Hello! See I'm going to the effort of updating fast! Ok, reviewers...

Barneyrubble -u always send me lovely reviews so thanks!!

Sandry of Ruatha -oh no! I didn't know about her brothers! -shows how well I've done the research doesn't it. Oh poo. I've put hints about her brothers in this chapter and there will be further info throughout -you're giving me more to write! lol. thanks for your review, please review again to tell me what you think of the next parts!

Rocket -yes I think a little Legolas action is in order. I mean, hey, a girl's gotta have some fun, right? lol.

Striding tortoise -thanks!!! and I also love your name.

On we go!

oh. disclaimer. didn't write LOTR -can you believe it??

The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.

PART THREE.

There was a rather awkward silence. Éomer's jaw clenched and unclenched. Lothíriel flared her nostrils. A gust of wind blew across the walls and ruffled their hair and the horsehair on Éomer's helm. He cleared his throat.

"Apologies. It is not our custom in Rohan."

"You are not in Rohan," said Lothíriel. Imrahil coughed, pointedly. "Please feel free to remove your helm, my Lord, and accept our hospitality. Your generosity in aiding us has not gone unheeded." She offered him her hand but she didn't want him to take it. So, this man had never heard of a woman commanding troops? He was clearly all muscle and no manners. Éomer took her hand gently and kissed it. He did not want to. Who ever heard of a woman leading an army? The sea air had clearly addled the brains of Prince Imrahil. For despite Eowyn's past luck, women were clearly far weaker than men.

"My servant will let you to your rooms to be refreshed before dinner," said Imrahil. The guests began to disband. Lothíriel scowled at Éomer's back as Cerahil led him away. He had not removed his helmet. "Not well done," said Imrahil, rounding on her.

"He was rude, father. If he will not address me as a Lady I will not call him Lord or Liege."

"This is POLITICS!" snapped her father. Lothíriel flinched. The guards beside the door pretended not to notice. The Prince took some breaths. "The alliance of men matters to all of us. And the treatment of guests matters to ME. I know you are a great leader, because that is who I brought you up to be. But this is a man who has never been to these shores. Had your brothers not... have you not considered, my darling, that you might not have been in the position you have now?"

Lothíriel's arms began shaking and she gripped her elbows. "Don't ever say what if, father, don't you ever. Sometimes I don't think it is enough that I am here." Her father sighed and made a move as if to place a hand on her wrist. "Don't! Just don't. I know how much this means to you. And I know every single day that I am wearing the uniform that my brothers should have worn. Don't you think I feel that just as keenly as you? But I am a good leader, father. I know people don't always believe it, not even you, but I fill this post and work tirelessly for it and I am content. I will not be patronised by any man who thinks I am weak just because I am a woman. Just –let's not talk about it any more. I'll see you at dinner, I have to go and put on a dress or something." She kissed him on the cheek and swept into the house, her bare feet pattering on the cold white stone. Prince Imrahil leaned his elbows on the parapet and laced his fingers together.

The kitchen staff had outdone themselves with an array of seafood and sauces. Éomer, Gimli and Legolas, who had never been given the opportunity of eating such dishes, eyed them with slight trepidation, but Aragorn was eagerly discussing the availability of mussels with Prince Imrahil, who sat at one end of the table resplendent in some finery dug out of a long forgotten chest. His youngest daughters, who were on their best behaviour, sat quietly nearer the other end, adorably attired in matching dresses. They thought they looked quite the elegant Ladies, and the servants would comment afterwards how well they had behaved and how proud everyone was to have them as ambassadors for Dol Amroth. Along the lengthy and beautiful table sat the guests, who including the various advisors and captains of the now more numerous armies, there had assembled quite a crowd. There were no women amongst these. They were all waiting on a woman.

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, eyeing the food. The two little princesses grew restless. "Any moment now," Imrahil muttered to Aragorn who smiled.

"Arwen is always late to any dinner. I have a mind to throw all her dresses away so that she doesn't have the choice to keep others waiting."

