Chapter 2

Lothíriel sped down the hall, clutching both shoes. At the corner, she stopped and leaned against the wall so she could put on her right slipper. The day was already off to a bad start.

She had stayed up too late talking to Éowyn and Arwen, and she had overslept this morning, completely forgetting that Éowyn's brother, the king of Rohan, would be arriving this morning. As a princess, she was expected to be at the throne room to formally greet him, and she had only remembered when her maid commented on her state of undress so late in the morning.

Now, careening down a hall with her slippers barely on her feet, she suddenly remembered a shortcut. If she cut through the antiques room and made a left into a small corridor, she could potentially cut her travel time in half. Not many people knew about the small corridor, so the traffic through the area should also not be high.

Now if she could only make a right here –

"Oof!" Lothíriel nearly fell backwards after colliding with what felt like a brick wall. The wind was completely gone from her lungs, and she stood by, gasping for air.

"Are you alright, my lady?" a man's voice sounded. "I am terribly sorry. I was only admiring the tapestry there and did not see you." Lothíriel gulped in enough air to finally look up and register the world around her.

Of course, she had bumped into someone, and it was clear that it had been a soldier, fully clad in his armor. She studied the man and realized first that he was wearing the insignia of Eorl the Young on his chest and that he had blonde hair.

A Rohirrim soldier, of course, she realized. Here with the king. Her next thought turned to his size. He was perfectly enormous, standing so much taller than her that she was eye-level with his chest. His shoulders seemed almost to be twice the width of hers; she could feel annoyance begin to build within her.

She was going to be late, and now, she had a headache from colliding headfirst into this oaf.

"Yes, yes," she said quickly. "I apologize, but I am quite late. If you will excuse me."

She tried to push past the man, but he seemed to be impudent as well as large. "If I may, are you the Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth?"

She gave him a look—actually, more of a glare—that attempted to imply her annoyance and urgency, but he did not seem to take the hint. Drawing in a deep breath, she bobbed her head at the man. "Yes, I am she. Welcome to Minas Tirith."

With this, there really was no getting out of introductions, Lothíriel thought, exasperated. But instead of bowing and telling her his name, the soldier only inclined his head a bit as well. "Then the tales of your beauty do you no justice for you are truly one of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth."

As she stood in shock, he indecently kissed her hand, and stared unabashedly into her eyes. His blue orbs seemed to pierce her, and for a moment, she blushed, feeling naked before him.

He smelled of horses and earth, rich, masculine smells that sent her heart racing. And what was more, he was unfairly handsome, with a few days worth of stubble across a chiseled jaw and perfectly formed mouth. It made him look rugged, as if his good-looks were effortlessly there.

Then, she realized where and who she was. Here was Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, late in greeting the King of Rohan, and being ogled in the halls of Minas Tirith by a mere soldier!

"How dare you!" she cried, ripping her hand away. "I will have you know that I am the princess of Dol Amroth, and I demand respect. My father has had soldiers like you killed for doing less!"

She felt angered at the glimpse of the man's shocked face as she forcibly shoved by him. Was he truly surprised that a princess should be offended by such a lewd gesture? She felt almost like a common barmaid, being leered at like that.

And yet, and yet… the man had beautiful eyes.

"You really are an idiot," she berated herself under her breath, and kept walking.

She made it into the throne room still angry, but relieved to find that the King of Rohan had not yet arrived. Her father gave her a reproving glance for being late, but she looked determinedly at the floor and walked to her place on his left.

Next to her were Éowyn and her husband, Faramir. The woman was beaming and radiant in her beauty. It was clear she loved her husband, and she was excited to be reunited with her beloved brother.

Lothíriel had heard much about Éomer from Éowyn. She had said that most people had trouble liking her brother at first. He was forward in his ways, she had said, unlike the ways taught in Gondorian courts. "His favorite expression about Gondor is, 'Why do I have to dance around the subject for so long? Get to the point!'" she once said. But once he became your friend, he was fiercely loyal.

If anything, he sounded like a man who knew what he anted and was not afraid to die for his country or his loved ones. Perhaps, like Aragorn, then, Lothíriel thought. Grave and wise, though perhaps a bit more impulsive because he was younger.

Within a few moments of these thoughts, the great doors of the throne room opened with a groan from the hinges to reveal the servant that was to announce Éomer's arrival. "My lord Éomer would like to apologize for his lateness," the servant said, bowing deep at the waist. Lothíriel wanted to roll her eyes. Of course they had chosen one of the oldest and most proper manservants to announce the King of Rohan. "He was exploring the Great Halls and was lost in their beauty."

Lothíriel winced as she recognized the servant, who was known to be one of the prickliest about propriety. He had apparently been serving for so long that he had been given a status above remonstrance. Or at least he thought so from his jab at even the King of Rohan.

The servant stepped aside and the king entered. At first, Lothíriel could not make out any of the man's features for the light behind him was too bright.

"My greetings to you, King Elessar," a deep baritone cam from the figure, whose face was still obscured by shadow. "Queen Arwen, Prince Imrahil."

Aragorn stood as the other King approached. Lothíriel still could not make out his face, though she could now see that Éomer was very tall – in fact, none less tall than Aragorn. "Éomer!" the King cried. "Welcome. It is good to see you again, my friend."

The two men embraced as brothers and walked toward the throne together. Finally, Lothíriel made out Éomer's features, but almost gasped when she saw him. The face was stunningly handsome, but it was not that that made her senses go numb as the Rohirrim King greeted each of the assembly in turn.

Lothíriel was vaguely aware that he shook hands with her father and kissed Éowyn, but all her energy seemed to refocus when he turned to her. Her mouth went dry, and she felt her hands shaking at her sides as the man stood before her. This is a nightmare. Wake up! Her mind cried, and yet, everything was much too real.

"My lord Éomer, may I present my daughter, Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," she heard her father say from beside her. His voice sounded very far away.

"My lord," she found herself murmuring out of habit as she raised her hand to be kissed.

The man standing before her was smiling blandly, a perfectly acceptable expression for a lord meeting a lady. He took her hand easily, to her horror. "Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," he said, still smiling, his stubble now even more attractive that he was so close. The insignia of Eorl the Young was unmistakable on his chest, and even though he was in the great hall, he still wore his armor. "The tales of your beauty do you no justice for you are truly one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen."

His blue yes glittered as he placed a kiss on her hand.