Author's Note: I hope you will learn a bit more about the characters in this chapter.

I have also done the two cardinal sins of romance writing in this chapter. But you know, I don't want to write formulated romance, like julie garwood. I like men who are men and women who are women. I want flaws and angst and struggle. I want them to be human. I think the hero and heroine are more relatible that way.

Review of any kind= giggles, smiles, encouragement and big thank yous! LOL!

What happens at the end of this chapter will be more clear in the begining of the next...

Thanks again!


"For a girl, I still can't believe how bad you smell," Eomer told her later that same morning.

"What," Loti snapped, "would you like me to do about it?"

"Wash," he stated, attempting to hold back a smile and doing a very poor job of it.

She let out a trying sigh, "Ha ha."

Fine time for him to become a comedian, she grumbled inwardly.

They rode the oat fattened Firefoot peacefully, more or less, as a hot, muggy breeze rushed past their compressed bodies, doing nothing to clear the haze out of the mostly sunny skies. She hadn't told Eomer about the incident with the grain bag, partially because he would have been furious, so his mount received a double helping of oats for breakfast and pranced merrily down the road. Firefoot, thankfully, also failed to mention this indiscretion.

Eomer hung back from the rest of the group this morning though, staying within sight in case of danger, but far enough away to give them some privacy.

"Why do you wear these?" He asked, plucking at her grimy pants.

"What do you mean why? Have you ever worn a dress? I'd say pants are much more practical."

"Yah," he said like a common ruffian, looking over her shoulder, "but every man on earth can see your…you know."

"No, I don't know. You mean my legs or my bum?" Loti leaned back against him to better see what he was looking at, and found his eyes cast downward, "Oh, you mean my-"

"Uh-huh," he finished brusquely.

Tipping in the saddle to see his face, she lacked any modesty in asking, "Don't you like being able to see my-"

She thought he turned red, but it was hard to tell if it was embarrassment or just a very bad sunburn. He was so easily pricked; sometimes it was difficult to resist a jab here or there.

He immediately interrupted, obviously not wanting to discuss what else was revealed when a woman wore pants, "It's not appropriate for women to wear pants, and you won't do it when you work in my household. And don't let my sister see you in those or I'll never hear the end of it." He sounded as though he were a trifle agitated about something.

"Are you going to make me stop wearing them?" There was a bit of a challenging tone in her voice.

Resignedly, he admitted, "No."

"Is that why we're riding two hundred yards away from everybody else? So you can give me advice on my choice of fashion?"

She heard a grumbling noise coming from the back of his throat. "We should talk," he suggested with an incredible lack of feeling.

"Talk about what?" She was attempting to braid one pony tail but the wind was causing some recalcitrant strands of hair to elude her, making it nearly impossible to do a proper job.

"Your duties and your place in the Rohirrim."

"Mmm," Loti said, futilely trying to recapture some errant, wind bourn hairs with her little finger, "Is this about this morning?"

His left hand was slack on the reigns and the right hand rested on his hip, keeping the beast out of the grassy ditch only by the squeezing of his thighs. "I don't expect you to do anything for me that's outside your regular duties. You're an equal in the Rohirrim. You're not a slave or a servant." Eomer ended with a twist of his mouth. "Well, not yet anyway."

Dropping the finished braid to her chest, she squirmed to be able to catch a glimpse of his face, "Why don't you get a squire? Don't most lords here have squires too?"

Looking into her face reprovingly, he explained, "There's a big difference between being the lord's secretary and the lord's squire. A nobleman's secretary is a smart man. It's a great honor to be chosen for that duty. A squire is just another royal ass kisser working his way up the ranks to knighthood. He does the menial physical tasks for his lord."

None of the meaning of his explanation was lost on Loti, although she had no idea he had given her such a prestigious rank among men.

A little perplexed, she asked, "Don't you want one?"

"A squire? Does it look like I need one? My arms aren't broken."

"Haven't you ever had one?"

Eomer laughed, tight lipped, "You really don't know anything about me, do you?"

Loti didn't like the presumptuous arrogance in his voice and tried reasserting control of the conversation.

"So what are these," she flitted her hands and fingers in the air, "duties?"

He squinted, narrowing his eyes against the blazing sun.

"Your main duty will be correspondence; writing letters and orders to my officers. Encoding and decoding classified reports. Keeping the daily report log, taking dictation, following up to see that my orders were carried out, that kind of thing. Then any translating or interpreting that needs to be done, especially if it's sensitive or needs to be kept quite. You're able to keep your mouth shut aren't you?"

At that moment, Loti herself was feeling rather pricked, "Of course I can. I gave you my word. I'm no traitor."

"You're not?"

She could feel a little fire start to burn in her belly from that suggestion, "No. I'm not! And you didn't leave me a lot of choice in the matter, either," then gave him a poke with her elbow in his armor covered ribs.

"Good," he decided satisfactorily, "Because I execute traitors."

"Anything else you want to tell me?" She honestly believed he would droll on all day if she let him, expounding on the importance of her duties. His work seemed to be the main reason for his existence.

He nodded and paused for a second, speaking sincerely. "You're not a soldier. You're a woman. When I ask you to do something it's a request, not an order, but I do expect you to obey it. I need your word that you'll listen. It's for your own protection, Loti. Do you understand?"

Yes, she did understand. She was a member of his household and he took responsibility for her welfare. She was seriously beginning to question what she knew about this man. Was there any evil at all in his heart? How strange, that it was Eomer of Rohan who gave her feelings of safety and stability. It felt so good to know she was cared for; to know that she was protected and secure. Had she ever know security and protection, even as a child? She felt lifted on a wave, and inhaled a deep, carefree breath, letting all her tensions be carried out to sea.

She turned back to him wearing her best whatever-you-ask-of-me face. A few beads of sweat ran in a ragged, wet streak along his temple, and his beard was beginning to shine with perspiration. Loti resisted the urge to wipe his face, thinking her King may not find the gesture appropriate.

"I understand. I'll try," and she patted him good naturedly over the armored steel apron covering his thigh. His thighs were like rock, and she wondered why she hadn't noticed before.

Probably because you were more worried about a different rock hard part of his anatomy, she concluded, still rattled over their intimate knowledge of each other.

"There are some things that I won't be able to tell you or discuss with you. There's some information that only I should know."

"Like what?" She casually prodded, thinking that keeping secrets in her capacity as his secretary might be downright impossible.

"Nothing you need to know, nosey."

Loti changed the subject back to something more interesting, "Didn't you have a secretary back home you could've brought?"

"I did," he admitted somberly, "He's dead. He caught a fever over the winter, so Eothain's been doing it the last few months."

"Eothain can read? Sheesh! I didn't know Eothain was capable of doing anything other than telling dirty stories!" She joked.

"You'd be surprised. He's not what he seems."

There was a tiny snort from the back of her throat and a hand hid her smile. Eothain exhibited virtually no self restraint when it came to cursing, lewd behavior, crude jokes and inappropriate stories. No animal, mineral, or vegetable seemed immune from his tastelessness. A slanted grin eventually crossed Eomer's lips, too.

"Alright, maybe he is what he seems."

Any remaining strain between them eased with their shared laughter. Loti liked the sound of Eomer's laugh. It was a low, sort of rumbling chuckle, like the sound of thunder far off in the distance and she could feel his body drain of its tension at the suggestion of his friends raucous behavior.

He wore half of his gold streaked hair tied back into a braid, while the rest fell loose, plastered in wet tangles to his neck. Her heart, she realized, was beating arrhythmically. Was it wrong to find her lord so lustfully handsome? There was a thick male scent about him she would have found repulsive on other men. But this morning, mixed with the earthiness of grain and freshness of salty ocean water on the southern winds, for some strange reason, she found his aroma wildly erotic.

"Um…" she began wanting to be distracted from the floating in her chest and the pulsing warmth between her spread legs, "Who are all these men then?"

Eomer loosened the matted wet hairs from his sunburned neck with a forefinger. "The older men are members of my guard, mostly from Edoras. The younger ones are from all over the Riddermark and need experience."

Loti had noticed the disparity in ages amongst the one hundred men she rode with, but most did appear to be her own age if not younger. Although, she thought it was hard to tell the ages of the older men. They had all lived hard lives, and their faces bore the weariness and toil of scratching out a meager existence in the Mark. Some were battle scared, or had young faces prematurely lined with age, others had blackened or missing teeth from poor nutrition, and many, even those that Loti thought were only in their middle thirty years of life had streaks of white in their fair hair. But all had one common trait, one thread that held them together, a bind that ran deeper than just mere camaraderie. They shared the blood of the Rohirrim; a long and proud history of men and women who loved their horses and a barren, windswept stretch of land. She realized then there was one more thing these men had in common; a deep respect and unwavering love of their king.

Suddenly, Loti's chest filled with pride and, almost inconceivably, her heart with hope. She too would share in their customs and find a place within her adopted people someday. And maybe, just maybe, if fate and luck were on her side, her blood might mix with the blood of a Rohirric man and their child would become a brave and fearless warrior in the service of Rohan and EomerKing. It was a blissfully optimistic thought and she leaned her head against his shoulder, looking up at him, sidelong, with daydream slackened eyes.

"But why do you have to go? I'm sure you have men who could do this work for you."

"I lead by example," he said, clipped.

"Does everyone fight for you? I've heard stories about women who go to battle with the men."

She received a hefty scowl for that remark as he cast his eyes down. "Women don't belong in battle. I don't allow it, so don't go getting any ideas."

Scowling in return, she countered with, "I didn't have any ideas! I'd heard your sister is one of those, ah…what are they called?"

"Shieldmaidens," he did not sound pleased at all. In fact he sounded grim and sickened, "She thought she was."

Loti pushed away from his torso with a "tsk"-ing noise and offered him some well deserved criticism, "You're just as pig headed as southern men when it comes to women."

That comment didn't sit well with her riding partner, and he grabbed Loti's face as she tried to twist away, cupping her chin, and squishing her cheeks with his fingers. He awkwardly forced her to look directly into his eyes as he re-educated her on the difference between Rohirric and Haradric men.

