Eomer : Ancient LOTR Fanfic

(Borrowed w/kind permission from the Eomer SG who wrote it. We share a similar obsession. Kisses!)

Algol’s Response to Challenge #1: Fur Bed-A-Thon

Title: Reflections of Me in Your Eyes
Author: Algol
Pairing: Eomer/OC
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: This fic was written just for fun. No money made, no harm intended. Tolkien is, and will remain, the master creator of ME…I’m the enthusiastic fanfiction writer borrowing his characters and loving his imagination to distraction…


Reflections of Me in Your Eyes
Meduseld at Edoras echoed with the revelry of a victorious Rohirrim. The feast, hastily prepared from the meager stores remaining after the retreat to Helms Deep, still provided all with welcome. The hour grew late but many women were left amongst the men, unwilling to relinquish their company – grateful for the survival of a husband or lover. Eomer’s sister, the beauteous Eowyn, remained, her movements gentle and elegant as she crossed the crowded expanse. Her flaxen hair was unbound as befitted an unwed woman of Rohan.

Eomer, Théoden’s nephew and the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, stood amongst the laughing crowd watching, but not celebrating. Much he had seen in the past month and most of it painful. He was grateful for Stormcrow’s rescue of his enthralled uncle and the victory at Helms Deep, but was appalled at the loss of life and cost to Rohan in good men – fathers, sons, warriors, all.

His sister moved closer to Lord Aragorn, a Ranger from the North who had stood steadfast by Théoden’s side and led his people with valor and bravery. He watched as she shared a loving cup with the tall, dark man and noted her eyes were filled with light. She never looked lovelier than she did this moment and Eomer held hope that it would last her lifetime.

Following a year of tending the King of Rohan, as he withered beneath a dark spell, Eowyn deserved the pleasure she found in the company of Aragorn. Eomer held little hope of finding love during the coming days. Better that his sister knew the joy than not at all.

As he thought to quit the Hall, one of his men, Rogarth the Bold, as he was called by the maidens, thrust a fresh tankard into Eomer’s hands, deftly removing the old, and whispered loudly, “Smile, Marshal, unlike those what watch but do not feast.” The large, red-bearded Rohirrim nodded in the direction of one young woman, standing alone near the perimeter of the gathering, sipping from a goblet, watching quietly. Her face was a picture of lonely beauty. She was smaller than most of Rohan’s women, dark-haired, and for a moment, Eomer struggled to recall her name. A year away from Meduseld had dimmed his memory. She had appeared as a child the last time he saw her. She had grown into a beautiful young woman.

“Ilyanna. Fengal’s sister,’ he remembered. They were both dark-maned and fair-skinned as were their ancestors. He seemed to recall her mother was a Lady’s Maid to his own in the Aldburg. Ironic the twists of fate time brings, he pondered. Had her family returned to Dol Amroth or to Gondor upon his mother’s death, she would be living the life of a noblewoman now, instead of standing in Rohan’s feasting hall, living the life of a healer and teacher, working for her existence.

He looked about for Fengal and realized he did not see his dark hair or his flashing smile amongst the gathered. He knew then the reason for her quiet sadness. Her brother had died.
Drinking deeply of his tankard and wondering what to say to bring her even a measure of peace, he walked towards her, stopping by her side.

She looked up, startled by his closeness, and then bowed her head in deference for his rank. “My Lord Eomer, it is…good to see you among the victorious.”

It was then he saw her eyes, grey, eyes the color of a stormy sky, framed in silky, black lashes. Gods, she was lovely. Good that he had not seen her before this. Leaving Edoras by banishment would have been much more difficult had he the company of a woman such as her. Then a sickening thought occurred to him. Had she been a victim of Wormtongue? Had she no brother to protect her, either, when most loyal to Theoden had been sent away?

“My lady,” he said simply, struggling for words to ask the questions plaguing his thoughts. “Your brother is not among the company here.”

