#eomer fluff

You were busily folding the linen bed coverings you had spent the last few hours washing when Gandalf the White burst into the room. Of course you had heard that the wizard was around, but the laundry was the last place you would expect to find a man of importance.

You gasped and stepped back as the wizard surveyed you with his ancient eyes. “You are y/n, are you not?” He called, his voice stern and unforgiving.

“Yes,” you squeaked, dropping the sheet you had been folding on the table. 

“Good," he said, not in reply, but more to himself. “I am afraid you must come with me.” 

“Why? What use am I to you?” you sputtered, truly questioning if he had gotten someone else's name mixed up with yours. Then an even more concerning thought struck you, perhaps he was perfectly correct about the name and was indeed there for you.

Perhaps he was there to give ill news of your love’s whereabouts or his fate. You had been sick the past few days from worry since Éomer’s exile. You wrung your hands together at the thought.

“I have not the patience for headstrong soldiers. They roar into battle without a thought that you may be there to help them. I find the easiest way to tame them is to remind them of what is most dear, if possible.” Gandalf advised.

“You speak of Éomer?” You asked, astonished. The two of you had been so discreet that surely only a wizard could know. “He has been banished,” you warned.

“He has been pardoned by the king, if only we can find him," Gandalf corrected. “Come, we must go.” He swept out of the room just as he come in and you hurried to follow him. 

“Wait!” You called, chasing down the hall after the old man. “I can’t just abandon my post.” You reminded him, thinking of the punishment that could come from you leaving. You needed this job.

“Theoden will not miss a laundress.” Gandalf explained, not stopping as you continued to stay at his heels.

“Surely I am no help to you!” You argued, fighting to stay at his pace.

Gandalf flicked a hand outward, “Hear me and understand. You will not be missed. The people of Rohan are making for Helms Deep. Meduseld will be empty by morning. As for your usefulness, we will see in due time,” He explained over his shoulder as you made it out to the great hall and through the doors. 

“We ride for two days. You have a horse, yes?” He asked as he scurried down the steps. 

“Yes,” you answered, pride in your voice over the gift you had received only a few weeks ago.

Hama was yelling in the distance. You could see him riding through the village, telling people to pack what they could. They truly were clearing out Edoras. 

“We go to find the man who I assume gave her to you.” He said, flinging open the stable doors to find a man standing with Brego, who was formerly Theodred’s horse.

“How did you know about… about us?” You asked quietly, stopping in your tracks.

“The white wizard knows what he should… and what he should not.” The brunet man said, smirking at Gandalf who gave a weary smile back. He had evidently heard your attempt at being quiet. You realized that you recognized him as Lord Aragorn.

The two men otherwise ignored your question. “There is no way out of that ravine. Theoden is walking into a trap. He thinks he's leading them to safety. What they will get is a massacre. Theoden has a strong will, but I fear for him. I fear for the survival of Rohan,” Gandalf told Aragorn.

Your heart sank to your toes at his words. If the white wizard had no hope for your kingdom, then why should the rest of you?

A groom brought out your horse, Cyse, fully tacked. He also handed you a satchel and a thick, woolen cloak. The hard ride ahead made you thankful you had worn your thickest dress today as well. You peeked inside to see that the satchel had enough food to be rationed for a few days, as well as a water skin.

“He will need you before the end,” Gandalf informed Aragorn. “The people of Rohan will need you. The defenses have to hold.”

“They will hold,” Aragorn promised as you mounted Cyse.

“Indeed… The Grey Pilgrim. That's what they used to call me. Three hundred lives of Men I've walked this earth, and now I have no time. With luck, my search will not be in vain.” Gandalf mounted his horse as well. “Look to our coming at first light on the fifth day. At dawn, look to the east.”

“Go,” Aragorn said sagely with a nod.

-

Anticipation pooled in your stomach at the thought that you would be reaching the Eored soon. It had been two grueling days of few rests and only a couple hours of sleep each night. Gandalf insisted it was necessary.

Yet it was all worth it as Cyse and Shadowfax crested a hill. In the distance, you could see the start of an encampment. Green and grey tents dotted the prairie, and with a laugh of relief at finding them, you surged Cyse forward. 

It seemed that scouts had already alerted the Marshall of our arrival as three men rode out to meet you. Shadowfax and Gandalf led the way at a quick walking pace as you approached them. You could see Éomer leading the trio, his impressive height immediately making it obvious of his identity. 

“I understand that these people were your friends, but be prepared to be treated as an enemy. You ride with the white wizard.” Gandalf warned. 

“That is why you brought me,” you reminded him.

He nodded. “Indeed,” he said as the Rohirrim drew close enough to call out to.

Éomer urged Firefoot forward towards the wizard even as the grey stallion nervously whinnied and stomped his feet. “The white wizard is not welcome here,” Éomer exclaimed bitterly, not noticing you yet. His gaze was solely on Gandalf and his staff. Besides, you still had your hood up, obscuring much of your face.

“I come to bring you to your king. He has been freed at last, but requires aid at Helm’s deep. You must ride out to meet him,” Gandalf demanded.

Éomer evaluated the wizard with discerning eyes. “My uncle has been under your snare for many winters. I do not believe your lies," Éomer finally decided.

“Believe me, I am not Saruman, but Gandalf Greyhame reborn.” he insisted.

"I will not be so easily convinced," Éomer demanded.

“He speaks the truth,” you finally spoke up, lifting your hood and revealing your identity.

As dramatic as it was, you enjoyed seeing the looks flash across Éomer’s face. First there was shock, then joy, then fear. He drew his sword and pointed it at Gandalf.

“You use tricks against me.” He accused the old man, his voice suddenly sounding fragmented. 

“She is as real as you or I,” Gandalf assured him.

You approached him, and you could tell his instincts wanted him to point his sword at you, but he did not. “Firefoot will recognize an old friend,” you pointed out. It took very little encouragement for Cyse to walk up to Firefoot and bump noses with him. They huffed in each other's air and Firefoot let out a small whinny in elation.

Éomer’s eyes softened, “ælfscyne?” he asked quietly, looking at you as if he hadn't done so in years. He finally believed it was you.

“It's me,” you assured him. His face broke out into a grin and he immediately dismounted. You did the same, meeting in the middle as he embraced you tightly. It felt good to be held by him again.

“It is as he said, Theoden is freed. Sauroman is surely sending out armies as we speak. Rohan has fled to the Hornburg,” you summarized.

He brushed a hand down your hair to smooth it out where the hood of your cloak had made it wild. He nodded grimly, while simultaneously taking in your appearance after so many days apart.

Éomer took a moment to consider the logistics of what you were asking him to do before looking to the wizard, “And you believe we could intercept Sauruaman’s forces in time?” Éomer asked Gandalf who still sat astride Shadowfax.

“You are Rohan's only hope.” Gandalf said as a non-answer.

Éomer nodded once more, then said, “The Eored of the Third Marshall rides at dawn. We make for the Hornburg.” 

You couldn't help but relax and smile in relief. You knew he would come, but there was a small part of you who feared his distrusting nature would cause him to not believe the white wizard.

“Inform the others,” Éomer commanded over his shoulder and the two other riders turned to head back to camp.

“We have a long journey ahead. I will leave you,” Gandalf said, his eyes twinkling knowingly before he too galloped back to camp.

“It has been many days without you, ælfscyne.” Éomer smiled sadly.

“I missed you,” you responded.

“I missed you as well, I fear we will spend more days apart than together in the coming times. War rolls over Rohan in violent waves, I am needed at the front of it now,” He explained.

“We will make it through. Though, after that, you will be crown prince, and I will still be a laundress. I'm afraid our time apart will only grow.” you said, trying not to sound bitter.

Éomer looked briefly struck with grief, but nodded. “So he is truly dead then?”

