Author's Note: Timelines are sped up, or slowed down, basically at my artistic whim. But in general, it's fairly accurate to Tolkien. I just love an actually useful Lothiriel.
Eomer functioned well in chaos. It was part of why he was so successful in battle, he kept an enemy straight in front of him, a watchful eye on his men, and a clarity of mind few could. But in the days after the Battle at Minas Tirith, before the Great March, he could barely walk straight.
His whole body bent only towards staying by his sister's side, where he could pray for continued healing. And his mind was constantly straying to the long march to Mordor that would occur in a few days hence.
It was thus he could beg ignorance on his first meeting with Princess Lothiriel, Daughter of Dol Amroth and Regent Stewardess of Gondor. For when he first met her, she looked anything but the highest born mortal lady in Middle Earth.
He had just burst from his quarters, headed to meet with Aragorn's newly formed council, and then to the healing rooms to see Eowyn. Lothiriel was sitting on the floor, back against the wall outside his room, somewhat covered in papers. She had been reading, Eomer assumed.
She looked up and met his gaze, and busied herself with getting up and collecting her things "Ah, apologies, your grace. Moments to myself are few and far between. I have some business matters to discuss with you, briefly."
Eomer could do nothing but squint at her. It was not yet dawn and he, to the best of his knowledge, had never met this woman before.
The very pretty lady paused a moment and then said, "… perhaps we could walk and talk? I'm sure you're on your way to meet with Aragorn and his council."
Again, Eomer just squinted, for how could she know his plans? Was she a page? Or some demented admirer, laying in wait outside his room? And yet, who would bring paperwork to an ambush? And why, in hell's name, was she even awake, let alone dressed in her elegant finery, and towing about what seems a book's worth of papers?
She was clearly expectantly looking at him.
"Er, yes," he said clearing his throat, "what can I do for you, uh, Lady?"
She tilted an eyebrow up, and Eomer swore he saw a hint of a smirk, on her very pink full lips, and oh Bema, now he was staring at her mouth.
Now clearly smiling at him, she began walking away in the direct of the Stewards' quarters. Eomer shook his head, gathered his thoughts, "its like I've forgotten that I'm a King… about to march to my sure demise… and the rest of my family dead, and with my sister at death's door."
Now somber, Eomer strode after her, catching up quickly to her. She was ruffling through her papers while walking, and she began speaking as soon as he was about three steps behind her,
"So I've been reading up on the Riddermark. But key aspects are glaringly missing from whatever archives I look in," she began, "such as population counts, especially for women and children."
"For what purpose would you need such a figure?", Eomer questioned her.
She did not look up from her letter she was reading, and completely ignored his question "Should Rohan not have a full or recent census, I imagine you could still estimate the number of villages, and their numbers. Anything official I found was provided at least fifty years ago."
Eomer gritted his teeth, "Since my uncle ascended the throne, I cannot remember any counts being made, but I am still novice to politics. I'll ask you again, why could you humanly need such a number."
His suddenly aggressive tone brought her eyes to his-
"I have need of it, Eomerking, because if the worst occurs, and you fail in Mordor, I want to try and save your people." Her grey eyes turned to steel while she continued, "And I need to know what sort of suicide mission I'm embarking on."
He stopped dead in the hallway, empty save him and this damnable woman, who had stopped alongside him, staring up at him- all traces of humor or brightness gone.
And that was when Eomer finally understood, though it was immediately shoved down deep inside his mind, how truly lovely she was. Though she had the typical coloring of all Gondorians, something in her features and manner was decidedly Elfin. Whatever her ancestry, it was undeniable one of them was immortal, and the preeminent grace shined through the generations.
"My lady," he began in a slightly more kind tone, "surely, you cannot imagine to mount a mission that would take you closer to the enemy. And what position are in you even to attempt such a thing?"
"I'll worry about all that, and I assure you, I will carefully consider all matters at hand. But the questions, still stand, how many women and children are there left in the Mark?"
The two stared at each other. Something in her manner called to mind Eowyn in an argument, though this woman's countenance and demeanor was decidedly more controlled than Eowyn's, or even his own, famed temper. He had known her for six hallways, and maybe as many minutes, but he felt absolutely certain she was a consummate politician.
Eomer cleared his throat, and started walking again- "My lady, I…. I'm unsure on those. My exposure to… my Uncle's court was… limited at best," he said, feeling his way around such delicate issues like his banishment and Grimá Wormtongue, "but when on the road to Meduseld from Helm's Deep, I believe my Marshall, Eothain counted heads of survivors."