"Southrons treat woman as slaves and property. I treat women with respect and kindness. They send a girl to her death for no other reason than she has become a burden. I take that same girl and offer her my home and my protection. Women don't go to war because it's a man's duty to protect her."

Eomer was more than emphatic in his lecture, he was downright angry and she wasn't all pleased with the tight grip on her cheeks. Loti laid a hand on his arm and shoved, his fingertips slipping from her face. Her voice was contradictory and heated when she spoke.

"Why can't women. They have the same reasons to fight as you do. Maybe even more!"

He grasped her face again, this time his fingers pressed into the soft flesh behind her jaw, below the ear.

"A woman sacrifices to give a man a home and a family. A man sacrifices his body to keep his home and family safe. Don't you ever forget it."

"You're a boar!"

"I'm a man," Eomer retorted, the muscles of his jaw taught from controlling his anger, "And I'll do whatever it takes to protect the women I care for."

"Does that include me?" She demanded crossly.

He swallowed, but didn't answer. His fleckless, icy blue eyes stayed fixed on her face.

Loti asked again, this time stressing every word, "Does that include me?"

"What do you think?" He calmly avoided the query.

She shoved his hand away again and scooted away from him like he was crawling with lice. The man was so infuriatingly vague sometimes. "Ooo! I think you're impossible."

They rode for quite a while in silence, just the two of them, alone, sweating and baking in the southern sun. For a man who wanted privacy to talk, he suddenly wasn't very talkative. Eomer didn't really seem like he ever wanted to talk that much. Perhaps he meant for this to be a time to vent her frustrations about her treatment or captivity. But, now, there was nothing she could do about that, so she sat quietly on his lap.

Letting Loti brood seemed like the best way to let the girl reign in her temper. Eomer wanted to be alone with her, to learn about the woman he would be spending many long hours with, and to eliminate any of the awkwardness that was part of getting to know someone, but how hard was it to admit that he did care? Why were those words, 'yes, I do' so confusing and painfully arduous to say to any woman? He hadn't felt this way around a woman in years; speechless, uncomfortable, and nervous. What was worse, he didn't know why he felt these things. The truth was he hadn't spent long periods of time with any woman other than his sister. Now that they had privacy and time to adjust to one another's constant presence, he didn't know how to start a conversation. He was like a tongue tied teenage boy lusting after an older girl. Women, he concluded, really were easier to manage one night at a time.

He glanced to the side trying to hide a growing smirk even from himself. "Pissed at me already?"

"Yes!" She piped in, "You only treat me as a friend when you need something."

"We are not friends."

"Good," she said and crossed her arms in deadlock. Discussions, as far as she was concerned, were finished.

"Are you pouting?" He asked, goadingly.

"I don't pout!" Loti cried.

Eomer let her temper cool before for a few moments before chancing more questions.

"How are your hands?"

She flipped them over in her lap. "Fine. The salve the healer used helped."

It was clear she wasn't interested in talking and there was another pause.

"What's the weather going to be like down there?"

"Hot," she answered coolly, "And then hot and wet."

He was a conversational failure. The art of small talk was lost on him and his mother would be disappointed over that worldly and courtly necessity. He was as accomplished at making light conversation as a pile of horse manure. Probably worse! Just another reason, he considered, why Gondorian nobles considered him an unrefined rustic. He was a lot like his uncle in that way; up front, straightforward, to the point. He didn't have time for idle bullshit chit chat, but, damn it, today he was going to make time.

"You ever seen snow?"

"Snow?" That one word grabbed her attention and she swiveled around to meet him face to face. "Only on the tops of the mountains. Why? Does it snow in the Riddermark?"
Her face showed excitement but her voice held a tinge of apprehension at the thought of white, fluffy stuff.

"Yah, it does, or at least it used to. Last year we only got a couple of feet, but-"
Loti stopped him mid sentence in surprise, "Feet! How cold does it have to be to snow?"

Lifting his shoulders indeterminately, Eomer mused, "Pretty cold. Sometimes it's hard to know when it's going to snow. It's gray and cloudy most of the winter, but if a big storm is coming, it'll get damp and windy. A blizzard can drop a couple feet of snow over night."

She seemed genuinely fascinated, if only because her mouth hung open in disbelief, so he continued on, assuming she found the topic interesting.

"In the really strong snowstorms there'll be thunder and lightining."

At that thought, her eyes narrowed into dubious half moon shaped slits. "Now you're just playing a joke on me."

He smiled. The girl really did think he was joking.

"No, I'm not," he smirked, shaking his head in protest, "Those are the bad storms when you'll get a lot of snow in a short time. But it's not the snow you have to worry about so much. It's the wind. When the wind blows real hard and it's real cold, your skin will freeze and can turn black. Won't take very long, either. It's called frostbite and you mostly get it on your toes or ears or fingers. If it's bad enough you can lose whatever's been bitten."

Appalled at losing a body part to temperature change, Loti asked, "Have you ever had frostbite?"

"Oh, sure," he admitted, casually, "About six years ago I had it pretty bad on my toes. Chasing a band of orcs on foot across a marsh, I broke through the ice and my boots were soaking wet. Hurt something awful, like stinging and throbbing. Still got all of them, though."

"Doesn't sound so great with all that cold and snow…What's there to do besides stay inside?"

"There's lots of things to do. Lots of fun ways to stay warm, too." Eomer intimated, with a wink and a smile.

Near midday, Eomer spurred up to join the rest of his guard, and they shared a simple midday meal of dried apples and venison jerky. Not a single soul even bothered to bat an eyelash when they saw Loti freely floating in Eomer's wake that morning and, as they rode slowly under the rays of hot sun, his men spoke easily and without reservation in her presence with the knowledge she was no longer a threat. She was flattered by the attention she received as each member of Eomer's guard seemed thrilled at a chance to regale a new audience with old, worn out stories. The Rohirrim were most certainly story tellers, and she listened intently to tales about horses, battles, legends and even a brief Rohirric history lesson before talk inevitably turned to family. Eothain, who Loti thought was the best and most animated storyteller, was busy giving his friend a hard time and reliving childhood events.

Eothain was laughing heartily, "Remember that time you dared your sister to ride her horse through the middle of town?" There was some reverberating laughter, an indication that some of these men were familiar with or participated in this story. To Loti he explained, "It wasn't that simple, mind you. He dared her to ride it full gallop through the street standing bareback. Remember that mare of hers? Ghaw, that animal was mean, and barely broken!"

Digging into a small pouch, he pinched some loose black stuff and tucked it in his lip until it bulged. "Anyways, she was always tagging along after us saying how she was going to be the best horseman and the fastest rider... Even better than the men! So, this one," he gestured with his thumb at Eomer, "says girls can't ride better than the men and their place it to have food ready when the men come home. Then he starts teasing her, poking at her saying she's just a girl and she's too afraid. Well, she always did have a wild streak and too much pride that's proper for a girl, so she kicks off her shoes and could barely climb up that horse and goes racing down the street like a shot arrow. She couldn't have been more than, what, seven? But that's not the best part," Eothain left off, pausing dramatically in the middle of the story to turn his head and spit out a particularly nasty shade of brown.

"No?"

"No! His ma is in the market and sees his sister standing on that horse riding hell for leather through the streets. Your ma was always so prim and proper," he observed, showing a fondness and respect for Eomer's mother, "but she had one mighty wicked temper. She ran after her all red in the face, screaming she was going to break her neck, and cursing like a demon with her skirts hiked up around her knees. Gods, we laughed so hard, his ma caused such a scene in public. She was in so much trouble!"

"Not as much as when my father found out I put her up to it," Eomer interjected with a reminiscing smile.

"What happened then?" Loti asked. She liked hearing these childhood stories, feeling as it somehow made up for her own lost and dysfunctional youth.

"My mother dragged my sister home for a beating, and I came home later. My father didn't think she did it on her own even though she was always getting into trouble. She was always such a stubborn thing. He asked if I knew why she did it and I said no, I didn't know anything about it. Then he asked if I teased her into it, and I said no again. So he told me he was going to beat her and I was going to have to watch so I could learn a lesson too."

"You didn't let him do it did you?" Loti sucked in a breath, turning so she could see his face in the retelling of the tale. Eomer was red with sunburn and his hair damp from a good dousing of water.

"No, I couldn't let my father do it when it was all my idea. So when I stopped him, he said he was proud that I hadn't let my sister take the blame for something that was my doing, but now he was going to have to beat me for what I did to Eowyn and for lying."

"How did he do it?" She was interested to know how Rohirric fathers or any father disciplined their children since her experience was very limited.

"Took me out to the stables and bent me over the paddock rail. He always beat us with a leather strap."

Loti's eyebrows shot up at the thought of proud and powerful Eomer, with his britches pooled around his ankles, bare arsed, awaiting his punishment.

A cajoling remark came from somewhere behind them, and although Loti didn't catch the teasing, Eomer smiled crookedly, and tossed back, "Ghaw, I was only eleven, man! I had to do all her chores for a month, too," he added.

"Did it hurt," she nearly giggled in asking.

He shrugged; "It wasn't as bad as you'd think," and then he leaned in, like he was going to tell her something strictly confidential, "It was worse. I don't think my ass has ever hurt that bad. Couldn't ride for a week!"

"Whatever happened to your sister? She didn't get a beating?"

"Oh, no. She got one too. For riding the horse. Mother wanted her to have a lesson in humility."

There was laughter over this comment and Eothain put in, "A whole months worth of beatings couldn't teach her that!"

Loti careened her head so she could see Eomer. "Will I ever get to meet her?"

"I hope not," he spoke evenly, as he liked to when he knew she was looking at him, "The two of you together would be my death."

"Oh, come on, they're not that bad," Eothain diplomatically argued, "Eowyn's gotten a lot better."

"Not much," she heard from a man behind them, and there seemed to be mass agreement on that comment.

"What's she like?" Loti prompted, wondering what a woman so closely related to Eomer would be like.

Eothain immediately piped up before anyone else could answer. "Oh, these two are defiantly cut from the same mold! They're both bossy, and stubborn, and reckless. But that Eowyn," he inhaled a loud breath through his teeth.

