AN: This is your warning. This story has digressed into little more than a shameless excuse for me to write fluff (not that it was ever wonderful literature to begin with, but...). If you have a problem with romance novels, stop now (although there's nothing explicit, I promise. Just little hints...). Thanks for the reviews, guys!!! I love to get them :) And to FLOR, if you're reading this- HI! Good to see a familiar screen-name around here ;) Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, places, or names related to or associated with The Lord of the Rings and am making no profit from their use.
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"That is absolutely the last time I go riding with you," I said while trying to wring water out of my hair and dress. "First I fall off my horse, and then I get trapped in a cave during a thunderstorm."

"It was your own fault you fell off your horse." Eomer pointed out. "And it's not as thought I'm enjoying this any more than you are." He continued unsaddling our horses at the far end of the cave.

I glared at his back.

The cave was kept stocked for such emergencies, apparently. There was plenty of wood for a fire, some musty blankets, and a bit of feed for the horses (in the form of very dodgy-looking hay bales and sacks of mixed grain). Nothing fit for human consumption, though. Typical Rohan, I thought as I started a fire.

The golden-brown over-gown of my dress was soaked. Attempting to dry it, I stood near the snapping campfire and waved the skirt around a bit. It didn't seem to be succeeding in anything other than looking like an idiot. Meanwhile, Eomer had finished with the horses. He folded a blanket over a particularly ancient hay bale, sat down, and began removing his boots.

"I suggest you get out of those wet clothes." He advised quite casually as he popped the left shoe off. "I wouldn't want you to catch cold and die."

"What?!" As if I would sit around for Varda-knew how long with him, naked! Was he insane? Did he think I was a simpleton? Or worse—a woman of loose morals? I was just about to say something scathing about his apparent opinion of my principles when he interrupted my outraged thoughts by dramatically sighing and looking to the ceiling in askance.

"Stuck in a cave with the Prissy Ice Princess."

Obviously, the man knew my weak spot. I glared daggers at him again. But the wet dress WAS uncomfortable.

"Turn around. And throw me a blanket!" Eomer grinned, tossed his other boot away, and obeyed my curt orders with a mock bow. "If you look, I'll tell my brothers and they'll thrash you senseless. So don't get any ideas." I began unbuttoning my gown.

"Three pretty-boys from Dol Amroth? Go ahead and tell them."

I threw a rock at his head.

"Ow!" Alright, I will confess that that particular comment was uncalled for and most likely undeserved. My apologies, Princess." Despite his second bow (to the wall, I might add), he seemed sincere enough, so I spared him further missiles and pulled my gown over my head. Wrapping the blanket around myself, and covering anything he might find interesting, I said,

"All right, you can turn around now and bent to spread my dress out on some marginally-clean boulders. When I stood again, I gasped.

Eomer wasn't wearing a shirt.

There is a significantly large distinction between watching your older brothers strip to practice fencing and standing in a dark cave with a shirtless, handsome young man artfully lit by firelight. Especially when you are, though you hardly admit it to yourself, unwittingly attracted to the man. A furiously beet-red blush spread over my entire body. I felt like I was on fire with embarrassment. I squeezed my eyes shut, but to no avail—it was as though his very impressive physic was burned into the back of my eyelids. Wide chest, beautiful shoulders and upper arms, flat muscled stomach...I slapped my hand over my face in an effort to banish the image but it remained. Just enough golden chest hair to be masculine, but not animalistic like some men...

"Princess? Are you all right?"

"Will you please put on a shirt?" My voice was strained.

"It's wet."

"Aren't you cold or something?"

"The fire is warm enough."

"You're indecent!"

He sounded truly baffled. "What's wrong?"

I sneaked a peek between two fingers. Bad idea. Well, he was sure right when he said the fire was warm. I was quite overheated by then.

"You're sitting around half-naked as casually as if we're back at Edoras having lunch, that's what's wrong." I opened my eyes to glower at him. "How would you feel if I threw off my chemise and pranced around?"

"You really don't want me to answer that question, Princess." His voice was stranger- deeper than usual. Like he'd just woken up. But he grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

"Fine. I'll just be uncomfortable all night. Satisfied?"

"Thank you, Lord Eomer." I said primly. Sitting down on the hard ground, I searched through my saddle bags for something to eat. Or entertain myself with—it might very well be a long night.

"You know, the entire purpose of our little game is to convince our countries we're considering marriage. At the very least you might simply call me Eomer."

