Hello again. Haven't I updated fast this time? Obviously I have nothing better to do. How sad is that. Lol. Reviewers first-

Blue Eyes At Night- thanks for your help! and I'm glad you're enjoying it! Lol no, no offence taken to anything at all -I hope I haven't scared people off reviewing! Oops. Yes, I reckon I will have to put 'warning: AU' or 'plot-what-plot' on this but hey I'm havign heaps of fun annoying people and also getting nice feedback from peeps like u! lol. do review again xxxx

lady scribe of avandell -you've reviewed before, haven't you? blimey you write a long review, it's like the footnotes to the story or something! (not in a bad way :-)) I am sorry if you think she's a sue but I really can't help it because I'm far too lazy to start again. Good idea about the nickname, I never thought of that (except for Faramir calling her Lothi). In this fic, her brothers cannot have fought in the Pellenor Fields. I'm sorry but as I wasn't even sure about who her brothers were that will have to do. You are obviously an expert on tolkien whereas I am not, which is sad, but a fact of life. I'll tell my current beta to not give up the day job ;-). Thanks for nice parting words, I also think you are a good writer too. Do review again. Hoping that you don't hate my character, I've just made her as likeme as possible, except that she's mildly pretty. xxx

Sarah- thanks so much for those, they will crop up later. You're a key.


Ok in this chapter we get the bit where Eomer and Lothiriel get over their differences and suddenly want to get it on. Before you all flameme for moving too fast, this is based on life, so hopefully it's not too bad. I also owe the reviewer who i think was called lady hades or something an apology, as I checked her stories after my comeback at her for her flame, and she is no longer (it appears) having big arguments. So let us all hope that all users have found peace with each other. On with the tale.

disclaimer -if i really owned Eomer do u think he would be after Lothi? Oh NO, he would be after Me Me Me. So there. All I own is a computer and a wild imagination where people can catch arrows with their bare hands :-) -enjoy.


The Tale of Éomer and Lothíriel.

PART SIX.

Éomer awoke in the night. It was dark, the archway onto the balcony glimmering in the gloom with shells and pearls from the deep. He could see the chink of silver light though a gap in the dark curtains of his bed. Something rustled again and he sat bolt upright, groping for the knife he kept under the pillow on the unoccupied side. Perhaps servants came to clean in the night but he was usually too far asleep to notice? He tried to concentrate, pinpoint the sound, but his head was groggy with sleep.

He had had a filling meal and a tankard… or few of mead, and was feeling slightly weighted down. He had been so engrossed in avoiding the Princess, who he was now completely sure absolutely detested him, that he had just concentrated on his food and his conversation with Faramir and Aragorn as they all discussed the possibility of building better roads between their main cities. It had been a new subject to him, and Gimli had managed almost to lose him completely when he had pitched in his penny about the best, most hardwearing types of rock they would probably require. This sort of talk was what he had advisors for, but they had already retired. However, he had tried his hardest to look knowledgeable. You can't know everything, he reasoned, and tried to drink in their words in the hopes of learning something other than the emptiness at the bottom of the tankard he was holding. Anything to withdraw his gaze from Legolas and Lothíriel, who were talking animatedly. When he had felt his jealousy peaking, he had felt it best to excuse himself. But not before he had kissed the lady's hand.

Now he had awoken in the night.

He nearly had a heart attack when the curtains were suddenly wrenched open and to his absolute horror, Lothíriel was standing there, looking very awake, with a large roll of parchments under her arm.

"Oh good, you're awake, son of Eomund," she said, briskly, eyeing the knife which he quickly dropped over the side of the bed.

Éomer's first thought was that thank the Valar he wasn't sleeping in the nude. "I, ahem, um…" he said, incoherently, finding himself in the most surreal situation.

"Budge up," said Lothíriel, wickedly, slinging the papers onto his lap and wriggling under the blanket, "by the Valar your bed's cold, isn't it?"

"I, er, um… what?"

"I've come to talk strategy. You have a reputation as a good strategy-man, Éomer King."

"In bed?" asked Éomer, incredulously, now completely awake and extremely perturbed by this incredibly unbelievable situation.

"I find that men are more persuadable in bed."

"Oh."

"I did hope to talk to you earlier, of course, but it wasn't to be. I can't ambush orcs with you tomorrow unless we hone our strategy TOGETHER. So, here I am. Is that okay?"