She swallowed hard and he watched her expressive eyes fill with tears, “No, Mi’lord. He fell. He is counted amongst the ‘victorious dead’. I find myself alone and have no way to express my grief. Your people celebrate bravery and death in battle. I have no such custom to cling to.”

He reached out and touched her upper arm to comfort her, and knew touching her was not the wisest thing he could have done. In a moment when he should’ve been strong and said words of encouragement for her to accept Fengal’s falling, he instead wanted nothing more than to touch her. To hold her. He closed his eyes momentarily and prayed this was the ale.

No woman would cry his passing, save his sister. Looking down at the lovely form of Ilyanna, he felt a soul-deep pain of knowing he could die on the morrow and never know another lover, or a woman’s love. Oh, in the past, women had desired him, true, but in the past year, this beauty was the first he’d touched, even in passing. His patrols and banishment left little time for either casual or lasting affection.

Against his better judgment, he wondered if he could be her comfort. Perhaps he was taking advantage of an innocent. He prayed not. He did know some things for certain; she was lovely and he was lonely and they both needed someone.

“Ilyanna, would you walk with me, away from the feasting? For fresh air? For companionship? Have you a cloak?”

Ilyanna looked at him pointedly for a moment. The faintest flicker of gratitude altered her features. Eomer barely heard her whisper, “I would enjoy that, Mi’lord.” He understood the nod of her head and the soft hand she placed on his offered. “I have no cloak, but I will be fine.”


He sat down his tankard and took the stoneware goblet from her, placing it on the closest heavy oak table. He did not know what fate brought them together, but he was not going to question his luck. He pushed any guilt to the back of his mind, glad for feeling alive in a place that didn’t involve battle.

Eomer placed his hand over that of Ilyanna’s on his arm, gently caressing her fingers for a brief moment. Unaware of the curious and amused smiles of his men, he watched his lady’s face for hesitation. He found none. They moved towards the main paired-carved doors, their gazes locked upon one another. He wondered of her thoughts, but her eyes, still bright with unshed tears, told him little beyond her gratefulness for his company.

Passing King Theoden and Eowyn, Eomer nodded politely, ignoring their raised eyebrows and his sister’s amused little grin. He did not remove his hand from atop Lady Ilyanna’s much smaller one resting on his forearm. ‘If I do not speak, perhaps they will let us pass in peace,’ he thought. Looking at Ilyanna, he felt his heart beat a bit faster. ‘A woman worth keeping’ was the next thought that came to mind. Simultaneously, she looked up at him, startling him with her oddly otherworldly look. ‘Do not think of tomorrow, Eomer,’ he told himself, ‘this time is for now.’

Moving through the large, outer sanctum doors, the night was chill.

The Rohirrim in the hall between the couple and the doors all bowed their heads in acknowledgment of their Marshal as the pair passed.

It was far from a romantic setting, but the two walked on, seeking a quiet space. The wide flagstone surround on the great hall offered little shelter from the breezy chill night. Eomer cared not and wondered only for the comfort of his companion. They moved to the rear of the main hall into the shadow cast by the thinly veiled moon and stars, away from most prying eyes. The guards on duty would be hard-pressed to see their presence in the deep shadows of Meduseld.

He wondered if her thoughts were similar or were of her fallen friends. By the Elders, he was tired, yet being this close to Ilyanna made him wish to stay awake for hours. ‘What have I to fear?’ he asked himself inside. ‘The loss of your heart’ came the unwanted reply of his mind. Eomer closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them to look down at the small woman at his side. She moved closer, if by design, he knew not. Her thoughts and gaze appeared distant as she looked across the plains.

He caught the faintest hint of fresh, clean scent from her hair as the wind gusted. He knew he had been too long in the company of soldiery and wondered if he had the verbal skill not to shame himself. Driven by the desire to know of what awaited them both, he faced her and touched her shoulder.

“My lady,” he began.

“Yes, Lord Eomer?” Her voice was lyrical, unlike the harsher tones of Rohan. Rohirric was not her first language.

He began simply. “I am sorry for the loss of your brother. He was a brave man and will be sorely missed. Is there naught my house can do for you?”

