Chapter 3

The household was quiet at this time of night, the hallway empty.

Lothiriel was thankful for that as she made her way to Eomer's room, brandishing a lit candle to light her way. It would be very awkward to explain if she was caught going to the King of Rohan's room at night in just her bedclothes.

In hindsight, maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She could have waited till the morning before going to see after the foolish man. But she was already halfway there now. Besides, she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she could check that Eomer was unhurt.

Soon, Lothiriel was standing outside his door. Gathering her courage, she brought up her hand and knocked lightly. There was no answer from inside. Maybe he was already asleep?

Lothiriel knocked again, before trying the door handle. It was unlocked and opened easily. She hesitated, debating whether to go in or not. It was highly improper to go into his room uninvited.

I'm sure he is fine, Lothiriel thought, willing herself to walk away. But her mind was filled with images of Eomer sleeping fitfully through a high fever, or Eomer falling due to pain and injuring himself further, or bleeding heavily through a hidden wound. Even small wounds, if placed strategically, could make a person bleed to death. And sometimes the bleeding could be internal, making a deadly injury seem trivial.

Convinced that Eomer could need her help, Lothiriel pushed open the door and stepped inside his bedroom, letting the door close behind her. It was dark inside, with her candle casting only a little circle of illumination. But Lothiriel knew where to find the bed, so she made her way there.

Reaching the enormous four-poster bed, she extended her hand to pull away the hanging. If Eomer was sleeping peacefully, she'd let him be, but first she had to check that he was alright.

She grasped the velvet hanging, but before she could push it out of the way her hand was grabbed suddenly and pulled. Her candle fell out of her grasp, the flame dying, as Lothiriel was pulled roughly onto the bed and a hard body pinned her down. She gasped as a hand came around her neck, not quite throttling but threatening and menacing.

Unable to help her rising panic, Lothiriel struggled against her captive. There was a pained curse from above her, and the hand around her throat loosened. Lothiriel stilled as she recognized the voice.

"Eomer," she gasped, her heart beating painfully in her chest.

A moment passed before the hard body rolled away from her with a pained groan. She could hear Eomer fumbling for something on the side table, before his face came into view as he lit up a lamp. He looked furious as he gazed down at her, splayed across his bed.

"Princess Lothiriel," he said, sitting up and moving away from her, "I should have known."

Lothiriel swallowed, before propping herself on her elbows. She flushed as she saw his hard gaze take her in. Her dark hair lay unbound and in wild disarray, the front of her robe gaping open to reveal the white lace of her nightgown underneath.

"I-I'm sorry if I startled you. I wanted to see if you were alright." Lothiriel explained, still struggling to find her breath. "You were injured. Earlier."

"That's as poor an excuse as a made-up illness."

"I-what?"

"Don't pretend to be innocent, princess." Eomer growled, his eyes dark as he carefully leaned back on his arms. "There's only one reason why you would come into my room at night, barely dressed. What's next in your scheme? Is your father or one of your brothers going to conveniently find us here together?"

Lothiriel felt herself go rigid at his words.

"What are you implying?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Only that you should try your guile on someone more gullible. I'm not interested, princess, and not likely to fall for your trap." Eomer said, his voice low but his words ringing harshly. "Go back to your room now and we'll forget this happened."

Lothiriel stared at him in shock. He could not be thinking that she was- that she was trying to compromise him. A disbelieving laugh escaped her as she shook her head.

"Sweet Elbereth," she muttered, "I cannot believe you."

She huffed and sat up in bed, glaring at Eomer as she closed the edges of her robe closer together and tried to tame her hair into some semblance of order. "What even makes you think that? Goodness."

Eomer looked down at her pointedly, "If I find a woman in my bed, what else am I supposed to think? That you came here for tea?"

"It's not like I want to be in your bed!" Lothiriel exclaimed. "You were the one who grabbed me. That means it's you who want to take advantage of me."

"Save your accusations," Eomer said, his eyes flashing as he leaned towards her. "I thought being Imrahil's daughter would be to your credit, but you're no better than the other noble ladies I've met, with your cunning schemes and false tongues. You think me a 'barbarian king' and yet you all want my crown."

Lothiriel gaped at him. He stared back at her resolutely, his face hard and merciless, his breathing ragged.

