Lothiriel, princess of Dol Amroth, daughter of Imrahil, had never hesitated before telling anyone what she thought of him. Just because the King of Rohan was shooting spears at her from his sea-green eyes did not mean she was going to start now.
"You, sir, are vulgar." She snapped angrily and crossed her arms.
"I would tread softly if I were you, Lady. You insult a king." Eomer growled at Lothiriel. She snorted.
"The king of a horse's behind may still call himself royalty, and you show as much tact." Lothiriel's hands were on her hips, and she was on the verge of shaking a finger in the King's face.
Eomer gaped. His handsome, lightly bearded jaw dropped and his eyes widened. Brows raised, he retorted,
"And a shrew can apparently still judge those she barely knows." The furious blonde man took several steps towards Lothiriel, which she matched by quick retreats backward. Soon they were standing in a small storage room—a closet, really—off the main hallway in Meduseld.
"I may be a shrew, but at least I have manners enough not to tell lewd jokes at a table where women are present!" Glowering at each other, Eomer and Lothiriel failed to notice Eowyn quietly closing the door until the lock clicked shut and they were trapped in musty darkness.
Lothiriel pushed past Eomer to pound on the door and try the knob. Shouting accomplished nothing more than to strain her voice. Wheeling around, she smacked into Eomer (the closet seemed much smaller now) and demanded angrily that he break down the door.
She heard him snort before he replied, "The doors in my home are strong, Lady, and even if I could, I would not knock one of them down simply for your sake. Someone will be along soon enough."
Lothiriel muttered a very unlady-like expletive. Eomer hid his amusement at her amateur swearing.
"Well, this isn't exactly my idea of fun, either." He began sliding his hands along the walls.
"What are you doing?"
"Seeing how much room we have." Eomer hardly had to move to feel his way around the entire perimeter. "Not much," he grumbled. Lothiriel slid dejectedly to the floor. After a moment of silence she spoke.
"What is this room used for, anyway?" Fiddling with her skirt, she tried to make herself smaller as Eomer sat down beside her.
"Uh…linens mostly…which I'm grateful for. Imagine if we were trapped in here leaning up against dishes!"
The irony and humor of the situation finally got the better of Lothiriel, and she began giggling. Eomer chuckled at her giggles, and soon she was laughing outright at his chuckling.
_~_~_~_~_~_~_
Eowyn straightened upright and tiptoed away from the closet door. Smiling to herself, she walked over to join her husband, Faramir, who was guarding the hallway to keep potential rescuers away.
"Well? How are they coming?" He asked with a grin as she reached him.
"Laughing like old friends at the hilarity of their predicament." Eowyn leaned up to peck Faramir on the cheek. "I have no doubts that in another hour or so they'll be…" she trailed off.
"Eowyn? What is it?" Faramir looked puzzled.
"Maybe we shouldn't leave them alone together, in the dark like that…" A thought had just occurred to Eowyn.
Faramir chuckled. "I doubt they'll manage to kill each other, if that's what you're worried about."
His wife shook her head. "No, quite the opposite actually. I've never seen such chemistry between two people before. What if Eomer takes advantage of her?" Eowyn took a step back towards the closet but Faramir grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back against him, nuzzling her neck.
"What about the sparks that flew between us, hmm? I managed to keep my hands off you until our wedding night."
Eowyn giggled. "Yes, but you're quite different from my brother. His conquests are somewhat legendary."
"Don't worry. I'm sure he has more sense than to compromise a princess."
_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_
After the laughter died down, Lothiriel and Eomer sat side by side in comfortable quiet for a few moments. Eomer broke the silence with a question; he was succumbing to a strange urge that had begun plaguing him—to get to know the Princess of Dol Amroth better.
"So, my Lady. What do you think of Rohan so far?"
Lothiriel pondered a moment before answering. "Well," she began. "It's very different from home. Sunnier, and windier, and a little colder. But it's beautiful in its own savage way. Not like the sea, though."
Eomer could vaguely make out her form in the dark. She was lovely herself, he thought, with her long dark hair and deep blue eyes.
"Please forgive me my lady, but I have never found the sea to be particularly inspiring. Just league after league of flat blue water, all the same. Now take our plains, for example. Ever inch is different. You can ride for days and never see a landscape the looks exactly the same."
Lothiriel smiled at his ignorance and turned toward him. "But the sea is always changing, my Lord. Sometimes it's blue and flat, yes…but other times it will be gray, or green like your eyes, and choppy or stormy, or the sun glances off the water and it seems almost alive."
"I shall take your word for it, Princess; for I find that so much continuous water makes me nervous. Don't," Eomer abruptly added, "tell your father I said that, please. I'd never hear the end of it!"
Lothiriel laughed. "What? The King of Rohan, frightened of a little water? How am I to keep this to myself?"
"Nervous, not frightened. And it's more than a 'little water' and you know it!"
"So you claim!" Lothiriel laughed harder. "What will you do if I spread this about?"
"You won't—I'll shut your mouth myself first." Without warning, Eomer reached over, pulled Lothiriel's head towards him, and kissed her.
It was Lothiriel's first real kiss, and she found that she liked it very much. So much, in fact, that she quite eagerly allowed Eomer to lift her onto his lap and fold her into a tight embrace. The kiss deepened. Lothiriel strained towards Eomer, desperate to hang onto the wonderful tingly feeling that was spreading through her body. Soon, the King's hands were roaming freely over and under her bodice, and they were both moaning rather loudly.
And that was how Prince Imrahil, having slipped past a similarly occupied Eowyn and Faramir, found them.
THE END