She nodded along, and shuffled her papers- coming to pass him one of her many letters.
In Eothain's own personal brand of chicken scratch were numbers on women and children, injured and uninjured from the battle of Helm's Deep.
"This would be accurate, then? I was hesitant to base anything on something that's passed through so many hands, but if you-"
Nearing the door to Aragorn's private counsel offices, Eomer knew their time without onlookers was coming to a close, so he interrupted her- "How in hell did you get this?"
Turning to face him, she grinned. Again, Eomer was blown away by her beauty; the perfect impishness of her face- "I keep strange friends, my Lord."
Her mercurial nature was hard to keep up with, she went from commanding to amused to questioning faster than anyone he'd ever met. But what happened next was even harder to keep up with.
In a loud clamber of arrival, several men entered the hallway- Imrahil and his sons.
Eomer had become battle field friends with them all, though their own natures were so disparate. Imrahil was wise though a bit irreverent, Elphir quiet and bookish, Erchirion intense and brash, and Amrothos was mischievousness personified.
"Ah, 'Thiri, there you are! And Eomer! Good to see you!" shouted Erchirion, covering Amrothos' own deafening call of greeting.
"It is good to see you Eomer, even so early in the morn," welcomed Imrahil, coming upon Eomer and this supposed Thiri-woman. Sidling past Eomer, he slid his arm around the young woman and kissed her temple.
Eomer must have looked shocked because her grin, which hadn't slipped yet, widened. Just then Aragorn poked his head out of his rooms,
"Ah, friends. Please come in."
Legolas, Gimli, Gandalf, sat around a wide circular table in a well appointed room, with at least ten empty chairs. The room was stuffy (with pipe smoke and the smell of the hundreds of old manuscripts and scrolls that lined the walls) but a cool breeze wafted through the open window- with the lovely view of the sprawling white city of Minas Tirith below, dawn just peeking over the horizon.
All the Dol Amrothian royalty and the still smiling woman poured into the room, quickly filling seats as if they had been in this room hundreds of times- which Eomer assumed the menfolk probably had, as relatives of Denethor. But the woman, unloading her papers onto the table, and greeting the elf, wizard, and dwarf politely, seemed quite at home too. He himself had rarely felt so out of place, and gripped Eothain's letter tighter in his hand.
Aragorn clapped Eomer on his back and said,
"Welcome, my friend, to the council room of the Stewards of Gondor. You are a welcome breath of fresh air to some old minds in an old room."
"Old? Speak for yourself, Aragorn! Though I bet you'll want to do some re-decorating, eh?", Imrahil offhandedly said, fingering one of Thiri's pages as she passed him more.
"Not my first order of business," Aragorn spoke, "I'm afraid we have a much more grim task at hand."
"Are we to march then? To Mordor?" Gimli asked gruffly.
"We have little choice," Gandalf said, pausing his quiet puffs on his pipe.
"I have called you all to ask if you will march with me, yes," Aragorn said, "and to discuss what our contingency plans are. Failure cannot be an option, but it is a reality we must face nonetheless."
Eomer finally spoke-
"Surely all of Middle Earth could not survive Mordor's onslaught, if we fail. What use is a contingency plan?"
It was Legolas who spoke into the solemn silence that followed Eomer's question,
"Where there is life, there is hope. Humans survived in Sauron's rule in the First Age, they could theoretically do so again." He paused, then added, "and hope, no matter how dim, should never be lost."
Aragorn cleared his throat, "and that is why I've asked you here, Lady Lothiriel. Truly you know more of Gondor's state than even I, and have a comparable grasp on things outside the realm."
Nearly every one in the room, swung round to stare at the lady in question. She didn't balk from the questioning stares, but Eomer could have sworn he saw discomfort in her eyes. But he reminded himself he barely knew her, however natural he felt in her presence.
"Natural?", he thought. Where had that come from?
Gimli asked, not unkindly, "and who might you be, lovely Lady?"
"We'd all love to know that," mused Eomer to himself.
But it was Imrahil who spoke, "This is my daughter, Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth."
Eomer was glad he hadn't taken a drink of anything, for he would have surely spat anything out. He hadn't known Imrahil had a daughter. And now he felt quite regretful he was staring at her mouth earlier. Or even that he was staring at her now. Damn.
