Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! I thought that I was done writing fan-fiction. I haven't been doing it for quite some time (almost 10 years!), but I recently just got back into it consistently. My heart will always be with the Lord of the Rings, so here I am again, still writing!

Please leave any feedback you have for me. They are much appreciated!

Chapter 3

The next few minutes dragged on horribly as Lothíriel struggled to breathe through her embarrassment. Éomer said nothing, but she was sure that the smile on his lips was one of the knowing sarcasm, and the arch of his eyebrow told her that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Thankfully, King Elessar interjected, leading Éomer away with a friendly hand on his shoulder. Lothíriel could feel the blood hot in her cheeks, and tough she was dimly aware that conversation was being made, she did not know what was being said.

The scene when she had shoved passed the King of Rohan continued to play in her head. She had screamed at him and even threatened death! What could he possibly think of her? And how in the world had she mistaken him for a common soldier? She noticed now his straight back, his confident strides, and most of all, the proud look in his eyes that reflected the history of his people.

It was only then that she turned back into the conversation.

"Your rooms have been prepared, Éomer," King Elessar was saying. "No business will be conducted today, except I shall expect your company at meal times. We have much to speak of." From the look on his face, Lothíriel could tell that Aragorn was truly glad to see his friend again.

"Of course, my friend," the King of Rohan returned, inclining his head. "In the meantime, I must say with some embarrassment that I have forgotten much of the layout of Minas Tirith. Perhaps a tour…?"

Aragorn nodded. "Ah, yes! I am sure Éowyn and Faramir would be more than happy to show you the corners of the city."

Éomer bowed courteously. "That would be wonderful, but I am afraid that I would be taking my sister and her husband from their duties."

"Oh, Éomer do not be rid—" Éowyn began, but both she and Lothíriel caught the look from the Rohirrim King. It could not have lasted for more than a moment, and Lothíriel would have missed it if she had blinked, but it had been unmistakably there. She did not know what Éomer was trying to convey, but years of understanding between brother and sister did not fail Éowyn.

"… offended," the woman finished smoothly. "I am terribly sorry, but it completely slipped my mind that Faramir and I agreed to meet with a counselor this morning about grain shipments to Ithilien."

Faramir looked as just as surprised at this news as everyone else, and Lothíriel could have sworn she saw Éowyn bite back a laugh.

"Do not worry, 'Wyn," the Rohirrim King said with a kind smile. "I am sure I can find another guide." He paused and seemed to think for a moment. "My Lady Lothíriel, you know the city quite well, do you not?"

Lothíriel's heart froze. He could not possibly want to be alone with her! She knew she would die of embarrassment if she actually had to confront him. "Not well," she stammered. "I have only been here a few times in my childhood."

"Nonsense," her father cut in, unaware of the slow death that he was putting his daughter through. "She spent many years running through the streets of Minas Tirith like a regular urchin. Her cousin could never keep her in check. She would be a fine guide to Minas Tirith for you, my lord." Lothíriel wanted to grind her teeth in annoyance. Now that the King of Rohan was interested in her, Lord Belegorn had flown from her father's mind.

"It is settled then," King Elessar said, smiling, though his eyes revealed that he, too, was quite puzzled. "The Lady Lothíriel will show you the city."

Éomer turned, his bright eyes glitteringly dangerously as he bowed deeply at her. "By your leave, my lady."

Lothíriel could do nothing but curtsy back.

Within a few minutes, the two of them were on the Silent Street alone, the White Tree of Gondor not far behind them. Lothíriel found it difficult to look at the king as she pointed out a few bland sight-seeing sites. The King of Rohan smiled and played along, his demeanor calm and pleasant, as if he were doing nothing but seeing a city led by a princess.

It was not until they reached the sixth pinnacle that he showed his true colors. Lothíriel had forgotten that the normal path between the sixth pinnacle and the fifth gate led right past a rather bawdy tavern, where many soldiers could be seen drinking and eating at all hours of the day.

"Ah, how kind of you, Lady Lothíriel, to show me a place where my men can enjoy themselves," he said, his tone not changing from that of his original conversational pleasantries.

Lothíriel tried to hide her shock at those words, but she turned her head too late, and Éomer caught a glimpse of her face. He laughed at her expression, not a cruel laugh, but one as if she had just told a very funny joke. The laugh caught the attention of some passers-by, who wondered for a few moments at this tall, golden-haired individual.

"I apologize. Was I being too crude? We 'soldiers' tend to do that," he said, his tone still pleasant, though Lothíriel could feel him leaning in towards her. He was inarguably huge, towering over her without even intending to.