Something happened to Eomer, Loti realized, when his sister's name crossed his friend's lips. She could feel his hackles rise, and saw the knuckles on his ungloved hand grip the reigns until they were furiously white, then release, grip, then release. A cough and a few throats being uncomfortably cleared didn't deter Eothain from continuing.

"I hope that dandy, Faramir, realizes what he's got. She always smells like spring flowers and hay. And those thick thighs, and that broad, soft ass that nestles right down over your-"

Eomer's reaction was a growling snap, "Don't say another fucking word or you'll lose a month's pay. Explain that to the wife."

Waving away the chastising, Eothain offered with a devilsh smile, "Aw, I didn't mean nothing by it. You know that." He winked at Loti.

Eomer didn't reply, but the reaction to his friends teasing was unusually harsh. Eothain's words had meant something; obviously to Eomer they had. It was not a response she would have expected two men who acted like brothers to exchange. Surely, it was just the reaction of a protective older brother and she was sure Castamir would have done the same for his sister. But still, something was happening between the two, something everyone else knew but would dare not speak of, especially around Eomer.

Afternoon was waning when, as usual, the group stopped at a deep, clear creek to water the horses. Clouds hung in puffs across the sky and the opaque summer haze still floated along the horizon. Loti was holding Firefoot's bridle near the shore, receiving a series of wet, lip flapping kisses to her cheek, and a few inconsiderate hair nibbles while Eomer knelt, filling canteens and pouring water over the back of his neck.

"Ah, um…E," she began, sheepishly trying out his informal name as he approached, swaggering confidently to stop opposite her, on the other side of Firefoot, "Why, ah…why did you think I was married?"

He took a drink from the canteen and offered her the same, which she accepted.

Considering, he answered the question with a question. "Who else would have written the book?"

Loti touched the canteen to her lips, gratefully quenching her thirst and washing the road dust from her lips. Eomer was inconspicuously brushing his hand along his mount's sweat gleaming neck.

"Who wrote it then? Your lover?" he growled severely.

She handed the canteen back and he looped it around the pommel, and then busied himself with tightening the saddle's girth after flipping up the stirrup.

"My father wrote it for my mother. My mother gave it to me when-" Loti broke off suddenly. He could never understand what she had lived through, and if he knew, he would forever treat her differently. For Eomer, to know what had happened to one of his own would be far less difficult than anything his imagination might conjure up.

Raising his eyes, but not his head from his work, he studied her under his brows. "When what?"

The words fumbled in her mouth, "When, ah, no…it was before she died, when she gave it to me." She didn't want to begin a relationship with this man like she had with so many others; with lies and deceit.

A dismal attempt at a laugh came out more like a fake giggle, "Why do you keep thinking I have a man?"

"You said every woman has a man. Who is your man?" he inquired bluntly.

She was nervous, he noticed, watching her pat Firefoot as he fidgeted with and towered over the saddle. Her large, almond shaped eyes were hidden beneath those seductive, long, black lashes. His eyes flicked up to her again.

"Your man, he sent you here didn't he?"

Eomer already knew the answer. Her man had hurt or abused her, made such a dove-like creature see and do things he did not want to comprehend. He thought he understood her a little better now; what motivated her, the fear he had seen, why she did what she did. Something terrible had happened to her and it ate away his stomach to know he could do nothing about it. He would have to add her man to a growing list of sleaze bags on his shit list.

Finished with adjusting the girth, he flipped the stirrup down and leaned his arms across the horse's back. His husky voice filled with compassion and curiosity when he spoke. "Whatever happened to your father?"

She slid a hand absent mindedly over Firefoot's dark gray forehead, and breathed out heavily. "My mother, she was a whore. She almost never spoke of him, so I don't know anything about him. Maybe he was a client of hers; maybe that's how they met. My mother didn't talk much about the past, but I think he was a good man, and I think they were very much in love. Mother was very sad all the time, like something was wrong in her head, and liked the drink too much. I don't know if losing my father was the reason. I'm not even sure if he's dead or just gone," her eyes were filled with loneliness when she raised her face to meet his, "I think things would have been different."

He shook his head, meditatively. How different would his life have been if his own father had lived? Or, for that matter, his foster father? He certainly wouldn't have lived his most recent days in turmoil and upheaval with a girl who was barely over five feet tall, thin as a fence post and had caused him to have an erection so painfully hard it was indecent! The urge to put his arm around her shoulders in a tenderhearted embrace returned. She was too strong for that though, and, gods forbid, he should feel the wrath of her injured pride again if she mistook his sympathy for pity. What she needed was his empathy.

"We're not so different, you and me. We're a lot more alike than you think."

Eomer nudged himself away from the horse, letting his arms slide off the seat of the saddle. She watched as he turned to leave and quickly ducked under the horse's head. He was several paces away before she found the courage to speak once more.

"Ah…wait! Can I ask another question?"

Stopping and turning back to face her, he placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, and looking impatient, nodded.

"Did…did you mean it?" He looked confused, with an eyebrow lifted, a sign that her question needed clarification. Raising her chin, Loti hoped to appear stronger than a watered down cup of tea. "That you were sorry for hurting me? Did you mean it?"

"I don't waste words on things I don't mean, girl."

"What about this," she asked, brushing her fingers over the scar that marred the corner of her mouth, "Are you sorry about this, too?"

A few quick strides brought him to her, and Eomer took hold of her chin with an index finger and thumb, angling her face to see the tiny scar set white against her golden skin. Two lines formed between his eyebrows and he squinted critically. "It's barely noticeable."

"I can see it," she stated, and listened as he blew out an annoyed breath.

Fuck me, he thought, lingering on and absorbing every detail of a perfect beauty that could only have been bestowed on her by the Valar. She made his heart race like no other woman he had ever known. Only a fool wouldn't want her.

Without thinking he smoothed a thumb over her lips. Smooth, full, and softly edged under the tough pad of his thumb, he recalled they tasted like apples or raspberry wine; tart and sweet at the same time. She made no attempt to move as he gingerly stroked the tiny scar. Did she really think it made her flawed? Yes, of course she did, but he didn't think so. It only made her more beautiful, more perfect, and more mysterious. He knew she wanted to hear that she was still attractive, that the scar didn't detract from her handsomeness. But he didn't want to tell her, he wanted to show her; to urgently press his mouth to hers again, part her lips, touch her slick, soft tongue with his own and taste her strawberry tinted lips, to be one with her in that way, because he could not allow himself to be one with her in the other way.

He was hypnotized.

He was also the fool.

Eomer pulled back with a mildly choleric "Mmphf," when he realized what he was doing, and walked in the direction of the road, nickering for his mount to follow.

"Well?" Loti called after his rapidly disappearing backside.

"You're not going to get an answer standing back there, are you?" He snapped in return, gesturing with an agitated finger for her to take her place by his side.

She ran after him, a satisfying hitch in her step.

XXX

It was virtually impossible to find Eomer's saddle in the early morning dark. The heavy, misty fog wasn't helping either, as she climbed and over and stepped around the canvas covered saddles. It was like being inside a wet ball of cotton. As she continued looking for Eomer's saddle and the oatmeal soap taking up residence in the saddlebag, Loti reconsidered refusing to bathe with the other men the day before.

Scouts found a stream that pooled into a large pond some distance into the woods. Nearly every man took the opportunity to wash clothes and themselves, as she discovered on one of many trips to and from the camp while helping the younger soldiers bring the horses to water. She had never seen so many blindingly white male backsides in one place before! If it was possible to die of mortification, she thought she might just do so then and there. When several bare naked Horse Lords heard and saw her giggling uncontrollably, she received some friendly heckles, a few catcalls, any number of invitations to join them for swim, private or otherwise, and two humorous, testicle grabbing proposals of marriage from already married men. So, after returning to the camp located in a clearing by the road, Loti gave up the hope of bathing, and instead took it upon herself to wash Eomer's clothes, which consisted of three white cotton shirts, two pairs of britches and the simple linen pants. She was on the receiving end of a hot scolding when Eomer returned to find his laundry washed and hanging to dry and the scolding disintegrated into a full blown argument that left both of them too angry to return to the pond so she could have a proper washing. But this morning, not dark or fog or plagues of locusts would keep her from cleansing off the accumulating layers of filth gathering daily on her body.

A few more minutes of diligent searching found her lord's saddle and the oatmeal soap. She had already located a square of linen fabric to use as a towel and taken the bar of lye soap for washing her clothes. Now Loti followed the trail through the dark, well trodden by both horses and men, to the quiet murmuring of the stream and pond. Nothing seemed to be stirring this morning; not even the forest life that could be so obnoxiously loud before dawn. After arriving, she slid out of her clothes without fear of being seen and began the process of scrubbing dirt, rinsing soap, and wringing water from her clothes. She hung the clean shirt and pants over a low hanging branch and finally turned to wash herself. The refreshing cool spring waters lapped over her thighs and belly and breasts like cold silk as she waded deeper then skimmed gracefully through the waters, reaching with long gliding strokes. As she watched the first rays of dawn mottle the fog with shades of rose and orange, Loti imagined this must have been what it felt like to be a nymph, or a fairy, or a mermaid in her mother's fanciful tales. She had always liked to imagine, to dream, to wonder. It had become an escape, a way to hide from the prison of hardship and fear that fate and life seemed all too happy to heap upon her slender shoulders. It was no new revelation that she was cursed. Marked by the Valar or not, somehow, someway, for some unfathomable reason, they had abandoned her to the cruelty of the men who would remain to populate and dominate what was left of Middle earth. So she had turned within, with the help of her father's book, into a realm of happiness and love; a world where she could control her own destiny, while she lived as a slave to the will of another. Dreaming was what kept her alive through endless nights of Fat Fingers lustful gropings, seducing and laying with vile, detestable men, and her own personal tragedies, like the death of Theodred. She often dreamed about him, wondering what it would have been like if she had stayed, if he had lived. What would it be like to touch him again, run her fingers through the wiry curls of hair on his chest, touch her lips to his hot skin, straddle his hips and make love to him? It didn't matter, never mattered, that he was influential, powerful or wealthy. It only mattered that he saw her for who she was, a person with thoughts and hopes and dreams, wants and desires. But Theodred was gone, dead, lost to time, and those dreams, her dreams were held now in the hands of his younger cousin.

