Chapter Eleven
Reciprocity

"To capture a predator you can't remain the prey; you have to become an equal in every way."

—"Become the Beast," Karliene

Breakfast was set up as a buffet the morning after the solstice ball, ready to accommodate guests rising at any hour. The prince never required a family breakfast after such large parties, experience informing him that at least one of his sons would be indisposed and unable to join the rest of the family. The sun was barely over the horizon when Lothíriel slipped into the hall to join a handful of other early birds. Hopefully no one would take offense at her sitting alone. She was bleary-eyed and in desperate need of kaffe, hardly fit for company. She'd barely slept and was certain she looked as rough as she felt.

The princess was lost in reverie, recalling everything that had happened the night before. It felt like a dream, like something out of the naughty novels the maids passed around. But it wasn't, it was real. Every touch, every gasp, every word had happened. Lothí could scarcely believe it. She started a bit when Glîrion threw himself down beside her. His steaming plateful of eggs and fresh biscuits set her stomach growling. He was far too alert for this early hour, noting the kaffe-induced tremor to her hands and smile she couldn't erase.

"You look far too pleased for so early in the morning. What happened?" His bright eyes twinkled with merriment as he settled in for their usual party postmortem.

Lothí still had enough of her wits about her to look for any listeners-in before telling her friend all about what she'd seen at the ball and the events in the garden, leaving out only the most salacious details. Her stomach clenched as she recalled every sensation the king had evoked from her body.

"I can't tell you how happy I am, Glîr," she gushed, careful to keep her words quiet. "He listens when I talk, he values my input, and—"

"And apparently has a silver tongue," he joked, laughing when her cheeks blazed with heat. Glîrion's pale eyes were alight with mirth as he grabbed her hand. "You, Lothí, are a sweet girl with a big heart somewhere beneath all your defenses and facades. If that man doesn't have enough sense to see that and treat you well, then he never deserved you in the first place."

"Thank you, mellon," she said, squeezing his hand gratefully. "Now tell me about the rest of the ball. What did I miss?"

The lyrist launched into the evening's highlights, from a drunken Lord Sirgon spilling red wine all over Lady Negeneth's white and yellow gown to young Maidhriel nervously dancing with Lord Duinhir and stepping all over his feet.

"I even think I saw your father smile," he finished between mouthfuls of his breakfast.

Lothí rolled her eyes at that, certain that she'd only hear of the evening's failures if she spoke to her father. She stole half of a biscuit from her friend's plate, nibbling at the buttery roll as she planned how best to avoid her father. It shouldn't be hard; the summit was coming to an end and they were both going to be busier than usual. Lothí also had to begin plans for the party's journey to Minas Tirith in addition to her usual duties.

The thought of her increased workload had the princess groaning, and she focused on the day's tasks. She was finishing her mental checklist when the warrior king strolled in, dark eyes immediately searching her out in the nearly empty hall. Every muscle froze and she was helpless, watching him stride towards her with a bright smile. Glîrion was still talking and Lothí didn't hear a word he said.

"Lothí," he hissed, pinching her arm. "Keep sending him the doe eyes like that and the whole palace will know you're ready to tumble into his bed."

All she could do was nod, sipping her tepid drink for want of anything else to do. How obvious could she be? Despite the voyeur and Duinhir, despite her reputation and his status, she almost didn't care. She wanted Éomer and damn the consequences. Rumors were sure to fly if she greeted him too enthusiastically, but what could be so wrong with sending him a bright smile? It was the double-edged sword of status: for all the good such influence could encourage, there would always be gossip and speculation as others sought to topple those at the top. Something clicked into place in her mind then.

"Maybe this is exactly what they want," she murmured absently, frowning as she walked through the evening's events. Even the king's closeness didn't stop the flurry of her thoughts.

"Wait, what?" Glîrion asked distractedly, his glare flickering away from the king.

"The voyeur," she whispered quickly, reminding him of what had set off the scene in the first place. "They've spread rumors and laid the innuendo, but what if it was all done to set me on edge, make me so careful that I seem frosty to the king's affections and he seems a barbarian for moving forward against that attitude?"

His fork dropped to his plate with a sharp click. "Then you need to be doubly careful and replace that goony grin with something more sedate."

The king was in earshot now, so she simply nodded and drained her kaffe. Her ever loyal friend smiled politely at the newcomer, his blue eyes cautious as he watched the older man. Lothí resumed their light chatter, a faint smile quirking her lips when he recounted her brothers' antics at the ball while she prepared a second cup of kaffe. Glîrion gleefully told her about the way Erchirion insisted he and Noeneth leap over the loëndë embers together, much to her mother's chagrin.

"Erchirion was positively moony-eyed over Noeneth—I don't think he drank himself into oblivion last night!" Glîrion laughed lightly, sounding like a bird twittering instead of a fully-grown man.

"Good morning, swete." Éomer settled onto the bench across from them, his sharp gaze missing nothing. The dark circles under her eyes and barely suppressed yawns were a dead giveaway to her exhaustion, a stark contrast to the kind smile she sent his way.

"By all means, undress each other with your eyes. I'm sure your audience would simply love that," Glîrion drawled, silvery eyes hooded as he fixed the king with a taunting smirk. "Lothí, melleth, don't you have work to start on?"

"Actually—" Lothí cast a glance about the hall, noting the way people stared unabashedly at her and the king.

"Surely it can wait until we've broken our fast," the king said, shooting the musician a sharp look. He wasn't one to be easily deterred.

"It can, though I'm sure Ilhan won't mind us eating in the kitchens instead. It's a little more private," she said, fiddling with the handle of her porcelain cup.

