A continuation of a first writing exercise in fanfiction. Please forgive any discrepancies from the books. I twisted things the fit the purposes of my story.

Minas Tirith

The evening after the Battle of the Pelennor Fields

I was bone-tired and in need of a bath. I felt the grime on my skin, the dirt and blood under my nails. My skirts were stained with the grim evidence of work in the Houses of Healing. I felt the heaviness under my eyes and ache in my back from countless hours spent dressing wounds, fetching instruments for surgery, and even once holding the entrails of a dying man as the healers, perhaps futilely, shoved them back into his abdomen. After that experience, I had excused myself to a corner to retch, wipe my mouth and hands on my skirts, and then rushed to help press rags on a rapidly bleeding wound at the frantic call of a healer.

I had never before set foot in the Houses of Healing, and yet after three full days and sleepless nights, I scarcely remembered being anywhere else in my life. The work was unfamiliar to me, and I had only ever dressed the simplest of injuries. Yet I desperately needed an occupation to keep me from succumbing to the terror of the siege and had prepared myself to be of some use to the healers. I had barely set food in the atrium before one of the healers pushed me toward a Gondorian soldier with a headwound, blessedly putting me to work at once. And the work hadn't stopped for three days.

And now, the siege was over, the terror had abated, and the daunting, numbing task remained to pick up the pieces of a mostly destroyed city and bury the bodies of too many sons, husband, and fathers, and even a few wives, mothers, and daughters the orcs had found. The relief of a battle finished was met with grief, and I felt I had aged decades in a few days.

The hour was growing late and I had been given a spare half hour to scrub off some of the grime and find a clean blouse and skirt in one of the dusty closets down an empty hallway. I pulled open the doors of a weathered cabinet and found dusty yet clean clothes to change into before scurrying to one of the bathing rooms. I poured some water into an ewer and found some soap, scrubbing what I could from my hands and face. I unbound my hair and inspected it. It was thick and typically did not show need of washing more than once a week, so I left it loose. I did not inspect the gruesome stains of my own clothes too carefully as I stripped out of them and pulled on the fresh blouse and skirt. The blouse was too loose at the shoulder and would reveal my shift and breast band if I leaned forward, but there were no smaller sizes to be found. I knew no one would care about the modesty of my top. There were more pressing matters at hand.

I grabbed my filthy clothes and left the bathing room. The sound of my footsteps on the cold stones echoed as I padded down the dark hallway. After days of shouted instructions, cries of pain, and the sounds of fighting, the somber quiet was eerie to me. I quickened my pace back to the atrium of the Houses of Healing and found Ioreth. She was one of the chief healers and appeared to giving instructions to a few of her staff as she sipped at a mug of broth, likely the first bit of nourishment she'd had that day.

I hurried toward the tall, imposing woman, eager for my next task. "And what shall I do?" I asked her as she dismissed the others to their assignments.

She looked at me, shrewd eyes in a sharp face lined with years of toil and hard experience. She took a sip from her mug. "You, princess, can go to sleep. I have no space to treat young ladies dropping from exhaustion, so you can spare me the trouble and get a few hours of rest."

"I won't drop from exhaustion," I said, bristling at the accusation. "I am ready for any assignment you may have."

"I have already given you your assignment. Sleep."

"The other healers haven't rested. You haven't rested," I pointed out.

"I am used to this, you are not. Go rest and come back in the morning. I'd rather not make an enemy of the Prince of Dol Amroth if you were to collapse from weariness."

"But-"

"Princess," she cut me off rather sharply, "you've done more than enough for tonight."

I could not tell whether they were words of gratitude or dismissal. Both, perhaps.

I hesitated. "I shall return in the morning,"

"Good," Ioreth said briskly. "On your way to your family's quarters, take that basket for me, will you?" She pointed at a rumpled pile of linens spilling out of a woven basket not two feet from us. "They'll need to be washed. Leave them with the washerwoman beyond the gates."

"Of course," I said, already stooping to pick up the basket, adding my own clothes to the pile. "And when will you rest?" I asked, pausing with the basket on my hip.

"Ha!" Ioreth barked in a humorless laugh. Rather than answering, she took another swig from her mug, nodded her head, and walked away. "Tomorrow morning," she called over her shoulder.

I watched her stride across the atrium to enter the surgery, her steps swift and confident. Ioreth intimidated me, but I admired her complete self-possession and air of command. She barely cared about my station as a princess, but rather regarded me as someone with use. She had had no qualms about putting me to work, and this was the first time she insisted that I get any rest other than a half hour of light sleep here and there. I had admittedly begun to feel the exhaustion, so I swiveled toward the main gates to leave my burden with the washerwoman and then collapse in my bed.

I walked through the gates, climbing up the stone street to the washerwoman's house. She laundered all the linens in the Houses of Healing, and so was situated rather farther up in Minas Tirith than what was typical of her station. I wove through the rubble lining the streets, evidence of the battle reaching even the highest levels of the city. As I neared her home, I heard a group of low, masculine voices speaking in a guttural, lilting language. I stopped in my tracks and looked beyond the entrance of her home to see a group of tall, blond men standing in the street, still clad in amor, holding some discussion. They might have come from the House of Healing themselves, having visited their brothers in arms among the wounded.