“Oh my love, I am sorry. I should have informed you right away. Theodred has been buried among the Simbelmyne with your fathers,” you explained, knowing his grief was deep, but him acknowledging it would be short-lived, as was the way of war.

He turned his face away and you gripped his arm as he sucked in a breath and regathered himself.

Éomer frowned, “I may be crown prince, but you are no mere laundress. You will become my bride and the House of Eorl will welcome you. You will join the golden hall of my fathers as its queen.”

You smiled softly, “You speak poetry, Éomer, but that does not make it truth.” 

“I speak it into existence and so it will be truth. A year from now you will be my wife.” he promised convincingly.

“If we both survive the upcoming days, then I will marry you a thousand times over.” You grinned back tightly, fighting back the urge to cry at the thought of living without him. 

“My love, that promise alone will keep me breathing," he swore.

You could only pray that was true.

ælfscyne = roughly translates to elf like beauty in Old English (Rohanese).

Thanks for reading!

Túrion pulled sharply at the bit in his mouth, signaling to you his anxiousness for battle. You felt the same frenzied energy; it had been ricocheting through your bones ever since King Theoden had given you his begrudging permission to mount up and join the rest of the Rohirrim in guarding the citizens of Edoras as they made the dangerous march to the mountain keep at Helm’s Deep. Your nerves came partially from the knowledge that this was the only change you and your swordsisters had of proving your mettle to the rest of Rohan, and partially from knowing that, although you had the king’s blessing to fight, you distinctly did not have the blessing of his heir and your lover, Eomer. 

As another bloodthirsty cry erupted from the lines of mounted soldiers behind you, you gave Túrion his head, kicking him into a gallop as you thrust your blade high and forward, signaling the charge. 

“For Middle Earth!” The riders behind you echoed your call to arms as the company leapt to action. 

The sound of hundreds of hooves pounding into the frostbitten ground roared to life as your unit charged forward to meet the oncoming Warg-riders. Your mind slipped into a red haze of battle-fueled fury as your sword sliced through its first victim, then its next, and so on, until you and your sword were one and the same. 

* * * * *

The sun was high in the sky by the time you re-sheathed your sword. The muscles of your sword-arm shoulder screamed in relief as you let go of the weight of your blade. You swung down off Túrion’s saddle, examining your stallion’s wounds. Most were superficial cuts, but there was a deep gash cut into the meat of his left flank. Dark crimson blood stained his grey speckled coat, and he whinnied in protest as you gently prodded the rough edges of the wound. It would require cleaning and sewing, you decided, which meant you wouldn’t ride him for a few weeks while it healed. 

“My brave, brave boy,” you cooed at him tenderly as you moved to the front of his body, stroking his sweaty neck sweetly. You saw his eyes soften at the sound of your voice. You let your forehead fall forward to connect to his snout. He chuffed at you lovingly, rubbing his nose on you as if to reassure you he was alright. Túrion had been your horse for almost ten years, and he’d joined you in every battle you’d fought in so far. 

“It seems your horse fared better than you, my lady.” The voice behind you was reproachful but laced with relief. You smiled, ignoring the admonishment in Eomer’s words as you turned to face him. 

“Eomer,” you sighed dreamily, your voice misty with exhaustion as you let him envelop you with his arms. The layers of armor and chain mail and fighting leather between you left you unhappily separate from his reassuring warmth, but the knowledge that he – like you – had survived the Warg attack made you weak in the knees with joy. 

“You’re hurt, Y/n,” he mumbled gruffly against your hair as he placed a tender kiss on your forehead. 

You pulled back from him, puzzled. You hadn’t noticed any injuries during the battle, although it was very possible that adrenaline had dulled your awareness. 

“I am?” you replied in bewilderment. You lifted your arms gingerly, trying to feel for the injury more than look for it. There was an appalling amount of blood and sinew and entrails staining your armor; all of it from your enemies, you’d assumed, although Eomer seemed to disagree. 

“Your head,” he said by way of clarification. His expression was pained as he touched the side of your face up towards your right temple. Although his pressure was gentle, you noted a tenderness at his touch, and his fingertips were tacky with half-dried blood when he withdrew his hand. Your mind idly flicked through the memories of the battle, trying to identify when you’d been injured. You knew some of the Warg-riders dipped their blades in poison – usually the officers – and if the injury had come from one of them, you’d need to see an apothecary for the herbal antidote. You had a vague recollection of your helmet being knocked from your head by an errant arrow. As you tried to piece the memory together, you realized that the arrow must have sideswiped your skull, leaving a shallow albeit bloody gash there. 

“I’m fine, it was an arrow,” you sighed in relief as you gently ran your hand along the cut. It was narrow and straight – most certainly the work of an arrow rather than a blade. You saw Eomer’s shoulders visibly relax; his mind must have raced to the possibility of poison just as yours had. 

“Thank the Gods,” he breathed out, cupping your cheeks in both his hands as your foreheads connected. Your eyelids fluttered shut as you enjoyed the sound of his breathing syncing with yours. The sounds of the fading battle and dismounting riders around you faded into the back of your awareness as you let Eomer’s presence wash over you. 

When you finally drew back to meet his gaze, you saw the anger that he’d tamped down just long enough to ensure you’re safety flare to life in his honey-brown eyes. 

“What in the devil are you playing at, exactly?” he snarled accusatorily. You had to suppress a chuckle at his rage. He was the bravest man you knew, like one of the royal knights of old out of a children’s fairytale, but when it came down to you, his protective anger reminded you of an hissing, spitting kitten. You wanted nothing more than to pepper him with kisses and have him walk you to a nice, warm bath, although you knew that your doting affection would only enrage him further.

In an attempt to hide your smile, you turned back to Túrion, undoing his breast collar and easing the saddle off his back. 

“Whatever do you mean, my Lord?” Try as you might, you couldn’t quite extinguish the note of teasing in your sarcastic question. Eomer’s nostrils flared in response. He grabbed your upper arm, pulling you about to face him. His eyes were simmering, his handsome lips pursed so tightly they were white against his sun-tanned skin.

“You rode into battle knowing you didn’t have my blessing,” Eomer growled. He released your arm as a few of his men walked past, eyeing the two of you surreptitiously with sidelong glances. Your romance with Eomer was no longer a secret, although both of you tried to keep your personal affairs separate from your roles in Rohan’s military. 

“I had the King’s blessing,” you snapped back once his men were out of earshot. “Last I checked, the King’s blessing still outweighed yours, Lord of the Mark.” Using Túrion’s saddle as a buffer, you brushed past him, leading your horse by the bridle towards the line of soldiers pulling back from the corpse-riddled battlefield towards the shadowy mountains off the west, where the safety of Helm’s Deep thick stone walls awaited. You could practically feel the heat from Eomer’s gaze boring into the back of your head as you walked away. 

Let him burn himself out, you told yourself as part of your instincts yearned to turn back and make peace. You knew Eomer’s anger came from a place of protectiveness, and you loved him for his devotion. By the same token, you also wanted him to realize that a warrior’s blood pulsed through your veins. It wasn’t your fate to be a lady of Rohan’s court, waving embroidered handkerchiefs at him as he rode off into a glorious death in battle. Your fate was to ride out next to him and meet your enemies standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Like him, you would lay down your life to protect those you loved. You’d never dream of taking that away from him; and you expected him to give you the same latitude in return. 

Holding your chin high, you let your feet carry you away from him, eventually getting lost in the crowd. You’d be lying if you said your pride wasn’t a bit wounded that he didn’t chase you down, but he didn’t. Eomer was far too proud for that.

* * * * *

It wasn’t until nightfall that you reached Helm’s Deep. The adrenaline of battle had long worn off by then, and you were beginning to feel every bump and bruise covering your body. Based on the scattered reports you’d picked up on from the other unit commanders, you knew that the battle was far from over. Saruman’s main force was marching towards Helm’s Deep as you spoke. The Warg-riders had been little but a scouting force. You only hoped to have enough time to eat and, if the Gods were merciful, rest. 

