staring at her intently. 

“I have not changed my mind, Eomer,” she said quietly. “I cannot.”

“Why do you refuse to see reason?” he demanded, stomping toward her.

“Why do you?”

Her question seemed to enrage the King further. He pulled her so she was standing and his grip on her upper arms was vice-like. She would have to find something to wear the following day with sleeves to cover the bruises. “I must have you,” he growled, shaking her slightly. “Do you not understand? I cannot live without you.”

“That is not true,” Mareke said as calmly as she could manage. “You have and you will continue to do so.”

“I love you!” Eomer shouted and Mareke could smell the honey liquor on his breath. “Does that mean nothing to you?”

Mareke closed her eyes briefly. It was at once what she had dreamed of hearing him say and also words that tore her heart to shreds.

“It means everything to me, Eomer.”

“How can you stand there and lie to me?” His hands tightened around her arms. “You cannot say you feel the same and refuse my proposal.”

“It is not about me! If I only had myself to consider I would be halfway to Edoras right now, but that is not the case.”

Eomer seemed not to hear her. His hands had quickly moved down her body and were bunching her skirt up around her waist. “What if I fill you with my child?” He emphasized the word ‘my,’ perhaps thinking in his drunken state to compete with Adnan.

Mareke felt his need pressing against her and instead of fighting him, she let him have his way.

She tasted the liquor as his lips crashed against hers. Seams of her dress tore as Eomer roughly and clumsily tried to move the fabric out of his way. 

His hands cupped her breasts roughly and Mareke gasped against his chest, shrugging out of her dress as he freed her shoulders from it.

Eomer did not bother to take her to her bedroom and instead pinned her against the sandstone wall. He fiddled with his breeches and freed himself.

“What will you do when you carry the heir of Rohan?” Eomer growled as he lifted her up and drove into her.

Mareke cried out in pain and shock, unable to tell him that even in the unlikely case she did conceive, he would never know and his child would still be raised in Harad.

With one arm, Eomer held all of Mareke’s weight and with the other he pulled her dark curls so that she was looking into the raging storm of his eyes.

With each thrust, her body softened against him. She was swept away in his touch even if it was not as gentle as it had been before. She found that she liked his anger just as much as she did his contentment. 

Mareke’s own passion rose and she found herself meeting his tumult, dragging her nails across his shoulder blades, biting his neck.

As Eomer finished, he found he did not have the nerve to make good on his threat to fill Mareke with his child. With a roar of frustration and release, he removed himself from her and his seed spilled on the stone floor.

Sobs wracked his body and he clung to Mareke, still holding her against him. He buried his golden head in her neck and his tears nearly scalded her flesh.

“Ssshh,” Mareke murmured, stroking his air.

Her act of mothering released a new fury in Eomer as he was reminded of the reason she would not be his wife.

“Do not soothe me when you are at fault for this,” he hissed, finally releasing her and refastening his breeches.

Mareke quickly crossed her arms over chest, bereft of his touch. She felt as though she had been battered by a sandstorm. 

“I will never forgive you for this. I will hate you until I take my last breath.” He turned on his heel and made his way toward the door.

Before he could leave, Mareke spoke. “You will understand when you have a child of your own, Eomer-King” she called after him.

He paused and then he was gone.

ooooOoooo

After the next meeting that Eomer attended with Aragorn and King Hashad, the King of Gondor pulled his friend aside. He had been studying the man for the previous week or so and had watched him rapidly deteriorate. Eomer had not often been seen outside of his chambers, but when he did attend a group meal, he drank heavily and kept to himself, brooding in a corner.

“Mellon,” Aragorn said, gently guiding Eomer out and into the gardens. “Is everything alright?”

Eomer had come to recognize the Elvish term as one of endearment and he had once been flattered to be among the few with whom Elessar used it.

“I am just fine,” he replied.

“You do not seem yourself and I have heard a few troublesome accounts.”

“Are you having me followed?”

Aragorn smirked. “I hear and see everything, but your question gives you away. You know of what I speak.” He glanced at the bite mark that the collar of Eomer’s tunic failed to hide. “That is from no mere serving girl.”