I paused as I studied them, searching the faces I could see. Perhaps it was the novelty of them, the fact that they were not the ordinary dark-haired Gondorians, but the Rohirrim made an impressive sight with their blond hair and imposing statures. My heart sped up as I glanced at each face, and then dropped slightly when I did not see the one I had been hoping to find.

None of them were him.

Ever since that day in the stables three years ago, I could not forget Eomer. After a mere five minutes of conversation, the man had awoken something in me that I did not understand at the time.

Well… a mere five minutes of his conversation and my acting like a fool. I still cringed when I thought of how utterly discomposed I had acted, remembering how the apple had dropped from my mouth as I stared agape at his fiercely handsome face. It had never occurred to me before to be concerned about what other people thought of me, but ever since that encounter I cared desperately of what he thought of me. And I could not stop thinking of him.

My heart sputtered every time a courier from Rohan came to Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith when I visited. I knew each time that it wouldn't be him, but I still checked. I had gathered that he was of some high standing based on his bearing and familiarity with my cousin Boromir. He would not have been invited to council if he had not been of an important station.

Even though I knew his name, I didn't dare ask about him, not wanting the inevitable questions and ribbing from Boromir, who would no doubt invite my brothers to join in on the teasing. Instead, I had kept my ears open for any discussion of Rohan, nearly jumping out of my chair when my brother Erchirion once mentioned "Marshall Eomer" at dinner two months after my encounter with him.

My casual question of "what is a Marshall?" had given me some information. He was among the highest commanders of the army of Rohan.

"He is somewhat new to the post as well as young, but he has more good sense than Denethor's advisors combined," Erchirion had elaborated somewhat ruefully.

"He's a shrewd man with a keen eye, that's for certain," my father agreed. He paused over his wine, a small smirk emerging. "If a little unschooled in diplomacy."

"I prefer his directness," Erchirion returned. "It saves time." He grinned slyly at me. "You would like him, Lothi."

My head shot up and I stared at Erchirion, heart pounding. "Why is that?"

"I get the sense his disdain for decorum may rival even your own."

I rolled my eyes before stabbing a spear of asparagus. "I have no great disdain for decorum. My disdain for you, however…"

"I am so pleased that as a father I may boast of having such somber and refined children above resorting to antics at the dinner table," my father cut in mildly.

Erchirion and I grinned at each other, and the conversation veered safely away from Eomer. Over the years, I was able to glean some more information, learning he was the nephew of the king, eight or nine years my senior, and unmarried. At least, he was unmarried a year ago when last it was mentioned.

These bits of information I kept close to my heart, along with my memory of him and the sound of my name on his voice. Just of the memory of it would cause my heart to clench and a warmth to pool between my thighs. It frustrated me because I did not understand what I felt, but I somehow understood that I would burst from the feeling without some release.

In a fit of frustration and bewilderment, I had asked my handmaiden Gaerneth to help me sort through the feelings Eomer had elicited in me, for I had no hope of understanding them for myself. She was twelve years my senior and somewhat of a confidant of mine, an older sister I could count on to be honest and frank with me. I of course did not mention to her who the man was, only that I had chanced upon someone who made my heart pound, whose memory filled my belly with warmth.

She had smirked at me, but not unkindly. "You are enamored," she had said as she brushed my hair one morning in front of my vanity.

"Enamored?" I echoed, staring back at her reflection in the mirror before me.

"Utterly and completely." There was a hint of smugness in her voice, but also a curious pride. "It's the surest sign of womanhood, becoming weak at the knees over a man," she teased. "Well," she reconsidered, "it's one sign. Monthly pains are another."

"I am not weak at the knees," I had argued, indignant. She raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing me. I decided not to argue the point further. I needed information and would not get caught up in semantics. "What do I do?" I asked.

She knitted her brows, not quite following my meaning.

"What do I do with how I feel? I feel as though I need something, but I do not know what. I don't know…where to put what I'm feeling," I finished lamely, frustrated I could not articulate myself.

She paused, considering me for a moment, and then put the brush down. "This man, is he in Dol Amroth?"

"No."

"Are you often in his company?"

"To be honest, I think it unlikely I should ever see him again," I said, trying not to sound morose.

"Good," she nodded. "Then I do not have many qualms telling you… that is…" she paused, thinking through her words. She seemed to steel herself for a moment and then came around to face me, situating herself on the edge of the vanity. I adjusted myself in my seat to face her directly, intent on what she was about to share. "Tonight," she said, her voice quiet and low, "when you are alone in your bed, you may think of him, and you may… touch yourself."

"Touch myself?" I asked. I sensed that what she was telling me must be kept private, so I kept my voice quiet and low as well.

"Between your legs," she clarified. "Really anywhere that brings your pleasure, but particularly between your legs."