Once you’d seen Túrion to the stables and tasked a stable hand with patching up his wound, you made your way towards the main hall of the keep. Theoden’s court had assembled there, and he’d ordered all of his unit commanders to adjourn there for a hot meal and battle strategy. Thankfully, your company had lost relatively few of its number, while others had sustained heavy losses. Despite the bone-deep fatigue that pulled at your eyelids, you forced yourself to stay keen to the king’s brief on his strategy for the coming conflict. Given that your company was still majority intact, you suspected that you’d be part of the castle’s main defensive force along the lower ramparts. 

It wasn’t purely exhaustion that threatened to pull your focus elsewhere; from across the dimly lit hall, you could see Eomer at his usual place to the king’s immediate left. His expression was somber, and you doubted that anyone noticed the slight groove between his eyebrows that betrayed his inner turmoil. But you knew his face the same way you knew the feel of breath in your lungs. You’d be able to feel his emotions in the dark. 

After the king dismissed the company leaders under strict instructions to rest as much as possible, you felt your feet automatically lead you up towards the head table where Theoden, Gamling, and Eomer sat together, their heads bowed as they continued to talk of strategy. Noticing your approach, Theoden smiled at you warmly and waved his nephew off.

Eomer protested his uncle’s dismissal, partially out of a sense of duty and partially to spite you, but Theoden would hear none of it. “Soldiers are never guaranteed another sunset, Eomer,” he chided his nephew sternly but not unkindly. “Don’t waste this one mulling over the details of tomorrow’s doom. Go. Be with your heart.” 

Theoden’s words touched you, and you bowed your head gratefully at him as Eomer rose with a sullen pout. As you turned to follow a very surly Eomer out of the hall, you swore you saw Theoden shoot you a conspiratorial wink. 

The walk to Eomer’s chambers was quiet, although not tense. There was an understanding between you two: despite your quarrel, both of you expected to spend the evening together. And although there were differences of opinion, you knew that you were secure in his affections, just as he knew the same of you. You and Eomer had been doing this dance for too long to let something so petty drive a wedge between you, especially on a night like tonight. You weren’t sure if it was your imagination, but at times you swore you felt the faintest tremor in the mountain that Helm’s Deep was cut into, a foreshadow of the unimaginable force marching your way. Theoden’s scouts had reported an army as large as ten thousand strong, pouring out of Isengard’s gates. The very notion of ten thousand was almost beyond your imaginings, and it pierced your heart with an unmuted terror. You knew Eomer felt it too - everyone did. 

Perhaps it was that shared terror that kept both of you silent as you entered Eomer’s chambers. He closed the door behind you softly, dismissing the guard who stood watch by the doorway. You’d only been to Helm’s Deep once before, but the chamber was exactly as you remembered. The court servants who had fled Edoras with the rest of the nobility had brought with them precious few luxuries, but among them were a pile of freshly laid towels, a bar of soap, and an array of candles spread throughout the room. You breathed a sigh of relief when you saw steam rising from the simple, porcelain tub in the corner of the room. A warm bath was exactly what you needed right now. Sweat and dried blood from the morning’s battle had dried on your skin and in your hair. You weren’t a particularly vain person - your lifestyle hadn’t afforded you such luxuries - but you were not above enjoying a thorough soak and a soft bed to lay your head on at night. 

Without sharing a word, you and Eomer began removing your armor. Unlike earlier, where his anger hung around him like a stormcloud, his mood now moved in the direction of contemplative. You felt his gaze on your face as you lifted the heavy chainmail tunic you wore under your leather armor over your head. With the weight of your armor removed, your limbs felt loose and light. As you swung your dirty braid over one shoulder and began undoing the plaits, Eomer finally broke the silence. 

“I never get tired of seeing you like this, you know.” HIs voice was softer than you expected, and it caused your breath to snag in your chest. You lifted your eyes to him as you shook out the roots of your hair. His face was streaked with dirt from the fight, and there was a dark blue bruise that you hadn’t noticed earlier blooming under one eye. But beneath the grime and his week-old stubble, you saw a soft smile gracing his lips and a gentle light in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Like what, my lord?” you replied teasingly as you unlaced the bottom layer of your armor - a heavy tunic made of quilted wool. The chill damp of the air felt delicious against your bare skin. You didn’t relish the idea of re-donning everything in just a few hours, especially given that you wouldn’t have time to wash the tunic or clean the plated armor, but for the moment it felt incredible to be rid of those putrid, heavy layers. 

“Undressed, in my chambers.” Eomer’s reply was somewhat muffled by the hem of his own tunic, which had snagged around his head while he was undressing. You laughed at the sight of the Lord of the Riddemark, future King of Rohan, half-naked with a dirty tunic wrapped around his neck. You stepped over to him and helped untie a few more laces at the neck of the tunic, easing his head through the opening and freeing him from the confines of the tunic at last. 

“Such language in front of a lady,” you replied mirthfully as Eomer gestured towards the tub. You accepted his invitation gratefully, stepping one foot into the warm water and then another. The bathwater turned grimy as you let your body sink beneath the surface of the bathwater, dipping your head back to wet your hair. 

From outside the tub, Eomer grabbed the bar of soap and wetted it before running it over your hair to form a lather. When he began rubbing your scalp with firm fingers, you let out an audible moan as you let your head lean back against the edge of the bath. 

He chuckled as you gave yourself over to the incredible sensation.

“I see no lady here,” he replied after a moment, earning a playful glare from you and a splash of bathwater in his direction. He dodged the blow easily, letting out a laugh of his own. 

“Your manners need work, my lord.” Your retort had little bite to it; you were too mesmerized by the patterns Eomer’s fingers wove against your scalp. Your eyelids fluttered closed as you let relaxation seep into every fiber of your body.

“No lady,” he continued, bending down until his beard tickled your ear. “Only a woman. My woman.” Your toes curled under the surface of the water as he dragged those last two words over the gravel in his voice. Sensing he’d plucked the right chord, Eomer chuckled proudly as he planted a kiss to the soft skin in front of your ear. You reached up to grab his hair and pull him to your lips, but he’d already withdrawn. Your eyes opened just in time to see him sink into the bath next to you, the water level rising dangerously close to the lip of the tub. Like you, he grunted in appreciation as the warmth of the water began to work out the kinks in his tired muscles. 

You allowed him to settle against the far edge of the bath before you moved towards him. He opened his arms in a well-rehearsed move, allowing you to settle between his strong thighs and lean back against his firm torso before wrapping you with his arms. Your head lolled back against his shoulder, his cheek coming to rest on your freshly rinsed hair. This was not the first time you had shared such intimacy with your lover; far from it, in fact. But, much like he had pointed out earlier, there was no dulling of affection between you two. Instead, you felt your feelings for him deepen with each passing day. 

As the two of you sat together in the cooling water, you traced absentminded circles over his forearm. Your gaze landed on the dancing flame of a nearby candle as you let your mind wander into a space just shy of sleep. You felt Eomer’s breath deepen against your back as he too relaxed into the quiet. 

After several minutes of companionable silence, you squeezed his arm to rouse him from his reverie.

“Do I have your blessing for the battle ahead, my lord?” Although you used the same playful tone you’d employed moments prior, the question was a serious one. You felt Eomer tense ever so slightly behind you as he considered his response. 

Sensing his hesitation, you pressed on.

“You know I will fight tomorrow, with or without it.” Eomer tensed further at your callous words, although both of you knew they were true. You let your tone soften as you added, “although I would feel all the better for it if I had your blessing.” 

He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly. 

“Whatever did I do to find myself in love with a woman such as yourself?” Each of his words was drenched in devotion, and the sound of it made you curl against him as he squeezed you tightly. It wasn’t a direct answer, but you understood his meaning. His blessing wasn’t something to give or take away; you always had it. Eomer had known what you were long before he’d fallen into your bed, and you’d been certain not to soften those parts of yourself that found a home in battle just for his sake. 