"Yes," continued Aragorn, "for the last ten years or so, it was her and Boromir who ran Minas Tirith, or rather Gondor at large, when Denethor was in one of his states. And Lothiriel is a great friend to me and my fellow Rangers. We often would rely on her knowledge of goings on in Middle Earth."
Practically everyone's eyebrows shot up, excluding her family. Or at least Amrothos managed to look bored anyway.
Legolas asked the question on Eomer's mind- "and how did you manage this, my Lady?"
She smiled at him, near perfect elegance in her every move, "Because my position in my Uncle's court allowed me nigh on free range and limitless access, with minimal oversight. And servants in Minas Tirith trusted me with their secrets. Essentially, Prince Legolas, I run a spy ring."
He'd known her for about ten minutes. She was a complete stranger, and yet Eomer felt as if he was barely surprised.
Lothiriel finished the meeting, answering any and all questions with as much grace and courage as she could muster, despite being ill-accustomed to total transparency. The spy, or even the Princess, in her wanted to keep her secrets, but she could comfort herself with keeping her sources to herself.
But if she was being honest with herself, the vaguely ill feeling in her belly was only half to do with discomfort of being the center of attention. The other half was nerves from the very piercing green eyes of Rohan's new King.
The rumors had swirled that Eomer-king was wild, and she could see how they started. The breadth of his shoulders was bigger than that of her brothers, perhaps larger than even Aragorn's. And his wild blonde hair looked somewhat untameable. But his own behavior was both of straightforwardness and candor, which she was certain had spooked any Gondorian court noble into starting rumors about him.
In the hallways, he had very quickly adapted to her rushed questioning, and with minimal effort on her part, had willingly answered her questions. Her being a woman seemed to not faze him, though she suspected that with his sister being the Witch King Killer that was bred into him specifically and may not have been a characteristic of all Rohirric people.
"Damnably attractive, and quick witted" had been her last thought on him before her family had happened upon them in the hallway. That and, why on Earth she had thought practically pouncing on him outside his rooms was a good idea. Though it had its merits…
"Focus, 'Thiri," she reminded herself.
Aragorn was recapping the decision of the counsel on whether it was better to have the army leave in two groups or one campaign, when Lothiriel felt Eomer's eyes on her again. She stared back, somewhat uninhibited by her lack of sleep.
"Gods above, when was the last time I've had a true night's rest" she thought to herself, "weeks before the Battle of Minas Tirith certainly. Between managing Denethor, subtly preparing the city for battle, worrying for my family, meetings with informants, and writing missives… I'm not even entirely certain when made it last to a bed, rather than catching minutes asleep at this table."
"Then it is settled," Eomer's deep voice broke through her reverie.
"Yes, we ride in two day's time for the Black Gate. Princess Lothiriel is to assume the duties of Steward here, and dispatch her people to bring all women and children to Minas Tirith, should the worst occur," continued Aragorn.
All men ayed. She ayed.
As they all arose, Lothiriel felt her fathers hand grab her own, and quickly squeeze. The action nearly overwhelmed her, but to show it would not do. Dimly, grimly she smiled at him.
Though everyone stood, no one moved to leave the room, pardon Eomer who had moved to her elbow. Elbereth knows how he moved as quiet as Faramir for a man near twice his size.
"My lady, I believe we have more to speak on, but I am anxious to see my sister. Perhaps we could continue to the Healing Quarters together?"
Lothiriel nodded, and squeezed her father's hand once more, before dropping it. She turned to gather her things, and then realized it would be of no use. She turned towards Aragorn to say,
"Aragorn, if it wouldn't bother you, I would leave my things here. I'll return after sitting with Faramir."
"Of course, 'Thiriel. This was and is your office before anyone else's, and I feel obliged to share now," Aragorn said kindly.
A soft smile for him, her old friend. She had met him when she was but twelve, new to Gondorian court and even newer to the world of spycraft. Her now deceased mentor Halbarad had introduced the two. How in the world could anyone have predicted that that same man with a bloody sword strapped to his back and kindness in his smile would have become her new King?
She turned back to Eomer, who was squinting at the two with keen eyes. That squint broke through her reverie on irony, and almost made her smile. He squinted a lot and it was precious. Though she doubted he'd enjoy being called precious.
Gesturing to the door with a nod of her head, she picked up her gown and curtsied to the room at large. Only Legolas paused his conversation with one of her brothers long enough to formally bow back, though she received nods or waves from everyone else.
They began walking down the same hallway they had just come from- and even Lothiriel had a difficult time reading whether the silence between her and Eomerking was comfortable or not.