"What will happen?" I whispered. Our conversation felt forbidden, and I felt myself blush though I still did not entirely understand what we were discussing.

She smiled slightly. "That is not for me to say." She stood again and returned to brushing my hair. "And you must keep it completely solitary," she said, her voice suddenly fierce. "I must be clear that this is not something you will ever invite company for, do you understand me?"

"Invite company? Why would I?" I asked, my brow wrinkled in confusion at her serious tone.

"Just, promise me?" she said, her hands on my shoulders, looking at me insistently in the mirror. "This is not the sort of activity you would do with anyone else… save your husband."

I paused, the intimacy of what we were discussing striking me. "I promise," I nodded. She smiled and continued brushing my hair.

So later that night, with the light of the full moon streaming through my windows, I climbed into bed and slid under my silk sheets. I had felt mortified at first, scarcely able to follow through even though I was alone. I felt the heat of a flush spread across my face and over my body as my fingers inched down my stomach, reaching the place between my legs. I held my breath and screwed my eyes shut, not daring to believe what I was doing.

And then I saw his face in my mind, his eyebrow arched over his blue eyes as he leaned over the door of the stall. My breath hitched and warmth suffused me as I remembered his face, my fingers finding that spot that had given me a confounding ache whenever I thought of him, an ache I had never understood.

Next, I saw him reach for Bane, murmuring in Rohirric, streaks of sunlight filtering through the wooden slats of the stable roof and shining upon him. The memory of his voice, low and warm, caused my belly to clench. My fingers found their rhythm, all embarrassment gone as heat spread to my limbs. The cool of the silk sheets offered a delicious contrast to the heat in my body, sliding over my skin and raising goosebumps.

He was looking at me again, his eyes teasing and mischievous as we discussed my social status.

"Ah, so you are a lady then," he had said. The low timber of his voice sent a shiver down my spine. I pressed my fingers even harder against my center, my breath hitching as I felt something build within me. The warmth in my body continued to spread, and I saw his eyes turn impossibly warm, holding my gaze as he considered me with that subtle intensity.

"Lothiriel."

My muscles tensed for a long moment and then I came apart in my own hands, arching my back as a strong pulse spread through my body. I panted as I slowly came back down to earth, sweat pooling at the small of my back. I lay there for a moment, savoring how it had felt and somewhat stunned at what I had done. I thought of him again, the look in his face when he had said my name. In his look he had awoken me to something foreign and thrilling; something I had only just now begun to explore.

I tested my legs and then felt the stickiness between them. Frowning, I pulled back the covers and looked between my legs illuminated by the moonlight. My fingers came away sticky, and I felt alarm at how much moisture I found as I wiped myself clean. The alarm did not deter me from revisiting those memories and repeating what I had done. I quickly found the stickiness to be normal, and it no longer worried me.

My cheeks heated as I recalled those memories, and I tore my eyes from the Rohirrim gathered before me. Ever since those merciful horns had sounded, blasting our salvation at dawn, my heart had beat faster and I had studied every blond head I saw for any sign of him, thinking that surely he would be among those who had come to our rescue. I had no idea what I planned to do once I saw him, nor was I sure that he would even remember me, but I still looked for him.

I hurried toward the washerwoman's house, eager to not be caught gawking at the group of men. It was near on twilight and the sky had begun to darken as I set the basket on the bench next to the front door and called for the washerwoman.

"I should have it returned to the Houses of Healing before the end of the week, Miss, weather permitting," she told me after I had explained the contents of the basket.

"Thank you, that will be fine." I gathered myself to go.

"Miss," the woman called after me. "Night is falling quick. Need you someone to escort you home?"

I was sure the woman did not know I was a princess, but she might have guessed from my accent that I was of a higher station despite my simple clothing.

"There is no need," I assured her. "I do not live too far. I should make it home before it gets too dark."

"Mind you hurry, Miss," she said. "Wouldn't do for a young, pretty woman to wander at night."

"I thank you for your warning. I rather think we are all a bit too preoccupied with…" I waved my hand vaguely at some of the debris strewn through the street, "… for any other sort of mischief."

The woman nodded her head in understanding. "S'pose so. Still, it bears repeating. Best get home quick."

"I shall," I said, nodding my head in farewell.

I walked up the road, hurrying past the group of Rohirrim, stepping over fallen rock and weaving past the larger stones littering the way. Young boys scurried to light the torches on either side of the road, scrambling over loose stones and rock piles as they went. The lights flickered and illuminated the men who were shifting the rubble and working at clearing the streets. The women were out with their brooms, sweeping dust and pebbles from their storefronts and homes. The air was somber, busy, and tired.

I paused to take in the worst of the destruction, the place where I had nearly met death not three days before. A collapsed belltower, once proud and sturdy, now lay strewn as a barricade across the street, blocking my way. The bell itself, huge and bronze, had broken into jagged pieces. I remembered the belltower well, having scurried up it numerous times with Amrothos when we had visited the White City as children. Electhor, the bellringer, had let us sound the bell once at midday. It had taken the both of us throwing our entire weight on the rope to ring it, which had amused Electhor to no end. The bell had seemed so impossibly massive to us when we were children.

