A/N: awww...thankies guys. and, as a treat, since my last chapter was pretty short (in comparison to some of my others) this chappie is pretty long! enjoy!::disclaimer:: you know the drill. btw, the potbelly pony and the schnookered grasshopper are both names of rpg "inns" my rpg characters have visited. saberman's and the laughing bards belong to me.

Chapter V

"What did she mean by that?" asked Éomer as he half-ran behind Lothíriel, still trying to organize the tangle of riddles the two women had made.

"Oh, nothing," she answered flippantly. "Now, hurry up. We have to go change."

"Change?"

"Well, we can't very well go to Saberman's Pub in what we're wearing now." She glanced at Éomer, who was wearing a simple tunic and breeches. "Or at least, I can't."

"But I thought we were going on a picnic," he sputtered.

"Of course not! Why in the world would we want to go on a picnic? I mean, the ocean's alright, but the tide is low and believe me, you don't want to be on the beach when the tide is low." She grinned. "Besides, you don't strike me as the picnic type."

Éomer considered telling her that it was true, he had not really wanted to go on a picnic, but then he thought better of it. "So where are we going?" he asked instead, following close behind her.

"I told you. Saberman's Pub. But first I must change....I'd rather not be waited upon hand and foot." She paused at a door in the hallway. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

She opened the door, and Éomer caught a glimpse of the room as she stepped inside. It was similar to his own, and he realized it was her bedroom. Blushing profusely, he turned away quickly, looking for a place to sit and wait. There was a small alcove across the hall with a seat built into the wall. He walked over and sat, waiting patiently and wondering what, exactly, the princess was getting him into.

It wouldn't take long for him to find out, because Lothíriel came out of her room in a flurry of skirts moments later. "Shall we?" she asked, crossing the hall and taking his hand.

Éomer rose and linked arms with her, taking in the plain blue dress she now wore. "You look very nice," he said as they walked down the hallway.

"Thank you," replied Lothíriel. "I've always loved this dress." She flounced the skirt, making it billow slightly. "It's very...freeing. I feel like I can move and not have to worry about tripping or tearing the skirt. It's wonderful for the summer festivals; it's good for dancing," she said with a gleam in her eye.

"Dancing? What sort of dancing?"

"You'll just have to wait and see," she answered. By this time, they had exited the palace through a small gate in one of the gardens and were making their way through winding alleys toward the docks.

"What did you say the name of the pub was?" Éomer had noticed they passed many taverns, all of which had colorful names such as The Potbelly Pony Pub, The Laughing Bards Tavern, and, his favorite, The Schnookered Grasshopper.

"Saberman's. The finest ale this side of Rohan, or so they claim. I wouldn't know, I've never been to your country. I was hoping you'd be able to tell us if it's true." She stopped suddenly, which jolted Éomer backwards.

"What?"

"I just remembered. While we're at the docks and in the pub, I'm not Lothíriel, I'm Marrina. Don't call me Lothíriel. If you do, my charade will be revealed, and I'll never be able to just sit around and be one of the customers ever again. Do you understand?" She looked at him with a piercing gaze.

He nodded. "Anonymity is a wonderful respite from many things, my lady."

She shook her head at him. "Don't even call me that. I'm Marrina, you'll address me as such." She began walking again.

"Does anyone else know who you are?" he asked.

Lothíriel nodded. "Erulehton, and his sister, Aela. They own the pub. Bought it from Old Man Saberman a couple years ago. Erulehton took me home one night after I, ahem, overdid it a little, and that's when he found out. He promised not to tell a soul, though." She fell silent, which caused Éomer to wonder if there was more to the story than two friends looking out for one another. He did not ask, though, for he had only met the princess the day before, and besides, moments later, Lothíriel guided him into a building. "Here we are," she said, her voice once more filled with laughter. "Do you want to sit at the bar or a table?"

"The bar would be fine." Éomer looked around as she took him to the bar. The pub was smoky, both from a low fire and many customers with pipes in hand. In one corner, a duo were playing a rather subdued reel on guitar and fiddle. There were several games of checkers and chess going on, as well as a game of poker, the stakes seeming to be who payed for lunch ("You cheated! I saw you take that card out of your sleeve! I'm not paying for yours!").

