A/N: *pulls on infinity gauntlet after finishing reading all the Eomer/Lothiriel fics* Fine. I'll write some myself. I haven't written fanfiction in literal years because doing a double degree at uni was definitely a massive mistake and I am DYING. Anyway, I needed to write about beaches bc I'm Australian and it's un-Australian not to spend time at the beach in summer. It's been a while since I've used I've mostly been on tumblr and a03 now but I'll be cross-posting this fic on both sites.

He was unsure at first of what to make of her. A slip of a girl, really, barely out of the nursery.

But a small, traitorous part of his mind reminded Éomer that she was a woman grown and more than capable of holding her own ground within the shifting sands of politics. Had her father not said so himself? That Lothririel had been left in charge of Dol Amroth while all her brothers had joined him on campaign? In truth, she confessed to him much later as they sat together upon the sandy shoreline; that every moment sitting on her father's throne had scared her. That every waking moment had been spent measuring her breaths and her face should her messengers inform her that all she held dear had too been taken by the darkness inescapable.

Éomer watched her now as she smiled that infuriating dimpled grin, rising out of the sea and joining him on the cloak he had laid over the misty sand. He did his best to ignore the wet cling of fabric against her form. Her very well-pleasing and curved form- he stopped himself with a shake of the head, desperate to forget it.

"My lord will you not join me?" Her dainty hands- everything about her was so dainty, well, compared to him- wrung out dark curls.

"And resemble looking like a drowned rat?" Despite himself he felt the corners of his mouth tug up into a crooked smile and she returned it with a grin all the brighter.

"I was unaware rats came in a flaxen variety," Lothìriel teased, sitting beside him and meeting his gaze. "Would you not instead look like a wet bundle of hay?"

Éomer raised a brow deciding not even to deign her teasing with an answer. It seemed as if his ploy was to work against him anyway with the princess doing her best to stifle a grin. He wasn't even sure how she managed to rope him into this mess. From what he could gather this was a culmination of many things.

It had started with a polite invitation written in the hands of no less than all three of her brothers. It seemed that Éomer's new-found sword brothers had squabbled amongst themselves about who should relay their father's wishes to the Rohirric King. He was to attend the coming-of-age ceremony of his cousin-in-law Lothìriel and enjoy the festivities.

'Enjoy' had been rather heavily underlined by he guessed Amrothos who once compared him to a snarling boar.

And for the most part, he had. His sister seemed to positively glow, colour once again returning to her cheeks after its' prolonged absence in Medulsed. Faramìr, he must admit, was as gracious and as loving as he could've hoped for his sister. Perhaps too cavalier in his attitude as it was announced that Éomer was to be an uncle before the year's end.

No, his biggest problem was the five-foot-two tempest that was the Princess Lothìriel, who from the moment she lay eyes on him decided that her sole purpose in life was to tease him within an inch of his life. If that wasn't enough he'd soundly lost a bet to her in a bout of archery and was forced to open her first dance with her at her first ball. It was simply torture to him, remembering how gracefully she flitted around him, her doe-eyes sparkling under candles as they barely- just barely- touched fingers in the dance.

He sounded like a love-sick elf and he was disgusted. He was sure Legolas would be proud of the veritable poetry he was espousing.

But his current state couldn't be helped he supposed. What else was there left to do but surrender to the inevitable pull of the riptide and hope that he could eventually find a break and swim back to shore.

Unfortunately said riptide was too busy not letting go and chattering her plump mouth off.

He really did hate sand, he admitted to her, which in turn stopped her chatter.

Lothìriel smirked, her small fist grabbing a handful of sand and sprinkling it onto his damp lap. "And why is that Your Majesty?"

"I find it coarse, and rough, and irritating and prone to getting everywhere." Éomer replied with a huff, though a thought did cross his mind, "Just like yourself." She smiled as sweetly as she possibly could.