Goodness, he really did believe she had designs on him, that she had plans to trap him in marriage. It was ridiculous. She had no plans to trap anyone in marriage! And for some reason, it hurt that he would think that of her.

She took a deep breath, and looked at him resolutely.

"My lord, first allow me to clarify that I don't want your crown in the least. I have no designs on you-" she gestured between them helplessly, before sighing. "You looked like you might be injured, earlier. I only came here tonight because I was concerned you might be in pain or feverish."

"Why you?" Eomer bit out.

"What?"

"If you were so concerned you could have sent someone to ask after me. Why did you come here?"

Lothiriel swallowed thickly. That was a good question, and unfortunately she did not have a good answer. The problem was, she hadn't stopped to think. And maybe a tiny part of her, deep inside, had assumed she would look after him and he would be grateful for her help and- and like her a little.

Or maybe she'd just been foolish and once again had humiliated herself in front of him; no wonder he thought she was acting up a scheme to catch his crown.

However, she still had enough pride to not admit that. Instead, she thought of an excuse.

"Everyone is probably asleep at this time, so I thought I'd look after you myself."

"And you could not wait till morning because…?"

"Because I thought you might be dying!" Lothiriel exclaimed, glaring as he regarded her skeptically. Goodness, he was stubborn. "I do not know why I bothered."

"You should go back." Eomer said, rubbing at the space between his eyes. "I don't need your help."

She was annoyed now. She could not believe she had spent all night concerned about him. By Eru, worrying over him had even made her lose at cards, costing her a forfeit. And she was usually very good at cards.

Glaring at his bent head, Lothiriel huffed angrily, gathered her robe and got up. Maybe a bit too quickly in her anger. Her knee caught a part of her nightgown making her tilt forward. She threw out her arms reflexively, and one of her elbows hit Eomer. There was a sharp intake of breath, and then he seemed to stop breathing.

Lothiriel straightened, looking at Eomer. His eyes were pinched shut, his form rigid and completely still.

"You do need help, you are in pain." She said, her annoyance replaced again with concern.

"It's nothing I can't handle." He hissed, opening his eyes.

"You need to see a healer." Lothiriel stated, unconvinced. "If I leave now, will you go get your injury seen to, in the morning?"

"I'm fine." He said, his breathing was still unsteady, but his eyes seemed clearer. His anger had left, he just looked tired now.

"No, you are not fine." Lothiriel said, exasperated. "During dinner I saw you flinching in pain every time you moved your upper body. And just now, you looked like you were in a lot of pain and having trouble catching your breath. It's possible you may have bruised ribs."

"I had trouble catching my breath because you elbowed me in the chest. Besides, it's no concern of yours whether I have bruised ribs or not."

"On the contrary, it is my concern." she said, then rushed to clarify as she saw his jaw twitch in aggravation, "I'm your hostess, and naturally concerned for your well-being. Please, my lord, if you don't want to see a healer then at least allow me to see to your injury. I'm a healer's apprentice myself, I can help you."

Eomer looked at her for a while, regarding her carefully, and she tried to look serious under his scrutiny.

She must have looked convincing, because he sighed and ran a hand over his face, "You really did come here to check on my injury."

"Yes, I swear. I couldn't stop worrying." Lothiriel bit her lip.

"You worry for nothing. It's just a trifle." Eomer grumbled, but his expression seemed to give, his rigid posture relaxing marginally. "If it'll get you out of my room fast enough, have a look if you like."

With a resigned sigh, he straightened and moved to pull off his shirt. Lothiriel tried to control her blush as she just now noticed his state of dress. Or rather undress. He was only wearing a linen undershirt and a pair of braies. And the shirt was slowly coming off him.

He winced as he raised his arms to pull his shirt up and Lothiriel rushed to give him a hand.

"Here, let me help," she said, pulling the shirt over his head.

Inch by excruciating inch, his shirtless torso came into view. She felt warm as she surreptitiously took in his bare chest and abdomen. Valar, he was well-made and the sight of it did funny things to her stomach. And a bit lower.

Soon enough, his discarded shirt was in her hands, and Lothiriel's heart lurched at the intimacy of the moment. She averted her gaze and took a moment to remind herself that she was here to look after his injury, not ogle him.

