AN: Thanks soo much for all the reviews! I appreciate it. And I apologizing for this chapter being so slow in coming…life is chaotic and whatnot. Sort of.

PS: My vision of Eomer in this story is a lot like Brad Pitt in 'Seven' only with longer hair. Just so you know. ;)

In another wing of the palace, a dark-haired young woman paced the floor of her room. Occasionally she would pause to stare out her windows at the sunset, but with a sigh she would turn and begin pacing again.

Lothiriel of Dol Amroth- no, she corrected herself, it's of Rohan now, however much I don't like it- had truly expected better of herself. Honestly. She'd known her marriage was politically expedient; she'd been fond of her future husband; and she'd been eager to escape the confines of her own city and see another part of the world. Talk of marriage and weddings had filled the air at the time, those expressions of love a direct contrast to the horrors the world had seen in the years previous. Lothiriel's cousin, Faramir, had wed Eowyn of Rohan, Eomer's sister. Lord Aragorn, the King of Gondor blessedly returned to them, had married Arwen Undomiel, the elf-maiden who had held his heart for many years, soon after assuming the throne. It had seemed only natural that Lothiriel and Eomer follow suit.

Everyone had sworn that they would be perfect for each other and in her rush to do what she felt would truly begin her life as an adult, away from the protective gaze of her father and brothers, Lothiriel had accepted the judgment of her friends without much thought until suddenly (and, annoyingly, after the vows were said) she had realized, on her wedding night, that she did not know the man she had married at all. Oh, she knew about him, all right, and it was all spectacular information about war exploits and bravery and being a wonderful ruler that the people called 'Blessed', but she didn't know him. Not the way wives should know husbands. And then, in her panicked state, she'd been stupid enough to ask if he loved her when she already knew the answer!

As always, when she thought back to her wedding night, Lothiriel winced in embarrassment. She'd known he couldn't really love her, not after so short a time, but she'd just had to ask! And once she actually heard him say he didn't love her, her pride got in the way and ruined everything, as it had a habit of doing. Oh, how could she have been so naïve? Such a foolish little romantic?

So now she had wasted three months of her life behaving childishly. Mother would be disappointed in me, Lothiriel thought. It was the ultimate shame. The entire population of Rohan probably thought she hated her husband (he certainly did), but they were wrong. No, she didn't hate him, she was just so embarrassed over her own behavior that after the initial wounded pride had healed, she couldn't be around Eomer without reliving her humiliation. She couldn't see his face without thinking what he must think of her, a silly little girl, barely out of the school room, possessed of great romantic fantasies. So instead of making peace, she'd driven him further away.

For the past three months, Lothiriel had been able to live with that. But coming to Minas Tirith, and being in the presence of the wildly passionate and successful marriages of her cousin and her liege-lord, had been like a bucket of cold water thrown over her. Her marriage was a disaster, everyone knew it, and she had only herself to blame.

But what was she going to do about it?

If she had been at home, Lothiriel would have gone outside for a walk along the shore. In Rohan, she would have taken a horse out for a good long ride through the countryside. Here in Minas Tirith, she would have to settle for either a brisk walk through the city or a meandering stroll in the gardens. Grimacing at the thought of trying to think amidst the clatter of the city, she sat down on her bed and pulled on a pair of walking boots. It would have to be the garden.

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An hour later, Lothiriel was just as far from a viable solution as she had been earlier. Oh, she knew what she should do. She should walk up to Eomer and say, "I'm sorry for my behavior, husband. I had no right to take out my fears and insecurities on you. Please forgive me."

Unfortunately, that would require that she not only talk to the man, but apologize to him as well. Both things that were, humiliatingly but nevertheless, difficult for Lothiriel to do. It wasn't that she was afraid of Eomer, exactly; it was just that he was so…so very vital. So elemental, and intense, and older than she was. It had been thrilling and attractive during their courtship, yet now, in such close proximity, it made her uneasy.

Not, she admitted to herself, that it isn't still both thrilling and attractive!

By now Lothiriel had reached the far corner of the park-like garden. The cobbled pathway was older-looking here, with more grass growing between the stones. The trees were thick, almost forest-like, and the ground between them was uneven and deeply carpeted with leaves. She found herself wondering what a place like this was doing in the middle of a bustling city. Then something caught her eye.

There, off to her left, was an ancient weeping willow. Through the tree's leaves Lothiriel could make out a standing figure, but it was too dark to distinguish any details. She looked back at the lamps that dotted the pathway behind her, then again toward the willow. Surely there was nothing to worry about…after all, she was in the King's gardens. Shrugging, she stepped off the path and into the forested area.

Where she promptly tripped and fell face-first into a puddle of cold, dirty water.

Muttering expletives she'd learned from her brothers, Lothiriel propped herself up and tried to get to her feet. A twinge of pain passed through her right knee and settled into a throbbing ache. She took a gingerly step and was relieved to find that she could walk in spite of the discomfort. So much for the statue, she thought grimly, and headed back towards the palace.

Then the rain started.

By the time Lothiriel made it inside, her marital problems had been chased from her mind by one driving thought: a hot bath. The shower of rain had quickly grown into a full-fledged thunderstorm, complete with icy, gusting wind. Shivering, she limped into the palace's Western wing and leaned against the door in relief. She allowed herself a moment to enjoy being out of the wind before setting out toward her room.

No sooner had she made it out of the entryway than a footman spotted her. "My lady!" he cried, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, thank you, just a bit chilled. Could you please send someone to draw a hot bath in my room?"

"Of course, of course. But, Lady, you are limping! Please, wait here, I will send for your husband…"

"No!" Lothiriel interrupted, frantic. "The last thing I want is for him to see me like this. I'll be fine. Just…see to the bath, if you would be so good. I'll be in my room shortly." The footman nodded and turned to go, glancing at something over Lothiriel's shoulder just before he left. Beyond noticing such things, she took a few halting steps towards her chamber before being scooped up from behind by a pair of strong arms.

"What happened?" Eomer asked gruffly, setting off down the hall.

"Put me down! I'm all wet," Lothiriel began. She tried valiantly to touch as little of Eomer as possible, but the lure of his body heat was too much. She sank against his chest, grateful to be warm again.

"Did someone come after you? Are you hurt?"

"What? Oh, no, no one else was even there. I tripped and fell in a mud puddle and scraped up my knee or something, and then I got caught in the rain on the way back. Really, my lord, you don't need to carry me. I'm perfectly capable of walking," she said, secretly praying he would refuse. He was so very warm, after all.

"Your dress is torn, you're limping and you're covered with mud and blood and you tell me to let you walk? And please, Lothiriel, I beg of you, don't call me 'my lord' again."

"I'm sorry…Eomer."

"There, now, was that so bad?" She wasn't looking at his face, but she could hear the smile in his voice. Somehow it gave her courage.

"Not just about that….I'm sorry I've been so difficult, Eomer. I was…" Lothiriel's voice broke. Hot tears began falling down her face.

"Shh," he tried to sooth her. "I'm sorry, too, but let's wait until after you're warm and in bed before we have this talk, hmm?"

Lothiriel nodded mutely and buried her face against his tunic.