“Do not trouble yourself. I have heard the men and women speaking since our return from Helms Deep. You will ride to war, either here or in Gondor. It is said that Sauron and Saruman intend to see our doom. I wonder at why, but am overcome with sadness that my brother had to fall. There is little that can be done now.” She reached up and caught the heaviness of her curls and brought her hair to rest over one shoulder, twisted in a soft swirl to trap the errant strands.

It was then he saw that it must reach past her hips when damp. Forcing his thoughts away from such intimate musings, Eomer heard the slight note of defensiveness in Ilyanna’s reply. He wanted to reassure her…but of what? he asked himself. He attempted to organize his thoughts, to no avail, so he chose to begin again.

“My lady, I am a Marshal of the Riddermark and have ventured little beyond Rohan’s borders. I understand war and strategy, but I do not understand how to comfort you in such a time. There is pride in your brother’s passing. He will rest amongst the honored dead and feast with your forefathers. Theodred’s passing was devastating for our king, but we move on and continue to live.”

Reaching upwards, her soft fingers touched his bearded face. The gesture’s familiarity surprised Eomer. His eyes searched hers for understanding. “I am sorry for your loss, as well, Lord Eomer.”

“No…” he whispered roughly. “Do not apologize.”

A chill wind gusted and without thinking, Eomer, not wearing a cloak, gathered Ilyanna to him, blocking the cold with his body. This backed her against the hewn wall, bringing her form in close, sudden contact with his. He felt more than heard her gasp.

He looked down into her face, feeling her so fragile in his arms and watched her catch her bottom lip, softly biting and then closing her eyes as if savoring his embrace. He felt a wave of possessiveness and need that took away speech. She was so warm and yielding and the answer to the lonely ache of his body and mind. Instinct for survival, the need to mate, cravings for companionship, visceral human wants…grasped them both with an intensity neither could explain nor fight.

‘Enough,’ his mind and body commanded. ‘There is only the certainty of here and now.’ Eomer knew that some act of fate or magic had placed her here…now… for him.

He kissed her.

She did not pull away. Instead, to his amazement, her lips were yielding beneath his. Inexperienced. Oddly, the thought pleased him and he deepened the kiss. Ilyanna’s hands moved upwards, but she was so petite compared to his tall form, she instead embraced his body around his waist, pressing her open fingers into his back.

“Ilyanna,” he began once more.

“My lord,” she stumbled over his words.

Determined that she should know how he felt, how he was aching for her, he continued.

“I do not wish to dishonor you, and had we more time…” He shivered as a colder gust blew hard against his back. “Enough of this,” he said roughly, and turned, taking her hand, he drew them hurriedly towards the rear doors of the servant’s entrance, leading back into Meduseld. Ilyanna said not a word, but kept stride with his quickened pace. Encouraged, he turned his head and raised his voice to be heard above the wind and merrymaking down the hallway. “Nay-say me now before we go beyond the doors, for I intend to take you to my chambers and continue what we have begun.”

She replied to his words with a tremulous smile. He found his lips quirking in return and his heart felt lighter than it had in greater than a year.

Tonight, this night, the single night granted the two of them; he would strive to love this beautiful young woman, so as to be remembered when he left for the battles that lay ahead. He would show her how a man could cherish a woman, yet teach her passion and neither would have to know loneliness again.

A sudden vision of her standing atop the stairs to the Great Hall, anticipating, watching for his return, heavy with his child – their child – struck him and he reached down and scooped her slight form into his arms possessively, carrying her.

Ilyanna gave no protest. To Eomer’s delight, she curled her arms around his neck and buried her face near his shoulder. Her breath was warm on his ear and he tightened his embrace.

Eomer wondered if this was a dream. He was tired and bruised, yet felt renewed by her touch. Grateful for the blessing of this gift at such an hour, he hurried through the doors as the guards rushed to open them from the inside when they saw who was there.

As they entered, he whispered again, “Last chance, my lady. Say ‘no’ or, by break of day, you will be mine.”