He nodded in agreement, having noticed the increased scrutiny when he'd walked in. It was far too early to give the rumor mill new fodder. "Lead on, feacwēn."

"So you can jumpstart the gossip by disappearing alone together? I think not," Glîrion bristled at that like a protective mother cat guarding her young. "You announced your courtship last night with those dances and there's someone out there ready to impugn your virtue, Lothí. Start protecting your reputation now."

She looked between the two men, all too aware of the eyes watching their every move. Glîrion was right. They needed to be smart about this, and that meant chaperones and no more private rendezvous. Their betrothal could come crashing down around their ears if the wrong rumor gained traction.

When she said as much, Éomer looked ready to argue. Only a sharp glance had his jaw clenching shut as a bustle by the entryway caught their attention. More guests spilled in as the sun moved higher in the sky, casting curious glances at the princess and her two companions. People began settling in close by, probably hoping to overhear something interesting, Lothí decided she'd had enough. The men could stay as long as they wanted, but the prying eyes were suffocating.

"We'll finish this another time," she said firmly, rising as gracefully as she could. "Please excuse me, Éomer. Glîr."

With that, she slipped behind a tapestry and into the kitchens with as much dignity as she could muster. She didn't expect to be followed, especially with the audience they'd drawn. Still, she hesitated by the door for a few moments, trying to pretend that she didn't mind that Éomer didn't join her. Lifting her chin against the irrational swell of disappointment, she moved to nab a scone from the cooling rack before attending to her duties.

The next ten days flew by with all of the negotiations, sewing circles, evening entertainments, and planning the farewell feast. Lothíriel was in charge of organizing the trip to Minas Tirith for her cousin's wedding. The entire party was to be transported upriver, so she was arranging ships to transport everyone, their belongings, and horses to carry the party from the Harlond into the city. Carriages would have to meet them there for those unable or unwilling to ride. She was also orchestrating the preparations for her family's townhouse in the sixth circle of the city. It was a mad flurry of endless activity, hardly allowing her a moment to sit and breathe, much less time to dwell on the events of the bal masque.

She flew from meeting to meeting, working late every night to review and finalize contracts alone in her study and rising with the sun to plan the rest. Anything to avoid scrutiny though the never-ending list of tasks was very real. Her load only grew when Gonwen was taken with a terrible bout of morning sickness. The older woman was unable to leave her rooms for too long, so it was decided she and Elphir would remain behind with Amrothos while the rest of the family traveled. With her sister-in-law indisposed, Lothí had very little help.

It was fatiguing and she wanted nothing more than to steal a few peaceful moments in the stable with Hærlith or find a reprieve in Éomer's arms. But it wasn't meant to be between her responsibilities and the ever-mounting pressure to perform each duty perfectly. As their departure loomed closer, so did the impending announcement of her betrothal to the Rohirric King. She first had to act like the perfect princess to be seen as the perfect candidate to become a queen. It was draining, and there was no end in sight. Her mood had not gone unnoticed, but only two people knew the reasons for her agitated exhaustion.

On the last morning of the summit, she was in her rooms scouring notes and cross-checking lists to ensure everything was properly situated for the farewell feast. When she reached a stopping point, she took a moment to adjust her dress and inspect her reflection. The robin's egg blue cotehardie was accented with delicate spring green and honey yellow vines along the hems and neckline.

She secured a simple leather belt with brass embellishments and a plain purse when a knock sounded at the door. Thinking it to be her maid bringing her something to eat, Lothí called for her to enter as she dove back into her papers.

"Good morning, Lothíriel," a warm, masculine voice rumbled from her bedroom door. It wasn't Amdiris.

The papers fell from her fingers when she spun around to face the royal intruder. He hovered near the door laden with a tray of kaffe and scones. Something else was tucked under his arm. His cautious smile widened when she gestured for him to come closer.

"What are you doing here?" Lothí whispered, heart hammering against her ribs at his unexpected appearance. Finally noticing the scattered pages, she bent to tidy them up and managed to knock her brush off the vanity in the process. "Blast it all…"

He moved to set the tray down, offering her a free hand to rise. "Leave it until you've had some kaffe."

"Kaffe?" she parroted dumbly. His hand was hot and rough against hers as he helped her up. The memory of their last private moment had her flushing and sent a languorous heat spiraling through her limbs.

"I wanted to see you," he said, dressing some kaffe and handing the steaming drink to the princess. "Between our meetings and acting with all due decorum, I thought this the best—the only time to steal a moment alone."

"And what did you have in mind for this 'alone time?'" Lothí teased, tenderly handling the hot porcelain cup and watching him leisurely stir a sugar cube into his own drink.

His nostrils flared before he huffed a laugh. "You are a minx."

"It's not nice to call a lady names, your majesty," she said archly. Her breath skated over the rich, brown liquid in an attempt to cool it. Tendrils of steam curled and disappeared over the rim of the cup.

"Then it's a good thing I have a gift to make it up to you." He shifted closer, his bright eyes peering at her over the rim of his own steaming cup. A beam of sunlight lit up his face, highlighting the rich, earthy browns and dark forest green flecks in his amber eyes.

Lothí was so enrapt with his eyes that she almost missed what he'd said. "Wait, a gift? Why?"

Éomer snorted at that. "You might be the only woman I know who questions a present."

"But there's no occasion—"

"I don't need an occasion to spoil you," he cut her off. He set the delicate cup down with a clink.

She had no idea what he could have brought for her so soon after gifting her the ring. It twinkled up at her from her left hand, a happy reminder of their relationship. Pretty baubles had never been the way to her heart, but it seemed different coming from him. While such gifts provided a woman with some security, they were so easily tossed about by men of means that she'd often doubted there was any true meaning behind them at all. Until now.

