b Author's Note:/b (If HTML tags show up, just ignore them. I'm trying to figure out how to format my updates...) Ahem. Standard disclaimer here. I own nothing, Tolkien owns all, etc. A big thanks goes out to everyone who has reviewed, especially those of you who have left reviews more than once! I love you all, thank you SO much! I'm switching to first person for this chapter, to experiment. I think it might be easier to "get into the character" that way. Let me know which you prefer. :)
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I woke some two hours later, feeling at once refreshed from my nap and horribly grimy from sleeping in my clothes. It was dark by that time, but a maid had lit a fire, in front of which stood a copper tub filled with nice warm bath-water. I allowed myself a good soak, washed my hair and let it dry in front of the flames.

In general, I put off the moment when I would inevitably have to start up my "proper-lady" charade, as I call it.

It occurred to me that by seeming especially frigid and proper tonight, I might forestall any future overtures from Eomer. So I chose to wear a high-necked navy blue dress with virtually no trimming whatsoever, and wound my hair up in a serviceable but un-decorative knot. I composed my face into a prim, emotionless expression, straightened my back, and stepped briskly into the hallway.

The bedrooms of Meduseld are located quite close to the Hall, so I didn't have far to travel. A short jaunt down the torch-lit hall, down five stairs, and I found myself standing in a small shadowed archway looking out onto the dinner arrangements of the Rohirrim. There seemed to be no formal seating chart: everyone simply moved around as they felt the urge to. I witnessed one Captain travel from the seat to the King's left down to the foot of the table to speak with a soldier there, then settle somewhere in the middle. They made room for late-comers and took over the vacated spots of others as they finished. The doors of the hall had been thrown wide open to allow access to a huge roasting spit located nearby. Goodness! iThey're cooking enough to feed an army!/i I thought. I looked around again and realized that they were, in fact, feeding their entire army. Or most of it.

My father spied me from across the room. He beckoned to me. I approached him, duly noting the two men he was speaking to. On his right stood a tall, thickset man with shrewd, intelligent eyes and an honest face. He bore the symbols of a Rohirrim Marshall. Next to him, a slightly shorter, thin man sipped a goblet of wine. This man was more opulently dressed than the first, and having grown up amongst soldiers in times of war, I could tell he was no military man.

"Feeling better, Lothiriel?" I nodded politely. "good, good. Then before you go eat, let me introduce you to two of Rohan's finest." My father gestured to the Marshall. "This is Heaghir, third Marshall of the Mark, and cousin to the King." The man nodded. Father continued, "And this is Wyn. He is Eomer's counsel of foreign relations."

"Wyn's eyes twinkled. "We do not use such formal titles in Rohan, my lady, I am merely a friend of the King's with no aptitude for the sword and a talent for understanding the cultures of other countries. But let me be the first to extend Rohan's pleasure and honor at housing with us such a beauty as yourself." Smooth, I thought. But why is it men always praise beauty before they even hear a world from your mouth? From my father's method of introduction, I guessed that these two were the men he would be dealing with during Eomer's reign. As such, they were partially responsible, no doubt, for my sacrifice on the altar of political stability. I decided to play the Haughty Princess with them as well as the King.

Nodding lightly, I said absently, "the pleasure is mine, sir." Heaghir took the opportunity to speak.

""We do hope you will enjoy your stay. I know how boring political talks can get." Here he rolled his eyes at Wyn. "So please, don't hesitate to explore the grounds and stables to your heart's content."

"It was a pity I was present under such annoying circumstances, otherwise I might have liked these two men and enjoyed my first trip to Rohan. As it was, I forced myself to keep everyone at a businesslike distance. Growing fond of Eomer's inner circle would only make it harder to keep a wall between us.

I refused to be lulled into informality by Heaghir's thoughtfulness. "I thank you for your kind offer, Marshal Heaghir, but I find that your harsh sunlight and wind here dry out my skin. I shall probably spend my days indoors." Father frowned at me. I merely gave him an innocent smile. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen?"