Loti dunked her head underwater, rinsing soap and greasy sludge from her dark hair for the second time. She would have to hurry the rest of her ablutions or, when Eomer woke, he would be worried. There were times when he was aloof and easy going, and other times when he was absolutely tyrannical, and wondering off unsupervised, without his permission, into dense forest of Ithillien was probably something that would make him unusually crabby.

He's such a difficult man to understand, she thought with some amusement, not for the first time.

Lathering the finely milled soap in her hands, she made a thorough attempt at washing every curve, angle, line, nook and cranny she believed her body possessed. The mists and fog were still dense when she grabbed the linen towel to dry off, and watched as wisps of moisture wafted from the pond's calm waters like smoke from a chimney on a cool morning.

Suddenly, she heard movement; faint noises creeping rapidly through the woods, getting louder, closer, moving nearer in her direction. Not the shuffling of animal sounds either. They were even steps like that of a man. Or worse, she thought, orcs. She clasped the towel to her body in a futilely defensive gesture. How many were there? One, two? More? There were sounds of twigs snapping under foot, rustling of bushes being thrust aside, the distinctly metallic clamor of armor. Loti swung her head, sopping wet hair circling around her, matting in wet strands to her arms, looking for anything that might be used as a weapon. Whoever, whatever was stalking through the fog and early morning transition from dark to light was getting closer! Loti scuttled a few steps backward closer to the pond. If it was orcs, she could dive into pond and swim to the other side to escape.

She saw the dark, shadowy movement through the curtain of fog and held her breath. Then the shape of the beast stepped from the swirling mists.

It was alarmingly tall, and dangerously strong with frightening eyes that flashed with fury, while the animal clenched a nefarious looking broadsword in its hand. Any moment now she was going to begin trembling from terror as she looked into that monstrously twisted face. Valar's truth! He was going to kill her!

"Don't you ever wander off like that again!" Eomer admonished scathingly, and slipped the sword back in its scabbard. "It's too early in the morning for any of your crap. Let's go."

If he sounded irked or scared or both, it was because he was! He found her palate empty when he woke, but all her belongings still nearby, so he knew she had not run off. After their, as Eothain jested, lover's quarrel, the day before, the pond seemed like the most logical place she had gone, but any number of things could have befallen her whilst wandering alone in the dark and murk.

"You should've come and got me before you came out here all by yourself."

She clutched the wet, flimsy linen fabric to her breasts, while the rest of the cloth draped limply to the ground, revealing more than it hid. Eomer was a man who appreciated the curves of a woman's body, and he could see all of hers now as the new morning sun burned away the fog, lighting her from behind; the bulge of breast, the indent of a slim waistline and flat belly, the long sleek slopes of hip and thigh and calf, and the hard, tight line of inner thigh. If he wasn't a man of honor, nothing would keep him from what was behind that makeshift towel.

"Where're your clothes?" He demanded to know.

"Over there," Loti nodded in the direction of the tree limb where her clothing occasionally sprinkled water on the grasses below, "But they're still wet."

Eomer looked at her dubiously, "What were you planning on wearing?

She hesitated, then inclined her head to retain her dignity, and said coolly, "I…hadn't thought about that yet."

His gaze never wavered from her, but she didn't feel dirty, or violated in her near nudity. No, she realized, it was the opposite. He wasn't eyeing her with contempt for her sex or a greedy need for her body. Eomer, the ignorant bastard, was concerned, and that concern flooded her with warmth. How could she feel pure and unspoiled and hot for his touch? It was an odd combination of feelings, but nearly everything about her current situation and Eomer was baffling.

He made one of those disagreeable noises in his throat that had become a signal for his mild irritation, and started working loose the straps securing his chest plate. Then he yanked the chain mail shirt over his head, dropping it to the ground with a chinking flop.

Loti spluttered fiercely, keeping the cloth pressed to her breasts with one hand while removing his white cotton shirt from her face with the other.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" Her voice was pitched high in skepticism.

"Put it on," he directed, "You can wear that until your clothes dry."

Although the prospect of wearing only his shirt seemed as desirable as wearing only the linen towel, arguing with him in his current state of moodiness would be as productive as banging her head against a tree. He was courteous enough to present his back to her so she could pull the garment over her head.

It was a clean shirt, she was thankful for that, and the hem fell to mid thigh while the sleeves were far too long. The straight collar was low around her neck, but so was the u-shaped neck line, which she tied the strings at the top of the scoop to, hopefully, insure some modesty. Loti pinched a handful of the fabric and brought it to her nose. It smelled like him, raw, male, earthy, and still carried the heat of his body.

It was a broad back, she observed, lifting her eyes to spy on him unobtrusively and shaped much like a sinewy upside down triangle. Sharp, mounded muscles of the neck gave way to rounded shoulders, the curve and hollow of tricept and bicept and the bulging of veins in his forearms. The flat, dimpled shoulder blades flanked the valley of his spine protected by two thick strands of muscle on either side. His waist and hips, covered by the apron of metal were tapered and trim; all qualities befitting a man who knew labor, training and war far too well. She noted the many colors of his skin from the pale smoothness of his back to the dark brown leather of his arms, and reddened sunburn of his neck and face. He was a powerful man, but with that incredible power also came a gentleness few men of his strength and status possessed.

As she pulled fastidiously at the shirt, Eomer turned. Her eyes widened to the size of tea cups. Perhaps it had been too dark, or the distance to great, or simply preoccupation that hid it from her sight before now. A sleek white scar wrapped around his body from high above the side of his rib cage and sliced viciously downward to his navel. It was an old slash, clean and fluid, faded with time, but had dug out a noticeable groove from the lean torso. Dozens of questions formed in her mind, about the man, about the injury, but she dare not ask them, not now.

Eomer bent to snatch his items from the ground. "If you're done fucking around, get your things and let's go."

Jerking on her boots, and grabbing her clothes, the soaps, and the linen towel, Loti hastened after Eomer, who had already disappeared down the trampled path through the gray fog. Her short legs and loaded arms made keeping up with him difficult, and, with some annoyance, he was forced to slow his pace. The crunching of the undergrowth beneath their feet was disconcerting in the quiet morning, as they walked without speaking for some distance.

"Ah, um…" Loti broke the tense, uncomfortable hush that hung between them like the fog, as she hopped carefully over a fallen log, "Why has it taken so long for you to come? I mean, to Harad. Why didn't you come earlier?"

Never breaking stride he did at least acknowledge the question with a slight tip of his head. "I had things to do," he replied in the throaty voice he used when didn't want to discuss something. "You never should've come here alone."

"Weren't you the one complaining I smelled bad?" She shrilled excoriatingly, skipping once again to keep up with him, "And I wasn't going to strip naked and bathe with fifty men I don't know, so-"

Eomer clamped a giant hand tightly over her mouth. Loti made muffled protestations behind his hand as he slowly lowered the chest plate and mail shirt to the ground. His blue eyes were wide with alertness as he cocked his head from side to side, and then pressed his forefinger to his lips in the universal sign for quiet. He slowly released his grip on her face, pointed a finger to his ear after removing his hand, and swept it in an all encompassing arc. She heard what his keen ears had detected as she was blathering on about the sensibilities washing privately. Footsteps.

Something was out there!

Loti placed her things on the ground also. They had a very brief but silent argument, both waving their arms in the air like flightless birds, and pointing animatedly about in which direction the sounds came seconds before he hoisted her up without warning, legs around his waist, and spun behind a fat oak tree. She was in his arms so fast, the only choice she had was to throw her arms around his neck, and hold on.

"They're not one of us," he whispered briskly.

"Who are they?" His bearded cheek touched hers, and his breathy whispers and lips tickled and caressed her ear.

"Orcs."

"Orcs!" She repeated in a fervently soft voice, "I thought they only came out in the dark!"

"The fog," he explained, "It's thick and it's blocking the sunlight." His breath came hard and his chest raised hers, pushing into her breasts as it rose and fell heavily. She could feel his hammering heart, and his skin becoming damp as his blood raced to the surface, hot and anxious. He hefted her weight, digging his fingers into her bare backside as he held her with little effort in his arms.

"Can you see anything?"

Loti peered cautiously around the trunk of the tree, finding nothing except the bank of opaque fog that lay like a dark gray blanket throughout the forest.

Hurriedly, Eomer questioned again almost immediately, "Can you see anything?"

"Wait!" She commanded, feeling his body tighten under her hands with the tension equaling that of a bow string. "I can't see anything through the fog. I don't hear them anymore, do you?"

"No, but I don't know how many there are so we're going to stay put for a little bit."

This is humiliating, she groused to herself. How many days ago had she tried to kill Eomer, hated him and everything for which he stood? Now, she clawed into his neck like a cat climbing a curtain hoping to the heavens he would save her life! Life had too many quirks sometimes. Her arms tightened their hold around his neck and she rested her cheek next to his in determination to make the best of a bad situation.

Eomer emanated nervousness and she had to know. He was unable to protect or defend their position since he didn't know where the enemy was, of even if the orcs were aware of their presence in the woods. The back of his head thumped against the tree as he relaxed, if only slightly. It was only then, with his senses heightened, did his body react to what his mind registered. Wet hair dripped cold droplets of water on his chest and the ends were starting to dry into that unmanageable frizz he knew all women hated. The smell of her was intoxicating. Under the mild, grain-y tang of oatmeal soap, the natural scent of the girl, spicy and foreign, was seductive and explicitly female. Eomer liked her breasts. They were full, round, youthful, and, Bema's blood, poking into him like knives. He liked them even better pressed to his chest and resented the barrier of cotton fabric that kept them from his hands and mouth. His hands were rather busy cupping and fondling her bare bottom, though, and those same hands kept the apex between her legs firmly positioned to his belly. She had such soft, smooth curls there…

The feel of her was enough to bring a man to the edge of his sanity.

This had to be the worst form of torture imaginable for a man when there wasn't another woman in sight for at least fifty miles! Here was a stunning, nearly naked woman with her legs wrapped around him, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Orcs are crawling all over these woods and I'm worried about a stiff cock, he thought, squelching a sardonic laugh.