Because she loved him, she realized then. Somehow, she'd come to love this headstrong, passionate, clever man without even realizing it. She felt like she was able to see everything clearly for the first time.

She loved him.

The breath rushed from her lungs as the full weight of those words sunk in. He'd thrown her off balance from the beginning, and she'd let her guard down, let him in. Now he was nestled in her heart and there was nothing she could do about it. Lothí was in love with a man who surprised her at every turn, who listened to her and valued her insights. She pinched her arm to make sure it wasn't a dream. She'd never been so happy to feel the sharp pain.

All of this flooded her mind in the span of a moment. His light touch on her arm snapped her back to the present. The princess instinctively leaned into his touch. The familiar weight of his hand was becoming a comfort. With a rustle of paper, he presented a contract to her with a flourish.

"A last-minute trade contract you want me to review?" she asked with a chuckle. "That's not exactly what I'd call a gift…"

"No, swete, this isn't just any contract. It's our marriage agreement," Éomer said, watching her like a hawk.

She stared at him, the stormy gray made striking by her dark lashes as her mouth fell open in a silent 'oh' of surprise. "I don't understand."

He puffed a laugh at her confusion. "As a condition to our marriage, Imrahil has agreed to allow you to make revisions before this contract is finalized. I also insisted that you be the one to sign it, not him."

A woman seeing her marriage contract just wasn't done—she'd never heard of a bride-to-be reviewing her own marriage contract, much less altering or signing it. It was a father's prerogative to enter into all contracts on behalf of an unwed daughter, and then all of his rights shifted to the husband upon marriage. It was unprecedented for a woman to sign her own contracts in Gondor, to exhibit such autonomy or even have any say in the terms of her marriage. The only time she'd acted in such a capacity was as Dol Amroth's custodian during the war. But even then, she'd been acting under the auspices of her father's authority

"You… We—you and I will be the ones entering this agreement?" Amazement overtook her, replacing the befuddlement with awe.

"Yes," he confirmed, smiling at her disbelief. "You and I are the ones joining in marriage. I thought it only right that we be the ones to set its terms—if you're still willing, that is."

Lothí gaped at him for another beat as she tried to regain her wits. "I—I don't know what to say. This is unheard of. This… it's ground-breaking. No woman in Gondor's history has ever had this level of control over her marriage before."

Her whole life she'd been told there was no place for her at this particular table. She simply had to trust her father and betrothed would be fair. Never had she truly hoped to have any control of her future. To have an active role in this milestone—the final word, no less—and to have her intended recognize and support her personhood… It left her speechless. Tenderness and gratitude swelled up to clog her throat.

All she could do was bury her face in his neck, breathing in the clean, earthy scent of him as she struggled to regain control over her emotions. How could she possibly hope to verbalize everything she was thinking and feeling in this moment? This man she'd known for mere weeks treated her with more dignity than anyone else she'd ever known. He saw her as a person and not just as a tool of his dominion, no matter what her father had to say about it. This gift was a promise. It was his way of telling her that she was more than chattel, more than a vessel to bear him an heir and a pretty payday for the Mark.

"Thank you." Her words were muffled but Lothí didn't care. She simply tightened her arms about his waist as she held him close. Maybe the force of her embrace or the thickness of her voice could tell him what her words didn't. "It's a wonderful gift. I can't tell you how much it means to me."

A thick thumb brushed down her cheek, his large hand gentle against her soft skin. "Lothíriel, you are your own person and I have no desire to take that away from you."

She nodded against him, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn't sound ungrateful. Instead, Lothí simply held him close to draw comfort from his nearness. She'd missed this—his touch and smell and feeling his voice rumble about her—for the last several days. It was a balm to her nerves to be so close again. Her contented silence seemed to speak volumes.

The arm about her tightened, pulling her ever closer as he continued speaking. "Trusting is… it's not easy for me, swete, but I trust you—I do—and it's... bugger it, it's frightening."

"Why?" She drew back to watch him with that concerned pucker between her brows making a reappearance.

He released a heavy breath that contained a wealth of sorrows. "You should probably know. Come, let me tell the tale while we eat."

They moved the tray of scones and kaffe to the floor and settled in, spreading clotted cream and preserves over the golden pastries. Éomer's shoulders bowed forward as he began his story, face taut with a storm of feeling.

"It all started when Gríma Wormtongue came to power. He began as one of my uncle's advisors and rose in their ranks until my uncle no longer listened to anyone but him. Things began disappearing and my uncle became unnaturally reliant on him. There was something not quite right about this man, and my cousin and sister agreed—we all tried to warn Théoden, but he'd have none of it," he said, voice low and intense as his frown deepened.

"Why?" Lothí prompted when he paused for a long moment.

"Gríma was acting on behalf of the wizard, Saruman, who was in league with Sauron. He'd been promised my sister for his services," he snarled. Part of the scone crumbled between his strong fingers. "We later learned he'd been slowly poisoning the king to gain control of his mind and share the Mark's plans and secrets with the wizard. They used the information to kill my cousin. It's the only reason I'm on the throne and not Théodred."

She was stunned at the revelation. That a man of Rohan could betray his king and country like that went against everything she'd learned of that proud people. "Is that why Wermund dislikes me so?"

Éomer nodded, regretfully meeting her wide eyes. "Yes, or… it's part of the reason. Outsiders remind us all of Gríma in one way or another."

Her stomach lurched at that. "Éomer, you must know I'd never use or betray you."