Pasting an expression of serene dignity on my face, I glided over to the table and found a seat near the center. I helped myself to various dishes of venison, beef, and pork, all washed down with an excellent wine that I recognized as one of Dol Amroth's finest. It must have been a gift from my father to Rohan.

Since I didn't think anyone was paying much attention to my conservatively dressed self, and because I was famished, I allowed myself a particularly large bite of roast beef and began chewing rather strenuously on it. I nearly choked when I heard Eomer's voice next to my ear from behind my back.

"Good evening, Princess." He sat down next to me.

It's hard to play the Ice Princess when you have an unladylike mouthful of meat. I hastily finished chewing and swallowed, wincing as the too-large bite went down.

"Good evening, Lord Eomer. I beg your pardon—"

He waved my apology aside. "Not at all. Here," he forked some potatoes onto my plate. "We didn't stop to rest on the way here, so you're no doubt starving." I blushed. I hate it when I blush, but it's a curse that comes with pale skin.

"Thank you." I took a small, ladylike bite. The potatoes were baked with garlic and butter—delicious. No doubt at this point my father would have liked me to make polite conversation. I had no intention of encouraging anything, so I was silent. After a short interval, Eomer cleared his throat and said,

"I trust you found your room comfortable?" I nodded. There was a brief, awkward silence. I wasn't looking at him, but I heard Eomer sigh quietly. He stood up.

"Good night, Princess." He walked away. A slight ache made itself known somewhere in the vicinity of my heart. Was I feeling guilty? Guilty for what? It was my life, and I was determined not to sell myself short by marrying for political reasons, or to make my father happy. I would spend my life alone, painting the sea and writing songs about it. Still...it was a shame that Eomer was so nice. If I had met him on neutral territory, under normal circumstances, I would have been myself. And I bet he would have liked me—for me, not for some farce of perfect etiquette I put on for state visits such as this one.

Suddenly I wasn't so hungry. Pushing my plate away, I stood up and walked out the open double doors into the warm night. A gentle breeze was blowing, and the starts were magnificent. With few trees around, I could see every constellation brilliantly. Walking away from the crowd around the fire, I leaned against the side of the building and stared at the sky.

"I don't understand, Wyn. This afternoon she seemed so...lively. Spirited, even. More like my sister than any other woman I've met. And yet, as soon as we arrived here she withdrew behind that Perfectly Polite Princess face. Ah, well. I should've known it was too good to be true." I recognized Eomer's voice coming from around the outside corner of Meduseld. Obviously, they were talking about me.

Wyn replied. "Her face, prim though it is, far outshines any other eligible Gondorian maid's. Can't you just wed her, produce an heir and be done with it?" I seethed. To think I had liked Wyn!

Eomer laughed once, coldly. "The country's purposes would be served, no doubt, but what of MY life? You forget that I have to live with her for the rest of it." I should mention that I have no qualms about eavesdropping, if the speakers are careless enough to converse where anyone may overhear them. "I am not yet so much a king that I would throw away my own happiness simply to strengthen already existing bonds between two countries. I keep telling you, a marriage between Gondor and Rohan is completely unnecessary!"

Wyn sounded annoyed. "The political niceness may be unnecessary, I'll give you that. But, Eomer, Rohan needs an heir! There are still small enemy forces to be rounded up, battles to be fought; we are not yet out of the war! What if you should fall?"

"Then my sister could—"

Wyn snapped. "Your sister is married. She belongs to Gondor now. Her children will be Stewards, not Riders. Marry some stable lass, if you want to cause scandal, but marry /i, I beg you." I heard Wyn stomp off.

Having heard more than enough, I walked back inside the Hall. So Eomer didn't want to marry any more than I did. Wonderful! I should have been thrilled...and yet I wasn't. For the first time, I felt the urge to cast off my charade and be Lothiriel again. The idea that Eomer found be unappealing was strangely troublesome to my mind.

Shaking my head, I went to my room.