Eomer’s cheeks flushed and rubbed his neck as if to remove the evidence of his transgression.

“You must respect her decision. You still owe her that and you cannot rage at her child,” Aragorn continued. “She refuses you for good reason.”

“I see no good reason for refusing me,” Eomer said hastily, not hearing the petulance in his own voice.

“You of all men should.”

Eomer turned to the other man and raised an eyebrow. 

“You lost your mother at a very young age. You know what it is to grow up without that most important relationship. As do I.”

“I am not killing Mareke. I am asking her to marry me.”

“There would be no difference to Adnan. He would lose his mother all the same. He might be lucky enough to see her once a year if one of them was able to make the journey, but even that would not be guaranteed.”

Eomer was silent, contemplating the other man’s words.

“This is a harsh lesson in kingship,” Aragorn said solemnly. “Duty and sacrifice are always at the forefront. We will not often get what we want.”

Eomer refrained from pointing out that his Gondoran counterpart had married for love and was happily awaiting the arrival of his first child.

“No, I suppose you are right. I must make peace with it in time.”

“I am afraid there may not be as much time for peacemaking as you would like,” Aragorn said.

Eomer looked quickly to his friend in confusion and alarm. 

“Prince Imrahil would like to speak to you of a very personal treaty and alliance between Rohan and Dol Amroth.”

ooooOoooo

Long past midnight two days later, there was a pounding on Mareke’s bedroom door. She startled awake and sat straight up.

She knew it could only be one person as she snatched her robe off the chair in the corner.

“How did you get in here?” Mareke asked, looking past Eomer as she opened the door to see if there were any servants in her sitting room.

“I knocked at the main door, but no one answered,” he said. 

“Of course not. It is the middle of the night,” Mareke sighed.

They looked at one another for a long moment, the energy quite different from their last encounter.

“I am sorry,” Eomer whispered. “I would spend our last days together in harmony.”

Mareke could only nod, not able to speak around the lump in her throat. She had not been dealing with the fact that the delegations would be gone within the week.

Eomer gathered her up in his arms, once more burying his face in her hair. He inhaled the scent of her sleep that mingled with sandalwood perfume.

Gently closing the door behind them, Eomer stripped Mareke from her robe, letting his hands whisper over the silk of her nightgown as he led them to her low bed.

“It is no excuse, but I was not myself the other night,” he said regretfully when he saw the yellow and green bruises on Mareke’s upper arms. “I will probably never be myself again.”

“Do not say such a thing,” Mareke said, tracing his lips. “Do not rob the people in your life of the full force of you because of this little setback.”

Eomer’s eyes welled. “This is no mere setback, Mareke. Surely you understand that this is a colossal devastation.”

“I do understand,” she replied, but she did not want to speak of said devastation any longer. It had been haunting her days long before he had ever asked her to marry him. She had known from the moment he stepped foot into her Realm that her future could never be what she wanted. She had known she would never have him, would never be his wife, would never mother his heir. The course of her life had been decided the moment that Adnan had been placed in her arms a decade earlier.

When they were through making love, Mareke was lying snug against Eomer’s chest, his arm holding her close. He could not look at her as he spoke.

“I am to marry Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth,” he said so quietly she very nearly did not hear him.

It felt as though someone had reached into her chest and was squeezing the life out of Mareke’s heart.

For the longest time, she could not speak, could not breathe, could not process what she had heard.

Eomer would belong to another. She may never see him again. They had a matter of days left with one another.

“Congratulations,” she whispered.

“Please,” Eomer croaked.

Tears were running down Mareke’s cheeks as she propped her chin on his chest to look into his brown eyes from which tears were also streaming.

“She does not deserve to bear the burden of whatever will linger between you and I, the memories. She will do her very best to be the wife, queen, and mother of your children that you deserve,” Mareke said. “You will be a good husband to her in turn.”

Chapter Text

“Princess Mareke!” 

She turned at the garbled sound of her name to find Elfwine, trailed by Eomer, following her down the corridor as she headed for the dining hall. She and Eowyn had agreed that they would share breakfast together.