"I know, swete," he assured her, catching her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. "But we're almost finished with the story." He continued at her nod. "I met Aragorn and his two companions, the elf and the dwarf, while on patrol and gave them horses to continue their hunt for two halflings taken by Saruman's orcs. I broke the law of our land—enacted by Gríma—that all foreigners must be brought before the king instead of wandering freely. My eored also killed the Uruk-hai that captured the halflings. It was one defiance too many, and he had my uncle throw me in prison for treason against the crown."

"What?" Lothí squawked, stunned that anyone could think that he could be anything but loyal to his family and his land. "How could anyone think you disloyal?"

Éomer bowed his head at the question, sorrow lining his face. "I'd been very vocal in my opposition to Gríma—too vocal. Éowyn tried warning me to keep my objections quiet, but I didn't listen. I can't help but wonder how differently things would've turned out if I had."

She felt like her heart cracked at the pain coloring his voice. "That's impossible to know, meleth nín.

"We'd slain the Uruk-hai that had taken the holbytlan, unwittingly foiling Saruman's plan to try capturing the One Ring. If my uncle hadn't ordered my imprisonment for aiding Aragorn, I'm sure Gríma would have made sure I paid for it with my life. It was only after Gandalf broke the wizard's influence and Théoden drove Gríma from the Mark that I was released and named his heir." His face crumpled as he thought of what could have been.

"Oh, Éomer," she breathed, heart swelling with sympathy for everything he'd suffered.

It was hard to believe that a man who'd stepped in as his father figure—whom he spoke of as an indomitable spirit—could be so broken down as to treat his family like strangers. It broke her heart to think of her bold warrior king as a prisoner at his family's hand. A selfish part of her was glad that Éomer was the king of Rohan. If it had never happened, if his cousin had lived, she wouldn't have known the man pressed against her side. She may have even been destined to wed his cousin. Lothíriel couldn't stomach the thought of marrying anyone else.

Unable to think of a response that could make it better, she closed the distance between them to kiss him soundly. Lothí tried to put everything she was feeling into the embrace—all the longing she felt for him, gratitude that he'd shared that part of himself with her, sorrow for what he'd endured, and all the love she felt for him. He returned the kiss tenfold, pulling her to straddle his lap as they came together.

"I'll have to do things like that more often," Éomer joked hoarsely once they parted. "I could get used to that."

"You mean bare your soul to me? I can't say I'd mind," she laughed, moving to sit beside him once more. "I don't want us to have any secrets."

"Deal," he promised, dropping a kiss to her temple.

They shared a smile and settled in to finish their meal. A warm glow settled around her heart as the easy familiarity returned. There was a deeper understanding now, like they'd discovered a new dimension to their relationship. It was incredible to feel the acceptance flowing between them. She felt they were on equal footing for the first time.

The farewell banquet went smoothly and most of the party departed the next day for Minas Tirith. Only Erchirion and Lothíriel were set to travel with Imrahil, the others opting to remain behind to run the city and support Gonwen. Guilt gnawed at Lothí's belly for leaving her sister-in-law while she was struck so ill by her pregnancy, but the older woman had insisted she go. Even Glîrion was to remain behind, supposedly to help his ailing father though Lothí thought he was looking forward to time with her brother away from Khunal.

They sailed from the city docks and up the Anduin, landing in Pelargir in a matter of days. It was a difficult journey for the landlubbers; sailing on a pleasure yacht was one thing but traveling upriver on a fleet ship was something entirely different. Lothíriel spied more than one person losing their lunch overboard. The Rohirrim were particularly effected, more than one sun-kissed face turning green before they rushed for the railing.

As the guest of honor, Éomer and his guard sailed with Imrahil and his children. He was often in talks with her father during the day, either tucked away in her father's cabin or strolling the deck with the prince. It was nigh on impossible to steal a moment alone in the crowded quarters of the ship. Lothí and her maid shared a room and her brother was always just a breath away. Between her father's watchful eyes, her vigilant brother, and the crew, they only managed to exchange a few kisses and whispered words. It was maddening enough that Lothí was actually looking forward to being in the White City for once.

From Pelargir, the party traveled to the quays of the Harlond. The port city carried the scars of war still. The once-white stone was blackened with smoke and crumbling building stood on every corner. Orcs from Minas Morgul had captured the port during the war, and it showed despite the relatively short occupation. Reconstruction was well under way, but it was not far enough along to hide the pockmarks of war.

Lothí shivered as she took it all in. The marks of conflict were a stark reminder of how close she'd come to living in similar ruins. Only providence stood between her and living in a city as ravaged as the Harlond.

After disembarking the ships, the party alighted into waiting carriages or mounted their waiting horses. Once on land, the beasts danced with relief to be on solid ground once more. It took all morning for the ships to be unloaded and organized. The sun was nearing its zenith when they finally resumed their journey.

Lothíriel rode with Erchirion and Noeneth for the better part of the day, laughing and enjoying their company before Noeneth's overbearing mother couldn't stand to be parted for her daughter any longer. The lovely girl wheeled her mount around to join her mother in a carriage with a sigh. The princess didn't envy her; it was a bright, clear day with a pleasant breeze, too lovely a day to be confined to a stuffy box on wheels.

"Always a shame to see her go," Erchirion sighed, his face despondent as he watched his dark-skinned paramour disappear into a carriage. "I've asked to formally court her."

"Erchi, that's wonderful!" Lothí exclaimed, barely resisting the urge to squeal with delight. "I'm so pleased for you!"

"So is ada, though you're the only one who knows yet. I don't want Roth to find out," he confided, his great bay jauntily walking beside Hærlith. The towering animal seemed to pick up on his master's mood, tossing his mane with a happy whicker.