“You are truly one of the lucky few,” you cooed back, relishing the sensation of him nuzzling down against the skin where your neck and shoulder connected. You reached a hand up behind you, lightly gripping the back of his head and encouraging him to let it hang gently against yours. He obliged, sighing contentedly as you began twirling strands of his hair around your fingers. 

“I swear to the Gods, y/n, sometimes I don’t know if you’re my salvation or my downfall.” His confession came with a distinct note of pain. You knew that pain well: it was the pain of loving a warrior. The pain of having to say a potential goodbye each time they rode into battle. The pain of subsuming the urge to protect him at any and every cost under the need to follow orders. It was the pain of frantically searching for an all-too familiar face amongst the bodies of the dead on a battlefield. It was a unique kind of pain, and one that both of you had known you’d always live with when you’d allowed yourselves to fall in love. 

You ignored the way the bathwater sloshed over the edge of the tub as you turned to face him. His eyes were misty as you cupped his handsome face in your hands, running your thumbs tenderly along his cheekbones. 

“Eomer… my love…” Before you could finish your thought, he pulled you against him, his lips meeting yours greedily. In an instant, you recognized the intention behind his kiss. A knot of desire began to coil in your stomach as your fingers tangled in his hair. He pressed his kiss down into your mouth harder, and you felt the mingling of fear, pride, devotion, and love in behind that pressure. Your chest bloomed with heat as the kiss deepened. Suddenly, Eomer rose from his seated position and stepped out of the bath, his muscles tensing enticingly with the quick, agile movement. Bending down to lace an arm under your legs and one behind your back, he lifted you quickly from the now tepid, grimy water. He carried you to the bed with a purposeful heat simmering in his eyes, making that knot in your stomach tighten further as butterflies began to take flight in your lungs. He laid you on the soft blanket, his arms coming to frame your shoulders as he settled his body over top yours, caging you in between his flexed biceps. Just before his mouth met yours again, you lifted a finger and pressed it to his lips. He froze, his eyes on you with curiosity and a hint of frustration. 

“Your blessing, Eomer,” you said breathily, trying to tamp down your own impatience. “I want your blessing.” It had never felt important before, but the longer your mind lingered on the battle ahead, the more compelled you felt to hear those words. 

His honey brown eyes danced with delight as you withdrew your finger, allowing him to speak freely. He didn’t hesitate.

“You have it.” He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

“You have my blessing always.” Another kiss at the corner of your mouth. 

“Today.” Your jawline. “Tomorrow.” Your collarbone. “For all of your days.” Your shoulder. “And all of mine.” Back to your lips. 

Your heart seized in your chest as the tenderness of the moment bewitched you. Eomer hovered over you, each of you basking in each other’s gaze for another heartbeat. You saw the tender light in his eyes turn molten just as your own mind turned back to the needs of your body. 

“Now, my lady,” he whispered. “Allow me to show you exactly how much of this lord’s blessing you’ve earned.” He dove down to kiss at the now cleaned skin above your breasts, earning a delighted cry from you as you let your eyes flutter close. 

“Your sister...does she have a favored color? Something she would be likely to wear in the upcoming days?”

He felt jogged from reading reports of the Westfold to seeing the pretty little princess at his door to having to remember his sister’s wardrobe. His face must have betrayed his confusion but after a moment he thought his first mind on the matter was always best, “Blue-- I would guess, at least. Why?”

Lothiriel nodded at the answer then flushed, biting on her lip, “In Gondor there is a tradition of receiving a silken sash for the duration of your wedding celebration so you are always accounted for in the room-- traditionally it is given by the mother or sister of the bride.”

Eomer caught the meaning, “And Eowyn has neither of those to provide her with such a thing.”

“Neither do I, if I marry I must hope my sister in law is feeling charitable otherwise I would go un-sashed as well. It is not necessarily a dishonor but it would be noted, gossiped about. I thought to gift her one.”

Eomer smiled and turned in his chair to really look at the princess, “I’d be in your debt for helping her in any way that I cannot.”

Lothiriel waved it off, “Please-- Gondorians are not always kind to difference and while the King may change that it will not change by next week. I would not allow your sister to be at their mercy, not after all that your family has done.”

There was silence where they merely regarded one another-- he could have hugged her for helping Eowyn and she seemed quite pleased at his esteem, in that quiet moment the first real tugging began and he felt a sudden urge to really wrap her in his arms. She would fit well-- thin, perhaps, but otherwise…

She bowed a little, “I apologize for interrupting, I leave you to your work.”

He snorted to show just how forward he was looking to the work, but when she left he threw himself into it and did as Imrahil had suggested. He made stacks of letters on the desk, addressed the most dire ones first, immediately drew up replies to them to be sent at first light, and then a knock came again.

Lothiriel again, this time laden with a tray and she smiled but scolded him, “You missed dinner.”

He cursed at himself in Rohirric and began apologizing to her but she dismissed it with a shake of her head, “Please-- I have been a prince’s daughter all my life, this is not the first time I have brought a tray to a study.”

He sighed, “Thank you nonetheless.”

He rubbed his eyes and she watched the motion as she sorted the tray and stoked his fire for him, then clucked her tongue, “No that won’t help… here, let me.”

In one fluid motion she crossed the space and was rubbing his temples for him and in that moment he almost moaned in pleasure, the tension behind his eyes loosening its grip. She laughed lightly at what must still have been an obvious sign that she was helping and whispered, “If you work endlessly with no rest you will rot your eyes and weary your head and have nothing good left to give...and there will always be a stack of letters on a King’s desk, if it is anything like a prince’s desk. Eat, rest, refresh yourself. You are what they need more than just answers.”

“Is that your advice?”

“I cannot claim it-- it was my father’s, but it is sound.”

He nodded but was so immersed in her little movements that he could not speak, after a time she stopped and patted his shoulder, “Your dinner will grow cold.”

Before she could move he reached up, took her hand and pressed a firm kiss to it, “Thank you Lothiriel---truly. From a man without a lot of fancy words.”

She kissed the top of his head, “You are most welcome.”

When she left he heard her run into Amrothos who made a joke about girls who made excuses to keep entering a King’s closed door and she snapped at him awfully. Eomer though was thinking about soft hands on his temples and a kiss pressed to the top of his head.

___________________________________________________________________________

Lothiriel was sitting with her father, having tea and sewing something, occasionally clarifying a question for him from his absence, when a runner came saying a herd of horses and a handful of riders were approaching. Lothiriel was confused by such news but Imrahil clapped his hands with glee, "Ah good, they made it in time."

"Ada?" She simply looked at him and he smiled, "Eomer's present to his sister for her wedding, he had been waiting for a couple to wean their foals. I'm sure more news from the Mark comes with them but he will be quite pleased the herd arrived on time. So will your brothers, I imagine, Amrothos has been dogging Eomer for a horse for months. I know you have greater skill than a courier my dear but would you mind telling them of this arrival while I finish here?"

She kissed his head and agreed to the task and he saw her pause by the mirror in his study to adjust her hair and her dress before leaving. He shook his head at it-- no doubt she would go to Eomer first. She had never really shown any consideration for a man before and Imrahil, at least, was relieved by her taste. He had worried sometimes that his daughter would not find a partner to her liking and would either marry for duty or forego it completely…. Neither option suited her, he thought. She would be a natural mother and a good partner for someone and if he had to recommend a partner for someone in need of a Queen for a distressed nation he could think of none better but he knew both of them to be headstrong in their own opinions and him offering up his own might well not have the desired effect.

Still, he liked seeing her this way. Young, fussing with her hair, almost carefree.