“My lord Eomer, I fear I was lost at first glance,” was her intriguing reply.

He bounded up three stairs and then down a side hall, avoiding one still alive with revelers. Down this passageway, the lights were far dimmer than the Great Hall. No braziers warmed the expanses as he moved deeper into the keep, to his sleeping chambers.

He had bathed there earlier and knew them to be lit with oil lamps and one brazier, but the night was chill. A fleeting thought of how different this must be from Ilyanna’s Dol Amroth home worried at the edge of his mind. Would she be offended by his eagerness? Would she be content to share his fur-strewn bedding, his rough hewn furnishings? He was pleased to remember that the sheets beneath the furs were of soft linen, a gift from Eowyn for his comfort. Eowyn ever fretted over the simplicity of his belongings. Eomer had never felt the need for more than basic accommodations before this night. He silently thanked Eowyn in his thoughts.

Placing Ilyanna on her feet before the thick portal, Eomer frowned at the unsteadiness of his hand lifting the latch. He paused to look down at her face in the scant light spilling into the passageway from the opening, and saw that she bore a gaze of expectation at the unknown. She glanced at the open door and then up to Eomer.

“We’re strangers,” he stated simply.

She smiled slightly. “Will we be on the morrow?”

He felt his body clench in anticipation. “That I had the luxury of time, my lady; I would court you proper…” Her delicate fingers silenced him with their touch on his lips.

“Court me in this moment, Eomer, son of Eomund, and I will return your suit. The strands of our lives are now interwoven by our meeting.”

“Are you certain?” He began to question her resolve and this time she answered him by burying her hands in his hair and pulling his lips down to hers. He moaned, as did she, from the magical nature of the touch.

Footsteps sounded down in the darkness of the hallway and Eomer reacted by lifting her and spinning into the room with a steady half-turn, never taking his lips from hers, deepening the kiss as he kicked the door closed. Both were breathing heavily when at last he broke the kiss. Placing her feet on the floor, he held her beautiful face in his hands, her curls spilling through his fingertips.

She smiled, slowly opening her eyes.

He responded with the slightest upturning of his lips. “How can this be?” His voice was harsh even to his ears.

She tilted her head to the side, regarding the question and him with an inexplicable look, before answering, “This night…you and I…I cannot say. We simply…are.”


“If I turn away, will you be here when I look back?” His warmer hands still held her cool face.

“This is real. I am here and so will remain.” Her hand trailed down his chest, pausing to feel the strength of his pounding pulse.

Reluctantly, he removed his hands from the intoxicating silk of her skin. “Let me light the other braziers. You’re shivering from the chill.”

Eomer retrieved a thick velvet lined fur from the bed, a mid-winter’s gift from his mother, years past, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Lifting the hair away from the nape of her pale, slender neck, he could not resist leaning down and whispering, “Mine,” in a possessive oath before grazing her earlobe with his teeth. Eomer found her ears fascinating, each bearing the slightest point. He trailed the tip of his tongue up to that point and was satisfied with her shuddering response and the tiny sound that caught in her throat. “Mine,” he whispered once more before reaching about her and tightening the blanket, bundling her. It brushed the stone floor, so differing were their statures.

Forcing himself to move away to light the other braziers, he glanced back at her. He never minded the chill in the rooms and so never required a single, larger brazier as were in many of the chambers.

Lighting two thick candles resting atop inset carved stone sconces; he turned again to look at Ilyanna from across the length of the room.

She stood still, eyes wide, watching the efficiency of his movements. She held the look of a young, wild animal; cautious…wary, yet curious and anticipating. Again, he silently thanked his ancestors for the reward of this night.

Eomer reached up reached up and over his shoulders, pulling his thick tunic over and off, tossing back his head to move the hair from his face.

‘Best she grows used to the sight of me,’ he thought. He saw her look him up and down, taking in his appearance. Women had oft said he was pleasing enough to the eye, but the thought that he so differed from the elegant, tall dark-haired men of her kind worried at his mind. He wondered if she would find his size and musculature attractive or repulsive.
He near laughed aloud in joy as he watched her bite her lower lip again during the frank appraisal of her stare. Eomer fleetingly considered her possible experience. Her kisses were unschooled, but passionate.