Her heart twinged at the mention of Amrothos, thinking of his deep unhappiness and the secret he was keeping from everyone. All she could do was nod, agreeing to keep Erchi's secret as well. She would have to speak with him and Glîrion once they were back in Dol Amroth and returned to a normal routine.

"Probably wise for the moment," Lothí agreed. Roth had enough on his mind without having another sibling's happiness rubbed in his face, but she couldn't help feeling like there were too many secrets floating about. "Lucky for you, he's not here. Remember Elphir and Gonwen courting?"

Erchi groaned at the memory. "Roth just couldn't let them be! He was the worst sort of chaperone."

"Exactly. Though maybe you should tell him when we return—you know how he gets if he's been excluded from a secret." She tilted her head back as her brother groaned again, determined to enjoy the sun on her skin.

Earning a few freckles or a slightly darker complexion didn't bother her, though it would leave her Aunt Ivriniel in fits. The woman would be horrified to learn she was riding astride and without a parasol—or riding at all when carriages were available to keep her fashionably pale—but she'd been doing a lot of things that would horrify her aunt lately. Enjoying the sunshine was the most harmless.

"Will you be alright when Éomer leaves?" the prince teased, batting his eyes animatedly at her.

Lothí rolled her eyes at her older brother. "I'll miss him, but it will be alright. Adar has allowed a short formal betrothal period since it's been almost a year already—Rohan needs the stability of a married king."

"When's the wedding to be?" Erchirion asked, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"New Year," she replied, a small smile curling her lips.

He waggled his eyebrows at her, grinning lewdly. "So early! Must be so you can get to work on that heir."

"How crass can you be?" Lothí sneered archly, though a thrill of anticipation shot through her at the idea of feeling Éomer's child growing within her—and at the thought of what they'd do to make one.

"Quite crass, actually," her brother replied. An impish grin split his lips and he tossed his dark hair, looking like the very soul of mischief. "Was the betrothal shortened so you two can fu—"

"Stop," she commanded sharply before dissolving into laughter at his vulgarities. "Keep talking that way and one of these fuddy-duddies will tell Noeneth's father, and then where would you be?"

That shut her brother up for a moment, long enough for the princess's thoughts to turn to the contract Éomer had left with her. She'd spent every free moment perusing it. Both Rohan and her father had been exceedingly generous. Her jaw had hit the floor when she read over her dowry provisions. It included money, all her possessions, and a staggering amount of food and lumber to be dispensed throughout the Mark at the king's discretion. It was so unexpectedly generous that tears had actually pricked her eyes.

The provision of a third of Éomer's personal estate if she was left widowed was standard, though she was relieved to see that Éomer had added a provision that she would act as a regent for any children in the event of his untimely demise. Lothíriel knew she'd want no one else to act in her child's stead, and no one would be better equipped to see Éomer's plans through to completion than his wife. It was a relief to know he felt the same way.

During her introspection, her gaze had unconsciously slid to the golden king. It took her a moment to notice him craning back to look at her. He was surrounded by his men near the front of the party. They shared a smile and a storm of butterflies exploded in her stomach when he gestured for her to join them. She was all happy flutters and bright smiles, her heart beating a wild tattoo against her ribs at the sight of the man made more radiant by the cheery summer sun. One look at her brother showed her that he was rolling his eyes and failing to hide a grin at her obvious reaction to his friend.

"Come on, I'll ride along to make sure you uphold the honor of Dol Amroth," he teased, tone full of the pomp and importance she knew he didn't feel. Erchirion spurred his gelding forward, his sister eagerly following as they broke off and trotted towards the front of the party.

They passed the others, waving and calling greetings as they rode by. It was a merry procession, all cheerful chatter and bright smiles under the azure sky. Cottony clouds provided the occasional respite from the sun, and the breeze carried the scent of freshly hewn grass as it cooled the travelers.

More people rode than Lothí had expected, though she felt like she couldn't be surprised. The unwed king of a nation of horsemen and -women was in their midst, after all. Ladies and their daughters were arrayed in charming riding habits, doing their best to hide their discomfort at riding so long in sidesaddles.

Lady Berenith and her family rode near the king, likely hoping he'd be so charmed by her young daughter that he'd forget about the princess. Lady Maegwen and Cerphedis rode with their party, sharing parasols and chattering while the latter did her best to get near the king. Lothí was relieved to see that the Rohirrim were proving an insurmountable barrier.

"Good day, ladies!" she called politely as they drew even. She received venomous glares and sickly-sweet smiles, but she didn't expect anything different from them.

"Your highness!" Maegwen called, pasting on a saccharine smile. "What a pleasant day for a ride, though I'm surprised to see someone of your complexion braving the sun!"

Lothíriel went rigid at the obvious insult. Erchirion glared daggers. Their mother, being Umbarian, had darker skin than the Gondorians. He and Amrothos had inherited her lovely olive complexion while Lothí and Elphir remained pale until they spent any substantial time under the sun. After that, they bore that same golden skin of their mother's people. She'd known there were disapproving whispers of her parents' marriage because of her mother's lineage, but Lothí had never been so directly confronted with it before. Any remarks about her mother were whispered elsewhere.

"We had to get something of our looks from our mother," she replied, forcing her voice to remain light. No use in giving them the satisfaction of letting her offense show. "I do hope you won't hesitate to let me know if you need anything—I know that even a few hours on horseback can be taxing for those unaccustomed to the exercise."