Of course she went to deliver the news to Eomer first and was surprised when the house staff said he and her brothers were down by the shore. When she arrived they were acting like children but it did make her smile-- she imagined they had seen horrors enough, they were permitted some escape in these peaceful days. They were all of them stripped to their thin pants, wrestling and throwing one another in the shallows as the waves came in. From a distance it amused her to see her brothers try to conquer their friend, he was much taller than them and much broader in the shoulder though she was surprised his hips were about as lean as theirs. As she got closer she found herself staring at Eomer more-- she had seen her brothers this way a hundred times but now there was someone else here who was so clearly not her brother. He was much more muscled in the arm than them and his thighs were slim but packed with muscle, something she could see through the thin wet pants. Of course there was something else and she tried hard to pull her gaze away from the gauzy pants but her curiosity kept her eyes crawling back to it. Three years with only one proposal reaching her ears--- and that one a detestable wreck she had been surprised she had handled half so well--- and she had begun to think about whether or not she would marry and whether or not that bothered her. Her aunt Ivriniel was quite content. Since there were no men in Dol Amroth to tempt her and her uncle had barred her from Minas Tirith she had come to terms with being an old maid, it didn't bother or threaten her. But seeing this man, this particular man, wet and practically naked, smiling and laughing made her feel a dozen different things. She liked making him smile and laugh, his whole face changed when he did and she had the impression he had not had much cause to smile for long years. She had thought him handsome since she saw him arrive but now… now she contemplated other things. She hadn't ever looked at a man with a thought to how his hands would feel on her or what his skin would do if it was flat against hers. For a moment she was tempted to take off her outer dress and dive in with them but she got nervous, she had not seen a single dark haired person in the Rohirric company and according to her brother not a single dark haired girl existed in the whole of the country. Maybe she was not at all to his taste and it would come off desperate.

"Thiri!" Amrothos called out and they all turned to her and it made her blush because her thoughts had led her eyes just to Eomer and she was fairly sure when he looked up at her that he had noticed, "Join us! Show us that slippery siren skill-- we keep getting pinned."

Erchirion looked at Amrothos and then over at Eomer who had sucked in a breath at the thought of Lothiriel soaking wet and wrestling him. Erchirion's eyes narrowed and he noticed Eomer nearly staring at his sister who blushed a brilliant shade of red. The quietest of the brothers cleared his throat, "She's not ten anymore Amrothos you can't honestly expect she can take any of us as she used to."

That made Lothiriel almost indignant, "I shall embarrass you terribly over dinner with the story of how I nearly drowned you because you refused to yield."

Eomer pushed away the thought of what she would look like soaking wet and snorted at the thought of her pinning Erchirion down and refusing to let him up.

"No matter I have some news for Eomer." She smiled, "A herd of horses with riders bearing the white horse are approaching the gate."

That sufficiently distracted him from thoughts of her and he clapped, "Excellent! I was worried they would be too late."

Amrothos focused hard, "Rohirric horses? A herd? Eomer you shouldn't have."

Eomer splashed him, "For my sister you leech, though if you want to come see them and further torture yourself with what I am not giving you then by all means you're welcome to come. I want to look them over myself."

_______________________________________________________________

Amrothos went to give Lothiriel a leg up and a few of the riders snickered and when a certain word got thrown around even Amrothos paused, he had learned the Rohirric words for wife and bride early to avoid any unfortunate miscommunication.

"Wait, Eomer, what are they saying?"

Eomer gave the men an unamused look and bit back at them in Rohirric, Eothain laughed at him and made some form of a joke that none of the brothers really followed.

Eomer looked down at Amrothos, "They're just teasing--- long ago in the Mark if a man put his daughter or sister onto someone else's saddle and they rode off it was as good as a marriage, they're all just having a laugh."

Amrothos paused, "Of course you don't follow those rules anymore?"

Erchirion cracked a small smile, "Eomer wouldn't trick us into giving away our sister so cheaply, at least not while we are sober."

The conversation made Lothiriel blush and she was quiet but Eomer reached a hand down, "Fear not, we don't propose with errant horse rides anymore."

Lothiriel recovered enough to wink and smile, "Probably you start by giving the whole horse."

It made the king laugh and a few of the Rohirrim elbow one another as she took his hand and hopped onto the saddle in front of him. It took her a moment to settle and she said, "Oh I haven't been on a saddle in ages, and these feel different. Much more comfortable."

Comfort suddenly became a condition Eomer was concerned with as she leaned back against him and he settled an arm around her waist to help keep her in place.

Amrothos whispered to Erchirion, "I didn't help her up so we are probably fine, right?"

Erchirion snorted and just watched as Eomer briefly inhaled Lothiriel's hair before prompting the horse into a faster pace that made them both sway their hips in time with the horse to keep their balance-- and he noted that they kept perfect sync with little effort.

Eomer briefly wondered why he had gone immediately for the faster pace but he knew it was to avoid anymore jokes from his men, he wasn't sure how much composure he would maintain around them while she was sharing his saddle. Now, though, their bodies were flat against one another, his hand around her waist, his front pressed against her back, and he suddenly had a lot of problems not imagining what it would feel like to pull all the layers off from between them and keep this rhythm with his hands on her hips and her bottom bouncing against his….

No.

He shook his head a bit and tried to focus on the ride, describing what sort of things they were looking for in the feel of the horse, letting her take the reins and try to do some of the motions. She had a good instinct with the animal and a fair hand but she kept herself leaned entirely against him and when she turned her head to ask him something her lips were brushing close to his cheek and he wanted badly to turn her just a little more and kiss her.

As they turned to go into a gallop they had to raise up and lean forward in the saddle, a motion that directly resulted in Eomer having a restless night later haunted with visions of what their bodies could do. He noticed Lothiriel purposely pulled his hand back onto her waist, just under her bodice, and he swallowed the urge to sneak them up higher. When they pulled the horse back into a walk so it could cool down he realized he also needed the time to cool down, and she leaned against him, sighing, saying softly that she had rather enjoyed that.

Oh I as well…. I as well.

When he saw the flush on her shoulders he wondered if she was suffering from some of the same discomfort as him.

He longed suddenly for the less strict laws of his own land, for both of them to drop their crowns and ride into the woods until nobody could hear them and he could see just how well she could keep her balance in the saddle when he turned her around to straddle him and he could pull her bodice to her waist and her skirts to her hips.

But in the same moment he knew if he had every blessing to bed her this moment he wouldn't.

No something was...different. It wouldn't be enough to merely have her.

Nobody else can. He realized. It wasn't how he had ever behaved and it wasn't a feeling that normally swayed him. He had never felt that way before but he knew he wouldn't want to risk anyone else ever feeling her move against them and wrap their hand around her waist and feel her lips against their skin. He wanted her just for himself.

That thought was sudden cold water to his system.

He let himself look at that thought, turning it over and examining it from every angle, and he considered a word, a whole world, he hadn't ever thought about before. Just as his musings were intensifying their ride was over and the siblings pulled her off the horse and they began to go in for dinner, reminding Eomer not to tarry long.

Eothain waited until they were out of earshot before he went over to Eomer and slapped his leg, "Boy you look like you've been beaten with a knotted stick, whatever did that little girl do to you on the ride?"

"She is decidedly not a little girl." Eomer glared at him.

Eothain grinned, "Aye...and you are not a boy…. Regretting not riding off into the woods with her like the kings of old?"

Eomer didn't answer immediately but squirmed in the saddle for a moment, "That isn't how we do things anymore."

Eothain watched his friend and realized the ride had done more than merely tempt a man with a cold bed by rubbing a beautiful woman against him. Good, he needs to be shaken up by some woman some time. Bema above please shake some sort of sense into him...he shouldn't be alone anymore.

"She's a fine lass…. Good head on her shoulders, easy laugh. Firefoot didn't try to bite her and she looked handsome up there next to you."

Eomer glanced over, "Enough…"

But Eomer watched her go with a strange, thoughtful expression.

____________________________________________________________

A/N: God. Save. A. Horse.