The Bay was lovely though, he had to admit. Admittedly he loved the rolling plains and greenery of Rohan, but here too there was an untamed wildness. It was evident in its' people and their carefree way of life, shaped by the waves and built against the stark grey cliffs of Belfalas. Lothìriel was as the sea, deep and terrifying but a shimmering jewel when the light hit her just right. From the mere days he'd come to know her he'd learnt of her unforgiving temper when truly angered but also of her playfulness and kindness. Lying upon her back beside him now, he couldn't see a single trace of her ruthlessness that made itself present whenever they played a game of chess or shot in a game of archery.

He could also sense her immense loneliness sometimes.

It annoyed him initially, the way she had clung to him like sand and pulled him about the city determined to show him all the sites. But like the sea he felt her isolation and sadness; losing her mother, her brothers so much older than her, her father caught in his duties. He realised when she looked delighted when he bit into a scallop pie she'd shoved into his hands, that for once she'd had someone to share her mundane life with. That she could experience the wonderment of the city in someone who had never been there before.

So that was how he'd found himself here at dawn, joining her on her morning swim that she'd finally convinced her nursemaid was wholly appropriate now that she was of age.

"You promise me that water isn't cold?" He asked timidly, no not timidly he tried convincing himself, merely… unsure.

"I promise you it isn't too cold." She smiled gently, taking his hand in hers and pulling him to his bare feet. "It's summer after all, the water is warmer and will be more so after the sun is higher."

"Rohan's rivers and lakes are fed by the Misty Mountains. I can only assume they won't be quite as freezing." Éomer smiled and felt his heart stop a beat as Lothìriel's grin spread wider.

Pausing a moment to take off his shirt he slowly followed her lead into the water.

"Don't be scared Éomer," she whispered gently, her hand reassuredly grasping his, she waded deeper and deeper into the cool water. Her grey eyes briefly turned to his again, silently asking for his trust and he gave it fully. The coolness had taken him aback at first but as the seconds passed Éomer felt himself become accustomed to the gentle lull of the salty waves lapping against first his calves then his thighs. Eventually she had pulled him into water that had begun to reach her shoulders and his chest.

In the pale pink light of the morning he couldn't help but admire her. He preferred her like this, basking in the early morning sun with her damp curls floating on the water surface and dark lashes framing her eyes. Her skin seemed golden in the early sunlight and the shadows of her dimples seemed cast deeper than under candle light. She looked as if she belonged her, like the tales of mermaids and sea-nymphs that Erchirion told him children of Belfalas were raised on. Perhaps this wasn't the cold rivers of Rohan that he was accustomed to, but here he understood why she felt at home. Despite the strength of the sea pulling back, here was a slight woman determinedly holding her ground with all the confidence of a Queen, daring the sea to pull her out.

And in his mind he knew that it was what she was destined to be if she agreed. Or at least he hoped she agreed after he found a way to ask her.

Lothìriel now turned sharply from the horizon to face him and he was yet again made aware of simply how short she was against him. "My lord,"

"Yes?"

"Are you ever going to kiss me properly?" She raised a brow and Éomer felt his heart stop for a second. He felt as if his hands had lost all feeling, and then in an instant, decided upon their next course of action.

The distance between them closed within heart beats.

At first her lips felt unsure, but the small smile he could feel forming against his own lips answered his question. She returned his kiss confidently, her wet hands reaching to gently cradle his jaw and run her fingers through his now salt-dampened beard. Éomer pulled her body closer against him now, relishing in the warmth her small frame now gave him. As the fiery sparks coursed through him he paused for a second, breaking away and resting his forehead against hers, noting her parted lips now deeper red from kissing.

"How was that?" He dared to ask, feeling his warm breath mingling with hers. He barely had time to register the mischievous glint that coloured her eyes and in that instance he knew he was in trouble. And that he would happily comply.

"I'm not sure," She rubbed her nose against the tip of his, "I'll have to double-check"

And double, triple check she did indeed.

A/N: Fun fact, I sassed my boyfriend into kissing me for the first time with that exact line. As you can see I questionable terrible decisions when panicking. Anyway I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this and let me know if you want some more parts (I do have some ideas) and feel free to leave reviews, I feel like I haven't answered one since 2016 when I was last updating fics here. Find me over on Tumblr with my main blog (mischief-and-maryment) and my fic sideblog (if-weshadows-haveoffended).