Erchirion smothered a satisfied snicker at his sister's sugary volley. Passive-aggression was an art she'd been schooled in from an early age; kill with kindness, but never take an insult lying down. It was something both her mother and aunt had agreed upon, and one of the princess's most useful lessons.

Lady Berenith chimed in then when her friend's jaw had snapped shut. "I'm sure it will be expected of the future queen of the horse people, whoever she may be. I've even heard that the northerners require new queens to lay with the king's mount!"

Lothí barely stopped herself from laughing at the ludicrous claim. "I'd check my sources if I were you. The Rohirrim love their animals, but they certainly don't lay with them. Besides, his majesty isn't the sort to force a woman to do anything."

"Even lay with him outside of wedlock?" Maegwen's cloying tone was her only warning of the imminent swipe. "My dear princess, I didn't know you were so desperate to win a throne as to willingly take a barbarian to your bed!"

Cerphedis flashed the princess a triumphant smirk, seemingly satisfied to let her mother fight this battle. She watched the other girl too keenly, anticipation written in every line of her body. Her head swiveled between the princess and the king just a few horses ahead. Even with the sounds of hoofbeats and whickering beasts, the king may have heard the jab over the chatter of his men. Was she hoping the king would decide to confront these rumors and publicly spurn the princess?

Cold horror seized Lothí's muscles then, but she carefully kept her face impassive. Maegwen knew of the interlude in the library, and now those rumors were spreading. This had to be what the lady discussed with Duinhir at the loëndë ball. The lady would almost certainly spread word of the incident, and Wermund would likely ensure the rumor reached the other men on the king's council. Whoever the voyeur might have been and whatever they might have wanted, the gossip was now poised to come between Lothí and Éomer. They wanted to doom the union of the Mark and Dol Amroth, but for what? And who else knew?

It didn't matter in that moment; she couldn't give them a reaction. All that mattered was ending this conversation quickly and convincing her father to announce the betrothal soon.

"I'd recommend not repeating every unfounded rumor that flutters about, my lady," Lothíriel replied, unimpressed and injecting only the faintest hint of disdain into her expression. "It would be tragic if you earned a reputation as a gossip-monger, and an ill-informed one at that."

"From what I've heard, it isn't so 'unfounded,'" Berenith piped up. Her fake smile carried a vicious edge to it, matching the cold satisfaction in her darting eyes. "Rumor has it that you were seen intimately entangled with the king in the library, and that he was seen leaving your rooms just two days ago."

A glance at Erchirion showed a storm brewing in his eyes. He was ready to step in to defend his sister at the first sign of her faltering. He knew Lothí didn't want him fighting her battles—she could manage these harpies on her own but his fierce scowl told her that he was at the ready. Forcing herself to remain calm, she painted her expression into one of mild shock before looking back to them. It was a relief that her mare was sedate enough not to give away her mistress's agitation.

"I was certainly in the library with his majesty, but nothing more intimate than a tour and a poetry reading occurred. Leave it to the rumor mill to make that salacious," she laughed, noting Maidhriel's agreeing nod. "We actually came upon Maidhriel and her friend during the impromptu reading."

It was a blatant omission, especially because someone may very well have witnessed the event. Lothí didn't care; someone would have to step forward and openly admit to spying on their hostess and a foreign king to contradict her. She wouldn't make it easy on them, and Lothíriel was willing to stake her mother's jewels on the voyeur's silence.

"It's true, naneth," Maidhriel said softly, her shoulders bowing under her mother's disapproving glare. "I met them reading poetry and not a hair was out of place."

The princess shot the girl a grateful nod, noting the quiver in her gentle voice. It was always hard to stand against a parent, especially one like Berenith. Maidhriel was young and sweet, too sweet to knowingly lie. Lothí thought it spoke to a strength of character that she spoke up when she didn't have to. She said a quick prayer to the Valar that the girl turned out happier and better than her mother.

"But what of his visit to your rooms?" Cerphedis pushed, a frantic light shining in her bright eyes. Desperation tinged her words.

Lothíriel simply shrugged, pleased to have an answer for this too. "He brought me a final contract to review—I've been assisting the Rohirrim with our contract laws, as I'm sure you know. But thank you for reminding me, I really must return my notes to his majesty."

Hopefully that would serve to quell these rumors for the time being. Emotions flickered across the lady's lovely face as Lothí watched. Surprise, despondency, and a desperate determination. It was no surprise that someone so consumed by competition would seek to draw it out until she was served a decisive defeat. Cerphedis's hungry gaze landed on the king then, and Lothí knew just by watching her that they were far from finished.

"You have an answer for everything, your highness," she groused, glowering at the princess from her sidesaddle.

"The innocent usually do," Erchirion interjected, nearly spitting with barely-contained anger at the women. He opened his mouth to unleash the full force of his temper on them, only to be cut off by his sister.

"Please excuse us, ladies. We were called up to ride with his majesty, and I'd hate to keep him waiting any longer." With that, she gently spurred Hærlith forward before the gossips could utter another word.

If they were brazen enough to openly question her about these rumors, that must mean it was already well-circulated. It was only a matter of time before it made the rounds in the White City and took on a life of its own. This display had just moved up her father's timeline. The betrothal had to be finalized and announced soon.

Erchirion was grumbling as they rode up toward the king, deep furrows lining his face. "What were they talking about, Lothí?"

She just shook her head, adrenaline making her pulse race after the confrontation. "Just stupid rumors, muindor. You heard everything—someone saw Éomer and I, took it out of context, and here we are. It's how the gossips always work."