No Beta Reading.

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“Oh not you too!”

“Lothiriel the Rohirrim love and adore their horses you will embarrass us bringing him-- borrow Celwyn’s mare.”

“I have a horse and I will ride him.”

Eomer wished he could see the expression on her face and he thought that his eavesdropping had carried on quite long enough. He cleared his throat and stepped through to find the princess looking inordinately annoyed at her brothers, upon seeing the King Amrothos clapped his hand over his face, “Well it’s too late now. Friend, do not judge us all on my sister’s mad whimsy.”

This made her narrow her eyes at him like she was contemplating hitting him and Eomer looked at all of them, “What precisely is going on?”

Lothiriel tucked herself into a stable slot-- true to her word only the family horses remained and all the other space was given over to the Rohirrim. In this stable, with a healthy bucket of feed, softened with milk and bits of fruit, was, honestly, the ugliest horse Eomer had ever seen. Ignoring everyone Lothiriel went on brushing and petting it, crooning to it in elf tongue and then regarded the King and said in a steely voice, “I’m getting my horse ready.”

Amrothos groaned and Elphir shook his head and looked apologetically at his friend, “I’m sorry… she loves the thing.”

Eomer walked closer to the stable door and the horse lifted his head to sniff Eomer and cocked his head to one side. He was nearly blind in one eye and when he gummed at Eomer’s shirt it was clear he had maybe four teeth left in the whole of his head. Still he kept his face straight and he asked if he could come into the stall.

“Of course.” Lothiriel opened the door and the King gave the horse as thorough a once over as he would any horse. Her brothers were watching in mute fascination that Eomer was not laughing at the horse.

It may have been grey once, but that was hard to tell now because it was missing huge patches of its hair where scars curved over its body. The scars made Eomer pause and he traced them, careful not to let his fingers actually touch the animal’s hide, and looked over at her. She was watching him, protectively petting the horse’s mane, and when she realized he wasn’t going to poke fun she relaxed a little and he gestured to the marks, “What happened?”

She gave a small smile, “When I was thirteen my brothers wanted to surprise my father with a new dagger, they needed me to run and fetch it. When I got to the smith he had this poor thing under such tight binds, in the small backroom, keeping the fire lit and the billows working, and it looked on the verge of death...I gave him a pearl ring for the horse. My brothers have never forgiven me for bringing him home.”

She snorted at them and petted the horse’s ears, “He was so skittish-- those scars are an improvement from the wounds he had.”

Eomer cautiously went down the horse’s legs and shook his head-- there were bone spurs and lumps, his hooves had been repaired but they were terribly split from shoes that were lazily made and not suited for the horse’s work.

"What did you pay for him?" Eomer asked.

Amrothos cut in, "She gave up my aunt's pearl ring set in silver ...silver and pearl."

"You paid too high a price for him," Eomer feigned seriousness, "In Rohan we would have whipped his owner and made him pay you the cost of nursing the horse."

Lothiriel had gotten red when Eomer began but as she heard him she mellowed and even smiled at him.

"What's his name?"

"Greybeard." The horse tucked its head against her chest affectionately, "I don't know how old your horses get but he is the oldest of ours. I like to think he is a sage among them."

This intrigued the king, "How old is he?"

"He was twenty when I bought him or thereabouts. That was nigh on seven years ago," here she turned to nuzzle her own face against the horse's muzzle, "and he gets handsomer every day."

Erchirion showed up, surveyed the scene and just shook his head, "I might have known. Well Eomer there you have it-- the most shameful secret in our stable. Whatever do you make of him?"

The horse was snorting happily against Lothiriel and she was giggling against his happy movements and murmuring to him in elvish, and he answered honestly, "I think her love of him is endearing. Do you think we all started by loving only handsome horses? The love is what matters the rest follows."

Lothiriel's face softened immensely and she regarded the King with a more curious eye. When he caught her gaze she blushed and after a word to the horse she hopped on Greybeard's back. Eomer noticed quickly that she was missing several accessories and looked at her surprised, "You ride like an elf."

She laughed and it echoed in the stables and made some of the horses neigh. There were other Rohirrim up and tending to their mounts and they began to peer around with interest.

"Oh tis a trifle, the poor old man is spooked of any rigging, I've likely forgotten how to ride with a saddle and bridle by now."

Eomer was impressed as she led the old man out and Erchirion groaned, "Thiri we were hoping for races today-- you should see Eomer's stallion in action."

Lothiriel shrugged, "You can all go on ahead, he may be slow but he keeps course."

Amrothos snorted, "Now that he's stopped going in circles."

Lothiriel reached down to smack his head but he dodged her.

She waited outside the stables for the boys and Eothain perked his head over Eomer's stall and asked if he had heard correctly, "Is that princess riding bareback?"

Eomer nodded and the other man whistled, "Full of surprises."

"Indeed." Eomer agreed as he started laying out Firefoot's tack without the help of a stableboy, still managing to finish before any of the princes.

When they were out of the stables Eomer pulled Forefoot down by Greybeard and the stallion smelled at the other horse and gave a dismissive snort. Lothiriel's eyes combed over the stallion and she nodded, "I admit I don't know half of what I should but I can tell he is quite impressive…. Twenty hands?"

"Twenty-two."

She reached out and let Firefoot sniff her hand and when he didn't try to bite it she petted his neck and he almost chittered at her and she cooed at him in elvish which made the big brute's ears twitch.

"Do they really understand elf speech?" Eomer asked.

Lothiriel shrugged, "Maybe...but my father sang elvish songs to me at night and they soothed me, I have a similar mind about the horses. I assume they want to be soothed."

She let her hand drop away from Firefoot and she looked at Eomer, aware of how ridiculous the two horses looked next to one another but not particularly caring, "I thank you for not laughing at me and him ...I do so adore him even though I know it seems ridiculous."

"I meant what I said, I think your love for him endearing. Our horses are not mere beasts to us, even the meanest among them."

She bit on her lip, as if debating something, "Do you… with your horse master's eyes, what do you think of him? Honestly? Is it a cruelty to keep him on as I do?"

His head teetered back and forth, "He is perhaps the ugliest horse I have ever seen and in poor shape, he only continues on out of love for you."

Her head hung low, "So it is time to put him to pasture?"

"No," Eomer shook his head, "Horses need to love what they do with their days--- boredom and brokenheartedness will kill them as fast as a broken leg. If you stopped needing him he would grow miserable and die sad--- you keep doing precisely what you are doing, he loves you as his mistress."

She smiled and patted the horse's neck with deep affection.

____________________________________________________________

They had left early and Eomer had no idea how long the ride was meant to go on but found when the boys claimed they had reached their first rest stop that it would not only be a long day but one designed to feed them as well. There was a stream nearby and the boys produced fishing poles while Lothiriel took a pot and a series of ingredients out of a massive pack she had forced Elphir's horse to carry and tied a plain apron around her skirt. Eomer was tempted to ask if she needed help starting a fire but he watched her go about doing it as if she had been starting fires her whole life.

They fished and the boys found wine while the Rohir bemoaned the scantiness of ale in this region.

"You horsemen talk of nothing but the stuff but you have your own sweet brew, what did we have at your sister's betrothal?"

"The cider?"

Amrothos nodded fondly, "I'll pick up your trade single handedly for casks of that down here. We make something from lemons but it isn't quite the same."

"Lemons? Can they ferment?" Eomer wondered and Erchirion snorted, "Oh yes--- we only drink the brew by single mouthful unless you fancy making an ass of yourself… Thiri might have packed a snip of it, she has a penchant for lemons."

Hearing them but keeping herself on the fringe of the conversation she produced a small bottle from the bottom of her sack, "Ask and you shall receive dear one."

She watched as Erchirion opened the bottle, sniffed it, and handed it over to Eomer. He sniffed it-- sharp and citrus, things he rarely saw at home. He watched Lothiriel and she gave him a small smile, curiously studying his response.

