Another Eomer/Lothiriel one-shot! An attempt of approaching a side of how Eomer and Lothiriel could have become first acquainted, with a tad of mix-up in the process. Hope you all enjoy it.
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It was like a dream; a myth of legends told by travellers of old. He, Eomer stood out in the grasslands, the sun rising over the lands – his lands they were now. It there where he saw her; a woman of dark features, a woman who had arrived in the procession from Gondor to attend the funeral of his late uncle. She was standing ahead of him in the field, watching the sunrise over the mountains. Her arms were folded across her chest, her hair loose, waiving in the morning breeze. She must have sensed his presence, for she turned around, unfolding her arms, smiling with uncertainty.
"Stay like that," he said, gesturing for her to turn around. Seeing her frowning face, he had not a clue why had spoken those words.
"You are a king, so I must obey," she replied, turning back around to face the coming light.
"You are of Gondor?" he asked, coming to stand beside her.
She turned her head towards him, her eyes smiling. "Indeed, my lord. My party arrived late last night."
"Is this your first visit to the Mark?"
"It is, my lord." She closed her eyes, standing there peacefully. He studied her - hair black as night, skin that appeared silky to touch. Her eyes were bright with light and a sense of happiness, something that he himself had wanted so much. She closed her eyes, inhaling the crisp morning air. His eyes roamed down her body, taking every last inch in. He enjoyed dallying, yet this woman seemed so untouchable. It made him wanted to reach out and touch her face. So he did.
Her eyes opened at his touch; biting her bottom lip, she closed them again, seemingly enjoying the touch. "Why..." she breathed. "I was not... you should..."
"I should what?" he asked, lingering his finger down her neck.
"My father would not approve. You should not touch me so," she replied, gently grabbing his hand and removing it. "Customs seem to be different in your lands. A man would never dare touch a woman as such without proper courtship."
Eomer coughed back a laugh. "I am sure there are plenty of men fooling around in Gondor. I know for a fact of Prince Imrahil's two youngest sons enjoying pleasured distractions after the Great War."
Her lips twitched. His words did not surprise her, for the two men in question were her older brothers. "Prince Imrahil's sons are renowned among the women of Gondor." She hid a mischievous look in her eyes. "Though rumour speaks back home of the Prince Erchirion enjoying the traditional company of a woman of noble birth. It is said that he is paying court to her."
Eomer raised an eyebrow, noticing some defence in her voice. "Are you this woman you speak of?"
Lothiriel burst with laughter. She covered her mouth, embarrassed. "Oh, my lord, forgive me. I... believe me when I say I am not... worthy enough for Prince Erchirion to lay eyes upon me."
Eomer frowned. "Such a beauty as you? What man would not lay eyes upon you?"
Lothiriel slowly lifted her eyes up to meet his. She hovered there, meeting his intense gaze. "What is it that your wish of me, my lord?"
"To touch you again," he murmured, caressing her cheek, "to feel your soft skin once more."
She closed her eyes again, inhaling. What a touch! The bell of Edoras struck three times to signal the sixth hour approaching. Lothiriel stepped back from the king, noticing the sun has risen, alighting the grasslands a beautiful, emerald green. "I must return to my family." She curtseyed. "I wish you a good morning, my king."
As she turned to leave, Eomer called out to her. "Wait! Hail!"
Lothiriel stopped in her tracks, smiling, forcing back a laugh. She turned, waiting.
"What is your name?"
Lothiriel grinned, lowering her eyes, and then lifting them to meet his. "I shall never tell."
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