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Chapter 5

Lothíriel met Éomer in the antiques room, where he was waiting for her. He was closely observing a piece of tapestry; his eyes were so focused, he did not even notice her until she spoke.

"It's a wonder you've survived this long. Do you allow Orcs to sneak up on you like this?"

To say that he was surprised would have been the understatement of the age. He leaped up, his back straight, one elbow immediately thrusting back to protect himself. Had Lothíriel not jumped back, she would have suffered a nasty concussion.

Her heart was in her throat as the man turned, wildness in his eyes, until he recognized who she was. "I am sorry!" he cried, coming out of his fighting stance. His shoulders relaxed and his hands unraveled from fists. "I must have scared you, my lady."

Lothíriel shook her head and stood from her crouch. "No, I am sorry," she said quickly. "I should have known not to sneak up on you like that." She paused. "Or to make light of the war."

Éomer stepped toward her, but the sudden movement made her flinch. He stopped immediately. "My lady, you must find me a boor," he said, his voice tinged with hurt.

"No!" she said quickly. "On the contrary." She stepped closer to him and for some reason, her hand came up to settle on his arm. "You must find me incredibly insensitive. I… I am not like this usually. It is just that you…" She cut herself off before she could say more, but it was too late.

Éomer looked down at where her hand was on his arm. It only served to remind him how small she appeared, how fragile. "Yes?"

She quickly withdrew her hand. "I do not know what has come over me today," she said, trying to laugh. She tried to begin anew, as she felt the blood rise in her cheeks. "I believe I asked to meet you so you could tell me about Edoras. Will you not do that?"

Lothíriel looked up, only to find Éomer seeming surprised. But, he had been trained too well to let it be let on. "Yes, of course." He cleared his throat and began to describe his city as they walked through the hall.

Lothíriel found his description of his city charming. It was obvious he loved where he grew up, and the way he described the stables and fields showed that he loved riding. But one particular thing was missing.

Only after a few moments did she realize what it was.

It was the ease with which they carried on when he had teased her, when she had insulted him back. What they had that morning was now turned to politeness, to civility.

"I've had Firefoot since I was big enough to ride him," Éomer was saying. "I don't think my uncle was more proud of me than when I finally stayed on that damned beast." He suddenly realized what he said, and a look of horror came across his face. It was so funny, Lothíriel had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. "My lady, I apol—"

"Don't," she said, no longer able to hold in her laughter.

Éomer felt his heart leap a little at the sound of the woman's laugh. It made him want to laugh as well, but her next words made the laughter die upon his lips. "I don't want you to censor yourself around me."

A look passed between them, and it was only then that Lothíriel realized what she had said, but she did not take it back. "I will not, then," he replied.

She swallowed once, then turned to ask the question she had on her mind. "Will you tell me something?" she ventured. The man nodded. "This morning when I said that you lacked humility, you became angry. Was it just my words that made you so?"

Éomer peered down at the woman before him. Before this, he had known she was witty, headstrong, and beautiful, but this was the first time she had demonstrated her keen intelligence and empathy. In the end, there was no point in lying to her. "No," he admitted. "It was not just your words." She waited for him to answer.

"Do you know of the First Battle of the Fords of Isen?" he asked.

Lothíriel thought to her store of information of the War. Unfortunately, her knowledge was limited to what had occurred in Gondor, specifically concerning the economy of Dol Amroth. Her father and brothers had gone off to war, leaving her all but steward in name of the city.

"No, I am afraid not."

"It was one of the first times we met Saruman openly in battle," he explained. "His Urûk-Hai had sacked one too many of our villages, and my cousin and I had had enough. We were Marshals of Rohan, and it was our duty to protect our people.

"My uncle disagreed, of course, but I did not listen. Now, I know he was too far gone in Wormtongue's magic to oppose Saruman." He paused then, and closed his eyes. "To tell the truth, my cousin Théodred wanted a cautious approach. He wanted to sneak up to the Urûk camp and take them by surprise.

"I, on the other hand, wanted honor. I wanted glory. I wanted people to recognize what we were doing, because my uncle would not.

"In short, I convinced Théodred to ride with me. But we had miscalculated. There were more of them than we had anticipated, and even though we had the advantage of being on horseback, many of us fell. Including my cousin." Lothíriel could see the pain in the man's eyes, and she stepped toward him once again to comfort him, but did not know what to do after. "So you see, it was my fault Théodred was killed. I was young, stupid, and arrogant, and I killed someone I loved. Like you said, I had no humility."