"So you're a spy?" Eomer broke the silence,
"Yes."
"And you're very good at it, or so it would seem."
"I am. I am very good at this." Lothiriel knew her self-confidence could ring unfounded, but she hoped the meeting at least proved her competency.
He held the door for her, she lightly smiled at him in thanks. He nodded- and they walked in tandem down the halls. Quietly, but also peacefully. Like they'd been friends for longer than just a few hours.
As soon as they broke out of the hall, and into the day, she paused on the steps. She couldn't help herself to bask in warmth for just a second, eyes closed against the sudden sunlight. But even a moment was too long, for when she opened her eyes, Eomer was staring at her, a slight smile playing at his lips and something heated in his gaze.
Unbidden and unable to help it, she smiled back at him, and she spoke,
"It was a long day and night yesterday. I suppose I just needed a second to thank the sun for being here. For coming out after the battle."
He nodded, sadness replacing whatever had just been in his eye. They turned to start walking again.
She held herself back from touching his arm. It would have been to bring him comfort, but that sort of familiarity would have been… unwelcome, surely. No-one wants sympathy from a stranger, even one who understood the feeling of loss.
Lothiriel had been eleven years old when her mother passed away- trying to give birth to one more Prince of Dol Amroth. Neither survived. And that grief hadn't ebbed away when Denethor had demanded her presence to fill in as hostess after Finduilas's own untimely death many years prior. According to her uncle, Minas Tirith had gone too long without a mistress. She had been young girl, suddenly away from everything she'd ever known. And then Boromir and Faramir had become her friends, and introduced her to Halbarad, so she could find a purpose in all this change. But now… she had lost Halbarad, and now she'd lost Boromir. She'd also lost Denethor, but felt significantly less gloomy about that. Uncle Denethor had made a nuisance of himself at the best of times, and at the worst, was her waking nightmare.
So she said nothing, and neither did he, even as they reached the Houses of Healing.
Picking their way through the filled halls of people in pain, trying to not be in the way, they were led by a grey fleshed man to the more private, quieter room in the back.
Eomer knocked gently onto his sister's room, where he heard a faint "come in". He entered, and had his breath knocked out by the sight of his sister. Sitting up in bed, blessedly alive where before Aragorn had spoke over her, she looked like death.
Here she was, alive and smiling at him, over the shoulder of a fair haired man. At that he frowned, as he heard Lothiriel exclaim behind him, stepping up beside him.
"Faramir, what on Earth are you doing out of bed?"
"So this is Faramir," Eomer thought as the man turned. A bit younger than himself, but more delicately put together. He looked thin, a bit bookish, but hardy. And he looked beyond pleased to see Lothiriel.
"Ah, 'Thiri! No need to fuss, I've been feeling so much better and needed some company."
At that, Eowyn behind him blushed, and Eomer felt his heart drop out.
"Damn you Eowyn," he thought, "you've barely regained consciousness, let alone recovered your heart from gifting it to Aragorn."
And maybe his feelings showed on his face, because Eowyn's face steeled for a fight, but Lothiriel, surprising him and maybe surprising herself, put a cautionary hand on his arm and spoke,
"Still Faramir. You both really ought to be resting. Plus if you say you want company, and yet don't send for me, my feelings will start to become injured." She said drily.
Faramir smiled knowingly, and bickered back, "'Thiri, if I wanted company to come and either depress me or fall asleep on me, you'd be my first pick."
Lothiriel, in mock outrage, but her eyes twinkled, stepped closer to him, "Depress you? Am I not witty enough to entertain the clever Faramir, who has neglected in his brilliance to introduce me to his new friend?"
Eomer stared at her, who so quickly and easily understood the emotion's of everyone in this room, and how to set a tense situation at ease.
Faramir also looked back at her, twisting in his seat to include Eomer in the conversation,
"Well then, pardon my atrocious manners, cousin. Though I neglected to hear you introduce your new acquaintance as well."
Lothiriel breathed a laugh, the first he had heard from her despite numerous smiles, and replied, "That would be because I knew you already knew who he was. But since we're being sticklers for propriety, this is Eomer, King of Rohan. And you must be Eowyn, I've been waiting to meet you quite anxiously."
Eowyn looked a little uneasy, though less like she was going to throttle Eomer for being over-protective.
"My name is Lothiriel," she said kindly, sitting down in the chair beside Faramir's, "Princess of Dol Amroth."
"You're the Princess?" Asked Eowyn.