She was dreading this moment, but at the same time, she was relieved that he had finally brought it up so that they could stop dancing around the true nature of their relationship. "My lord, I would like to apologize for what happened this morning. I was in a hurry to get to the Great Hall, and my judgment was impaired by my haste. Please excuse my error."

She bowed her head, but Éomer raised her chin gently with one hand. Lothíriel shivered at the touch of his fingers on her face. She did not know that the area connecting her jaw to her throat could be so sensitive, but she seemed to be able to feel every detail of his hand. His fingertips were rough, no doubt from riding and fighting all his life, but his touch was gentle, like a lion attempting to be a housecat.

"Nay, my lady, you misunderstand my jest!" he exclaimed softly. "I only meant to say that the experience was quite refreshing. Usually when I meet women, they are swooning over me."

Lothíriel could not help but roll her eyes; and just when she thought the king was being endearing! "Well, I hope I have done you some good, then," she said sarcastically before she realized to whom she was speaking.

To her surprise, Éomer laughed again. "Do you always speak this way, my lady?" he asked.

"What way?" she asked, finding herself turning away from the man and walking so that they could make it back to the castle.

"In insults. We have spoken together twice, and each time, you have managed to slide one in. I must commend your fathers and brothers for putting up with you." He matched her pace perfectly, his body surprisingly agile for such a large man.

Lothíriel could feel her hands balling into fists at her sides. "Are you calling me shrewish?" she asked, her question more of a threat than anything else. But Éomer was not easily scared.

"Well, if it trots like a horse and neighs like a horse…" he said, his long legs keeping in time with hers. It annoyed her to no end, as she was trying to walk as fast as she could, and he seemed to be merely ambling.

She stopped suddenly, and drew herself up to her full height, though that did not work as she intended, for she still only drew level with the king's chest. "How-!"

"Dare I?" the king interrupted, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "I dare because it is worth it to see you lose your temper. You are magnificent, like a swan opening its wings to protect her young." And just like that, Lothíriel was at a loss for words. How did this man do that? How could he get her so angry and tongue-tied when she had learned from the finest masters in Gondor on how to speak elegantly?

"If I be a swan, best beware, my lord," she said, finally finding her voice. She turned and began marching through the streets again. In Minas Tirith, there were city guards posted everywhere, and her father had deemed Éomer enough protection for her. Not many in the city knew what he looked like, and with his mail and broadsword, he could pass for a Rohirrim soldier. "They may be beautiful but are the deadliest of birds."

The man was still keeping up with her. "And that is why I like you." Before she could respond, he said, "Oh, shall we pause? You almost forgot to show me the famous Glassblowing Street."

Lothíriel stopped. The glassblowers were well-known in Gondor, but the Rohirrim seldom needed glass for anything but windows. She had learned from her studies that the horsemasters preferred things that were handy and useful, and beauty was secondary. "You did not need a guide at all!" she accused.

The Rohirrim King gave a nonchalant shrug. "It is bad form for a commander to so easily forget a place as important as Minas Tirith." His eyes were glittering again, and a small smile played on his lips. Lothíriel wanted to strike him.

"You wanted to get me alone to humiliate me for my error," she said in a cold voice. "That is not very chivalrous, my lord."

The king did not seem at all remorseful. "Why, you do me wrong, my lady," he said genially. "My only hope was to spend time alone with a beautiful woman. And if that is unchivalrous, you must excuse me. I am after all, only a soldier."

"Soldiers know humility, a quality which you seem to lack, my lord," she cried, in direct reaction to his mention of soldiers. It came out before she registered that he had called her beautiful. But she quickly shook off the compliment. After all, it had been buried in an insult.

Her remark seemed to take Éomer aback, something she did not expect. He suddenly bowed stiffly. "I was not aware my presence was so odious to my lady," he said, the mirth gone from his voice. "I propose we end this tour, so I may no longer inconvenience my lady."

Lothíriel stood, a little shocked. Éomer had seemed so pleased with himself that she did not think she was capable of hurting him. But clearly, something she said had struck a nerve.

"I…" the words stuck in her throat. Was she not annoyed with him? Did she not in fact find his presence odious? "Well, you must at least walk back with me to the citadel." Yes, that was at least proper. He could not expect to leave her by herself in the city.

The man nodded grimly and bowed, allowing her to walk before him.

She did so wordlessly, trying to figure out what she had done wrong, and for some bizarre reason, she felt she needed to apologize. Awkwardly, the two walked back to the 7th pinnacle, with Lothíriel thinking the entire time of how to alleviate the oppressive silence.

Finally, at the entrance to the Great Hall, she turned to face the King of Rohan. "My lord—" But her sentence was cut off as the man strode around her and entered the hall alone.