Sunlight was streaming in through the high windows, reflecting off of Eomer’s still golden hair, though she could see a few grays threading through it. 

“Ah, little Prince,” she said with a small smile as he approached. “How are you feeling?”

Elfwine held up his cast for her inspection. “I went for a ride this morning,” he told her excitedly.

“He would not stop asking, though it made me nervous,” Eomer admitted.

Mareke continued to look at the little boy. “Well as long as you do not fall from the horse, I do not think there is anything to worry about.”

“I never fall,” Elfwine said seriously, offended at the slightest insinuation of such a thing.

“I am sure you do not. You are Crown Prince of the Rohirrim afterall.”

Elfwine’s chest puffed out in pride.

“Where were you headed, Princess?” Eomer asked. “Perhaps we could accompany you?”

Mareke nodded. “I was going to have breakfast with your Aunt Eowyn actually.”

“We shall join you,” Elfwine declared, reaching for her hand. The little boy left no room for argument and his father did not seem interested in contradicting him.

“He has talked of you constantly since you fixed him up,” Eomer said over his son’s head. “He has turned you bandaging his arm into quite the dramatic story. You saved his life to hear him tell it.”

Mareke laughed. “Well that is nice to hear. It has been a while so I am glad it all turned out to his liking.”

“He said you did a much better job than our old Healer at home,” Eomer laughed.

Elfwine nodded up at her vigorously.

“I think he is rather besotted and who can blame him,” Eomer continued.

“Father!”

“Eomer!” Mareke’s cheeks flushed hot and she looked away from him.

Elfwine was also blushing, but for a very different reason.

“You must not say such things,” she whispered. “Anyone could hear you.”

“Go and tell your Aunt that we are right behind you,” Eomer said, opening the heavy door when they reached the dining hall.

“What are you doing?” Mareke asked, looking around to make sure they were not seen. She also made sure to keep an appropriate distance between them.

“Must it be like this? I cannot even tell you how beautiful you are? How beautiful I have always thought you to be?”

“It must,” Mareke replied firmly. “You are here with your family. Your wife and children.”

Eomer sighed. “And if I were not?”

“You would still be married.”

“It has never been-”

“I do not want to hear what your marriage is or is not,” Mareke said quickly, shaking her head. She pulled the door open and followed Elfwine.

“So much for a quiet breakfast,” Eowyn laughed, when Mareke joined them, soon followed by Eomer.

“There is still some time yet for such a thing,” Mareke said with a smile. “We were foolish for thinking we could have it in the public dining hall.”

“Are you sure we cannot turn them away?” Eowyn jested.

Elfwine stuck his tongue out at his aunt.

“I would not dream of such a thing,” she promised her nephew. “But your father on the other hand…”

Eomer rolled his eyes as he began to put together a plate for his son. “Do not mind me. Have whatever conversation you were hoping to have.”

Mareke watched him and her heart shattered again to see the care he took with the little boy, making sure all of his favorites were on the plate and that he could manage with his casted arm.

She let herself drift into the background of the conversation, trying not to too obviously watch Eomer and Elfwine. 

“Surely we cannot handle anyone else,” Eowyn said.

Mareke tore her gaze from the father and son pair to see Adnan pulling out a chair on the other side of the Lady of Ithilien.

“Where have you been? You were up and gone before I woke,” Mareke said, smiling at her son. She glanced around to see several of the young, and not so young, ladies enjoying their breakfast and the sight of the handsome Haradrim king. Their gazes skittered away when his mother caught them.

“I just came from a very interesting meeting. There is a possibility that you and Eomer-King might become family,” Adnan said, pulling platters of food toward him to fill up his own plate. “Do not tell my mother, but I am having a second breakfast,” he whispered conspiratorially to Elfwine. 

The little boy snickered behind his uncasted hand.

“You will have to elaborate,” Eowyn said.

Adnan set his goblet of fruit juice down and looked directly at his mother. “Prince Amrothos has expressed a desire to wed you, Mother.”