It was an unsatisfying response, but it was the only one she could give. There were too many people about to tell him the full story, and she wasn't so sure he'd understand. While her brother had his own less than pristine reputation, she knew it would be different to hear that she and his friend were exploring their relationship. Somehow, it was always different when a sister's honor was at stake.

He shot her a warning look when they joined the king and his entourage. They were just behind their father, and both knew that this wasn't the time or place for the impending conversation. Imrahil needed to know—if he didn't already, that was—but she thought it best to wait until they were safely ensconced in the townhouse.

Erchirion easily fell into conversation with the king's guard, many of whom he recognized from the war and Cormallen after. Cheerful welcomes rang out, and Lothí knew he would be far too distracted to properly chaperone her. Not that anything scandalous was likely to happen so publicly, but it was good her brother was there for appearances.

"Éomer-Cynig," Lothí greeted with a warm smile meant only for her betrothed.

"Deorcung feacwēn," he teased back, winking at the formality game they'd unwittingly created. "So kind of you to finally join us."

"Aye, maybe this giant arse will behave with you here to keep him in line," Éothain grumbled sullenly. He shot a glare at the king and Gamling when they laughed at his complaint.

Éomer caught the princess's hand to press a lingering kiss to her knuckles, joking, "I'm more likely to misbehave with such a lass about. You know I'm partial to pretty, dark-haired women."

She yanked her hand back from him, shooting him a too-sweet smile. "Then maybe I should take my leave and let one the other ladies entertain you."

The king's men laughed at that as he easily pulled Firefoot closer until their legs were almost brushing. Hærlith tossed her mane prettily at the stallion in greeting, and he whickered back.

"Don't even joke about that, swete," Éomer replied lowly. He watched as a shiver ran up her spine at his rumbling words and possessive tone. "I love making you tremble like that."

The king's advisors fell back to allow the pair some privacy, both failing to hide their smiles at the young couple. Their king had been in a strange mood after the bal masque, storming about with a scowl on his face the day after, and, then, two days before, he was all sunny smiles and kind words. It hadn't taken them but a moment to realize the princess was somehow tied to his changeable moods.

"As much as I enjoy it, we need to be more careful," she breathed, nearly losing her senses at the things he did to her with just his words. "Word has spread about the library, claiming that I've lain with you in a bid for your crown."

He blanched at that, his broad shoulders going ramrod straight. "Has your father heard?"

Lothí just shrugged, feeling the beginnings of a headache twinging dully at her temples. "I don't know. I've only just learned of it—Ladies Berenith, Maegwen, and Cerphedis were all too eager to question me."

"Tell me," he commanded gruffly, his hands tightening and then loosening on the reins.

She did as he ordered, keeping her voice low to avoid spreading the dangerous rumors even further. Everything came rushing out including her omissions and the outrageous lies they believed about the Mark. She even made sure to mention Maidhriel's pluck in speaking up, suggesting he dance with her at the next opportunity to as a 'thank you.' Lothí held nothing back, even though she wondered if he'd resent the half-truths and bald-faced lies she'd made up despite the underlying truth—they hadn't lain together.

"They're baiting us, hoping to ruin this courtship and betrothal," she finished, casting her gaze about to see if anyone was eavesdropping. "And I can't help but wonder when we'll feel the ripples of this campaign amongst your countrymen."

"What does any of this accomplish? We're already betrothed," Éomer remarked. The darkness in his voice was mirrored on his face—the man wore his heart of his sleeve despite being battle-hardened. It was rarely a mystery how he felt from one moment to the next. His expressive eyes and mouth gave him away, and Lothí couldn't help but adore him for it.

"But they don't know that yet," she reminded him gently. "It could be to place Lady Cerphedis in your path instead, to interrupt what they see as my father's consolidation of power, or simply to tear me down."

"We won't let that happen," he promised, a grim determination flashing over his face.

Lothí pried his hand from the reins and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "No, we won't."

"Is that you being more careful?" A smile threatened at the corners of his lips, his velvety gaze taking in the flush on her cheeks from the warm summer sun and the tendrils of hair coaxed loose by the wind.

"No," she laughed, wishing she didn't have to wear riding gloves. There was very little she wanted more than to feel his skin on hers in that moment. "I just can't seem to resist you."

"The feeling is very mutual, lufestre." Éomer grinned at her then, bright and toothy and full of mischief.

Flutters erupted all over her skin, dancing and tickling like kelp waving in the current or flames licking about a log. That boyish charm peeked through so rarely. Lothíriel couldn't help but love him a little more. Her heart was full to bursting with it. Something welled up in her then as she looked up at the man made to mirror the sun. Words rose up in her throat, nearly choking her with the force of them. 'I love you.' It took everything Lothí had to bite them back, forcing the compulsion to fade. This wasn't the time or the place. No, however strongly she felt it, this was a confession for his ears alone.

The concerned quirk of his brows made her realize that her mask had slipped. He was worried, and it was her face that had given away something of her thoughts. Trying to cover for her slip, Lothí readjusted in her saddle and affixed a bright smile. It seemed to assuage the king for the moment.

Searching for a safer subject, she nodded at Firefoot. "Tell me, arod cynig, how you came by this beastly fellow."

Behind them, Éothain barked a laugh. "That's a wonderful tale, feacwēn, and one I'd be happy to tell you all about—"

"Éothain," the king barked, his cheeks reddening. "I swear—"

"—because this lummox wouldn't risk your ears with the truth," the copper haired man finished, pointedly ignoring his king.

Lothíriel whipped about to stare down the king. "Now I absolutely must know."

Éomer cast his eyes up to the sky as if to ask the Valar 'why me?' His face was guarded and voice cautious when he simply said, "I won him."

