AN: This series of drabbles, one-shots, and prompt writings is named after the Tolkien quote, "Moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars." Feel free to leave dialogue or pairing prompts in a review - this is mostly just to make your heart happy, and for my own personal enjoyment. I hope y'all enjoy these too. Irregular updates.

Prompt:

"Marry me."

"What?!"

THANK YOU to SIGEBEORN for this prompt! I HIGHLY recommend Sigebeorn's stories! Go check 'em out!

It was the hottest afternoon of her life. Well, that may have been an exaggeration. Maybe it was simply the boredom, Lothíriel mused. The three women "attending" her had maybe three brain cells between them, and at the moment, those brain cells were decidedly absent. They tittered as they fanned themselves, leaving Lothíriel to shove her needle into the shirt she was mending, her frustration building behind her temples. When could she safely get away? She had to escape soon, or her contemplation of whether to stab her needle through the ladies' fingers or to say something scandalous would become reality.

"This is why I stay at sea," she muttered to herself. "Not to mention there's always a breeze aboard, too."

"Pardon, milady?" one of the women asked her, having the audacity to smile cheerfully at her. Lothíriel stifled a groan. What she'd give to be back on her ship, the salt spray on her skin, the obedience and reticence of her crew...

"Nothing."

A loud ruckus came from the hallway, and Amrothos' voice was clearest among them. The three ladies suddenly sat straighter, giggling and smoothing their dresses and hair. Lothíriel rolled her eyes and reminded herself that murder was a crime. The door burst open.

"Sister dearest!"

"Brother mine."

"Oh, come, you won't give your favorite brother a kiss?"

Lothíriel raised one eyebrow, cocking her head instead to look at the man trailing her brother. A Rohir. The tell-tale long golden hair and broad shoulders couldn't have depicted him as anything less. He was unmistakable to the eye, and the eye did NOT go wanting, Lothíriel noted with satisfaction. His eyes also trailed up her form, which she knew he'd see as pleasing (most men did, unfortunately) but he wouldn't see the hard muscles beneath the gown. She wore her trousers underneath and the extra fabric filled out the dress more than she did. Most Gondorian noblemen didn't like bulky women, not that she cared. She would marry for nothing less than love and joy and endless happiness. Indeed... she'd likely die single. No, she amended her thought, I'm more likely to die not loving my husband. Unfortunately, fighting in a war tends to make one cynical. Lothíriel's childhood dreams had died long ago.

"What's in it for me?" she asked, piercing Amrothos with a critical eye. She knew him - he'd probably come to foist the Rider on her and to stay with her ladies. She wasn't about to accept without substantial motivation, at least.

"Why, Thíri! You don't even know who this is or what I was going to say! Sister dearest, I really thought you had better manners than this."

"Better manners? Amrothos, have you forgotten what I did during the war?"

"Touché. At any rate, oh, hello, ladies! Didn't see you there," Amrothos trailed off, catching sight of the women and winking suggestively at them. Lothíriel came to a decision, and stood suddenly, all eyes snapping to her. The shirt fluttered to the floor.

"I'm going back to my ship. Do not follow me."

"But- but milady! You can't!" one of the ladies gasped.

"Why not? It's my ship, isn't it?"

"But, alone, milady, you simply can't! It isn't done! You're unmarried!"

"Unmarried, am I?" Lothíriel turned to the blond Northman, gazing at the scene with amusement. "Hey, handsome." He bowed gracefully to her. "Marry me."

"What?!" gasped Amrothos and the women. The Rohir angled his head.

"Sure, why not?" he answered nonchalantly.

"WHAT?!" Amrothos spluttered. Lothíriel shot the man a grin and grabbed his hand. "Thíri, wait! What will I tell Father?"

"Oh, tell him the Pirate Queen kidnapped whoever this is for her husband."

"Pirate Queen?"

"Husband?"

"Lothíriel!"