"I'm going to put you down now," he said softly.

Loti slid through his rough hands and along his chest and flat belly, lightly covered with course blonde hairs. His palms, large and flat, slipped raspingly over the fair silken skin of her bottom and back until she touched the ground. A small noise that she believed was from dropping his effort escaped his throat as she touched the dirt. The shirt had rucked up, exposing her subtle denuded curves to her waist. An invigorating sizzle devoured her entire body and she felt momentarily weak as his hands lingered an instant too long; catching and keeping her about the waist, holding her against a very large lump in the general region of his groin. The same feeling she had felt the day before when he caressed her lips with this thumb returned. It was a quiver that started in her chest and raced like a lightning strike along her backbone, turning it into shivering jelly. She quickly tugged down the hem, a bright shade of pink glowing on her face, while backing away a step. Trying to avoid his brilliant blue stare, Loti's eyes locked on to the thing, bulging against the laces of his britches. Eomer appeared similarly discomforted as a red hue, that wasn't entirely sunburn, covered his chest, neck and face.

A bit breathlessly, she whispered, "I think it's just a little too much excitement for both of us." Her hand brushed a lock of loose bangs behind her ear nervously. How quickly she had forgotten. Eomer was aroused by danger.

"Mmmm," was the gruff noise he used to cover his embarrassment.

Quietly as possible, he drew his sword, and then secured her protectively against his body with a steady hand on her back. She met his gaze and felt reassured with the confidence reflected in his eyes. Ordinarily, Loti reflected, she might issue a blow to his ego, insisting she was perfectly capable of protecting herself, but the brave, valiant warrior, the protector of his people had risen to the surface. EomerKing would protect her at all costs, or, she had a feeling, die trying.

Sword in hand, he edged sinuously around the tree, listening, looking, and sensing for any sign of the enemy. Finally, when he felt they were safely alone, he stepped tentatively from the protection of the oak. Her guardian's hand drifted down the length of her arm to her fingers, gripping them tenaciously as he led her away from the tree and to the spot where they had dropped their belongings. As she slung her things over her arm, Eomer donned his mail shirt and armor, and, taking Loti by the elbow, hastened from the wood.

Eomer rushed with her back to the encampment, and she was nearly running to keep up with his long strides. She refused the offer to be carried, the insinuation only slightly injuring her pride. Wearing his shirt was a much bigger blow. She felt like a low class whore, enticing men to the enjoyment of their bodily services in nothing but a skimpy shift or a low cut chemise. It had been sometime since she had worn a dress and the cool, moist morning air was erotically tickling as it played pleasurably between her legs and circled her belly and breasts under the billowing shirt, inviting a warm yearning she had rarely ever known.

"What've you two been up to?" Someone shouted out as they reappeared out of the fog and headed towards Eomer's quarters through the small village of tents. That question was followed by "Look at the love birds!," elbow poking, ohs, ahs, one crude gesture, a few excited congratulations, and many other impolite comments directed solely at Eomer. By the time he held back the tent's flap and ushered her inside, Loti was so heated from embarrassment, she wondered if she might burst into flames and catch the tent on fire.

"What's going on here?" Eothain wanted to know as he approached, waggling his eyebrows.

"Orcs," Eomer answered, meeting his friend in several quick steps, "I don't know how many." He looked around at the fog that covered the landscape like uncarded wool, "We should leave as soon as possible."

"You two are getting on, aren't you? When do I get to hear about how she got out of her clothes and into yours?" Eothain thumped his friend in the chest with the back of his hand.

A smile tugged at Eomer's lips. "Use your imagination. I'm sure you can figure it out!"

Inside the tent, after retrieving her possessions, and turning a short piece of discarded rope into a figure flattering belt, Loti went about the impossible task of brushing out her hair. It had matted into brown wet strands and sun streaked tangles. When Eomer returned to the tent a bit later his appraisal was swift and deflating.

"What's that?" He asked, sitting on the edge of his bed with a bowl of what Loti thought looked like chunky, unmoistened oatmeal.

"It's a belt. I think it looks nice," she stated, showing off the creation, and proud of her ingenuity to make even a man's shirt into something presentable. Then she heard that dismissive grumble from the back of his throat as he ate. "I am a girl, or have you forgotten?"

"Girl, huh? If that's what you think," Eomer poked, shoveling in another spoonful of oatmeal. He was the only person she had ever seen that chew his oatmeal.

Calmly, Loti gestured with the brush and told him, "If you're not going to be helpful, you can leave."

Whirling and returning to the job of disentangling snarls from her hair, she heard the bed creak as Eomer stood. Thank the heavens, he's leaving, she thought. The last thing she needed was his demotivating hovering and bossiness. Suddenly, the hairbrush was plucked from her fingers. She spun to protest, but he spoke before she could eek out a squeak.

"It's broken," he said, holding it in his palm.

She let out a long breath, forgetting her ear slicing remarks. "Yes. It was old. I suppose it was bound to happen sometime."

Laying a hand on her shoulder, he gently spun her back around.

"What are you doing?" she wanted to know as he gathered all of her hair.

"I have a sister," he began in a dry tone, "She's persistent and pushy. You think I've never brushed hair before?"

He was already picking out the knots, smoothing his hand over and over and over with each stroke of the heavy, damp tresses.

"I think you misunderstood, Eomer. I wasn't suggesting…" she said in a fidgety voice, "I mean you don't have to, I can do it myself."

"Mmhmm, and it'll take half the time if I just do it for you," he volunteered, although not sounding at all interested.

Tears welled in her eyes. No one had brushed out her hair since the day she left home. Loti forgot how good it felt, how relaxing it was, and how it made her scalp prickle, sending a surge of goose bumps peeping across her skin. Eomer would grumble about it later, complain about how much time she was wasting or how she was distracting him from more important endeavors, but this small luxury was a gigantic gesture of acceptance. He was so gentle, not tugging or pulling as he brushed. This was the ruthless barbarian who plundered and raped women and lands? This was the merciless killer who executed her brother? This enormous taciturn brute who willingly offered to brush out a woman's hair… The tightness in her throat and chest ached, from nerves, confusion…

He started dividing her hair in sections. "What are you doing now?" Loti wondered aloud.

"Women of the Riddermark usually wear their hair braided. Isn't that what you want?"

She waited patiently as he finished plaiting her hair and tied it with a length of leather thong. Stepping back, he flipped the tail over her shoulder so she could observe and critique his work. It was an intricate, yet simple weaving.

"Thank you, this is very nice!" She managed to get out while running her hand over the bumpy numbs, admiring his handiwork.

Eomer flattened his lips, nodded once and stated for the entrance, then stopped, looking back. His belly did a flip flop when his eyes drifted to her chest and saw her dark nipples winking at him through the white cotton shirt. Oh, she would kill him alright, if it was possible to die from having all his blood rush into his penis!

"We use that braid all the time. It's very traditional…for horse's tails."

Her face turned purple, which was exactly what he was hoping for.

"I am not your horse!" Loti blurted out.

She was becoming quite docile, he decided. No obscenities came with that shade of purple this time. The shrewish bitch was exhibiting self control, and he felt, almost disappointed about that turn of events. His blue slanted eyes dropped again to those small, round breasts, all perky and pricked with excitement.

More than a mouthful, less than a handful, he thought salaciously, licking his lips. Even now he could feel her, hot and wet, sliding over his cock. The real thing was always so much softer and more responsive than a fantasy and his own hand. But a hand would do in a pinch, he decided.

"What are you-" she broke off, confused as to why he wasn't looking at her face when he spoke. Then Loti saw what he saw. Her damp hair caused wet rings on the front of the white shirt so that it became transparent and clung to her chest. The nipples stood out tall and dark beneath the material.

She snapped her head up to find him still looking, ogling her like produce in the market. If he were so inclined, he might reach out and give her a speculative squeeze and thump, checking for ripeness.

"These are not melons for you to squeeze and examine!" The words tumbled quickly from her mouth as she lightly cupped her breasts for emphasis.

Eomer frowned. "No, of course not. They're more like oranges. Don't-" was all he managed to get out before the hairbrush clunked against his ear.

Once camp was broken, the pace Eomer set was blistering. He wanted to be out of Ithillien by night fall to avoid any other run ins or possible confrontations with trolling orcs. The day was hot, but overcast, which, maybe, was worse. There was no intense searing sun, but the humidity clung to everything and everyone. It made men, woman, and one particular gray horse any combination of grouchy, testy, dyspeptic or querulous.

Rain was coming. It was in the air, and in the sky. Storms were building over the sea to the south, soon to roar inland and over the steadily marching straggles of the Rohirric army.

The journey to this point had, so far, had been uneventful, except for the small inconvenient skirmishes with the girl, and Eomer was glad for that. It was true, the Harad Road was rough in some spots, and almost nonexistent and over grown in others, but they had not had any direct contact with orcs, thieves, bandits, or any other type of evil creature that roamed lawless and unscrupulously in the dense forest.

They stopped only once, a little after mid day for food, drink, and rest. Eomer watched his men laze about under the trees, while their mounts sought their own respite, grazing aimlessly through the varied Ithilien flora. A flash of white caught the corner of his eye. It was the girl, coming back from whatever she was doing in the trees; probably watering the bushes. She stopped to make light conversation with several of the younger soldiers who recently began doting on her, bringing her extra bits of food to satisfy her enormous appetite, or simply just wanting to make friends. Their recent infatuation with her made Eomer twinge with jealousy and his protective streak flare around the edges, even if they were honorable young men with seemingly innocent intentions. They were still men, and no man's intentions were completely innocent.

Getting her up on the horse in that, he supposed he should call it an outfit now that she had gone to the trouble of making it into something presentable, had been an adventure in awkwardness for them both. But, after she was up, no other problems had arisen. He did try to avoid touching her thighs, nearly impossible when two people were squeezed into a saddle meant for one, and more than once regretted suggesting she wear the shirt while waiting for her clothes to dry as his male parts ached with swelling. Yes, he had wished for an excuse to put his arm around her, or convince her she'd enjoy it if he did more. Maybe he should've acted like the heathen he was accused of being and dragged her from the saddle, tossed her over his shoulder and covered her body with his own if only to satisfy his curiosity. Well, he still had a healthy imagination...