The blood rushed to Mareke’s head and she could only hear her own heartbeat. Her palms began to sweat and she rubbed them on the linen napkin in her lap.

“That is rather silly,” she finally managed to get out. “I think the time of my second marriage has passed. I am too old to do that again.”

“Quite right,” Eomer said. 

Mareke and Eowyn both shot him a look and he glanced away, embarrassed at his own outburst.

“Do you not think it might be nice to have a companion after all of these years alone?” Adnan asked his mother.

Mareke did not want to say that she had thought he was her companion. She understood the question he was asking. He had known he had filled that role, especially as he got older, but he would no longer be able to do so.

Eomer studied her intently as she worked through an answer.

“Perhaps we should discuss this privately,” she responded evenly, ever the diplomat.

Adnan nodded and turned his attention back to Elfwine who began telling him of his ride that morning.

“I would enjoy going for a ride for old time’s sake, Eomer-King,” Adnan said to the older man.

“That would be much preferable to these infernal meetings and I think we should discuss how Harad and Rohan can work together moving forward. That would be much better done on horseback.”

Adnan nodded.

When her son was through eating, he stood. “Walk with me to my next meeting, Mother?”

Mareke nodded and stood as well, bidding a good day to Eomer, Eowyn, and Elfwine.

“I thought you might be more excited at Prince Amrothos’ offer,” Adnan said once the door was closed behind them.

“It is very kind of him. I liked Prince Amrothos a good deal when we were younger,” Mareke responded. “But I had not thought to marry again and Dol Amroth was not interested a decade ago.”

“Things are very different now. Imrahil was not in favor of such a match then, but Amrothos was.” Adnan said. “Besides, Harad is a Realm that many want to be aligned with.”

Mareke nodded. “Of course they do. But if I am not mistaken, there is a good chance that Dol Amroth will be bound even more tightly to Harad through your own marriage imminently than it would be through mine.” 

Adnan looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. His cheeks were flushed when he looked back down at his mother. “I do not believe Prince Amrothos asks for diplomatic reasons. I think he simply admires you.”

“He is a good man,” Mareke conceded.

“You could have another child.”

Mareke snorted. “Can you imagine? All willing, I will soon be a grandmother. I think my years of rearing children are passed.”

Adnan laughed as well. 

“You do not have to find a new spot for me because your life is changing, my love,” Mareke said gently. “I knew one day you would grow up and need someone besides me.”

ooooOoooo

“Princess!”

For the second time that day, Mareke turned as someone called after her.

“I was trying to speak with you at dinner, but you were rather popular,” Amrothos said as he hustled to join her in the corridor.

Mareke smiled at him, but did not say anything.

“I assume Adnan told you of our meeting this morning?”

“He did,” Mareke replied.

“I hope it was not unexpected or unwelcome. I have not been able to spend as much time with you as often as I would have liked since we have all been back in Minas Tirith, but I have thought of you a great deal since our visit to Harad all those years ago.” He took her darker, tattooed hands in his. “It is unbelievable, but you never really left my thoughts.”

“I am flattered, Prince Amrothos,” Mareke replied, squeezing his hands gently. “I have long cherished our friendship as well.”

“You do not seem excited at the prospect,” Amrothos said, deflating.

“It is not that,” Mareke said quickly. “It is just that I fear I may have become set in my ways after so long alone.”

Amrothos’ face fell. 

“I did not say no, Amrothos,” Mareke said gently. “There is just much to consider.”

The Prince nodded. He brought one of her hands up and kissed the back of it. “Then I shall say goodnight for now.”

ooooOoooo

Long after the sun had set and any socializing had died down, Adnan was making his way back to his chambers.

“Halt, King Adnan,” one of his guards said to him. “There is someone at your door.”

Adnan may have had one too many goblets of wine, but he knew that that was unusual.

“Who lingers there?” he demanded, unable to see in the wavering light of wall sconces and torches.

“Oh,” came the gruff voice of Eomer-King. “It is only me.”

“You may leave us at a distance,” Adnan said to his guards. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going on a late night walk,” Eomer said, though he had clearly been lingering near the door to Adnan and Mareke’s chambers, after a few too many goblets of wine in his own chambers.

