Chapter One: The Economy is Going to the Dogs

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any other Tolkien work which lends itself to this work. I did not make any money off of this work. Don't try suing me; I am a high-school student (without a job), and the most you could get off of me is four hundred dollars, which will not even cover court costs.

Rating: At Teen for now, to be safe. Any complaints or suggestions about rating should be sent in a review (I take anonymous reviews). It should not go into Mature, and will actually probably go down.

Pairings: Éomer/ Lothíriel, Aragorn/ Arwen, Legolas/ OC (but they won't enter hardly)

Explainations: I will tell you up front I will be using the term "bitch." However, it will be used in the strictest, dog-breeding sense and I am using it because it is the true, correct term for the female of the domestic canine species. If even that bothers you, I advise you to leave. Now.

Éomer never thought he'd ever be King of the Mark; that was supposed to be Théodred's job.

"Do not delude yourself, cousin. Our country does not have a good record for having the firstborn sons of kings actually inheriting their father's positions. You may be king yet," Théodred had once told him, long ago, once Éomer had stated firmly that his destiny was to be a Marshal. Actually, he technically was a Marshal still- First Marshal of the Mark, another title for the King. But sitting next to the High King of Gondor at one of the Gondorian councils was not helping him maintain that one position which he didn't feel bewildered by.

Éomer was cursing himself over and over as the Royal Treasurer droned on. He had not bothered to learn about those sorts of things when he was certain he was to be only a Marshal. True, he did learn arithmetic at his lessons as a boy, but that was hardly sufficient to cover the economic future of a country. It was actually hardly enough to cover the property needs of a Third Marshal!

Apparently Aragorn hadn't the slightest idea what was going on either. Éomer had noticed, through a week of observation, the twitch that Aragorn got above his right eye every time someone said anything about "per capita" or used any other foul economic term that sailed right over his head like an arrow. However, Aragorn had a legion of people behind him who did know what "per capita" meant whom he could ask as soon as this evil council session ended. Unfortunately, none of the "educated" Rohirrim had come to Minas Tirith with the soldiers, and Éomer personally doubted that he'd be able to find someone who really knew finance from his people anytime soon, which was someone that was becoming increasingly evident that he needed to find before his country went up in fiscal flame.

The meeting dragged onwards until the council chamber became too dark for the scribe to take notes—meaning that it was sometime quite late in the afternoon. Éomer gratefully stood from his rigid stone chair. If people were meant to sit in those chairs for so long, why weren't they more comfortable?

"According to Imrahil, these chairs used to have cushions, but they were taken out during Denethor's stewardship, as they were not used." Aragorn smiled slightly, answering Éomer's mental question. It was a bit unnerving that Aragorn could see those questions, but it helped avoid complex situations. "It seems we both need a thorough education in the financial side of governance."

Éomer cocked an eyebrow. "Do you suggest we become the oldest people in history to hire tutors for our own sake?"

Aragorn shrugged. "If we manage to learn everything we seem to need to know by doing so, I believe we can outlive the stigma."

"Outlive what stigma?" Arwen seemed to suddenly appear. Éomer shook himself; he would never get used to people appearing and disappearing at will.

"We are having problems with the Royal Treasurer," said Aragorn bluntly. "He refuses—politely, of course—to use terms we can understand."

Arwen laughed delicately. "My lords, I am sure you could find someone who can tell you all about the fiscal management of a country who would not laugh at you for ignorance without searching too hard. The Lady Lothíriel of Dol Amroth might be a good person to ask. During the last few years, she tells me she managed her father's as well as her late uncle's estates. In Gondor, the estates are mostly run by the women of the household."

Éomer scoffed. "If that is true, why not appoint a woman as treasurer? That should save some problems."

"Ah, but some egos would suffer in the process," Arwen pointed out. "Still, you may be in the right. But shall I speak to her about these lessons of yours?"

"I believe it would be better to speak of it soon than wait for us to bankrupt our countries," Aragorn admitted. "How soon can you speak with her?"

"She is at court now," Arwen informed him. "I shall be able to speak with her come tomorrow's morn."

Okay, my first attempt at a romance fic first chapter without the character death I love so well. Please give me feedback; I will love you forever!