Author's Note: If you haven't guessed, I wrote chapter one without a clear idea of where I wanted the story to go. Now that the main characters have met, I STILL don't know where the tale is headed. ;) Bear with me, I'll think of something... Disclaimer: I own none of these character, dates, or places; they all belong to JRR Tolkien.
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Eomer studied the woman's face, thinking that she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Not the loveliest female being—Queen Arwen of Gondor would have to take that prize, followed closely by Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien—but by far the most attractive human girl he'd seen in a long time. Long, dark auburn hair was braided and wound around the back of her head. Her skin was pale (if she stayed in Rohan long, he thought, she would get freckles), her features aristocratic, but it was her eyes that drew his attention. Huge, dark blue—indeed, nearly purple—irises trimmed with long black lashes peered at him from under delicate brows. He was pleased that she was tall. It grew ever more annoying to have to stoop down to hear the whisper-soft words of the foreign courtiers his advisers were always shoving him at. The woman's figure was excellent, neither overly slender nor overly plump.

What was he doing? Good grief, he was examining her as though she were a horse. Chastened, Eomer asked for the lady's name.

"L- Lothiriel, princess of Dol Amroth. My father is a guest at Edoras, I go to join him." Eomer noted that she had stumbled over her own name. She must be more shaken than she appeared to be...

Her name. Lothiriel! Dol Amroth...Imrahil! What irony! Eomer had fled Edoras to postpone meeting Imrahil's daughter—and yet had only managed to bring about the inevitable event sooner. He knew that the politicians of Dol Amroth and Rohan all wished for a marital alliance to strengthen the bonds of friendship between Gondor and the Riddermark, but the idea of marrying one of Gondor's twittering, witless maidens repulsed him. Of all the ladies he'd had shoved at him so far, only two had shown real spirit. One was the Queen, and hadn't been shoved at him at all, the other, much to Eomer's private amusement, had run off with a young peasant farmer.

Lothiriel was stammering something again, so Eomer brought his attention back to her.

"I do apologize, milord, if our plight was any inconvenience for you...I'm sure we can make our way to Edoras safely now..." Eomer raised one eyebrow. Was she dismissing him?
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Lothiriel fervently hoped the king would leave. His gaze was unsettling, her embarrassment at being caught in such an unladylike situation (oh, her father was going to kill her!) refused to subside, and she was just sure she was sweating. According to the Elves at Rivendell, true Ladies didn't sweat.

Well, let them come ride in a stifling wagon all day long, be attacked by bandits and then confronted with the man they're supposed to be charming with grace and ladylike wit. I wager even Galadriel would sweat a bit then! Lothiriel waited for Eomer's reply.

"No inconvenience at all, Lady Lothiriel. This band of ruffians needed to be dealt with. And your father will undoubtedly provoke a war if I allow you to continue your journey unescorted after such a distressing occurrence. Your soldiers are mostly useless, so my Riders shall accompany you as well." Eomer smoothly disregarded her dismissal. Drat! Now what? There were no instructions in any of the etiquette books she'd reluctantly read to deal with this situation! She'd just have to improvise.

"Well, if it's not any trouble, we would be glad of your assistance, milord. Is it far to Edoras?" Lothiriel knew very well they were only a few hours from their destination, but she was attempting to keep some sort of conversation going.

"An hour's swift ride, three or more traveling as we are with wounded. We should be off soon if you want to be inside by nightfall." Lothiriel nodded emphatically. The sooner they left, the sooner she could escape to the privacy of her own chamber and collect herself.

As they prepared to depart, Lothiriel seized the chance to ride outside rather than in the wagon. She chose the point in the party farthest from Eomer, and stayed there. It was a long, slow ride, because of the wounded men, and she passed the time by remembering her father's instructions to her.

She was to enchant the King of Rohan with her charm and manners. If he were to offer a suit, she had been strongly encouraged to accept it. Her father might be overprotective and slightly domineering, but he would never force her into a marriage she did not want. Nevertheless, Lothiriel knew that it would be the best thing for both countries if she and Eomer were to wed. She knew this, knew all the reasons why she should encourage a union, but had no intention of doing so.

This was not Imrahil's first attempt to arrange a politically wise marriage for his daughter. Lothiriel had over the years perfected a method of being friendly but cool, encouraging enough to make it seem as though she were considering the man, but aloof and distant enough to soon dispel any interest the suitor might have had in her. A lesser Haradrim king, one of Gondor's nobles, and even the leader of a politically dissenting party in Dol Amroth—she had escaped them all. Eomer, she thought, would be no different, despite his early introduction having thrown her plans off.

A sudden cry interrupted her thoughts. Turning, she saw that one of her wounded soldiers was in danger of falling out of the wagon. The others, incapacitated as they were, were having a hard time holding him in. Lothiriel wheeled her horse and rode up beside the wagon. Handing her reigns to a nearby Rohirrim, she clambered awkwardly onto the conveyance. She hiked up her skirts, pulled the soldier back onto the cart, and proceeded to re-bandage his now-profusely bleeding wound.

"One of my men can do that. There's no need for you to tend to him." Eomer's voice sounded slightly concerned as he rode along beside them.

Valar save her from men who thought females should be delicate and sheltered. Forgetting her intentions of grace and charm, Lothiriel snapped at the King.

"Nonsense. I'm just a capable as bandaging a wound as any soldier. Men hurt each other; women patch them up. Is that not the way of the world?" Eomer's sudden grin irritated her even more.

"Nay, Lady, for a woman can with her tongue strike a hurt more deep than any man's sword, and such a wound can only be healed by the one who gives it."

Lothiriel replied, slightly chagrined, "I apologize if I was rude, sir." But she would not yield entirely. "Yet a man may also kill with words." She turned back to her task. Eomer rode on.
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When they finally reached Meduseld, Lothiriel was covered in sweat, dust, and blood. Her father ran outside to meet her as the soldiers dismounted at Lothiriel allowed herself to be lifted down from the wagon (and her ridiculously uncomfortable seat there) by a kind soldier.

"Elbereth...what has happened? Lothiriel, are you all right? You're hurt!" Lothiriel tried to calm her father.

"No, father, I'm fine. We were waylaid by bandits, but the arrival of a company of Rohirrim saved us, and King Eomer very kindly escorted us here. Now if you would show me to my room? I'm quite fatigued..." Hoping to forestall further questions from her concerned parent, Lothiriel allowed her tiredness to show.

"But of course, my dear. You must have a hot bath and a nap before dinner."

Dinner? "Oh, father, I'm not sure I feel up to—"

"Nonsense, Lothiriel. A few hours' rest and you'll be fine. The staff has gone to a great deal of trouble to prepare a banquet for your arrival; you wouldn't want to disappoint anyone, would you?"

Deciding that a protest probably wasn't worth the effort, Lothiriel allowed herself to be conducted to a small, cozy room on the western side of the Hall. A brilliant sunset streamed in through a pair of windows, illuminating a bureau carved with a hunting scene, a large fireplace, and a huge bed canopied with dark green brocade.

Lothiriel threw herself onto the soft mattress and slept.