"It's not her choice that worries me," said Imrahil, "only whether she will bother wearing shoes."

"Her royal highness, Princess Lothíriel, commander of the Three Companies!" declared the herald. The men rose. Lothíriel blushed and prayed for the ground to swallow her. The only spare seat was opposite King Éomer. 'Thank you, father,' she thought. 'Thank the Valar, she's wearing shoes,' thought the Prince.

The Princess walked up to the table to take her place. Her dress, as she came into the candlelight, was long and white and elegant, criss-crossed with pale blue ribbons. Her hair hung loose and shining to her elbows, and there was a circlet on her head incorporating the swan and ship. She was like a mermaid risen from the ocean. Éomer looked down at his plate and bit his bottom lip. He was angry that her looks were affecting him. There were no women such as her in the whole of the Mark. She was a distraction. 'That is why there are no women in battle,' he thought, and as they all became seated again he endeavoured not to look at her. But he failed miserably.

They were soon well into the meal. The men around her were relating past battles and getting stuck into the mead. Lothíriel sat bored, trying to act ladylike and not drink too much or spill her food or give into the urge to get her own pipe out. She observed the King of Rohan in between mouthfuls. She loved his hair, and it was really, really annoying her. It was long, as long as her own, but gold/brown, like corn caught in the sunlight. It was different to the long, even blonde-white of Legolas' hair. She could imagine Éomer's hair rippling out behind him in the wind... 'This is it,' she told herself, 'my entertainment for the entire evening will be the comparison of people's hair.' She did not tell herself how attractive Éomer was without his helmet on. Now and then she locked his amber-eyed gaze. But all she thought she could see was mocking: who ever heard of a woman commanding armies?

Legolas managed to engage the princess for a while and found her lively and open. Her laugh was like the surf rolling up the shoreline. His sapphire gaze fascinated her. She had never seen such a beautiful man before.

"You're the first elf I have met, my Lord," she said to him, later on in the evening. The main guests had retired to a more intimate sitting room. Large sofas and armchairs had been pulled close to the fire, the minstrels were playing, and smoke rings were chasing each other over the ceiling.

"I am glad to hear it," said Legolas, sombrely, "because they would likely be leaving Middle-Earth." They were sitting a little apart from the rest of the group. One of the captains was dancing with the elder or Lothíriel's younger sisters. Aragorn was watching them with a small smile on his ageing face, as if recalling a long lost memory. "But I see some Elvish blood in you, my Lady."

"Just a little."

"Would you care to dance?"

"I would."

They moved as a graceful unit, and some of the conversationalists turned to watch them: The Prince of Mirkwood and the Princess of Dol Amroth. Something in Éomer's stomach plummeted.

"You have round ears." They had moved out onto the large stone balcony off the sitting room, which glowed orange behind them.

Lothíriel laughed. The sound drifted down into the sleepy city like the clear ringing of bells. "What?"

"Your ears," repeated Legolas, stretching out a finger to touch the curve of it. "They're round. I thought they would look more pointed, but I'm thinking of ages long past." His finger travelled half way down her neck. Lothíriel breathed in.

"I am not an elf."

"I know, but-"

Someone coughed. Lothíriel broke away from the closeness quickly. She had not realised how dangerous it could be for her reputation and her father's to go to a private place, alone, with a man she had only just met. It was Éomer.

"Forgive me," he cleared his throat. Lothíriel realised that her hand was still on Legolas' chest to push him away and removed it hastily. "My men are retiring now, I just came to offer my respects, and apologise again, I- Goodnight, my Lady."

"Goodnight, I will see you in counsel tomorrow morning," said Lothíriel, her head was whirling with embarrassment. Éomer kissed her briefly on the hand and walked away. Her cheeks were flaming.

"I should do the same," said Legolas quietly. He bowed and returned to the main body of the room. She faintly heard him say goodnight to the other men. She remained on the balcony until the last one had gone. She did not remember it but Éomer had been the only man to seek her out. Just to kiss her hand.


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