"…Yes." Éomer collected himself and surveyed the pieces of parchment, which it transpired were the minutes of the council meeting. He steeled himself. War. He could do this. He could do it blindfolded with his arm tied behind his back. Woman in his bed, or no woman in his bed. Right. Get it together. OK. "Well the location has been pre-arranged as you will have seen. Our forces combined, being the first to attack the massing force, must be prepared to cover all escape areas. Scouts will be required…"

They must have talked into the early hours, until both were of the same mind and their voices were hoarse. Lothíriel had grudgingly admitted to herself, that this man was a blessing. Her expression had cleared to open admiration, as Éomer's experience, so superior to her own, had uncluttered her mind. If Éomer had not steeled himself to forget her beauty for one night, he might have seen it and begun to hope.

The shades of sleep began to fall away and the King of Rohan moved over. His elbow touched something warm and his jolted awake, recalling the night's events in a flash. Lothíriel was still in his bed, hair a mangled mess on the pillow, one hand cushioning her head, the other arm extending over the other side of the bed. He swallowed, and slipped out of the bed, trying to make as little noise or movement as possible. Lothíriel mumbled and turned over, bunching up the blankets. He stared at her. He hadn't seen anything to wild and so beautiful in all his life, and he had known many women. Even loved a few.

He glanced down at his crumpled clothes, then back at Lothíriel. She was most definitely asleep. He opened the bed curtains and rooted around for a cleaner, less creased tunic that looked presentable enough to wear to breakfast with Prince Imrahil.

Lothíriel opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. That was not her ceiling. Her ceiling had a fresco of shells covering it. This ceiling was swirls of white and green. This was not her ceiling. She must still be in his bed, then. That could be awkward. She had felt confident and controlled in the night, when it was too dark to see anything bitter… or any attraction. She turned over quietly and slid both her hands under her face. The curtains were open and she registered Éomer with his back to her. She was about to decide on some witty comment to start the day with but her voice caught in her throat as he suddenly whipped his shirt off and started groping for another one.

Lothíriel's heart was in her mouth.

Éomer had a very toned physique, the smooth planes of his back segregated with old, fading battle scars. His tan was deep, golden and uneven, and in her mind's eye she fancied she saw him riding across rolling fields, revelling in his horse and the exhilarating sun. He tensed, shoulders becoming extremely still. Then he turned.

Éomer had suddenly sensed her eyes on him. She would probably say something clever and cutting now and he would have to think of something to say back… He would have to do it. He must turn and face her. Look her in the eye.

Hunger.

Lust.

Desire.

Those were emotions he had most definitely NOT expected to encounter.

Lothíriel's lips quivered. He stood staring at her as she looked at him shamelessly. 'This is not how a lady is supposed to behave…' the small voice that was her conscience, a voice that always sounded like her father, was a long, long way off, shouting desperately. Her head was swimming, her heart was jumping, and her stomach was about to explode. They stared at each other. The beating of their hearts was clanging madly in the silent room.

Éomer wrestled for a second. Reason told him to turn around right now, put his tunic on and leg it out of there before he did anything stupid. 'Like kissing her?' said a little voice. 'I want to kiss her.' He had never been surer of anything in his life.

Lothíriel swallowed. 'No, no, it would be the worst thing for my position… for my reputation… for my…' Éomer took three paces across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. They both looked absolutely petrified. It was make or break time. 'I really want to touch that man…' Lothíriel reached out and touched the thin scar under Éomer's right pectoral. His resolve broke into a hundred pieces jumped out of the window.

"Lothíriel…" Éomer lent down and brushed his lips close to hers. Their breaths intermingled, at the brink of the meeting of their mouths. Lothíriel felt like she was in excruciating pain for a second, before Éomer bent his head to seal the kiss…

RA-TA-TAT-TAT. RA-TA-TAT-TAT.

The figures on the bed sprang apart just before their lips could touch, leaping with terror at the loud rapping on the door. "My Lord Éomer!" said a voice. The King glanced back at Lothíriel, who gulped and slid under the blanket and out of sight. Éomer dragged on the tunic he had picked out and collected himself, masking his face from expression. He cleared his throat, and opened the door.

"Good morning."

"Good morning my Lord. Prince Imrahil sends word that breakfast will be served at ten when he returns from his private assembly. I hope that you slept well? We take it as an honour that you decided against being billeted with your men. Is there any other wish you may name for your present welcome?"

Éomer adjusted his tunic. Sneaking a glance at the bed he noticed a curl of brown hair snaking onto the pillow. "No such wish, I thank you. Please send word to the Prince that I shall attend him directly after I have met with my advisors. The hospitality of this house remains unrivalled."

"Very good my Lord, the Prince shall be informed directly. Good morning."

Éomer closed the door and rested his forehead against it for a second.

"I should get to my chambers before they miss me. Excuse me." Lothíriel swept past him quickly and left. He felt cold for a second, and foolish. They could have both been in trouble. Then he turned to change his trousers and put his boots on.


ta-da. please review in a peaceful manner, love skinnyrita xxx