"That's what they tell me, at least," she said, again with a little laugh. She leaned back in her seat, and smiled. Eomer watched as she settled in comfortably, slipping off her slippers and tucking bare feet under her gown's hem. Surprising that, for the high born noble of a famously prickly and overly-mannered court.
But he saw why- as Eowyn relaxed back into her pillows and smile tentatively back. They looked like friends. Bema, they should be friends. Eowyn probably had never met anyone so well matched to her own interests before, though even knowing her for a just one morning, they had vastly different tactics to bring their ideas to fruition.
"They usually call her the Princess, unless she's found coming in through the back entrance of the kitchen dressed like a teenage boy, then they just call her an urchin. Let me tell you Eowyn, of 'Thiri's adventures..." started Faramir.
And so the morning passed, and friends were made. Eomer found respect for Faramir, who was so unlike Eomer that the two found amusement in it. Faramir teased Lothiriel about times she'd nearly been caught out in some mishap or another. Lothiriel in turn told a story about the first time Faramir had tried a bow and arrow and nearly shot her in the eye which caused everyone to laugh. Eowyn and Eomer didn't share stories, the loss of Theodred and Theoden to recent to find humor in the past. But it still felt light and happy, and Eomer found himself wondering about the Princess.
He specifically found himself wondering at the casual relationship between Aragon and Lothiriel. They'd obviously known each other for years. Was she the one Aragorn spoke of, when he said his heart was another's?
Eomer understood that his heart clenched at the thought, and he didn't dislike the thought, but he did find the timing highly inconvenient. Had he just met her years before…
Or would that have made the march he's about to make even harder? Was it better to glimpse happiness and not truly feel it, or to know it and then leave it behind?
These somber thoughts seemed to affect the mood of the whole room, though Bema knows how it could have.
Faramir grimaced and said what every one was thinking, "so, when do you leave?"
Lothiriel immediately saddened and Eomer felt his heart slide even further in her direction. Maybe he wasn't the only one to wonder about what could have been.
"Two days time." Eomer replied.
And the four of them fell to the discussion of the impending march, battle (again), and the defenses of both Rohan and Gondor. It was a tense discussion, but worthwhile. Eowyn and Eomer provided Lothiriel with lots of insight on Rohan's defenses, while Lothiriel and Faramir spoke on Gondor's. It was clear that Lothiriel had been deeply involved in the Gondorian army, probably since she was a slip of a girl.
But when the sun was high in the sky, and Eowyn looked exhausted, Faramir excused himself back to his own convalescing room. Eomer touched Lothiriel's shoulder (and felt a shock reverb through his body) and gestured towards the door. She nodded and they left the Houses of Healing quietly, and their two family members behind.
Eomer inhaled deeply as they entered the streets. He met Lothiriel's eyes as she heaved her own deep, clearing breath. The Houses of Healing, after the battle, smelled like potions, cleaning supplies, and suffering.
Lothiriel glanced away, and the now noon sun caught the auburn in what a fool would consider just dark brown hair. Her gray eyes were dark and serious, but she herself proved to be able to find merriment in just about anything. Probably a side effect of growing up with Amrothos.
Eomer could admit to himself, she was enchanting. And even in the midst of some of his darkest days he'll ever have- he knew that she was as good a match for him as she seemed. She could be a partner, a confidant, a friend, a- a wife. And a Queen. "What on earth is she thinking," he wondered.
And just then she turned to him, quick and fast as if her mind had been made up in whatever moment she'd just privately had. She stepped close to him and pulled off one of her pretty golden rings-
"Did you know why all Dol Amrothians' wear rings?" But she didn't leave him enough time to answer, she continued on, "Each is for a different reason. Every parent has one for each of their children; a lifelong friend may receive rings from one another, and every… every spouse wears one for their partner."
She rolled the ring in between her long, elegant fingers and lightly calloused palm; and stepped into that final step to be sharing the same breath as Eomer. "It would honor me, if you would wear this. As a token."
Eomer should have been surprised, and maybe he was deep, deep down. But overwhelmingly he felt certain. His larger, rougher hand reached over hers, holding it. He met her eyes, "To bring me home safe, milady?"
"Yes, to bring you back safe. Safe." She repeated the last word. But she never looked away from his gaze.
And so the newly minted King of Rohan held the hand of the Princess of Dol Amroth in middle of the busy streets of Minas Tirith. But despite the bustle around them, they stayed still- staring into each others eyes and feeling the beginning of something.