Clearing her throat, she quickly moved off the bed, grabbed her discarded candle and walked towards his side of the bed. Lighting her candle from the burning lamp, she beckoned Eomer forward so she could assess the damage.

As she had suspected, his ribs were bruised, the right side of his chest discoloured. The bruise extended over his abdomen. After asking Eomer to lie down, who did so rather grudgingly, she lightly palpated his chest and abdomen to assess the extent of his injury.

As her fingers traveled over his skin she tried not to fixate too much on the feel of him, smooth and very warm beneath her clammy fingers. The wall of his abdomen was as hard as she had expected, the ridges of his muscles prominent beneath her hand. Instead, she kept her eyes on his face, to look for any signs of discomfort or pain. His expression was unreadable, and he was not flinching as she pressed on the different areas of his abdomen. His gaze was shuttered as he assessed her, seeming to catalogue her every feature.

Trying to remain efficient, and hoping the darkness of the room concealed her blush, Lothiriel quickly finished her examination. Thankfully, apart from the ribs, there didn't seem to be any extensive injury.

"The lower ribs on your right side are bruised badly. You're going to exert yourself easily, due to the pain, but I can make a salve that should help. If you apply it twice a day, the pain should be gone soon and your ribs will heal in no time." Lothiriel said, putting aside her candle.

"I see." Eomer said, as he sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

The action brought him closer to her, his knees pressing into the folds of her robe and his face just a few inches away. She shivered, as she took a step back. That brought the rest of him in view and she couldn't help but glance down at his naked chest and Eomer noticed, his brow raising at her.

The piercing silence suddenly made her want to say something, anything to distract her from the urge to step closer to him, to put her hands on him again but for an entirely different reason.

"What you heard me say - a few days ago - about your, um, muscles." Lothiriel began, her hands fluttering as she indicated said muscles displayed before her, "You shouldn't pay it any heed. It was just a healer's appreciation for well formed muscles, especially the rectus abdominis muscle. There are many anatomical landmarks that can be located beneath the tendinous intersections of the muscle and I was just appreciating the fact that given the chance it wouldn't be hard to find those landmarks beneath your muscles, because they're so defined. I- I would have said the same for any other man."

Eomer's eyes seemed to grow darker, his brows raised, "Would you?"

No, Lothiriel thought. But now that the words were said, she took to her excuse like a drowning sailor to a plank of wood.

"Yes. The healer in me really liked the sight of your anatomy." She nodded furiously, then stopped as she considered the way that had sounded, "And also of the other soldiers practicing that day. Very well-defined rectus abdominis and pectoral muscles."

At that, Lothiriel couldn't help but again glance down at Eomer. Very well-defined, indeed.

"Princess," Eomer said as he caught her look again. His voice sounded thick with a note of warning in it as he looked up at her, "I think you had better go back now."

"Ah, but the salve-"

"Can wait till the morning." Eomer groaned, "Bema's sake, just go now."

He looked mildly annoyed as if he couldn't wait for her to leave, except a darker expression colored his face as well, an emotion that was unfamiliar to her but she recognized it anyway. It was awareness, and barely restrained… want.

He slowly looked her up and down, his eyes glittering with warning and something that brought a rush of heat to her face.

"And princess," he drawled, "Don't come to my bed again, unless you want the compromising to happen after all."

Eyes wide, Lothiriel managed to squeak out a good night before she turned and fled.

Eomer usually woke up at dawn everyday. Today, he was already awake by the time the sky outside his window began lightening.

To say he hadn't slept well would be an understatement. He'd had a few hours of fitful sleep at most, and a pounding headache. All thanks to a certain little princess who tended to make him go crazy every time she opened her pretty mouth.

A few days back, the only thing Eomer had known about her was that she was Imrahil's youngest. Beautiful, polite and impeccably dressed, like every other noble lady he had been introduced to. He hardly knew what noble ladies talked about so he kept his distance, preferring the company of her father and Aragorn so they could discuss important business.

Then he'd seen her that day, standing near the courtyard he and his men were training at. They had been introduced, and it would be discourteous of him to not go and greet her, so he'd thrown on a tunic and made his way towards the archway she and her friend had been standing under.

He'd heard her before he'd seen her and her words had certainly grabbed his interest, and even shocked him a little. He had assumed that proper young ladies of Minas Tirith considered mentioning any part of the human anatomy as sacrilegious, and yet there she was confessing her desire to rub her hands over some poor hapless man's muscles.

