A/N - I got the inspiration to write this story after researching medieval marriages, whilst writing "She's the One." I wanted the write a "realistic" version of the Eomer/ Lothiriel story. My versions of their tale so far have been romantic saga's, with obsticles in the way of their happiness. I hope you like this more awkward version of their story. Please review, message me and just generally comment on this version. Cheers, Mrs E x

I always knew that I would be auctioned off to the highest bidder when I came of age. My station within our country and that of my fathers demanded it. Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Dol Amroth. The title I was given at birth and one day would bring every man flocking to my parent's door. It was no secret that my eventual marriage to one of those most deserving men was my duty.

"One day Lothiriel, a Son of Gondor will come and take you to be his wife."

This was the lecture I was given as I grew older and closer to my twentieth year. Each time I heard it, the tone of my mother's voice became more exacerbated. I was not reluctant, nor defiant. My own mother had been matched by her parents to my father. It was our way. However, as the shadow of doom encroached our lands, I think she feared it would never happen.

For a time I believed it myself. With every body that returned home, mutilated by the savagery of war, the future that my parents had meticulously planned for me was slipping away. I know it was selfish to be worried about a life, lived with a husband that I thought beneath me, whilst our men were being slaughtered in droves as the years went on. Though nothing prepared me for the reality that I was eventually to face.

As the Men of the West forced evil from our lands we rejoiced at their victory. I attended the coronation of our King and moved to court with my family as they helped restore the capital. I half expected to be married by the end of the year, since I had come of age that summer. However, despite my families best efforts the Sons of Gondor were in short supply and unwilling. Though there was much to celebrate, courting and marriage were not high on their agenda. In the end it was a soldier of Rohan, their young King who would contend for my hand and eventually won it.

O0O

The day was still early, yet Lothiriel was in bed alone. Her husband had long since vacated their room and was about his lordly duties, as he was every day before she rose. She arched her back and stretched the fatigue from her limbs. Feeling both oak and silk beneath her fingers, the mark of a well-born, or in her case well married lady. The young Queen sat up in bed and reached for her slippers with her toes. She stood in the empty room and felt the coldness of the day enclose around her. It was not the chill of winter but the devoid of companionship and love she had experienced since arriving in her new home.

The people of Rohan were not unfriendly, but their customs and ways were strange to Lothiriel, and hers to them. As royal marriages demanded, Lothiriel had arrived in Rohan without entourage. She was expected to pick her ladies from the court of her husband. Those that had been chosen for her- on the request of Eomer- were the wives of his Marshals Erkenbrand and Elfhelm; Freawyn, and Hilda respectively. Both were calm and kind of temperament, but Lothiriel's lack of knowledge and grasp of Rohan's language, had made it more difficult to associate herself with the ladies.

Her husband too was still unfamiliar to her.

As Lothiriel paced her room, she reached for a shawl to wrap around her shoulders just as a servant entered. She was carrying a ceramic jug in hand and a crisp linen towel slung over her arm. The girl arrived every morning to deliver these things for the Queen.

"Good Morning."

Lothiriel offered as the girl was not allowed to speak until addressed by the Queen.

"God aermorgan, min folccwyn"

She replied, just as she always did.

Lothiriel smiled politely back as the servant poured a mixture of hot water, buttermilk and honey from the jug into a bowl on a low dresser. She stood to one side as Lothiriel submerged a small cloth into the mixture and washed her face and hands. She then handed her the towel to dry with. Once finished the servant took the used items away with her out the door. Her place was soon taken by a two over servants who were charged to groom and dress the Queen in the most appropriate outfit.

Today Lothiriel would be spending the morning with her ladies – most likely embroidering - but was expected by the Kings side during a council meeting in the afternoon. Therefore her hair and attire needed to be practical but stately. A dark red dress was chosen. Made from a rich and heavy velvet fabric and trimmed with intricate gold stitching at the neck and cuff. The outfit was undoubtedly regal. However the sleeves were well fitted at the arm and more suited for the morning activities. The Queens hair was styled in a fashion preferred by the Rohan women. Long and flowing. Lothiriel was used to wearing her hair tightly drawn, but was informed she would appear more charming if she adopted the style of her people. So she did.