"All right." I produced my sketchbook and pencils with relief. The only problem was that Eomer was the only thing interesting enough to draw. Except for the horses, of course, but horses are difficult and I wasn't in the mood for a challenge. "Here's another deal, since you like them so much: Sit still and let me sketch you, and you may call me Lothiriel."

He sat. I drew. I'm a quite amateur artist, but sketching Eomer gave me a nice excuse to look at and study him, so I took my time. The work came out very well, if I do say it myself. It was just a head-and-shoulders portrait, but I like to think I captured his brooding gaze (what did he have to brood over, anyway?), beautiful features, fire-lit eyes, and fair hair, a lock of which fell artfully across one temple. I showed it to him, and he nodded, seeming to approve.

It was still raining torrents. "Now what?" I asked. "Do you know any good stories?"

"I'm afraid not, Lothiriel. I know only those tales that I have lived in, and those do not bear repeating. Do you know any?"

I hesitated. It was not a story I told often, but it was my favorite, because it somehow struck a chord within me. "Well...there is one. It is about how my line came to be. Would you care to hear it?" He nodded.

"Long ago, when the great evil came to be in Moria, a company of Sindarin Elves set out from their homeland to cross the Sea and return to Valinor. They followed their lady Nimrodel, who was journeying to meet her lover, Amroth. But along the way their party was divided, no one knows how or why, and many were lost. Among the survivors was the Elf maid Mithrellas, who found her way to Belfalas, to the home of Imrazor.

"Imrazor gave her shelter, and soon it was more than shelter, it was a home. Mithrellas ignored for a time the call of the Sea, and lived in happiness with the men of Belfalas, and eventually she married Imrazor. By all accounts he loved her deeply, and she him. They had two children, Galador and Gilmith.

"Mithrellas adored her children. They were the light of her life, along with her husband. Galador took after his father, with dark hair and gray eyes, but little Gilmith looked just like her mother. She had hair like the red autumn leaves of the Northern forests, and eyes of the deepest ocean blue. Every time Mithrellas looked at her daughter, she was reminded of that which she had denounced, choosing not to cross the Sea. Yet for a time she was content.

"Yet as her children grew, Mithrellas began to walk more often along the shore. She would stare into the West as the sun sank, singing strange songs in languages Imrazor could not understand. Finally, one morning he woke to find his beloved wife missing. Crying her name, he ran to the bay, but he was too late. She was gone, never to be seen in Middle Earth again.

"Whether she died in the wilderness or came safely to Valinor, no one knows. But her son became the first Prince of Dol Amroth, and from Mithrellas we all are descended." I stopped. That was as much of the tale as I knew.

Eomer looked at me intently. "Why do you tell such a sad tale, Lothiriel? It was well told, by the way."

I squirmed. But I told him the truth with a sigh. "It is ever in my mind, Eomer. Some of the elders spread rumors that my aunt died from the sea-longing that cannot be assuaged. They say that I am the very image of Mithrellas returned again to Middle Earth, and that my face drove my mother to die from the longing as well, though she was not of the house. They whisper that I bring only heartache to those I love, and that when I marry it will awaken the sea-lust within my soul and I will perish from it like she did so many years ago." Somehow I felt as though a burden had been lifted from my chest.

Eomer was thoughtful. "So that is why you do not wish to marry, then. Not only because you despise the men your father has chosen for you—though I can hardly blame you for not marrying someone you dislike—but because you fear to bring pain upon those you love, and perhaps your own death." The rain had died down while we sat inside. Not such a long storm after all, then.

"I do not fear death!" I shouted at him. But it was not anger lending me such passion. The tears I wept were not of fury. "I do not fear Mithrellas—I do not fear anything!" Frantically, I untied my horse and led him to the mouth of the cave. My emotions were in turmoil, but I did not understand why.

Eomer yelled right back at me. "Aye, Lothiriel, you do fear something. You fear whatever it is that you feel for me. I have seen it in your eyes, but you do not acknowledge it. You fear to love anyone because you think love will make you weak, but I tell you, Lothiriel, it will not. You have a spirit within you that makes you stronger than your aunt, stronger than your mother, and most surely stronger than Mithrellas." He tried to stop me from riding out bareback, but I eluded him.

My words were heated with intensity. I think I hated him for a split second, because he had seen through me to my most highly guarded heart of hearts.

"I do not love you!" I cried. Then I rode back to Edoras in the light, gray rain.
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I wept that night.