Perhaps she could set aside the customs of her upbringing and enjoy lovemaking without promise of bonds between them. Rohan was a place of early death and the stigmas of other cultures and laws rarely applied. If a man wanted a woman, he took her if she were willing. If there was a child, a marriage could be formed. Betrothals meant beddings on the same night. The people of Rohan lived, drank, loved and died with intensity. Such was Eomer’s way.

There was no hiding the size or intensity of his arousal in the woolen trews he wore. Ilyanna’s gaze continued downward as he stood still, brushing his hand through his hair, surreptitiously watching her watching him.

Her suddenly wide eyes and flushed cheeks told him much.

Ilyanna tore her gaze away from his lower body, only to catch the fiery look he gave her in return.

Eomer could sense her now observing him as he moved with a warrior’s grace, turning down the thick furs to reveal the smooth linens beneath.

At last, he turned to her and held out his hand. “Come to me,” he said quietly.

Ilyanna hesitated and then stepped closer, blanket still molded tightly around her in her grasp.

“Lord Eomer,” she began, but he interrupted.

“Eomer. Tonight and from this night forward, I am Eomer, no ‘lord’, no titles…just Eomer.”

“Eomer,” Ilyanna began again. She swallowed hard as he grasped the blanket edges and pulled her closer to him and the bed. “I have yet to lie with a man. I bring you little more than a wish to be with you. I’ve no experience to please or entice you. For that, I am sorry.” Her nervous rush of words dropped to a whisper at the last.

Eomer took a steadying breath. Had she no idea how her words aroused him, both to protect her and to claim her?

“Never apologize for bringing me all I could desire and more.” Eomer tugged the blanket free from her hands and dropped it to the stone floor. He unlaced her tunic ties and easing his hands beneath the hem at her waist; he took the material – light as silk– and pulled it over her head, sliding it from beneath the thick mass of black curls tumbling down her back. The tunic rapidly joined the blanket.

Eomer froze. Her breasts were bound in soft material, tight to her chest. ‘Possibly for riding?’ he wondered. ‘Fighting?’ Reaching in the valley between, he deftly untied the knot in the fabric.

The rounded heaviness of her breasts suddenly filled his hands to overflowing. Ilyanna’s gasp at his touch matched his moan of pleasure. The tight pebbles of her nipples strained against his large palms. Her skin was covered in goose flesh – excitement? Cold? Fear?

Eomer did not hide his surprise or pleasure at finding her so endowed. With a touch of awe, he whispered, “So lovely…why do you bind yourself?”

She seemed to have difficulty speaking. This was pleasing to Eomer, and he gently rubbed the callused pads of his thumbs over the tightness of her nipples. “Ease…and comfort, my lord,” was her stilted reply.

“Eomer,” he interjected.

“…Eomer. To ride, to use sword or bow.” She gave another small gasp – “To prevent stares.”

It took him a moment to realize she was teasing him.

Tearing his gaze away from her lovely form, he looked into her grey-green eyes. Her pupils were dilated and she was having trouble taking a deep breath. His touch satisfied her. This thought banished any remaining guilt he felt for seducing what might be an innocent.

“You taunt me at your peril,” Eomer said, in his own teasing reply. Leaning down, he wrapped his muscular arms around her, pulling her close, then softly nipping her full lips, pressing her against his arousal and savoring the feel of her lithe form against his chest. Another kiss began, slowly then growing to a passionate, tumultuous moment.

Ilyanna broke her lips away with a gasp. “Help me,” she whispered. “Help me to know you…to please you.”

Tilting back his head and chuckling, he said, “There’s much to consider and I fear I cannot bring any one thing to mind for there are too many to name. Let me show you instead.” Eomer lifted her and laid her amongst the furs and bent to pull off her boots and trews. He leaned over her; his hands braced on the bed and forced himself not to stare at her luscious form.