And now it here it lay, broken into pieces as if it were no sturdier than a porcelain vase. I glanced up at the portion of the tower that still stood, remembering its destruction vividly.

I had been hurrying through the streets, weaving through the throng of people, heading to the Houses of Healing to see if I could be of any use as the siege began. I was desperate for anything that would distract me from the inevitable doom and push down the acidic terror building at the back of my throat.

It was then that I heard the cries build, the great swoosh of distorted wind, and an inhuman shriek cutting through the air. A great shadow swept over the street and I looked up to see a foul, winged beast swoop through the air. Fear clutch at my chest as I stared, mouth agape at the ugly creature. I did not see the rider, one of the Nazgul I learned later, so transfixed I was by its beast. I watched as it descended upon the belltower before me, its talons outstretched and clawing as it picked apart the stone. It ripped the bell from its perch and flung it down to the street below, right above me. I stood transfixed as the great, bronze bell hurtled toward me, growing larger and larger. A set of strong hands clawed at my arm and pulled me just in time, knocking me to my back as the bell smashed where I had stood just seconds before in a deafening crash.

My mind sputtered as I processed what had just happened and how closely I had come to my end. My heart pounded painfully, and I panted from the adrenaline. I looked around to find my savior, but in the chaos, I could not distinguish who had pulled me to the side. I scrambled to my feet, shaking, and tore down to the gates of the Houses of Healing, desperate to get off the streets.

Now I looked at the crumpled bell with morbid fascination, watching the men shift the rubble. Would the men be collecting pieces of my body now if my nameless rescuer had not been there? Would my skull have been crushed under the weight of the bronze the way I had seen other skulls crushed under fallen rocks? This was why I did not want to stop working. If I kept moving, I wouldn't have time to contemplate all that had happened, to sink into the leftover panic.

I stood staring at what could have been my doom when a voice pulled me from my thoughts, as if pulling me from the bottom of a deep pool to breath in the air. The voice was strong and warm, and one I could have recognized anywhere. I swiveled around to find its owner. More men had joined the party of the Rohirrim, among them the man who had claimed my thoughts for the past three years.

He stood with the group, one of the tallest among them, clad in the mail and armor I recognized from our first meeting in the stables. He was covered in the evidence of a great battle – grime, dirt, and dried blood spattered across his breastplate. His hair hung in dirty tangles, and his beard needed a trim. I saw the shadows under his eyes from days without sleep. He was undeniably exhausted. But he was here, handsome and hale, and had every bit the command and confidence that had captured me when we first met.

The shock of seeing him, as if a fantasy of mine had suddenly materialized before me, set my heart to a nearly painful beat.

Heat shot across my body and tingled through my limbs. I could do nothing save drink in the sight of him, his powerful, imposing figure, his fiercely beautiful face, the ferocity of his eyes shining through the dirt and exhaustion. The pulsing between my thighs, which I now understood, began in earnest.

He was discussing something with the men, his eyebrows stern over his piercing eyes, holding a white-tailed helmet under his arm. Although nothing about his garb distinguished him from the other men, the way he held himself left no doubt that he was their leader. The confidence thrilled me and made me nervous.

All those years ago in the stables, I did not know if I wanted to be seen or just vanish into the air under his scrutiny. This time, I begged internally for him to look up and see me.

Look this way, I thought. If he saw me, maybe he would remember me. Maybe he would smile and satisfy that unquenchable ache he had left behind three years ago.

Look this way, Eomer.

In that moment, he looked up at the man directly across from him, and then slid his gaze slightly to the right, seeing me. He almost looked away, but then locked eyes with mine. Recognition dawned in his eyes, and his eyebrows softened, a hint of warmth in his expression.

I swore everyone could hear my heart pounding. I told myself I would not look away this time. I couldn't. His eyes held mine, and I dared to hope that he actually remembered me. I gave him a very slight smile, which he returned with a smile of his own, incongruous with the gore splashed across his armor.

I was vaguely aware of his men glancing between the two of us, no doubt wondering who this young, disheveled Gondorian was and why she was staring at their commander. The one standing next to Eomer leaned toward him and spoke, clearly asking him what was going on. Eomer grinned slightly and responded, clapped his hand on the man's shoulder, and then started to move toward me, his eyes never leaving mine.

A sudden panic filled me as he moved closer. I had desperately wanted him to see me, but for some Valar-forsaken reason, it had not occurred to me that he might actually approach me. I was not prepared for this.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Some of my panic must have shown on my face. His grin widened in amusement, a perfect echo of how he had looked at me when the apple had fallen from my mouth in the stables. And finally, he stood in front of me. He was over a head taller than me, so I had to crane my neck to look into his face. With no stall door separating us now, I felt particularly vulnerable.

He considered me for a moment, eyes warm and studying my face. I held his gaze, not quite knowing what to say. I decided to let him speak first.