After the dressers had gone the next visitor arrived. This time is was a boy, no older than thirteen. He carried in with him a tray of food and drink. As usual he brought the Queen a choice of fruits, both fresh and dried, cold meats and a pot of tea with sweetened cow's milk. Lothiriel did not speak to the boy, she had learnt very early on, his handle on the common tongue was less than her Rohirric. Despite trying many times to coax him to speak, he would always respectfully decline. As the serving boy came and was then gone, Lothiriel was left alone once again. She ate her breakfast in comfortable silence, then when she was ready, grabbed the book she had been reading the previous night from beside her bed.

"Rohan: A complete an extensive History" or so it translated.

The Queen had been reading this particular book ever since she arrived. It had been given to her by Alfrid, her tutor. He had been instructed to teach her the language and history of the Kings people so that she could better accustom herself with them. Though many at court and in the royal household spoke fluent Westron, the majority of the common folk only spoke Rohirric. The book was a tool, an aide for her to use in difficult situations and to revise the more complex production of words. It was a dreadfully large thing, bound in green leather that was stretched and cracked with age.

Book in hand, Lothiriel left the royal apartments and entered the golden hall. It was still relatively early and as there were no official meetings that morning the room was empty. She spotted an empty table just beneath the great dias and close to the fire grate. Pulling the low bench away from the table Lothiriel made herself comfortable and began thumbing through the pages of the book. Studying the words carefully, translating them in her head. She sat there for a while waiting for her ladies to arrive, propped on her elbows with hands neatly tucked under her chin.

The doors to the entrance creaked open slowly. Lothiriel looked up expecting to see Freawyn and Hilda but saw Eomer strolling back into the hall. He was dressed in his riding armour and looked fearsome. Lothiriel stood to greet him. In doing so she caused the bench to scrape the floor, catching her husband's attention. Eomer's head was down when he entered, he had been removing his gloves so he didn't notice Lothiriel sat across the room at the table. When he saw who it was he stopped in his tracks. A mixture of surprise and nerves.

He thought she looked beautiful. The cut of her dress hugging her curves provocatively. If it hadn't of been his wife standing before him, he would have felt his pulse race at the sight of her. However, it was his wife. Though she was handsome and kind of heart, she was still a stranger to him. Every time they met she reduced him to a bumbling fool. He was not used to the effect a women could have on a man, it unnerved him. She unnerved him. Although reason told him the situation would improve if he spent more of his time with her, Eomer found it difficult.

Lothiriel stood there calmly. One hand resting on the page that she had been studying just moments ago. She stared at Eomer, unsure whom should speak first. Since their wedding they had barely spoken more than a handful of words together. He left early each morning and spent most of the day with his captains and councillors. When they met for the evening meal they were surrounded by many people, guests and their household alike. Holding an extended conversation therefore was impossible. In their apartments and their marital bed, they were not so estranged. Having lain together as was expected on their first night. Even so Lothiriel felt extremely awkward around him. He intimidated her.

"Morning." He said tensely.

"Good morning my lord." She replied just as nervously.

There was an awkward silence between them.

"You are up early. Is everything alright?"

"Yes thank you. I was just reading." She indicated the book on the surface with her finger.

Eomer smiled reminiscently at the book and walked towards his wife. Standing beside her.

"What chapters?"

"The ballad of Helm Hammerhand."

"A good choice?"

Eomer reached out for the book, touching the paper close to Lothiriel's hand, pulling it closer towards him.

"How do you like it so far?"

"Very much. Though I have not yet finished it."

"Well I hope you do, like it I mean."

Eomer looked towards his wife with honesty in his eyes then pushed the book back towards her. His fingers slid on the smooth paper as he did this and lightly brushed over her own. Lothiriel felt a wave of surprise at his touch and pulled her hand back mistakenly. The King took this poorly and promptly left his wife. Heading towards the royal apartments to change from his riding clothes.