Unbidden, a memory flashed through Adnan’s mind of another instance, finding Eomer in their chambers, sneaking away.

“You were really there that morning,” he said. “She told me I was dreaming.”

“Adnan-” Eomer began, but he was cut off.

“What does this mean?” Adnan asked.

Mareke would want Eomer to lie to her son, he knew that, but he was not sure he could. He had been lying to everyone around him for a decade and it was wearing thin. “You are her son,” Eomer said instead of the blatant lie. “I can only tell you that I love your mother. I have loved her ever since we were in Harad.”

Adnan closed his eyes. “And how does she feel?”

“I believe the same way, but I do not know anymore.”

“You should not be here,” Adnan said firmly, looking back at Eomer. “You have a wife. A wife who is expecting your child.”

“And you are very nearly betrothed as I understand it, but I imagine that is not Princess Haleth’s perfume I smell on you,” Eomer said defensively. 

Adnan turned away in shame.

Eomer softened. “There are sacrifices a man in our position must make.”

“And you had to sacrifice my mother?”

Eomer gave a rueful laugh. “I would have sacrificed everything for your mother; my title, my Realm, my wealth and power. Anything she would have asked for, I would have gladly laid at her feet. No, Adnan, it was not I who made that decision.”

Eomer left the younger man standing as he walked back to his rooms.

Adnan entered his chambers and stared at the door to his mother’s bedroom, mind reeling.

ooooOoooo

A couple of mornings later as Mareke and Oyna were sitting down to a light, private breakfast there was a knock at the door. Oyna went to tend to it, but was shortly guiding in a fair, Rohirric handmaid.

“She said she had to personally deliver an invitation to you,” Oyna said, standing at the edge of the table with the woman.

“Queen Lothiriel requests your presence this afternoon for a light repast and conversation,” the woman said after a quick curtsy.

“Is there an occasion I am unaware of?” Mareke asked warily.

The woman shook her head. “I believe she would like to thank you for tending to the Crown Prince.” She looked at Mareke. “I am to wait for a response.”

“I will be there. Thank you,” Mareke replied.

As Oyna closed the door behind the handmaid, Mareke put her face in her hands. What she had been dreading for the entire visit had finally come to pass.

“What am I going to say to her?” Mareke asked her companion.

“Surely she will just thank you and make idle chatter,” Oyna responded.

Mareke was not sure, but she did not voice her worry. Instead, she went for a walk in the gardens and shared lunch with Adnan to pass the time before she was due to visit the Queen of Rohan.

“Is something the matter?” she asked Adnan, who had hardly touched his food and kept staring at her. “You are not yourself.”

Adnan quickly shook his head. “I am fine. Distracted with meetings is all.”

ooooOoooo

Mareke’s heart was back to pounding as a guard stepped inside the Rohirric royal chambers to announce that the Princess of Harad had appeared for her meeting with Queen Lothiriel.

She hovered nervously by the table that had been set with a selection of light afternoon food and tea.

“Princess Mareke,” Lothiriel entered from a room off to the side, smiling graciously.

Mareke curtsied, but the Queen waved her formality away.

The woman was tall like her brothers, long dark hair hanging around her shoulders, sharp facial features making her more handsome than anything. The green gown she wore was beautifully embroidered with gold threading at the sleeves and hemline. “I am glad you could make it.” She gestured elegantly at the table. “Please sit.”

Mareke followed her lead, watching as the other woman cradled her very swollen stomach.

“Congratulations,” Mareke said, glad to hear that her voice sounded stronger than she felt faced with Eomer’s wife of nearly a decade.

“Oh thank you.” Lothiriel smiled softly, moving to pour the tea. “My middle child cannot stop speaking of you so I owe you my thanks.”

Mareke smiled to think of Elfwine. “He is delightful and very brave,” she responded. “It has been a pleasure to get to know him while here.”

“He is something,” Lothiriel agreed with a light laugh, falling silent.

Mareke had barely sat down and already they had run through the one conversation topic that she hoped would keep her safe.