His grin turned mischievous.

"My lady," he said, inclining his head in a slight bow. I chuffed in amusement and rolled my eyes slightly at his reference to our first meeting. It seemed he had assessed that I did indeed belong to the category of "lady."

"My lord," I returned in a shallow and ironic curtsey. His grin widened.

"I had wondered if I might see you here," he said. His words pleased me beyond belief.

Had he thought of me?

His expression turned suddenly serious, his eyebrows knitting together. "Were you near any of the fighting? Are you well?"

I huffed again in incredulous amusement. "You were obviously in the thick of the fighting, and yet you ask me if I am well?" I said.

"Aye," he nodded. "Being in the thick of the fighting is what I am accustomed to. You, on the other hand…"

"I have been in the Houses of Healing these three days. I was just now returning home," I nodded to the street behind me.

"You are a healer?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Not at all. Just an extra set of hands."

He nodded his understanding, appraising me with a hint of what looked like admiration. "It is noble of you to help," he said approvingly.

"Hardly," I muttered, recalling all the times I had emptied my stomach. "I know for certain now that I haven't the temperament for the occupation."

"No?" he smiled.

"No," I shook my head adamantly. "I don't do well with blood."

"Mmm, that would be a hindrance, indeed." His tone was gently teasing, so I smiled back.

We stood in silence for a moment, considering each other again. It was a curious feeling, speaking so naturally with someone I barely knew. There was a definite familiarity to our conversation, even though the number of minutes we had spent in each other's company could be counted on one hand.

My heart still beat at an alarming rate, though.

"Did you say you were returning home?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Alone?"

This time I rolled my eyes fully. "Yes, alone, as I am familiar with the way and in no need of a guide-"

He didn't wait for me to finished speaking before he walked past me, pausing to look back after a few paces.

"It is this way, is it not?" he asked, indicating the direction with a jerk of his head. "In the quarters next to the citadel?"

I was stunned. "I – yes, but… how did you know?"

"I was there earlier with your father, Imrahil."

That gave me pause.

"How do you know who my father is?" I was surprised to hear an accusatory tone in my voice. Eomer just smiled.

"There can't be too many Lothiriels who are also cousins to the Captain of the White Tower," he reasoned.

I shivered at the sound of my name on his voice.

"True…" I trailed off.

"Come," he jerked his head for me to follow. "I will take you there." He called over to his company in Rohirric, speaking swiftly and leaving them some sort of instructions before gesturing again for me to follow him.

I hesitated, then walked toward him. "I do know the way back," I said, a hint of steely ire creeping in my voice. I felt slight indignation at the presumption I needed an escort home, even though I desperately wanted to stay in his company.

"I do not doubt it," he said. "Yet I would ask you to humor me. It would do no good to my honor to see the daughter of a friend walking alone at night and not offer my protection."

There was that slight teasing tone in his voice again. Admitting I would rather not part from him yet, I decided to play along.

"Then for the sake of your honor, I shall consent to be escorted home," I said, but followed it with a sly smile so he knew I was in jest.

He chuckled, and my stomach flipped at the sound. "I am in your debt, my lady."

We came up to the barricade of the fallen belltower. Eomer climbed upon the sturdiest bit of stone, turning back and offering his gloved hand to me. I knew I didn't really need his help over the stone. I had grown up scaling enough walls and climbing enough trees with Amrothos to be more sure-footed than the next person. Still, I placed my hand in his and gathered my skirts to follow him up the jagged stone. I tried to not focus too much on the warmth from his hand. I concentrated instead on not stumbling in front of him.

He led me down the other side of the barricade, and we continued on up the road to the next gate. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He looked ahead, his face settling into what looked like a naturally stern expression. Walking next to him made me acutely aware of our difference in size. I had always been of an average height compared to most women, but next to Eomer I felt so small, only coming to his shoulder. The confidence with which he held himself also struck me. I had grown up as royalty, comfortable enough with my station to flout it from time to time. He exuded an air of command and assurance that was due more to his character than his station in life. What startled me was how much it made me want to follow his lead. I had never been a follower.

"Are you often in Minas Tirith?" he asked, startling me out of my thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"I know you hail from Dol Amroth, yet I've met you here in Minas Tirith twice now."

"Oh, I tend to spend the summer months here. I cannot stay in one place for too long, and the riding grounds here are better than what we have in Dol Amroth."

"You're here a bit early for a summer visit."

"Yes, well, everyone was leaving Dol Amroth, and I did not want to be left behind in case something happened here. Elphir – he's my eldest brother – he stayed home to command the garrison, but it didn't seem likely we'd have any attack at home."

"So you came to Minas Tirith where the fighting was guaranteed to be immeasurably worse?" he asked incredulously, pausing and turning to face me. "And you father allowed it?"

"I'm not entirely sure he noticed at first. He and my two other brothers prepared to leave, as did I. At that point it wasn't so obvious that we'd have as great a battle as we did."

Eomer shook his head, then continued walking. "Remarkable."