The protests of the women and her brother faded as she pulled the Northman toward the window. About three meters tall, and half as many wide, the window had been her escape route for years (and she'd been eyeing it all morning).

"You first, darling. And don't worry, it's not a hard jump. Done it myself more times than I can count," Lothíriel told the man, whose brown eyes twinkled at her. Despite his massive frame, he slipped through the window easily and out of sight. Lothíriel winked at Amrothos' slack jawed face and dove through the window, twisting in the air with the ease of practice, to the ground three stories below. She rolled to her feet and took off at a jog, the Rohir falling into step beside her.

"So. Fiancé mine. You got a name?" she queried, breathing easily. She'd gone for much longer and harder runs; a light jog wouldn't prevent her from conversation with this suddenly highly intriguing stranger.

"I do." Leaving it at that, he merely kissed his fingers at her.

Lothíriel laughed. She liked his cheekiness - it almost rivaled her own. Accepting a proposal from a princess he'd never met, jumping out a window at her suggestion, and now following her blindly through the streets of Minas Tirith, but getting steadily closer to the harbor.

"Hey, what's it take to get married by Rohirrim standards?" she called back, turning to face him as she ran backwards.

"Long story short, cloak. I just have to put my cloak around you."

"Interesting. See, on my ship, all I'd have to do is get Geirolf to marry us."

"Sounds fun. I'm game."

Lothíriel narrowed her eyes at him. He was this committed to their impromptu betrothal? Not that she minded, but she expected that her father would. Was this man not afraid of the consequences? She flipped around, as she smelled the change in air. They were close to her ship now. She still couldn't figure this man out. Who was he?

"Captain on board!" Gierolf, her first mate, yelled as soon as the two were on board. Lothíriel felt that familiar feeling of pride and pure exhilaration that always settled into her bones as she walked the seasoned oak boards. This is home. She felt the eyes of the Rohir on her, and she flushed slightly before turning to him. But she wouldn't apologize for the love she felt bursting in her heart for her ship and crew.

"Welcome aboard Alph Gwathren, darling. What do you think?"

"This yours?" he asked. She nodded as he slowly turned around, taking everything in, appreciating the efficiency of her men and the cleanliness she maintained. "What's the name mean?" he continued.

"Swan Shadow."

"Well, I can't say I thought I'd get married on board a ship, and a ship named 'Swan Shadow,' no less, but if that's what you want, héahlufe."

"Which is Rohirric for…"

"My love."

"And am I? Your love, that is." Lothíriel studied him closely. She could sense Gierolf's surprise at the whole exchange, not to mention the crew's gradual realization of what was going on. The Rohir smiled at her.

"Would I have accepted your proposal if you weren't?"

"From my experience with you Rohirrim, no, I don't think you would have. Which is why you baffle me."

"Perhaps the feeling is mutual, héahlufe. Why did you call yourself the Pirate Queen?"

Here it comes, she thought, jutting her chin forward and squaring her shoulders.

"Because that is what the Haradrim called me for my part in the war effort." She turned slightly, easily slipping from the dress to reveal her shirt and trousers. Another crewman, used to this sort of thing, took her dress from her to fold it neatly. Lothíriel watched his reaction carefully, but found no sign of the same disgust, fear, or wrath that Gondorian noblemen displayed when they found out of her job during the war. If anything, a light entered his eyes, one of respect and something else she could not decipher. Unusual. But not unwelcome.

"You were the one who marauded the sea? The one Imrahil spoke of, who caused enough chaos on the sea that the Haradrim were fighting on two fronts, and kept the ports safe for traders to continue their supply runs? Effectively protecting and providing for your people?" He looked her over once more, this time assessing her strengths as a commander, noting her ready and easy stance, the way her fingers flexed slightly near her hip. She smiled demurely at him in response, only baring her teeth slightly. He just smiled back.

"Erm, Cap'n, do we have a heading?" Gierolf broke in, after the silence stretched.