“Adlanna, do not be rude,” Lothiriel said. “Remove yourself to the nursery.”

Mareke followed her gaze to a door off to the side. A pair of soft brown eyes were staring at her intently, before the door was closed and the child disappeared

“It is fine. I am a curiosity,” 

“She knows better,” Lothiriel said, pausing once more. “I owe you my thanks for something else as well,” Lothiriel said after a long moment.

“I am not sure what you speak of,” Mareke replied, looking down at the cup in its saucer.

“I think you are,” Lothiriel said quietly. “You let him go.”

Mareke bit the inside of her cheek. “He was not mine to keep.”

“Be that as it may, he has always been yours. He never quit loving you,” Lothiriel said bluntly. “I fear he never will.”

“Your Majesty,” Mareke began.

Lothiriel gave a watery laugh. “You do not have to be so formal with me.”

“I did not intend to keep a hold on Eomer,” Mareke said. “I severed all ties when he left Harad. I never thought to see him again. Quite honestly, I would not be here if Adnan had not insisted.”

“You never responded to his letters. I know you did not intend for what has passed between my husband and I.”

When Eomer had left Harad, Mareke had known that she had unintentionally ruined him for his betrothed. She hated to sit there and hear that it had lasted much longer than she had thought it would.

“I did not even read them,” Mareke replied, looking away. She had wanted to so badly. She had missed him and the portion of her heart that he had carried back to Edoras. Instead, she had had Oyna toss them into the fire. 

Lothiriel’s lips puckered and her jaw clenched, trying to keep herself from crying as she nodded shortly.

“I have tried to be everything for him,” she whispered. “I acclimated to Rohan quickly and without complaint, we had Adlanna soon after our marriage, and then Elfwine followed, providing his father with an heir. I have done what I can for Rohan and it is still not enough.” Lothiriel looked away and wiped at her eyes. “I do not know why I am telling you all this. It is none of your concern and certainly not your fault. We cannot help what our hearts desire.”

Mareke knew then that Lothiriel had grown to love Eomer, despite his heart belonging to another.

“My brothers warned me. Or Erchirion did. I am not sure Amrothos knew what bond you shared. It might have broken him too.”

It was Mareke’s turn to look away, still deliberating as she was about the youngest son of Imrahil. 

“I knew what you shared in Harad and I was still surprised when he cried out your name on our wedding night.”

A tear slipped down Mareke’s own cheek as she watched Lothiriel battle with her emotions.

“He still says your name in his sleep,” she said when she had gathered herself. “And the other night,” Lothiriel took a deep breath. “The other night he did not return to our bedchambers until the sun had nearly risen.”

Mareke immediately shook her head. “He was not with me,” she said quickly. “We have spent no time alone here.” Mareke looked at the Rohirric Queen earnestly. “I hope you trust me in that regard.”

Lothiriel studied the other woman for a long moment. “I believe you. If you had wanted, he would have been yours. He still could be.”

Mareke had nothing to say in the face of the naked truth. 

“And here I sit, wanting just the tiniest portion of his love and he cannot give it. What am I lacking?” Lothiriel asked miserably.

“Nothing,” Mareke whispered. “You lack nothing.”

ooooOoooo

After his encounter with Eomer, Adnan had left their appointment for a ride standing and so he made his way to the stables, unable to think of the sadness his mother must have endured over the last decade.

The two men did not speak until they had ridden out of the gates of Minas Tirith and onto Pelennor Field.

“I do not wish to speak of treaties and allegiances right now,” Adnan said, not looking at Eomer. “Tell me of your time in Harad.”

Eomer was silent for a moment, wondering where to possibly begin.

“It began here, actually, in Minas Tirith.”

“You saved her,” Adnan replied. “I know that.”

“It sounds trite, but she saved me.” Eomer stared at the horizon. “Perhaps you might understand now how I was feeling in those few days. I had lost my uncle, leaving me to be King of Rohan. In all my life, I had never expected such a title, such a responsibility.”

Adnan nodded, though he had known what was coming for him. It had still been a shock when his jidd had passed.