"What is?" I asked falling in step with him again.

"I would have sent you home straight away as soon as I realized you were among the company."

It was a presumptuous thing to say at only a second meeting, but we somehow didn't need formalities or common decorum.

"I'm allowed certain liberties as I've learned how to stay out of the way and not draw too much attention to myself when necessary."

Eomer shook his head. "Bema."

"Who?"

He ignored my question. "Have you ridden to battle with your father and brothers before?"

In my mind I recalled a skirmish in Ithilien two years ago. The rangers had found signs of orcs early enough to give us a warning, but the company of swan knights my father had sent me away with encountered a small band of outliers. Luckily, we outnumbered them two to one. Bane had been trained well enough to identify a threat and trample it, something he'd had to do once in that skirmish. It was all over before it had truly begun, but I hadn't enjoyed the experience, to say the least.

"I've been near fighting here and there, and unintentionally. No, this was the first time I rode into something I knew would most likely turn… unpleasant."

Eomer shook his head again, frowning. "Perhaps you shouldn't be allowed certain liberties afforded to you."

Again, it was a very presumptuous statement, and yet it did not feel out of place.

"As I said, I've learned to stay out of the way. I'm capable of not drawing too much attention to myself."

He smirked. "Somehow I doubt that."

Now, that was presumptuous. I slowed to a stop. Eomer stopped as well and turned to face me, waiting.

"Do you claim to know me well enough to be the judge of that?" I asked, eyebrow quirking.

He smiled slightly and paused as if weighing his response. "I… claim to have a sense of how much attention you may be able to draw."

I had no idea what he meant, and I told him as much.

"I have no idea what you mean."

He seemed to understand that I had not meant it ironically, yet he just smiled and nodded his head at the gate. "Nearly there."

He led me through the gates which were flanked with two guards on either side. Their armor and uniforms were immaculate and they stood as if carved out of stone. It seemed incredibly out of place in the wake of the battle. I supposed they had kept their rigid posts out of habit, a need for normalcy. It all seemed unnecessary to me.

I knew the guards recognized me, but I was surprised they let Eomer through without so much as a hesitation. He really must have been here earlier with my father. I decided to ask him about it.

"Why were you here earlier with my father?"

"Well, we have built a certain camaraderie over the years. He graciously invited me to his study for an ale after our council earlier today."

"Has it been decided what will happen next?" I asked. We had achieved victory in the battle, but only just. Mordor still posed a threat, and I had no doubt it had been the topic of discussion at their council.

Eomer's face became peculiarly closed and careful. "We have made no concrete plans, but I am sure your father will inform you of the important details. I must beg your forgiveness; I am wearied by talk of war at the moment."

"So there is to be more war?" I asked. "Surely not right away."

He sent me a sidelong glance, but didn't say anything. Perhaps he wasn't sure how much my father wanted me to know. Fortunately for me, my father did not believe in sheltering his children from the truth, not even his daughter. I knew I would get all the details I needed from him later.

We had passed through a courtyard and now neared the entrance to my family's apartments. Darkness had settled and I could see lights flickering from within. Gonodir, my father's young squire, must have seen us approaching because the front door swung open and he bowed us into the grand foyer. I shivered, the cool stone making it several degrees colder inside. It was a blessing in the heat of the summer but a bit uncomfortable in the early spring.

"A meal is waiting for you in your quarters, your highness," Gonodir informed me, still bowing slightly. "We were not sure when you would return, so I am afraid it is a cold meal." He bowed even more to emphasize his apology. Things were a great deal more formal in Minas Tirith than in Dol Amroth, as embodied by Gonodir'sextreme deference. I had always found it slightly ridiculous.

Good heavens, stand up straight, man.

"I thank you, Gonodir, that will be fine. Might you have something prepared for lord Eomer as well?"

"That won't be necessary," Eomer shook his head. "I must return to the House of Healing now."

"You're going back?" I asked, surprised. He nodded his head in the affirmative. "Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?" It suddenly occurred to me that he may not have any lodging secured for him.

"Your father was good enough to arrange a set of guest apartments for me. All has been seen to."

"What about a meal? Surely you haven't stopped long enough to have a full meal if you haven't even had the time to scrape off… that from you armor," I said, waving my hand at the blood scattered across his breastplate. He laughed at that.

"Filling my stomach took precedence over cleaning my armor. I thank you for your concern, but I have had a full meal."

I had begun to grow more comfortable in his presence and found I didn't want him to leave just yet. I was about to open my mouth to offer him some sort of refreshment to entice him to stay when my father entered the foyer.

"Lothiriel? I wasn't sure if you would be home tonight or working at the Houses of Healing." My father, tall and regal, strode towards me and clasped my shoulders, planting a kiss on my temple. I had seen my father that morning in the atrium. It had been soon after the fighting, and it had relieved me beyond belief to see him whole and unharmed. He had informed me that my brothers were alive and unwounded as well. My father had no doubt been relieved to see me, but he remained as composed as ever when I had run into his embrace. It may have seemed cold to anyone else, but to me it was reassuring. My father was a constant, steady presence. His unflappable composure was a soothing balm amid the chaos of the battle.