You are a sad and pathetic man, Eomer, sad and pathetic.

"She gives you a terrible cockstand wearing that thing doesn't she?" Eothain asked, plopping a great paw of a hand down on his shoulder and giving him a good start.

Returning to fussing with the saddle, he answered with a noncommittal, "Mmm."

Eomer turned his head to see her now rummaging for something in one of the wagons, standing on tiptoe, leaning over the back edge. The shirt slithered up, nearly revealing the curved fullness of her behind. Eothain watched also, intrigued by his friend's non answer and fixated stare.

"Why don't you just fuck her tonight and get it over with?"

Eomer broke his gaze away, returning his attention to the damned useless saddle. "I'm not going to fuck her," he snapped.

"Wait," Eothain put a dirty, probing finger in each ear, twisted, removed them and said, "Go ahead, say that again. I thought I heard you say you weren't going to get on her."

"You heard right."

"Wonders never cease! You've become celibate!" Eothain laughed, doubling over, and clutching a hand to his best friend's shoulder for support. "If didn't have all those babies, and a wet old lady , I would have fucked her the first night! What's happened? Finally, defect to the other side? You and Faramir will have something in common now! Maybe you'd rather spend your time finding some elf to bugger you up the ass?"

He knew better than to rise to Eothian's teasing, but he was feeling neither receptive nor playful at the moment. "Even if I did take her, you'd be the last one I'd tell about it."

A quick jerk of his shoulder shrugged off the hand.

"Whoa! Aren't you the same drunk bastard who bragged about topping the new chamber maid over Yule when we were up to the tavern?"

"That wasn't my fault," he grumbled, "I was so piss assed drunk when she put her hand down my pants, what was I supposed to do? Let her jerk me off in front of half of Edoras?"

"Oh, I'm sure you cried rape the next morning," Eothain muttered dryly, "Well, if you're not going to lay claim to it, somebody else will be stuffing himself up under those skirts at the first chance."

Enough already, he thought.

He knew Eothain was right. She was a beauty any man would die to possess, even if only for one night. But didn't she deserve a proper suitor, and a proper courtship? Not just a quick squeeze and roll in the hay. If he were to provide her dower, and a significant dower it would be, then she would be properly courted… when they returned to Aldburg.

Eothain received the sharp end of his temper. "I better not hear of any man touching her! I told her she would be safe with us and I'm not going to risk losing her as my secretary or as a maid. I don't want to force her to marry a man who got a baby on her. She deserves better than that. If any of them want to court her, they can do it properly, and ask my permission when they get home."

"Alright, alright!" he acquiesced quickly, "I didn't know you felt so strongly about it. Say, this doesn't have anything to do with-"

Eomer broke off his friend's somber question with a sharp, "No. It doesn't have anything to do with them."

Shaking his head apologetically, Eothain, backed off the topic, "Alright, I was just asking, but, you know, Rooster, you're going to have to settle down some time or you're going to be a real lonely man."

He faced his friend, leaning on Firefoot with one arm, drumming his fingers mindlessly on the seat of the saddle while Eothian patted the horse's rump.

"I know."

"I thought you wanted to get married, have babies and all that."

Squinting at a nonexistent something far off in the woods, Eomer admitted, "I do."

"What about that girl from Minas Tirith? Hilde?" Eothain suggested, swatting at Firefoot's distractedly swishing tail.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, scratching at a blemish on the saddle, "I'd thought about it. I thought you didn't like her."

"I don't," was his rather brutal matter of fact response, "I don't like any of it… Her, the situation, the position you're in, but, I suppose if you love her-"

"I never said I loved her." His mouth twisted when he spoke.

Eothain's bushy blonde eyebrows shot up, and then realization brightened his rugged, dirty features, "Oh! It's that way is it? You love what she does to you in the sack, huh? Well, take some advice from an older, more experienced man." Eomer smiled, and wiped a dirt encrusted hand across his sweaty brow, looked at it, and wiped it on his thigh, as Eothain puffed up and became his surrogate advisor on all things female, "You can't be laying her every hour of the day. Once she's pumped you dry, you're going to have to talk to her eventually."

"Can you tell me what I'm supposed to do on the wedding night too? Maybe you could stand next to the bed and supervise."

Eothain laughed hardily, "Oh, the girls tell enough stories about you, believe me! Listen, all I'm saying is don't hitch your wagon to hers unless you're certain you love her. Don't let those bastards in Gondor push you into taking the wrong woman to wife. To my mind, they want you to have heirs and spares and not babies. I don't think that's what your mother would've wanted for you."

He smiled weakly; his eyes cast down, as the only slightly older man brushed past him with a fraternal slap on the shoulder, and then boomed loudly at a group of men about removing heads from assholes. Eomer leaned over his mount, an odd ache in his chest, feeling moodily pensive, considering what his companion has said. He trusted the man, valued his opinion, and knew he always had the best of intentions. But it wasn't as simple as that any more. At least, his life wasn't simple any more. The world had changed, his life had changed and they were no longer randy, irresponsible teenagers, or philandering young men. Well, maybe Eothain still was…

But he was feeling the pressure to take a wife. Some like, Aragorn, were more subtle, and others like that lousy Durward were not. His entire adult life had been spent in the protection and defense of his country. He had sacrificed years of his life executing the duties of his father and his father's father. But now, through circumstances out of his control, he was Rohan. And he was the last of his line. He understood Gondor's concerns. Should he just do the deed with the woman and get it over with? Get some babies on her and go about his business? Shouldn't he be willing to sacrifice his own wants and desires, his body and guilty conscious for the future good of his people? Did it make him selfish if that was not what he wanted?

The girl was still at the wagon, stuffing a handful of something in her mouth and chewing industriously, with bloated cheeks. Was she…stealing food? He shook his head mirthfully, a grin curving his lips. Now he knew how she had eaten on her journey north. A little later, in private perhaps, he would have a talk with her about it. Food was there to eat and she was welcome to it at any time.

She did the most peculiar things sometimes. Things he couldn't help but find endearing. Watching surreptitiously, he looked on as she grabbed her clothes from the wagon, checked their current state of dampness, and scampered into the trees to change, her rounded hips swinging back and forth under the drape of his shirt.

She would have to go further in to the tree cover than he might normally like. The forest was thinning, becoming less dense, and the terrain had turned from undulating rolling hills to increasingly flatter terrain much sooner than he expected. They were so close now…

Eomer considered going after Loti, not because he was worried she would run off. He knew she wouldn't, knew it in his gut when she swore it. In his heart, admittedly, he trusted the girl, but she might get herself into another predicament; one where he wouldn't be there to rescue and return her to safety. Moving from behind Firefoot, he jogged to the spot from which she had disappeared into the woods, snaking through the tree trunks until he glimpsed her naked back and narrow waist before popping the black shirt over her head and slithering it down to the top of her hips. Loti turned to him then, giving Eomer a quick reassuring wave. When she came to his side he gently took her elbow and led her back to the horses out of kindness and not necessity as Loti believed.

XXX

He was worried about making camp. The winds were gusting stronger from the south now, moist with the smell of rain, stirring sweet grasses, and sea air. Bubbling, towering clouds floated northbound in the turbulent currents of a gray painted sky that darkened nearly to a black, heavy with rain, at its southern horizon. An occasional echo of thunder could be heard as the storm drew closer and the day grew later and darker.

Eomer was lost to his thoughts, drugged by responsibility and soothed by the regular gait of his horse, an activity that he was rarely allowed. So he was startled when the girl in his lap gasped and whispered his name.

"Oh, Eomer, have you ever…"

The road was lined with trees, abloom in whites and pinks, reds and purples. The branched bowed low, burdened under the weight of the flowering clusters and the winds shook loose the blossoms so they were lost in an ethereal storm of delicate, floating petals. Dancing and falling, twisting and rocking through the air to the ground, they were strewn everywhere, covering the dirt road in a pastel carpet of spring. As far as her eyes could see, the small flowering trees escorted them to their destination. The advancing storm's forbidding shades of navy, tipped with fluffy, bright white and sickly green, only seemed to heighten the sensation of euphoric paradise. She had truly wandered into a dreamland.

"Isn't it wonderful?" she asked breathlessly, hopelessly trying to take in the whole amazing picture.

"Didn't you tell me you came north this same way? "

Loti responded wistfully, "I did, but it was late winter and it didn't look at all like this…" Her voice trailed off in an unfinished explanation, "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!"

"Well," Eomer muttered dourly, "I'm glad you're so easily entertained."

She ignored his sour attitude. Why should he ruin such an exciting thrill with his manly backwards thinking? He has no appreciation for such things. If it's not weapons, or war, or horses, he doesn't care, she thought, and felt sorry that he didn't see what she did in the swirl of color surrounding them. It was no wonder he wasn't married.

"I think I might cry." A slim hand moved up to cover a shaky smile.

"Please, don't," he grunted.

Plucking a large white petal, exhausted from its drunken trip through the air from Firefoot's gray mane, Loti rubbed it between her fingertips, savoring its lush velvety texture. She looked down at herself, the black clothing she wore was speckled with petals like a robin's egg. Eomer was also covered in petals when she squirmed in his lap to see him, and she brushed them from his hair as he frowned, tousling it slightly in the process. She plucked a few pink petals that sought rest on his beard from their tumble to earth, giggling under tight lips, and that gestured earned her a smile. Not his handsome toothy grin, but a smile nonetheless. The lines that creased the corners of his soft eyes when he smiled gave him an air of maturity and masculine charm. A giggle bubbled up and she wrinkled her nose when his big hand mussed the petals covering her head. He wasn't so vinegary after all.

It was wide enough here to ride three abreast and a heavyset brown haired man named Eoin appeared beside them similarly covered in the fallen blooms. Eoin, a man with golden brown hair and thick beard, was near to forty years of age, and purportedly, had fathered twelve children.

"Flowers for the lady," he smiled, missing several teeth.

Blushing fiercely and nibbling her lip, Loti hesitantly plucked them from his hand and shoved the cone shaped purple buds under her nose. She had seen the clusters growing higgledy piggledy on huge bushes dispersed intermittently among the line of trees. It was a light but heavy scent, perfumed richly with vanilla and a hint of rose.