"Ah, Gierolf. Darling, this is my first mate. He's originally from Dale, and is an excellent sailor. Gierolf, this is my fiancé…" She turned to the blond Rider expectantly.

"Éomer," he replied, clasping the sailor's arm in a warrior grasp. Lothíriel stifled a gasp. The king of Rohan? But she had no time for her thoughts, for Éomer kept talking. "Tell me, Gierolf, can you officiate a marriage between your captain and me?"

"If it be her wish," the man replied in surprise. Éomer looked sidelong at Lothíriel. She glanced around at the shocked expressions of her crew, before striding to the king. She pulled him away a bit, and the men took the hint to give them privacy.

"Why me?" she asked bluntly. Éomer grinned at her.

"Imrahil suggested it. I didn't know you, didn't know what you'd done in the war, didn't know what you'd do now. But when I asked him why you, as you have asked me, he merely said that we would balance each other, and told me about a pirate. I thought the pirate was unrelated. But perhaps the pirate is more, shall we say, privateer? At any rate, I had to see this princess for myself. Amrothos brought me to you, and you know the rest."

"Let me rephrase. Why did you pick me?"

"An instinct. And a question for a question. Why did you ask me to marry you?"

Lothíriel hesitated, breaking eye contact. Why had she? It wasn't just to get away. "An instinct," she answered finally, after searching her soul. Something about this man drew her to him. Éomer nodded to her seriously, a small smile curving his lips. She stared at him for a moment, before making her choice.

"How does your cloaking ceremony work?" she asked, stepping closer and lifting her chin. Éomer's smile slowly widened to blinding as he unfastened the clasps around his shoulders.

"A Rider's cloak is a sacred thing. None but he or his wife may wear it. It is a sign of his home, just as a horse is a sign of his wealth." Éomer began to drape it around her, gently tying the clasps. "With it, I swear to you fealty, I render to you protection, and I give to you my heart. My wife."

Lothíriel took his hand, warmed by the cloak and by the light in Éomer's eyes, tugging him back toward the crew.

"Gierolf! Come here and marry us." The crew exchanged various looks: amusement, disbelief, surprise, and mild concern. Gierolf strode forward.

"If this be your will, Cap'n. Now then, dearly beloved…"

"Thíri, thank the Valar you're back. Where have you been?" Amrothos rushed toward the pair as soon as they set foot in the courtyard of the Dol Amrothian home. "Why are you wearing Éomer's cloak?" At this question, the other Riders loitering in a corner jerked forward and peered at the princess and the king. Lothíriel refused to be cowed by the shock and open staring from the people in the courtyard.

"We have been to my ship. Did I not say the Pirate Queen was kidnapping whoever this was to be her husband? As for why I am wearing the cloak, it's because I followed through with what I said!"

Amrothos' jaw dropped. The Riders began to laugh, clapping each other on the back.

"Valar above, Thíri," he whispered. "You don't mean…"

"This is my husband," Lothíriel declared proudly. "Married by both his customs and mine. And if you have any doubts about the seriousness of either of us, we will consummate this marriage right here and right now." The Riders cheered raucously at this, and Éomer swung his new bride around by the waist before kissing her soundly. The Rohirrim pressed forward to offer congratulations as Lothíriel kissed her king back with all her might.

"Heavens, have you no shame?" Amrothos asked, aghast, when they finally parted for air. Lothíriel's eyes were slow to open and her legs slow to return to their natural state of NOT feeling like jelly. Éomer's eyes were much, much darker, and held the promise of more, to Lothíriel's delight.

"Brother mine, I am a pirate. And now, officially, I am a queen. I wouldn't bet on it."

I once read an Éomer/Lothíriel story that had a cloaking ceremony as a marriage ceremony ("A Light that Endures" by Moonlily). This is only loosely based on that. The words are entirely my own. If someday this prompt becomes its story, then I'll do more research. But for now, enjoy. I also recommend "The Abduction of Éomer, King of Rohan" by Lialathuveril.

LH