“We may only have a few hours, Ilyanna, but I will love you well. I truly would have you remember me when we part on the morrow.” Resisting the urge to devour her with all the urgency he was feeling, he nobly wrapped her in the linens and furs to keep her warm and then sat on the edge of the bedding to tug off his boots. He slid down his trews and eased his large form beneath the covers.

More kisses, gentle explorations and within a half-hour, Ilyanna was moving instinctively against his hand while he touched her. She responded such that Eomer knew he was the first. Fear and anxiety gave way to yearning and she grasped at his hair, his shoulders and retuned his kisses with growing passion.

He started at her lips and kissed, tasted and caressed a path to her toes and back to the juncture of her thighs. Throughout this, he would place his large, strong hand on her soft, flat belly to hold her to the bed when the sensations became too intense. Spending long moments on her luscious breasts, he sucked and teased the peaks to hardness. Pushing them together and running his tongue from nipple to nipple and then over the cleavage formed, he imagined what could be done with them and her full, enticing mouth. He was tormenting himself as much as she and he reveled in it.

Spreading her long white legs wide, he made a place for himself with the intent of playing, enjoying and learning her most intimate secrets.

Rewarded with frantic cries and her body’s sweet honey, he licked and lathed her folds with his tongue and moaned with his lips against her when he entered her with one of his large fingers. She was so tight, yet damp. When she arched into his hand, he focused the caress of his tongue on the tight bud buried in the soft, thin curls and moved his finger in and out in a blatant imitation of the act to come. As he tried to insert a second finger, she grabbed the linens, arched her back tautly and screamed out his name. He was grateful for the din of festivities in spite of the thick hewn walls.

His intent was to encourage her to touch and learn his body, as well, but when she mimicked his path across her flesh with her hands and lips across his, he knew he would not last but a moment. Burying his hands in the curtain of ebon hair spilling over his thighs, he tried to pull her to him before she did what she wanted. He failed and found his hard length buried inside her warm wet mouth as she began licking and suckling him. He watched, fascinated, as she tongued the first drops of salty seed from him and licked her lips in delight. She met his eyes once and blushed fiercely and refocused on his body as quickly as she could.

“…Stop…please…” he whispered raggedly. Then more forcefully, he said, “Stop woman! You will be my undoing.”

Ilyanna looked up from where she was curled between his large muscular thighs. Startled, hurt, her expression indicated she didn’t know what she had done incorrectly to provoke him so.

His serious expression of concentration turned soft and he smiled, breathing heavily. “You will make me spill myself into your mouth and I wish to be buried deep within your body when I do. You are too good at this, lovely one. We will enjoy this later. I promise.”
He drew her up to him and rolled her beneath him. He again spread her thighs wide and eased over her, trembling with the effort of restraint. Kneeling between her beautiful legs, holding himself above her for another kiss, he felt her hands reach down for him, her fingers gliding along his length and surrounding him, feeling his girth.

Ilyanna then drew her fingers to his thighs and skimmed along his hips to his waist. At this, he lowered himself to rub gently between her thighs, taming her to the idea of accepting his body. She broke her lips away from his, whispering his name as his motions brought her near to another release.

“Eomer,” she urgently called his name in a husky cry.

His answer was a moan and the tasting of her neck and shoulder.

“Eomer...,” she called out with more urgency.

“Don’t fight it. Release for me, on me. Soon I’ll bury myself inside you and we’ll be as one.”

Ilyanna opened her eyes wide and looked upwards into his intense, darkly passionate gaze. “It – will – not – work,” she gasped as he eased his hips forward and back, continuing the mutual torment.

He caught her bottom lip in a slow, biting caress and stilled his hips, pressing against her woman’s mound. She moaned hard in delicious frustration. Eomer’s heart pounded and he was having difficulty holding his need in check.

“Speak woman,” his deep voice commanded.

“We, you, will not be able to fit yourself inside me,” she whispered. “To big.” Ilyanna tried to continue to rub herself against him, even as she seemed to fear penetration.