"Thank you! They're wonderful, but, what are they?"

"Lilacs," he said helpfully.

"What're you doing giving her flowers, old man? You're still married last I checked," Eomer said, giving the man a good heckling.

"Boy, don't you know nothing about women? They all like flowers. Let's them know you're thinking about them and that you think they're pretty. Why else would the wife let me keep crawling on top of her? It's the best way to get what you want!" Eoin's laugh was loud, wide, and cackling. "We should've tried it my way instead of your way with this wench. You know what they say about vermin, Rooster. You catch more of them with honey. The girl would've been like sweet cream in two days at the most."

"Is that what you call your wife now, old man, vermin?" Eomer questioned with a wry eye.

"Oh, all the good ones have a little bit of shrew in them, boy. It's what keeps us bastards in line!"

Loti smiled at their banter and the other comments rudely inserted into the conversation. They made it so hard for her to dislike them and to believe they committed such cruel atrocities. But they had, hadn't they?

"What's your wife like, Eoin?" She asked curiously as Eomer brushed petals from her shoulders.

Eothain put in quickly, "His wife and mine are sisters."

"That's right. My girl, she ain't much to look at, not like you, but she's a good wife, good with the babes, too. Her father didn't like me so much, but she couldn't hide that swollen belly forever. He made me marry her at sword point the same day he found out. She was ten and six and I was ten and eight. My oldest boy is down here somewhere and we just had number twelve over the winter." He cuffed Eothain in the chest and winked. "Yah, they might not be the best looking lasses, but they were born for making babies."

Eomer leaned forward, whispering an explanation in her ear, "Big tits and wide hips."

Loti twisted to see Eothain, whose wife was pregnant with their fifth. "Don't you want to be there when she has the baby?"

His brow and face scrunched up quickly, "Ghaw, no! Haven't you ever seen a baby born? All that screaming and yelling at me. And the worst part is you can't do nothing for them! Not a damn thing! They've got to do it all on their own, while you're just sitting there, watching, telling them it's going to be alright when they think they're going to die. It's enough to tear a man's heart out! Seeing it once was enough. My big cock has loosened her up, but not enough to push a ten pound baby out that hole. Oh, don't you laugh, Rooster, your time is coming!"

There was general agreement among the crowd on that comment.

"Can you imagine him with babies? Oh, the poor lassie that gets stuck with him is in for a trial," a man called Wolf put in. Wolf was, apparently, not his real name, but a nickname given because he closely resembled the carnivorous creature. Although thickly built through the middle, he was still a young man with a beard and dark hair salted with silvery gray, and eyes that glinted liquid amber. He bared four sharp canine teeth when he smiled. "Get all that rutting out of your system while you can. No wife is going to like waking up next to you and find the milk maid there too! You'll never have any legitimate sons that way."

Aric, a short, thin, well kept blonde haired man threw out a question. "How is it you don't have any bastards?" By the sound of it, Aric had a few of his own.

"It ain't for lack of trying!" Eothain quipped, then made an exclamation as a petal found its way into his mouth.

"Maybe he's got bad seeds!" Wolf suggested loudly.

"Nah," Eoin hypothesized, holding up his baby finger, "Can't get much done when it's only this big!"

Wolf's cackled, "Let's ask the girl. Well, what about it, lass? How big is it really?"

Loti blushed as pink as the petals that fell on her, and swept her eyes over each of the surrounding soldiers. She smiled brightly. As each man boasted of his potency and vigor in bed and his stallion sized appendages, they sat blanketed in pink and white petals, fondly speaking of wives and families left behind. She would be safe, or at least, they would protect her from harm and she was glad to be one of them. Now, by trying to implicate her in the belittling of Eomer's virility, they had accepted her as well, waiting with bated breath for her answer.

Holding a very slender little finger the air, Loti cocked her head from side to side, examining the digit appraisingly.

"Well," she offered finally, "There's a reason it's called a prick, isn't there? Because that's all you feel!" She jiggled her eyes at him and crooked her little finger suggestively.

Wails of laughter were interrupted by Aric demanding, "No, I mean it. How come?"

Eomer, who had endured the cajoling like a man who saw it often, lifted his shoulders noncommittally and replied, "I'm careful."

"Careful?" Aric looked around, his braided tail flopping in disbelief, while the other men laughed at the simplicity of the comment. "Careful he says! If bedding women were titles, you'd be the gods damned King! You'll not suffer any cock rot!" He laughed fitfully at his own joke.

Bursting into giggles again, she exclaimed, "Cock rot?"

"Cock rot. It's what happens when it doesn't get used enough use!" Wolf defined, helpfully swinging his limp hand back and forth.

"Maybe the bees need to stay away from the honeypot," Eomer advised his friend.

"Stay away?" Aric repeated, considering, "No. No, I don't think I could do that. Her honey's too sweet to go anywhere else! I swear, every time we go for a tumble she ends up with a bun in the oven."

Loti frowned in confusion. What did pots of honey and making bread have to do with anything?

"Bun in the oven?" She asked, turning to Eomer for clarification while the others went on with their ribald remarks

The corner of his mouth twitched at her naiveté. "It means she's pregnant."

"Oh. And honeypot?"

His forefinger wiggled at the area in question. "It's, ah, what's between your legs."

"Between my- ooohhh…" Her eyes grew wide, and Eomer winked flirtatiously. "Honey. Pot. I've never heard that before. I've always heard it called-"

"The way you all talk around the lady is disgraceful," said Gram, a homely man with bad teeth, as he bullied his horse through the crowd to Eomer and Loti. The man handed her a twig of dark pink blossoms which she eagerly sniffed and held together with the lilacs.

"Lady?" Eomer gazed down at the load he carried in his lap, "Hmm, I wouldn't go that far."

"You'll have to excuse our leader's behavior. He's ignorant in the ways of chivalry. He doesn't see you for the sweet, beddable-"

Eomer's eyebrow shot up.

"Biddable! Not beddable, you dolt!" came from somewhere behind them.

"Biddable flower that you are," Gram corrected, continuing on unperturbed.

"Gram! What's this all about?" challenged Eoin.

He grinned, wide, and with brown teeth. "I have stockings that need mending. Thought if she had the time…"

A sheet of white flashed overhead, stirring concerns about the weather, and causing the horses to snort.

If they didn't find shelter soon, Gram's socks wouldn't be the only thing in need of mending.

XXX

Eomer threw back the tent flap, reluctantly, again running out into the driving rain. Where could that girl possibly have gotten off too, he wondered.

The line of flowering trees marked the end of their travels through the forest of Ithillien. And as the first few splashes of rain fell, the land became a wide rolling prairie of tall grasses and the occasional small stand of small fruit trees. They thought it best to make camp immediately, and the decision was made none too soon. The creep of clouds and night would soon be upon them and, as tents were erected for shelter from the storm and horses tended to, Eomer lost track of his charge.

A flash of light cut the darkness for an instant, but he continued to slog through the squishy ground and wet grass searching for her, checking all of the tents his men occupied. But she wasn't there, so where the devil was she? His feet carried him to the wagons, covered with heavy canvas tarps, and he began lifting each hoping to locate the troublesome girl.

He was relieved to hear his name.

"Eomer?"Loti recognized his boots from beneath the wagon.

She had made herself useful, helping the younger men hobble the horses, and construct makeshift shelters from tarps, rope, and poles for the animal's protection. But when the storm broke and the men scrambled for their tents, she had crawled under the wagon, unsure of what to do or where to go. The cover of the wagon kept out neither the wind nor the rain and she had been shivering for the better part of an hour.

Eomer knelt, ducked his head under the wagon bed, located outline of her body in the dark, and hauled her out by the collar of the leather coat. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he led her at a run back to his quarters.

"What were you doing under there?" He barked once they were both safely inside. Deciding it was obvious what she was doing under there, he corrected, "Don't answer that. Why were you under there?"

"I didn't know where else to go," she explained, sweeping water from the sleeves of her coat.

"You should have come here instead of trying to sleep in the wet and cold under that wagon."

It had been cold, made worse by the fact she was soaked to the skin, as was Eomer, who was busy tying up the tent entrance. The canvas billowed and snapped in the wind, but it was blessedly dry inside. Only one candle wavered its orange and yellow light inside the eight sided tent making the shadows fall long, black and eerie.

Loti shucked off her coat, laying it over a fabric and wood camp chair while Eomer picked up a linen towel from his bed and rubbed it furiously over his dripping hair until it frizzed like a hedgehog.

"Are your clothes wet again?" he asked, walking to the chest full of his everyday possessions. She nodded and he opened the lid, tossing her the shirt she had worn earlier in the day. "Put this back on."

His back safely turned and busy with removing his own garments, Loti peeled off wet shirt, pants and boots, sliding back into the voluminous depths of his shirt. Her companion was not so shy, either that, or he thought she was not looking as he began to pull off his own pants. Having seen and touched enough of his body in the last few days, she decided his bare bottom he could keep, and she whirled. He was probably so used to being in the company of other men, he didn't think twice about stripping naked, but hoped he would put something on to make himself decent.

She realized suddenly, she was chilled and shivered involuntarily, cupping her elbows. The temperature had dropped considerably with the storm, the air was damp, and her skin still slightly wet from her rain soaked clothing. Goosebumps peeped in ripples across her body, quivering the muscles of her belly, raising the hair on her arms and tingling painfully as her nipples tightened to hard, fleshy peaks under the shirt.

"You're cold," came his husky voice from behind and he wrapped a heavy, brown wool blanket around her shoulders, shaking her vigorously as his hands rubbed up and down her arms. "Better?"

Gathering the ends of the blanket more tightly around herself, she raised her head to look into his face. She was no longer cold; in fact she felt a languid, liquid warmth all the way to her toes. If he felt any of the heat that she did, he kept it well hidden.

Oh, yes, she felt much better.