She grabbed him by the hand. "You did not kill him," she urged. "The Urûk-Hai killed him." He attempted to argue, but she brought a finger to his lips to hush him. "You saved your people. Your actions were good, and you cannot continue blaming yourself for the past." She swallowed. "And I am sorry for making that comment before. I did not realize it would hurt you."

"You did not know," he said, his lips still touching her finger. It was only then that she realized how close she was to him—one hand on his while the other was now touching the side of his face, brushing the whiskers on his cheek. "But you are wrong—I did kill him. Indirectly, anyway."

Lothíriel withdrew her hand at his face, realizing how inappropriate the touch was. Éomer immediately missed it.

"I used to be like that," she nearly whispered. "The guilt was too much, and I could not move forward." He looked down at her, and she could read his expression clearly, It was one many men gave her when she tried to speak of her problems. What problems could you possibly have? It always started. You, a pampered princess living in the comforts of your castle.

But she kept speaking anyway. "I have never learned to swim because my father fears the seas," she began. "When I was very young, I loved the waters, and one day, I ran down the beach toward them. It was high tide, and suddenly, the waters were all around me. I could not breathe or hear or see. But suddenly, I felt arms around me, pulling me up. My mother had run in after me to save me. We had both lost consciousness before my mother's guards could pull us up.

"I survived. My mother did not. I thought, for so long, that I had killed her and that my father hated me. He would look at me, and he would say nothing. Finally, one day, I decided to run away because I could not bear it anymore.

"My father's guards soon found me, of course, and brought me back. My father asked me why I had gone, and I told him. I did not want to live in a place where I was hated. He told me that he did not hate me. It was the only time I had seen my father cry. And even though I was young I realized he did not blame me.

" 'The seas could have taken both of you,' he said. 'And I thank Eru every day for bringing you back.' My mother gave her life to save her child. Do I still feel guilty?" She breathed in sharply. "Yes. Every day. But I cannot let what happened that day affect me always."

She looked up at the man again, and found true sympathy in his eyes. "I am sorry for your loss," he said quietly.

"And I for yours," she answered. "But those are things of the past. This is a new age. And we must look forward toward the future."

His eyes were positively glowing now, and Lothíriel was struck once more by how handsome he was. His whiskered cheeks were perfectly formed, his nose tall and shapely. His lips were full and soft, and she could not help thinking that had he been her first kiss, she would not have regretted it.

"What do you see in your future, my lady?" he asked, stepping even closer to her and leaning down so that his face was only inches from hers. If only he knew what he was doing to her …

"Marriage," she said softly, trying to keep her composure. "To someone that is worthy of my station."

He examined her, his blue eyes piercing through the wall that she was hastily trying to construct so as to block him from her innermost corner. But he saw through her. "That is not what you want, is it?" he asked, his voice gentle. She shook her head. "What is it you want?"

You…

She had no idea where that thought came from, but she banished it from her mind immediately. But too late, she looked away, and Éomer read the longing in her expression. It made his body roar to life, and his heart beat twice as fast as normal. Without thinking, he leaned down, took her face in his hands, and kissed her with all his might.

Lothíriel had no idea anything in the world could make her feel so safe. Éomer's hands moved from her face, and his arms encircled her waist, but his lips never left hers. His mouth was warm and soft, and she leaned in, wanting more of the kiss. He granted her the wish by deepening it, his arms pulling her even closer.

When he finally stopped, Lothíriel did not know how she was standing. Both her hands were still on his chest, and she was still leaning into him. Éomer liked her weight against his: it was slight but comforting, almost as if she were supporting him.

But it was not long before she came to her senses. She was standing in the middle of the antiques room, having just kissed a man she had only known for a few hours. Quickly, she stepped back from him. He immediately felt the loss. "I… I am sorry," she said, her breath coming fast. "I should not have done that. You must… you must think me very forward."

"Lothíriel…" it was the first time he had ever addressed her by her full name. The word sounded beautiful with his Rohirrim accent, and the tenderness in his eyes made him even more endearing. He scared her half to death.

"I apologize," she said. "It is late. I must leave."

She turned and almost ran from the room.