::disclaimer:: don't own it. so there.

Unpleasantness Forgotten

Lothíriel was eating the lunch that had been brought to her when he knocked on the door. She knew it was him even before he spoke; no one else would come to the solar unless summoned.

"Lothíriel?" he asked. "Please, might I come in?" She smiled slightly. He had not tried the door. Had he done so, he could have allowed himself in. "I can understand why you would be upset with me," he said. She could hear him moving outside she assumed he was sitting against the door. "I did not know you like to ride side-saddle. Few people in Rohan have ever seen such contraptions, and those that have believe that they are ridiculous."

Secretly, Lothíriel agreed with him. She was quite certain that riding side-saddle was part of the reason she could not master the skill. After all, her brothers had taught her to ride, and none of them knew anything about side-saddles. Now that she thought about it, she realized she had over-reacted when he had called side-saddles "abominations." He had only been stating a fact.

"But Lothíriel," Éomer said, drawing her away from her thoughts, "I would very much like to make it up to you. I would like to start over. We never had a chance to get to know each other before the wedding, and I am very sorry for that. You deserve better."

Something in his plea touched Lothíriel's heart. She stood and went to the door. She opened it slightly and peered out at her husband. He sat leaning against the wall and had not noticed the opened door. She took a deep breath and spoke. "Would you like to come in?"

He stood quickly, brushing off his pants. "If it is all right with you."

She nodded and let him in. "I am sorry I don't have more food than this," she said, indicating her lunch as they sat at the table. "I wasn't expecting to be sharing."

"I already ate," he assured her.

"Oh, of course," she said, and they fell into an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Lothíriel could not stand it. "I'm sorry for being angry," she blurted. "Everything here is just so foreign to me. In Dol Amroth, all ladies ride only side—"

"I said we would start over, and I meant it. Forget about this morning. Forget these past three months. I want to do this correctly." He stood and bowed elegantly to her. "My lady," he said, taking her hand, "I am Éomer, son of Éomund, and am king of the Riddermark. Might I inquire of your name?"

Lothíriel stood as well and curtseyed, playing along. "You may," she replied, "and I shall tell you. I am Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, and am a princess of Dol Amroth."

"And what has brought you to my fair country?" he asked.

"A wedding," she murmured. "Between a princess and a king. It occurred months ago, but the princess has been unhappy." Lothíriel sat back down.

"Why?" Éomer asked, also returning to his seat. "It seems that this king would grant her every wish were she only to ask."

"Would he?" she asked, distant. "I believe she is unhappy because she is frightened. Her husband is an intimidating man even when he does not mean to be. She has been married to him for three months, and he has yet to exercise his rights as a husband. This frightens her more than lying with him every night: anticipation and anxiety. Not knowing what – what to expect." A singled tear spilled down her face.

"Lothíriel, you don't ever have to be afraid of me," he said, brushing the tear away. "Never." This declaration only furthered her tears, and she struggled to regain control of her emotions.

Finally, her tears subsided. He continued to wipe them away, and she leaned into his touch. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For hating you."

"It does not matter," he said. "We are starting over. Fresh, clean. As if we are only courting. And we shall take it one step at a time. Nothing new until you are ready."

Her tears threatened to surface again. "Why are you so good to me?"

"Too many women have wasted away before my eyes. My mother, when my father was killed. My sister, when the Worm followed her….I cannot watch my wife do the same." He smiled slightly. "Besides, Éothain is very convincing."

"Yes," she agreed. When he frowned, she quickly explained, "He suggested I ask for the riding lessons."

"Ah. So all this is his fault! Shall I throw him in the dungeons or do we give him a week of mucking the stables?"

"You could send him on a pointless mission to Dale."

Éomer shook his head. "I might need his advice, and it is far easier to talk to someone down the stairs in a dungeon than someone a thousand leagues away."

Lothíriel laughed. "Then send him to the dungeons."

They spent the afternoon like that, talking and laughing, their earlier unpleasantness forgotten for the time being. The day wore on, giving way to evening. Éomer had their dinner brought to their rooms. It was their first meal together since their wedding, though neither made mention of it.

All too soon, it grew late, and Éomer rose to lay out his cot. On impulse, Lothíriel grasped his hand as he passed. She looked into his eyes and said, "Do not sleep on the floor tonight, not on my account." He looked at her, a question in his eyes, but nodded slowly.

"I shall go change clothes," he said, and he went into the bedchamber.

Lothíriel followed, gathering up her nightgown and robe and going into the bath. What she had just done had been risky, certainly, and she hoped he had not taken her words for more than what she meant. Her fears were allayed, however, when she returned to the bedchamber to find him already beneath the blankets. She crossed the room to the bed and climbed in beside him. Without a word, he blew out the last of the candles.

It was strangely comforting, having the warmth of another person in her bed. Lothíriel listened to her husband's steady breathing. She rolled over and looked at him. He lay on his back, sleeping peacefully. She smiled softly and rolled over again, pulling the blankets over her shoulders.

The city was burning. Great fires spread as the people ran, chased by orcs and other fell creatures. Lothíriel darted through the crowd, shouting for her husband. They had become separated in the rush to escape the burning city, and she had lost him. A building collapsed nearby, and she could hear the screams of those still inside. She ran on, searching for a way to escape the raging fires and plundering orcs. At last, she found a short respite in a garden that was still untouched by the blaze. Even the cries of the people seemed muted in that small oasis. She shook as she stood, trying to catch her breath. She had been running and searching for an eternity, it seemed, but she had seen no sign of her husband anywhere. She looked around the garden, hoping to find him there. A man was standing with his back to her, looking over the destruction of the city. She walked to him, planning to ask him if he had seen her husband. He turned to her and spoke. "You look for your husband, yes?" She nodded mutely. The man smiled. "He will be brought to you." He clapped his hands twice, and two orcs came into the garden, dragging a hooded body between them. The man pulled off the hood, and Lothíriel gasped. Her husband! The man smiled at her again, malice clear on his face. She watched in horror as he drew his sword. The man brought it toward Éomer's neck as Lothíriel screamed.

A/N: sorry about the cliffie, i just couldn't resist. never fear, the next chapter is coming along quite nicely, so you won't have to wait too long. maybe. i hope you guys like the more toned-down lothiriel…the way i figure it, eomer just tries to be nice at the wrong time of the month, if you know what i mean.
and just a quick note to lady golodwen: yeah, they usually had separate rooms, but the story would lose some of its tension.