From his bed he took another blanket and spread it on the ground. She stretched out on the crude bed, cocooning herself in the scratchy warmth of the blanket, watching Eomer fastidiously tidy his belongings. He wore the drawstring linen pants, and Loti enjoyed watching the fabric move and flow over his muscular thighs and hard buttocks. Shirtless, he was unashamed, unaware or unconcerned that the ghastly scar cast a frightening shadow across his body. The bed creaked under his weight and he snuffed out the candle he had set beside the bed, casting the tent into darkness.

Loti lay for a while on her back watching the shadow of black above explode into white light and listening to the rhythm of rain on canvas, the rippling of wind over the tents and the rolling of distant thunder. With her own rumble and sigh, she flopped over, and with another sigh, flopped back. Thankfully, she was warm, but now…

"Are you awake? I can't sleep."

A deep "Hmm"-ing noise came from the bed.

She rolled on to her stomach, resting her chin on interlaced fingers. "Tell me about Rohan. What are the people like?"

A flash of lightning lit Eomer, lying on his back, with an arm slung over his eyes.

"I'll tell you something about Rohirric men," he muttered, "Don't bother one when he's trying to sleep."

She harrumphed and flipped back over disagreeably.

Now it was Eomer's turn to sigh. He was more than exhausted, and too exhausted to think of what a word for 'more than exhausted' might be. But he could humor her, this once. He supposed…

"What do you want to know," he acquiesced, grudgingly throwing his arm down next to his side.

"Are my tits really too small?"

Dear gods! What the-? He thought, completely off his guard.

Were her tits too small? How did she expect him to answer that?

"Why do you ask?"

She began, sounding less confident and a little more sheepish, "Well, it just seems you all like girls with big chests and I don't, have a big ones, I mean, so I thought maybe in Rohan... I know you like busty girls and you've seen mine, so… It's just that… Since I'm not…"

She was babbling.

This discussion was crossing into dangerous territory. He chose the uncommitted, don't get yourself slapped answer. "You have them. That's all that matters."

"Yes, but-"

Lords! What did she want to hear? That he wanted them to fill his hands again, watch her nipples grow stiff under his touch, swirl the dark nubs with his tongue, bury his face in them, biting and sucking until he exploded inside her? Would that answer her question?

"You think you won't be desirable?"

Hadn't she felt what he had that same morning in the woods? Not just the physical reaction his body had to hers, but that something more he couldn't define or understand. An attraction that started in the physical and ended… somewhere else? Not desirable? Desire was all that was coursing through his veins at the moment, even if that feral desire was purely physical.

"Yours are perfectly fine. Their size is… fine," he admitted, strained.

Loti was pleased, more or less, with this answer, if not confused by his reluctance. A gust of wind bubbled and stretched the tent above as she reached for her satchel next to the crude palate, rootling inside it, and asked, "Did Eothain know what you were going to do when you brought me into your tent that night? Did he know you were going to make me a deal?"

Finding the elusive oatcake she was after, she popped it in her mouth and chewed vigorously. She liked these oatcakes, depending on who made them, and could see why they were a staple of the Rohirric diet. They were quick and easy to make, portable and filling, especially if rolled with bacon, cheese or eggs.

The bed made a creak and she could hear Eomer fumbling with the tinder box to relight the candle.

"Are you stealing food?" he demanded, setting the candle aflame again.

Loti stuffed the remaining cake in her mouth, making it impossible to answer, and if she couldn't answer, she couldn't lie.

"If you're hungry, ask. You don't have to steal your own share of the food," he told her dropping back onto the bed. "And yes, I discuss everything with Eothain when I can. I've known him my whole life."

Rolling over to look at him as he lay in bed, she said, "How did you get to be friends?"

"We've always been friends. Since we were real little. His father served in my father's eored. His father was a bookkeeper by trade," he added.

There was a pause in the conversation and both listened to the sounds of the storm as the candle's flame wavered in a draft.

"Are you warm enough?" He asked, rolling his head to see her bundled in the blanket, lying with her cheek on folded arms.

"Hmm," she replied contentedly.

"About how much longer before we get there?"

"Oh," Loti said, complacently shrugging her shoulders, "If we ride hard, late tomorrow, or the next day."

Another momentary lapse in the conversation allowed the angry couple of thunder and lightning to have their say. Flicking her eyes up, they rested on her tent mate, lying on his back, staring blankly up, with one hand flung over his head and the other on his chest, drumming restlessly on his sternum.

"Is it true what they say about you?" she prodded.

He cocked his head to see her, looking ever the devil and rogue. It was that roguish glint in his eye that always made her heart float.

"What is it that they say about me?"

"That you are cruel and bad-tempered. That you rape women, kill children and drag their bodies behind your horse. You leave a path of destruction in your wake. You're drunk on power and ambition, so you killed your family for your own gain. Oh, and that you cut the hearts from your enemies and eat them?"

Narrowing his eyes, Eomer sniffed and rolled his head away, chuckling to himself. "What else do they say about me?" he prompted softly, his suspicions growing.

Loti answered swiftly, boldly stating, "That you have horns, red eyes, a tail, hooves for feet, a heart of volcanic rock, drink blood instead of ale, and enjoy fucking the unsuspecting farm animal here or there."

He grinned, wide and brilliantly white even in the candlelight, with crinkled soft eyes, black as onyx.

"Is that all?" His voice was low, and teasing. "That's not so bad. I've heard worse. But what do you think? Is what they say about me true?"

Loti twisted her face, carefully considering. "Maybe not the blood drinking and the goat fucking, but the ill tempered part is true."

His smile flashed again, and Loti bit her lip, catching the smile and a giggle between her teeth as she melted like candle wax from the warmth of those dark eyes. How many countless others had bent to the heat in that gaze? Did he even know he possessed that innocent look of seduction which could turn even the coldest fishwife hot? Wasn't it she who was the seductress, the temptress? How much longer could she hold out before he stoked her sparks of flame into a roaring fire; turning their physical passions into an engulfing inferno, consuming them bodily and completely. She did not want to endure this burning alone. Yet, still, she slept on the ground, and not in his bed.

"I won't complain," he said, "Bad tempered is better than ass fucking barbarian."

Unexpectedly, her mouth opened in an indelicate yawn and her eyelids drooped heavily. Eomer abruptly turned his attention to the tent's rippling roof.

"How did you come to this life?" he wondered, softly and seriously. There were a few moments of silence in which he thought the din of wind and rain made the question inaudible. And after some seconds, he hoped she hadn't heard it, because part of him wasn't sure if he was ready to know. But she had heard and said drowsily, as if from a far away, "There will always be things we cannot tell each other, and that is one of those things."

"You know why I had to do it. There was no other way."

"Yes, I know why," she breathed in a whisper. What he spoke of needed no further explanation."I've already forgiven you. Go to sleep now, E."

Her heart felt hollow and pained. She wanted to tell him, to finally tell someone how she hurt and had been hurt. But for Eomer to know would mean he would pity her, and she didn't want his pity. She wanted respect, appreciation, consideration, his understanding and friendship. She wanted more.

He watched her for a long, long time, sleeping with her cheek on her hands, making the most feminine chuffing and snoring sounds. Her hair was rain frazzled and tousled, and she looked irreparability rumpled. But hell…

But hell what? He thought irritated. There's nothing you can do but look until you're ready to give what you cannot give right now. So, go to sleep and dream of other wenches.

He reached down and snuffed out the candle.

XXX

His dreams woke him in the still darkness of early morning; dreams of her wearing his shirt, of high breasts, rounded and sharply tipped, and of watching her crawl over his body to meet him in the most ancient of acts. It was a dream that made his penis taught, throbbing hard against his belly, and left him in a maddening need to forget the visions of an imaginary lust. He stared up into the black above, and with a sigh, touched the leg of the woman next to him in his bed. She rolled onto her back, long, dark curls spilling over the pillow, making a sound of enjoyment as his hand traced lightly along the inside of her thigh. His fingertips found her hot and slick with urgency as he explored the soft flesh beneath the tuft of curls and she opened willingly to his touch. Drawing her under him, Eomer buried his face in the thick locks of her hair, inhaling her flowery sweetness and fiercely grinding his need into her belly. He had to have this woman! Now! Again! He wanted this woman he had no attachment to, so he could forget the woman he had bound to his service. All of his eagerness overcame thought, and he was glad they were not able to see each other in the dark. He kissed her lips hard, driving his tongue into her mouth and took her harder, groaning, his anxiety easing as he entered the depths of her soft warmth. She had no option but to accept him, give him what he needed. He forced his cock deeper, spreading her wider, violating her body and soul to achieve his own pleasure…and to deny his desire for another. A moan escaped her lips. Eomer felt himself tightening, becoming harder, and he thrust with more greed, driving towards his release. She was panting and moaning, but if her cries were from her pain he didn't care. The only pleasure he cared about this time was his own. Their bodies were slick with sweat, lubricating the rising and falling of their joining. He raised her hips, allowing her to know him fully, wildly pounding and plunging himself into her tender slipperiness, desperately trying to reach something deep inside her body before he felt the crazed deliriousness of his ending. Then he cried out, the rush of passion filling him, his muscles hard with expectation. The woman beneath him held him tighter with her arms and legs tangling and capturing his hips. She begged to feel his intensity, the warmth that would flow out of him and into her and arched her back, pressing her soft breasts and prickling nipples into his chest. Eomer ripped himself away, shaking and convulsing, groaning into the slender hollow of her neck as his cock quivered, spilling himself against her belly.

It was several moments before he relaxed and rolled off her, his body hot, wet and sticky from sweat and seed and exertion. She nuzzled against his body demanding to be held. Eomer wished she would leave him be; to exalt in his conquest and his wretchedness. But she had given him the use of her body, a body he had taken his pleasure in, so out of gratitude and obligation he gathered her in his arms. The musky scent that a man and woman create in their lust hung in the air, and the girl made little sighs of pleasure as he stroked the length of her back and down the slope of her hip.

He lay awake for a time, staring up into the nothingness of his tent, his cravings satisfied, his balls empty, but the want in his heart unfulfilled. Would it be any different with the girl from his dream? Would she bring him anything more than the fulfillment of his animalistic lusting if he took her as a lover? Eomer looked down at the dark, indistinguishable figure next to him, spent from his use.

No, it was likely she would not.

A/n : Sorry this chapter was super long! LOL!