"I was about to send Gonodir to find out whether you planned on returning home tonight or continuing to assist Ioreth," my father said, still clasping my shoulders.

"I had planned to stay, but Ioreth all but kicked me out."

My father chuckled. "Were you that unhelpful?" I was used to my father's teasing and did not take offense.

"No, she asked me to return tomorrow. She was under the presumption that I was going to collapse from exhaustion, so she sent me home."

"Collapse from exhaustion? How insulting," my father said in a droll voice. His eyes slid past me to look at Eomer, raising an eyebrow. "And I see you collected one of the Rohirrim on your way here."

"I did," I said, turning to regard Eomer. He had been watching our exchange quietly and with some amusement. "Although truth be told, I think he collected me."

"I happened upon her walking home after nightfall and thought it may ease your mind to have someone accompany her," Eomer explained.

"Ah yes, I do thank you, Eomer, as do the citizens of Minas Tirith. Your supervision no doubt saved them from her mischief." Eomer laughed in surprised amusement. I felt less amused.

"I shall not dignify that with a response," I sniffed, causing another bark of laughter from Eomer.

"I believe now is the time for me to take my leave. Imrahil," he inclined his head to my father, "until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," my father returned, inclining his own head. Eomer then turned to regard me. His eyes, which had been curious and amused moments before, now turned impossibly warm. I had just begun to feel comfortable in his company, but the expression in his eyes made my heart pound almost painfully. I felt a rather embarrassing blush spread across my face. It wasn't just because of the way he was looking at me, but rather because of the way he was looking at me in front of my own father.

Eomer reached out his hand to clasp my own and then bowed, raising my hand to his lips. My stomach clenched as I felt his lips and the scratch of his beard across my knuckles. Warmth spread from my hand to the rest of my body, igniting every nerve ending to attention. I could almost hear my own blood pumping through my veins. Hearing my name on his voice had all but ruined me the past three years, but it bore no comparison to the effect of his kiss across the back of my hand. I focused desperately on controlling my breathing. It wouldn't do to hyperventilate in front of Eomer and my father.

Pull yourself together, dammit!

"My lady," Eomer said, squeezing my hand slightly, his eyes still warm and holding my own captive.

I couldn't speak for a moment, feeling off-balance by the sudden shift in his demeanor and completely captivated by the look in his eyes. I must have kept silent a moment too long because he lifted an eyebrow, effectively interrupting my gawking.

"Er – my lord," I said less than gracefully, inclining my head and curtseying shallowly. I could feel the amusement radiating from my father next to me. Eomer just smiled kindly and released my hand. With one last nod to my father, he turned toward the door and let himself out.

I stared at the closed door he had just exited, and felt my father staring at me. I did not turn around, not wanting to face my father and be forced to give an account for my odd behavior.

Of course, my impatience won. "What?" I asked indelicately, not daring to face him. I knew I had not offended him with my directness.

"So tell me, Lothiriel, were you more or less composed now in your encounter with Eomer than the first time you two met in the stables?"

Now, this did cause me to swivel around.

"What?" I asked again, completely incredulous. How in all of Arda could he know about that? "How-?" I began to ask, but then stammered around formulating a complete question. My heart pounded in panic.

As amused as he seemed by my difficulty, my father took pity on me.

"Eomer is an honorable man, and a friend, so of course he told me that he had had the pleasure of making your acquaintance and Bane's a few years ago."

"Did he now?" I said, barely holding back from demanding to know exactly how much Eomer had told him. "He told you this morning?" I asked.

"A year ago," my father corrected while I blanched, "when we last met. He had deduced that you were my daughter and informed me that he had had the pleasure of meeting you. And to congratulate me on your obvious knowledge of horses and good care of Bane." My father's lips twitched in amusement. "In fact, he seemed most pleased about it. He is, no doubt, a true Rohirrim."

My mind reeled with panic at the knowledge that Eomer and my father had actually talked about me. I couldn't bear the thought of my father knowing about my embarrassing lack of composure that day in the stables. The incident with the apple…

And then, to my horror, another thought occurred to me. "Do Erchirion and Amrothos…?" I trailed off.

"No, I did not share the information with them. Nor with Elphir. I wanted to savor the information for an opportunity to tease you in the future. Your brothers, I fear, would have squandered that opportunity too early." His eyes crinkled with uncontained mirth as he took in my mortified expression. "Oh, daughter, you should see yourself right now. You are positively gawking with horror."

I snapped my jaw shut. I desperately searched my brain for something to say. My father was a shrewd man, and I did not want to give him any reason to believe that I was, in Gaerneth's words, completely enamored by Eomer. I concluded that saying nothing would be the best plan of action.

My father regarded me a few moments longer, his eyes amused but also warm. "Come now," he said, putting his hand on my shoulder and guiding me out of the foyer. "You have had an arduous few days and are surely in need of rest. Take your meal in your quarters. We cannot give Ioreth the satisfaction of having you collapse from exhaustion. There is a gathering early tomorrow morning, so I may not see you until the evening."