“Rohan was in practical ruins. I had lost two of my very few remaining family members. Eowyn was ill and then she was intending to leave Rohan to marry Faramir. I was not in a good place at all.”

Eomer, once more, went silent. 

“Your mother tended carefully to my soul,” he said quietly. “She somehow managed to set her fear aside and tend to me. Before I arrived in Harad, I had no idea that you existed. She did not speak of her family. She told me that she was a mere Healer from the southern reaches of your Realm. The surprise was great when I learned who you were.” Eomer glanced at Adnan then, but the young man could not look back. “All that to say, I only later understood how frightened she must have been; how worried that she would never see you or her father again. Despite all of that, she cared for me and ensured that I was at my best as I faced my first ever diplomatic talks and social engagements that a King must attend.”

Adnan’s heart was sinking as he realized that his mother had spent her entire life tending to the men around her. He already knew how her and Eomer’s story ended. It ended that way because of him.

“In Harad, we grew closer,” Eomer said simply. “I watched her organize the social events, help your grandfather with treaties and negotiations behind the scenes, tend to you,” he trailed off. “I asked her to marry me. I wanted her at my side to rule Rohan, to raise my children, to be my companion.”

Adnan felt tears welling in his eyes, understanding the sacrifice his mother had made so that he would not be left without a parent in Harad.

“She stayed because of you, but I am sure you have gathered that. I have never been so angry,” Eomer shook his head.

Another memory came, Eomer shouting at him in the corridor.

“You must have hated me.”

“I did. A part of me probably still does, though the sting has worn away. Now I live with a constant dull ache.” Eomer shook his head. “Your mother told me I would understand when I had a family of my own.”

“And do you?”

“I think it is different for men,” Eomer said. “I love my family, but I would have come back to your mother the second she called.”

ooooOoooo

After the ride was over, and treaties and alliances had been discussed briefly, Adnan went into his rooms, hunting desperately for his mother. 

Mareke hurried out of her bedchamber when she heard him calling for her.

“My love!” she exclaimed, worried at the sight of him. “What is the matter?”

Adnan nearly toppled them both over when he hugged her to him tightly. “I am sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?” she asked, pulling away from him so she could see his face. Realization dawned immediately when she thought of where he had been and with whom. “No. Do not apologize. I have never regretted that particular decision.” She reached up and brushed his curls away from his face. “You were my soulmate. You always will be, habibi.”

ooooOoooo

Adnan had been told that his mother was exhausted, too tired to rise from her bed and join them after the delegations had left Harad.

“She must be hungry,” he said to Oyna, making a bowl of porridge and berries for his mother when he was through it with his own breakfast and preparing to go to his lessons. It had been days and she had joined them for no meals.

“I am not sure she is, Little Prince,” Oyna said gently, watching him.

“Well I shall ask,” he said, deliberation on his face and in his movements. “Please bring the tea.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” Oyna replied, following him toward Mareke’s bedchamber.

The room was dark when the door was opened and it smelled of unwashed bedding and sweat.

Oyna set the tea down on the nightstand and then went to crack open the shutters to let in some light.

“Mother?” Adnan asked tentatively.

Mareke did not answer.

Adnan tried again, sitting gently on the edge of the bed, clutching the bowl of porridge. “I brought breakfast,” he said, when Mareke finally stirred. 

“That was kind of you,” Mareke said, hoarsely, voice unused for several days. “I am not sure I am very hungry.”

“You always make me try to eat something.”

“That is true,” Mareke said with a smile, sitting up and looking at her son.

Oyna slipped from the room to leave the pair alone.

“I know you are tired. When you are through you can go back to sleep,” Adnan said, taking on the role of parent.

Mareke nodded, eyes welling as Adnan scooped porridge onto the spoon and then reached to feed his mother.

She watched him, taking in every single one of his features that she had already memorized. His baby fat was beginning to melt away, revealing how much he looked like his uncle. 

When Mareke had eaten half the bowl, Adnan stood at the side of the bed. “I hope you feel better soon, Mother.”

“I am sure I will.” Mareke gave him a sad smile. “I love you.” 

The End