Éothain crowed with laughter as he rode forward to flank the princess's other side. The man was the picture of mirth, all rosy cheeks and bright eyes. He was impervious to Éomer's glower.

With a toothy grin he started, "Picture this: warriors rounded up all the young lads training to join an eored and took us to the herds, none of us older than fifteen and far afield. It was time to select our mounts and beginning training with them. His royal sourpuss and his cousin were having a spat over who was the superior horseman."

A stolen glance at the king told her he was not amused—pursed lips and tight shoulders abounded. She couldn't help the snort of laughter at that. "This can only end well."

"Aye, it's given me stories for years," the rider agreed, shooting her a mischievous wink. "They both saw Firefoot, here, and simply had to have him. Naturally, they settled on a competition to decide things."

"What then? We know the outcome, but how did it happen?" Lothí asked eagerly.

The older man grinned at his king, all too aware that the other riders were listening now too. More animatedly, he continued, "The night before the competition, our fearless leader got piss-drunk—"

"You got me piss-drunk!" Éomer exclaimed, sending a ripple of laughter throughout the lines of light-haired men. The princess's quaking shoulders softened the king; how could he be unhappy when she was laughing so? "And Théodred paid you to do it, you traitor!"

The man in question smiled wide as could be, like a cat with a bowl of cream. "And I'd do it again. Now let me tell the story!" Calls for Éothain to continue sounded, and even Gamling joined in. "As I was saying, his magnanimous majesty was piss-drunk—one way or another—and his clothes vanished while he slept."

"You mean that you and Théodred stole them from me," the king interjected with a small wink at his betrothed.

Lothí flushed, suddenly sweltering as she imagined him in nothing but his skin. Unable to meet his eyes, she stared straight ahead as her cheeks burned. She knew he knew exactly what she was thinking, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a confirmation.

"No one knows what happened," Éothain demurred, unfazed by his friend's accusations, "only that our lord and master had no clothes."

"How did you win?" she asked, finally composed enough to look at the king. Her flush immediately returned when he shot her a wolfish grin, a bolt of heat racing through her veins.

"I competed anyway, and I won," he said simply, smirking when he noticed her blush extending beneath the modest collar of her riding habit.

"Naked?" Lothí squawked, earning a few laughs at her maidenly shock.

Éomer shrugged. "How else?"

"And bareback," Éothain added, nonplussed by his king's renewed glare.

Trying to reel the conversation back to safer harbors, she desperately said, "Well, he's a beautiful creature."

"And unfriendly as sin," Éomer warned her, rolling his eyes when his friend only grinned back at him. "He only allows me and one trusted stable boy near him."

"I tried grooming him once on a patrol," the red bearded giant told her, bright eyes twinkling when she turned her attention back to him. "The mean nag nearly took a finger off!"

"He's trained to do that," the king said with another shrug. His horse's nasty temper didn't bother him in the least—it had saved him on more than one occasion.

"To bite?" Lothí started, brows raising and lips quirking, "Or to bite Éothain?"

Laughter roared around them as they plodded along the road. The air light and riders warmed to her presence, the party traded stories and quips, songs and jokes as the morning faded into afternoon. Conversation with the king's guard made the time fly. They were easygoing and did their best to muddle through political pleasantries, but quickly gave up. Lothíriel was simply 'feacwēn' and the only acknowledgment of her sex or breeding was the often-clumsy corrections of swears. It made for a most entertaining ride.

After passing through the southern gates of the Rammas Echor, the prince called for the party to halt and partake of a simple lunch. Sighs of relief and stifled groans filled the air as the party dismounted. Horses were watered at troughs along the wall and loosely tied so they could freely drink and make their lunch of the grass underfoot.

By some silent agreement, Lothí and the king slipped out of earshot of the crowd to eat in the shade of the wall. They shared bread, cheese, and an apple in relative privacy, though they were still in eyeshot of the others.

Éomer brushed against her as they ate, the barely-there touches setting her nerves aflame. How he managed to walk the line of respectful and intimate with such ease was beyond her, but Lothí couldn't complain. It gave her a thrill knowing that he was hers and hers alone. The sun caught the ring on her left hand, twinkling merrily after she removed her riding gloves to eat. He noticed and pressed a kiss to her knuckle just above the ring. The pair finished their meal in a comfortable silence. The king was cleaning the knife he'd used to carve the apple when a shadow fell over them.

"Iell, Éomer," Imrahil greeted them coldly. "I've had some disturbing news—and it concerns you."

Meleth nín: My love (Sindarin)

Coverture: Women were considered to be their father's property and then their husband's upon marriage. As property cannot have its own property, a woman's belongings were passed from father to husband. She ceased to exist as an individual upon her marriage, so any property left to her became her husband's when she wed. Fathers and husbands could sue other men for property damage if the woman was assaulted, raped, or otherwise "damaged." For reference, please look up Artemesia Gentileschi. It's super fucked up, and I wanted to incorporate this notion to really build up Lothíriel's desire for autonomy and Éomer's support of her personhood. I also wanted to include it to draw more distinctions between the two countries' treatment of women.

Chastity: A woman's chastity was so important that engagements could end if it was called into doubt—especially a woman set to marry a king. The man's line of succession could be questioned and inheritances, like land and titles, could be thrown into chaos if there was any doubt about a child's parentage. This was true for anyone marrying a man with lands and income, but especially for royalty. Civil wars have been fought over claims to the throne and rightful heirs, and any doubt about a queen's chastity or marital fidelity could be grounds for such a war.

Lufestre: Love, darling (A. S.)

Arod cynig: Bold king (A. S.)

Iell: Daughter (Sindarin)