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A drabble, exactly one hundred words.

Fruits

Éomer watched her move across the room, her flowing white gown contrasting sharply with her dark hair. He smiled slightly as she executed a graceful curtsey for Aragorn; he frowned when a young man instantly approached her and claimed a dance. Oh, but she was beautiful, he thought, a touch wistfully.

"What keeps you so occupied, my lord?" Lothíriel seated herself beside him, also watching the willowy woman.

Éomer kissed his Queen's hand.

"Through all the years, we have labored. Now we see the fruits."

Lothíriel smiled in answer, and they continued to watch their daughter with tenderness and pride.