Tentatively he took a mouthful and nearly choked, having to force himself to swallow it and then coughed. The boys laughed at him but Lothiriel merely took the bottle, swigged it without losing her face, and winked at him, "It takes some getting used to."

That made him laugh, "So I see--- it seems we might have a trade agreement, we will rot your guts with cider, and you can burn our throats with this lemon drink."

Amrothos reached out a hand to shake and then looked abashed and teased, "Have you relinquished our tasks back to us sister or shall you do the agreements?"

She laughed and Eomer wondered again if she hadn't somehow snuck a double drop of Elvish blood for her laugh sounded like bells, "You may continue Sergeant of Trade. Erchirion if you feel so inclined to deal in arms or war, also consider yourself reinstated."

For the first time Eomer realized she had been left with all of their tasks to learn and master. He watched her face to see how she reacted to her brothers' teasing but she merely smiled at them, happy to have them back, and laughed with them.

He kept an eye on her as she went about her preparations, singing a song softly under her breath, and began teasing the boys about their inability to land a single fish so far. She took out a small kettle and adjusted the fire for it, doing everything as if she has always done it. Eomer mentioned this to Erchirion who nodded, "She hated having anyone else with us because it was our only time together and they wouldn't let her swim or fish or ride astride and so she learned all their duties and told us to swear to our father to protect her and, as you can see, she got her wish. Lothiriel could charm wood if she wanted and father hardly needed that much persuasion, he liked that we came out here and did things with our hands. The thought of pampered children offended him."

Eomer grinned, "I always liked your father's sensibilities… are nannies so strict here? No swimming? Did they really fear she would drown?"

"Oh it's not drowning they fear so much as letting her swim with boys."

Eomer looked confused, "But you're her brothers…"

Erchirion shrugged, "That matters little, many nobles here wouldn't let their daughters swim with any man, even if it means they never learned to swim. Thiri was raised so closely with us for so long she hadn't a nanny that could break her of some of her habits. The swimming was the least of their problems-- she rides bareback and astride, she reads, she would come out here and rough about with us and come back with filthy clothes and scraped knees."

The thought of a younger Lothiriel looking unkempt and terribly pleased with herself made Eomer chuckle, "No small wonder you think us barbarians…do not let your Southern nannies know that every child in the Mark is raised with dirty clothes and scraped knees. My cousin knocked four of my teeth out and he was the prince. My uncle called that practicing diplomacy."

This made the young Amrothian lords howl in laughter and demand the story but it was interrupted by Amrothos getting the first fish which he paraded around as a champion before passing it to his sister. Lothiriel mocked its inferior size while taking a knife from her apron and filleted it, then stripped it thinly and plopped it in her soup, tutting at her brothers and stealing a net from Elphir before hopping out onto a small river rock and waiting patiently. After a few moments she darted down and swooped back up with a triumphant whoop and produced a red crawling shelled creature that all the boys were impressed with and proceeded to stab its head and strip off its shell. Eomer watched her with fascination and she offered him a sample of the animal raw which she promised tasted sweet. He accepted it and nodded in surprise when it wasn't so terrible, he was further surprised when she called it a crab as the ones they had in the Mark looked nothing like that. She looked intrigued, "What do they look like?"

"Much smaller and nearly blue-- you need a half dozen or so to make a decent meal."

"Do you ever catch them during their shed?"

Eomer admitted to having no clue what that meant and Lothiriel indicated the hard shell, "They shed these like a snake, usually in the summer, and then you can eat the whole thing tip to tail. Here it is a treat, they are never quite so easy to find but if you can dedicate the right time in the right season you can get rewarded."

Amrothos groaned to hear her talk about them, "We haven't had them in two summers, the Corsairs had father concerned so no combing the beaches. Lothiriel cooks them in lard with lemons."

Lemons again. Eomer was tempted to ask about this penchant for lemons but his line caught and he brought in a hideous looking fish but the siblings all cooed over it.

"Pretty they aren't, I grant you, but they are remarkably tasty." Elphir proclaimed and Lothiriel set to cleaning it raiding her sack for supplies, using the lemon liquor and salt a few other things to season it but not cook it which Eomer asked about.

Lothiriel gave him a smile, "It is a very rich fish, fatty-- cooking it is good but fresh like this is better."

Again she offered him some and though he looked dubious he tried it and found it was luscious. It reminded him almost of eating fat off the bone. She smiled at him as she watched him try everything, "I'm happy to see you so adventurous, I had no idea if you and your men would be glad of trying so much fish."

"After the war we would eat leather without complaint but happily you don't provide such dismal offerings--- you have a good hand at this, my sister has been known to accidentally poison people when she tries to cook. Aragorn has a hearty stomach and a good story about it."

Elphir shook his head, "No worries, we have been so picky for her that she is the perfect scullery maid. It was important to us that she be utterly unmarriageable so we have her to pamper us all the rest of our lives."

Lothiriel threw a rag at his head and scolded, "Talk like that and I'll deny you the kettle."

Elphir immediately became curious, "What's brewing anyway?"

"My gift from father after the war." She had a devious smile and Elphir fell to his knees in contrition.

"Oh sweet sweet sister mine….please accept your eldest brother's sincere apology and know how much I truly adore you."

"Oh don't forget who snuck you out on the boat away from Philomine! And got you your first pony! And your first drink!" Amrothos jockeyed for position and Erchirion smirked, "Don't forget about me when I was the one who convinced father to let you stay here and not one of us. He almost sent you to Minas Tirith."

Lothiriel nodded at all of them and then gestured to Erchirion, "Of course I think Chiri wins."

The nickname made Eomer snort as Erchirion certainly never gave quite a cheery appearance but he got in on the teasing, "Whatever does she have to make all of you fall over yourselves like a litter of puppies?"

Amrothos held out a hand as if it could help him explain, "When they went through the oliphaunt carcasses and corsair ships they found coffee-- Father asked Aragorn if he could send some back to Lothiriel for managing the city so well on her own and Aragorn sent her a barrel. She hordes it like a dragon."

Eomer had never heard of the drink and Lothiriel's eyes sparkled, "Do you trust me?"

When he caught her gaze something about the question lingered and he wanted to reach out and smooth a wild piece of her hair and pull her onto his lap and whisper to her all the things he would trust her with but he managed to nod and swallowed the rest of the thoughts. She produced a small tied bundle and held it up for him to smell-- robust, almost like wood. She nodded, "Wood a little, this I think they mixed with spices."

Reaching in the cloth she produced one bean for him to study as she took a pestle from her bag and began grinding the contents. As she ground them the smell bloomed and the boys began leaning close to get better and better smells. Eomer looked the bean over, taking a small knife from his boot and cutting it, rubbing his fingers on it, licking it with a shiver, "Quite bitter."

"Kings in Harad are fed honey coated beans by their harem." Elphir offered, "Damn hard to eat raw."

Amrothos held out a hand, "Bite your tongue I love them."

Eomer handed over his bean and Amrothos closed his eyes as he chewed on it. The smell coming from the kettle was rich and almost woody, Eomer liked it and leaned closer to see what was happening. Lothiriel let him peek inside and he saw the water turning almost black and thicker than any tea he had seen. Then she took a cheese cloth and a clean kettle and strained the boiling brew through the cloth, tying it off and further straining it in. He wondered that it did not burn her hands for it was steaming. The smell was amazing but promised to be bitter. Lothiriel produced honey from her sack and a clay jar with butter and some cream in it. She looked from the kettle to her stew, splashing some cream in the stew, then saving the rest. She poured the coffee plain first and offered it to Amrothos and then gave Eomer a cup with the warning, "You should try it plain but most take it with honey and cream."