"Father," I said, pushing aside my earlier embarrassment and recalling my conversation with Eomer, "what was decided at your council today? Are you to ride to war again soon?"

My father signed, his expression hardening. "I shall tell you tomorrow," he said. "I shall not hide anything from you, but it is too late to discuss everything in full. I know waiting for information is not your strong suit," he said, cutting me off as I drew breath to protest, "but I ask that we save this discussion for tomorrow to give it the attention it deserves."

I paused, wanting desperately to know now. But I had just begun to feel weariness tugging on my eyelids and making my limbs feel heavy. It appeared that three days of constant work had finally caught up with me.

"Tomorrow," I agreed. I stood on my toes to press a quick kiss to my father's cheek, and then hurried down to my quarters before I did, in fact, collapse from exhaustion. I stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes as I lay on my back, my ears buzzing from the utter silence of the apartment. This was the first time I had truly stopped in three days, and the lack of occupation caused terrible images to creep into my mind. Smoke rising from the Pelennor, snarling masses of orcs crowded at the gates of the city, the blood-curdling shriek of the Nazgul, the ugly winged creature in the sky, the limbs poking out from underneath the rubble…

I screwed my eyes shut, my heart pounding unpleasantly in my ears. I let out a breath and pushed those images away. I imagined a great, heavy chest and shoved the memories inside, snapping the lid shut and locking it resolutely.

My breathing steadied and then another, far more pleasant image floated in my mind. Eomer, standing in our foyer, holding my hand. The warmth from his hand spread throughout my body. I smiled as I remembered how he had bowed over my hand, my breath hitching as I recalled the feel of his lips pressed against my knuckles. My chest tingled at the memory, and I felt the peaks of my breasts harden. This was, I had come to understand, another byproduct of Eomer's effect on me, along with the moisture I now felt building between my legs. My hands clenched at my stomach as I breathed deeply, remembering how he had squeezed my hand, his eyes devouring mine with their warmth.

I knew, somehow, that I would see him again, and soon. I could not articulate why, but I knew that our lives had become linked in some way. I dared not speculate exactly how they were linked, but it made me feel like I stood at the cusp of something new and thrilling. I drifted to sleep with an unsatisfied ache that left me feeling desperate and wanting, but somehow I knew that Eomer would satisfy that ache in time.

A/N:

I'd had zero intentions of continuing this story, but then an idea for their second meeting popped in my brain and I had to write it down.

A few thoughts:

I think Lothiriel is still young, but she has a better idea of what effect Eomer had on her and what it means. Given the time period and the fact that she's a princess, she can't really explore her sexuality with another person, but she can explore it with herself and with the memory of Eomer. I feel like she needed some catching up to do in order to be a bit more confident around him for their second meeting. She's not as horribly confused as she was the first time around.

I think Eomer thought about her from time to time between their two meetings. Like I said in the A/N for the previous chapter, he originally just thought she was cute and wanted to talk to her, but then he surprised himself with just how much she intrigued him. I think he has thought of her fondly over the past three years, but hasn't really allowed himself to go there because a.) she's young, b.) they only met once, c.) she's a princess, and d.) how likely is it that they'll see each other often enough to form an attachment? But then he ends up in Minas Tirith for the battle and wonders after seeing her father and brothers if there's a chance she might be there as well. And then, when he does see her again, it all comes rushing back and he feels a certainty about her. He's not in love with her at this point, but he's a smart guy and knows where this is probably headed because their chemistry is just undeniable.

Of course, he's also dealing with the fact that they'll be marching on the Black Gates, so it may be a moot point.

Here's another thought – is Lothiriel feeling too horny for this to be the beginning of love? Isn't it just purely physical at this point? Well, I believe that's the basis for falling in love. It's not just physical attraction, it's chemistry. It's that x-factor about the person that encapsulates their looks and their qualities. When you start to fall in love with someone, something chemical happens that takes over your body. As you press forward and get to know the person, that insane physical attraction steadies itself and gives way to falling in love with that person's mind and soul. Falling in love involves all of those elements, but your body definitely goes haywire with those chemicals at the beginning. So, this is what Lothiriel is experiencing. Plus, it's her sexual awakening. It's going to be really physically-focused at first, but that doesn't cheapen what she's feeling. It's just a necessary part of falling in love.

I added a bit about her dealing with the aftermath and shock of the battle. I'm not 100% sure what I want to do with it, but I'd like to lay the groundwork for something to explore later on. She's such a strong girl and she's been raised and surrounded by warriors, so I think she has inherited toughness which may make her overcorrect and just stuff those memories down instead of dealing with them. I think she has a very "just get to business" attitude that makes her want to press forward instead of dealing with the trauma. She may even be embarrassed to admit to the trauma, because she'd rather just move on in her own definition of "strong."

Shall I continue the story? It may take me minute to produce a follow up chapter. Let me know your thoughts!