As Lothíriel walked through the room, there was a chorus of "hallo's" and "ahoy, Marrina's." She smiled gaily and greeted each well-wisher in turn. If Éomer had not known her true identity, he would have found it hard to believe the girl had not grown up in the pub. "Hallo, Erulehton," she said, sliding into an empty barstool.

"Afternoon, Marrina," said the man from behind the bar, winking at her. He was a young man, near in age to Éomer. He had short-cropped hair, a narrow face, and smiling eyes. "Who's your friend?" He gestured to Éomer.

Lothíriel leaned over the bar. "The emissary from Rohan," she whispered conspiratorially. "He's in my keeping until Lord Imrahil and his sons return from Dor-en-Ernil."

"Ah. Welcome, then, Master Horse-lord, to Dol Amroth and Saberman's pub. I'm Erulehton, if Marrina hasn't mentioned it." He stuck out his hand, and Éomer shook it firmly.

"I'm Éomer," he returned, though he eyed the other man warily.

Erulehton nodded and turned back to Lothíriel. "You here for drinks, food, or loitering?" he asked with a grin.

She returned the grin. "How about all three?"

"As you wish. What'll it be?"

"Do you have any of that crab that Valen brought in yesterday?"

"No--" Lothíriel looked crestfallen "--but he brought more this morning. Would you like some?"

"Most definitely." Erulehton nodded curtly and headed into the kitchen.

"Loth--Marrina," Éomer asked quietly, "what is crab?"

"It's a crustacean, a shell-fish. It's very good, I'm sure you'll like it," she assured him. "I love dipping it in butter." She sighed. "It's delicious."

Erulehton reappeared moments later with three large mugs of ale. "Here y'are," he said. "The food'll be out before too much longer. Aela's fixing it right now. Now tell me, Marrina, what have you been up to? I haven't seen you for a few days."

"I've been taking care of Adar's business while he's gone. Not much has happened except the arrival of Théoden-king's emissary. Mostly boring things." She smiled. "What have you been doing?"

"Business as usual," he answered nonchalantly. "How's your sister?"

"Sara's fine. She wanted me to thank you for the stew you and Aela sent. It was greatly appreciated."

"Good, good," he said. "Speaking of Aela, I'd best go check on your food. I'll be back in a minute."

Meanwhile, Éomer had been sitting in silence, watching the customers with little interest. The poker players had finally settled their differences, the supposed cheater agreeing to pay for his own meal. Both games of checkers were over, but one of the chess games was still going strong. Éomer could tell it would probably end in a stalemate. The musicians had begun a song about a girl who fell in love with a sailor. It was bittersweet, for though he gave her many gifts from around the world, the sailor could not marry her ("My life, my love, and my lady is the sea").

"So how are you liking Dol Amroth so far?" asked a voice from behind Éomer. He turned to see a young woman walking out of the kitchen, two plates of what appeared to be long, bony fingers in her hands. She set them down in front of Éomer and Lothíriel. "I'll bring you a bucket, butter, and some shell-crackers in a minute."

"Thank you, Aela," called Lothíriel. She immediately picked up one of the fingers and snapped it easily in half. She took a bite out of it and looked over at Éomer, who was merely staring at his plate. "Well," she said, "are you going to eat?"

He looked at her, incredulous. "You didn't say I'd be eating hands!"

Lothíriel gave him a concerned look and then burst into laughter. Éomer scowled. "It's only crab legs," she explained, "although I could see how someone unused to them would believe them to be hands. Trust me, you're not eating anyone's fingers."

"What's this about fingers?" asked Aela as she walked into the main room again.

Lothíriel burst into laughter again. "Our darling Horse-lord thought you brought him a plate of fingers, rather than crab."

"Oh, I see." She turned to Éomer, a grin upon her face. "I promise you, good sir, that this is the bounty of the sea and there is no one going around missing their hands. At least, not on my account."

Éomer merely blushed and began to crack open a crab leg. It was a most delicious meal, and years later, he would say it was one of the best he'd ever had, despite what followed.

A/N: how's that for a cliffie? oh yeah...fifty points to the person who knows what song i borrowed the lyrics from.