She fixed Erchirion and Elphir cups with different portions of cream and honey, Elphir's was mostly honey and Erchirion's was almost pale with cream. Her own cup had a mere splash of the cream and a generous drip of honey. Eomer loved the smell and sipped at it, it was bitter but not so terrible. He bartered for a little cream and a dash of honey but when she delivered it he saw the angry red of her hands and asked if she had burned them.

She waved off the concern, "Oh nevermind, I'm pale as milk the slightest disturbance turns me a hundred colors. I'm not so fragile that it won't return to itself in no time. My hands are not half so soft these days, I find they bounce back quicker than ever."

Amrothos snorted, "I still can't picture you as a gardener."

Eomer was confused and as they sipped their coffee and were served out their fish Elphir began the tale, "You wondered at our stores during the war, it wasn't just good management but sheer cleverness on Lothiriel's part."

"And work," she huffed, "Wild boar are easier to tame than court women."

"My apologies," Elphir relented, "And sheer will-- Lothiriel kept our army stocked and our home stocked by popularizing gardening and animal husbandry among the noble women."

Eomer leaned forward with interest, and regarded Lothiriel who was not content with her brother's retelling, "He is simplifying the situation. The upper class was still looking to indulge but the lower class was near to starving but unable to turn away the coin. I had to come up with a solution that didn't end in them each rebelling."

__________________________________________________________________

"Today during the ride the boys were teasing her mercilessly about being unsuitable...she laughed at it but it seemed to be not always a joke. I know you Southerners are stiff collared but she is young, beautiful, titled… they cannot be serious."

Imrahil seemed to consider his friend with a new eye, the question need not be prodded at too deeply now but the old Prince merely shook his head, "I am afraid the jokes are serious…I told you that my wife died?"

A curt nod from Eomer and Imrahil continued, "Well Lothiriel was a girl, scarcely three, I do not think she even remembers her. I was devastated and had four children to raise… I am afraid I treated Lothiriel much like one of my sons for many years. She had riding lessons and sat in on their lessons and rode their boats with them...mostly this was my convenience. I had tutors for them, I simply sent her too. I do not mean to sound a complete fool, she had a nanny for some lessons of her own but I simply didn't take much stock of how others were raising their girls."

Here Imhrahil turned wistful and sighed, "She mocks me endlessly for the telling of this but I solemnly promise you this is what happened. One day I looked over at her and saw a woman. She looked so grown and when I blinked I saw she was still young enough but yet a woman. I realized then that I was desperately behind at preparing her for that. I attempted to close the gap but the things that made Lothiriel a fit heir, fit enough to leave ruling my country while we fought, has hurt her prospects. I haven't helped matters either… twelve marriage offers have been rejected, and as the courts never fully know if it is my rejection or hers they are making her into a shrew. I cannot help it though...she is my only daughter and I keep a high price for her."

Eomer allowed himself to look shocked, "Twelve?"

"In fairness she only knows about one. That same fool lord who tried to insult you at the dinner used a ball to publically propose to her, thinking perhaps if he by-passed me he might succeed. She refused him with what I'm told was impressive diplomacy."

This made the King snicker, "At a ball? Why were you not there?"

"He timed it for the celebration ball just after the Victory, we were still in Gondor so she was unescorted."

Eomer snorted, "A man who did not fight asked to marry the daughter and sister of soldiers at a victory celebration? I thought you Gondorians were meant to be smart."

"I think you mean well-educated...many of them seem to avoid intelligence."

The friends shared a knowing look--- their mutual feelings about many Gondorians had deepened their friendship in the months that the Rohirrim had been brushed up against their Southern brothers.

Eomer took a drink and his brow lifted towards Imrahil again, "Why did you reject so many?"

Imrahil looked distant for a minute, "I asked them each a question and they answered it to my dissatisfaction."

"Are you a troll bartering in riddles?" A mischievous light was in Eomer's eye, "What question are you asking them?"

The Prince considered his friend for a minute, "I ask them what they want of her."

Eomer waited but Imrahil did not further explain, "That's….it? What the devil are they saying?"

Imhrahil's look darkened, "We have the blood of both the Elves and Numenor, it is a very desirable thing. These men want my daughter so they can have tall, gray eyed, pointed eared children, but they do not want her to do anything besides be displayed. It would smother her to be so treated and so I refuse them."

Eomer considered this with some care before venturing to joke, "Would they have pointed ears?"

The Prince picked up his hair and Eomer saw the ghost of a tip. He realized then that Imrahil and all his children wore their hair in such a way as to cover their ears, not display them.

________________________________________________________

A/N: This was written a while ago and I haven't done much re-reading of it for the purposes of like...making it smoother so there's probably bits I missed.

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The alarm on my watch buzzes, insistent enough to persuade me to open my eyes. It’s still early — the sun’s just coming up—but the rays have yet to break through the thick, grey clouds, making the sky hazy and perfect for sleep.

Ugh, I don’t want to get up.

I push myself into a sitting position before I lose my resolve. As gently as I can, I pick up Eomer’s arm that he threw over my stomach at some point during the night, placing it against his side. He shifts, rolling onto his back and stretching out his legs. Such a light sleeper.

Now that he’s waking up, I don’t feel bad expediting the process. I drape myself over his chest, chin resting on his sternum, and place a soft kiss on the bottom his chin. He lowers his head, searching out my lips without opening his eyes, and I press my palm flat against his chest, lifting myself up enough to raise my lips to meet his. He kisses me readily, a surprising amount of energy for just having awoken.

I pull back just far enough to smile at him. “Good morning.”

“What a way to wake up,” he grins, throwing an arm behind his head and bringing another hand to my back, trailing his fingers lazily up my spine.

I lean forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his mouth and then push against him, bringing myself to a seated position.

He blinks in surprise and his lips quickly turn down into a pout. “Wait, no, don’t take the kissing away from me.”

I laugh, running my fingers through his blond curls as I scoot to the edge of the bed. “I have to get ready for work.”

“Work?” He sits up in indignation, the duvet gathering at the base of his naked torso. “But it is Sunday.” Hot arms encircle my waist, and soon I am pulled back into his embrace. His teeth tease the bottom of my ear, his quiet voice dropping low. “Give me twenty minutes.”

I laugh, though when his lips descend to my neck, the laughter dissipates. “You know I can’t, I’ll be in serious trouble if I’m late again. Last time my boss threatened to give me a citation.”

He grumbles something unintelligible and petulant, and my grin returns once more.

I twist in his arms, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “But I do have an hour for lunch.”

The pout fades, morphing into excitement. He presses his lips to mine once more and I have to mentally remind myself of my commitment to go to work today. When he pulls away, it’s my turn to whine, which seems to amuse him to no end.

“I’ll have food ready for you,” he promises once his laughter has died down. He lowers his lips to my ear once more, voice turning low and sultry. “And some other sort of surprise.”

The second alarm on my watch buzzes, reminding me of the shrinking time I have to get ready, make my coffee, and hit the road. I groan, laying my head in the space where his neck meets his shoulder. “That thought will be playing on loop in my head all day.”

His chuckle rumbles his chest against mine. He pushes us into a standing position and nudges me in the direction of the bathroom. “Go get ready, I’ll get coffee and breakfast started.”

I twist my head over my shoulder to thank him, but get distracted admiring the sight of him in only his tight black boxers. He smirks, coming forward to kiss me once more.

“I love you,” he murmurs against my lips.

I allow myself a brief moment to rest my forehead against his chest, enjoying his warmth. I would so rather stay in bed with him all day. Who needs a job that requires them to come in on a Sunday? But my third alarm buzzes violently, shaking the hopeful thoughts from my head and replacing them with more responsible ones. We need my share of the income if we wish to keep this apartment.

Besides, I have next Friday off.

I squeeze him tight in a hug before backing up and grabbing my fluffy robe from the back of the closet door. If he’s not here to warm me, the robe will have to do. I blow him one last kiss then turn in the direction of our bathroom, finally committing to getting ready for work. “I love you, too.”

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