Eomer rewarded her with a sensual low laugh, full of confidence.

“Woman, we will fit perfectly,” he said.

“No. Too. Large.” Ilyanna’s voice was a murmur as she moved her head from side to side slowly.

“Perfectly,” was his fierce reply, refusing to move, enjoying the feel of her straining to reach her climax.

“Ummm-um.” Ilyanna shook her head ‘no’.

“Watch.” He sat back on his heels, pulling away from her to rest between her thighs. ‘So vulnerable,’ he thought, and fought for continued control.

Kneeling closer, he wrapped his hand around his thickness and nudged between her moist folds. Her eyes watched him push gently forward inside her.

Eomer felt delight when Ilyanna tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and bit her bottom lip. Her nipples tightened with the sensation of being filled. Her thick midnight hair was spread across the pillows and he wondered if this was a dream, a very fine dream.

Breath hissed between his teeth as he struggled for gentleness. That was the look he wanted again from her, to see her enraptured with his touch. He regretted having to end it.

“Ilyanna.”

She slowly opened her eyes, hands gripping his forearms as she looked first at his face, tense in concentration and then again to the hard column of flesh about to be buried inside her.

“This will hurt at first and for that, I am sorry. But, before dawn, I will feel you cry my name when you reach your pleasure with me deep inside you.” Eomer knew his words were a vow to himself and to her.

“This is possible?” Ilyanna asked tremulously.

“Oh yes, my sweet lady…now.”

He curled his form over hers, easing her legs around his waist and began to push deeper into her tight body. Eomer felt unbelievable heat and his own body trembled. He reached her maidenhead and she softly cried out as he began to press further.

He covered her lips with his for a brief, soothing moment, and then raggedly whispered, “I can halt now and you will remain a virgin. There are other ways to make love without this.” Eomer’s words sounded pained to his ears, but his tattered, fading honor demanded he say the words.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, and then tightened her legs around his hips, urging him forward. “Show me what it is to love, Eomer, son of Eomund.” Her look suddenly grew serious and she gazed up at him. “Tonight may be all I have, all we ever have, and I would have you be my chosen first.”

Kissing her full, swollen lips, he denied neither her nor himself any longer, thrusting deeply, catching her sharp moan against his mouth.

With a king’s measure of determination, Eomer held to his promise to extract a cry of fulfillment from her while buried inside his lovely woman; a woman from whom he realized he did not wish to part on the morn. Time passed slowly while they made love. At last, he filled her, pouring himself, his soul, into her willing body, he called out, “Ilyanna…mine.”

In the moments following their mating, he kissed tears from her cheeks and said words he knew to be true, regardless of how difficult they would be to accomplish. “Never will I free you. You are mine. Say it…look into my eyes and tell me what I wish to hear,” Eomer urged, moving slowly within her, still hard with desire.

Ilyanna answered in a language he didn’t understand. Then in Rohirric, “I am yours.”

His breath caught in his throat at the use of his own language. He returned the vow, also in Rohirric, “And, I, love, am yours.”




The following week, Eomer and she remained lovers until he arranged her return to Dol Amroth, as was her wish, when he departed for Dunharrow. He later learned that she had died in childbed, his tiny daughter passing into the Afterlife with her. When she was told of his betrothal to Princess Lothiriel, she chose to keep the knowledge of her pregnancy from him, to not mar his future.

In the week before her passing, she had written him a letter, begging his forgiveness for keeping their child, her one connection to him. When Ilyanna’s cousin, a knight in Imrahil’s service, delivered the letter to Eomer in Gondor and read aloud to him, he held Eomer as he wept. Eomer explained the few nights the two had shared and how he cared for Ilyanna. Eomer had wanted her to remain in Edoras, but she had longed to go home. Her kinsman asked him to try and bring that devotion and caring to their Princess Lothiriel in their coming years as husband and wife.

Only Eomer knew that one of the reasons he so treasured his wife, Lothiriel, was her startling grey eyes and same willingness to love without measure that he had found in the arms of her distant cousin, Ilyanna.