Then she'd said his name and that had brought him up short, but her friend had noticed him and alerted his presence to the princess.

The burning cheeks and guilty eyes had amused him. He had to admit, her earlier words, blatantly admiring his physique, had certainly made him aware that she was an attractive woman and maybe he wouldn't mind allowing her to do as she pleased.

After her unceremonious departure, Eomer had to remind himself that he had no time for women of any sort, princess or otherwise.

The war had just ended, and he had been left with loss and unimaginable burdens. As the new king of Rohan, he had responsibilities to his people that took priority over everything else. He was in Gondor to renew the old alliance, to meet the nobles and negotiate trade agreements, and try to come up with a plan to help his people through the upcoming winter.

Numerous meetings and councils in the next few days had all but removed any thought of the princess from his mind. But then he'd asked Imrahil for a place to stay, forgetting that she also lived there. It had already been too late when he'd next seen her, standing in Imrahil's home, welcoming them as the head of the household. He'd been unable to tease her a little, the sight of her blush immensely satisfying for some reason.

And then there'd been last night.

Eomer groaned and buried his face in his arms as he remembered. Years of honing his instincts had alerted him to the noise of footsteps, jolting him from pained slumber, and he had grabbed the intruder without thinking. Finding the princess in his bed, beneath him had been a surprise. And then a nagging suspicion had entered his mind.

She'd been in his room in the dead of night, wearing nothing but a thin robe and her nightgown, with the dark mass of her hair unbound. He'd gotten angry, irrationally so, thinking she was cooking up a convoluted scheme to end up as the new queen of Rohan. Maybe she had planned to catch his attention that day at the courtyard, all along. Maybe she thought being forward would appeal her to him.

But then he'd really looked at her. The way she held herself cautiously, her eyes determined but guileless, her words ringing with truth. She was no temptress, that was clear, and she had come to check up on him. Out of concern.

The problem was, Eomer had been a little bit tempted. A lot tempted, if he was being honest.

He was still a little stunned that all through dinner she had noticed the pain he'd tried his best to hide. He'd had bruised ribs before, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, but Lothiriel had been so persistent and sweet in her undisguised worry for him that he had done something stupid.

Against his better judgment, he had let her take off his shirt, lie him down and then run her fingers all over him. It had taken all his self-control last night not to do anything foolish. Like pull her back into bed and kiss her speechless.

He'd been painfully aware of her secretive glances at his torso too, the ones she thought he wouldn't see. Her appreciation went straight to his head, more potent than the strongest ale.

And then she started spouting some nonsense about muscles and anatomy and all he could do was notice how full and tempting her lips looked. Thankfully, he'd had enough sense to get her to leave before he did something he'd regret.

He'd spent the rest of the night trying to forget how she looked splayed in his bed, her luscious black locks spread across his pillow, the front of her robe gaping to reveal a smooth neck and modest white lace.

It was dawn now, and that image was still imprinted on his mind.

He could not deny it, Princess Lothiriel was temptation itself. A lovely, adorable temptation that he could not afford. She was the kind of woman one courted, not the kind that one dallied with. And he was hardly at a point in his life where he had time for either.

No doubt, his advisors would start pushing him to marry soon, and a match with a highly-ranking princess of Gondor would scarcely be seen as unwise. But before his advisors could even broach the topic of marriage and securing heirs, there were the topics of rebuilding and feeding his people that needed to be addressed. The issue of safely transporting his injured riders needed to be addressed, the preparations for his uncle's funeral had to be made. And he had a sister to look after.

No, this was not the time to consider marriage.

And any other entanglement with Princess Lothiriel was impossible. She was the daughter of a man he was starting to count as one of his closest friends, a man Eomer respected and admired, and she deserved to be treated with the same respect and admiration.

The realization made him feel terrible at the way he had dealt with her last night, accusing her of making schemes one moment, and then making advances at her the next.

Groaning, Eomer closed his eyes and tried to recite the Oath of Eorl. He did it in Rohirric, the language it had been passed down in, and then in Westron for good measure. Feeling less unsettled, he got up from bed.

He breathed in deeply, assessing his ribs. The pain was much more manageable now. The sky outside had lightened, and he was itching to go for a ride, the only thing that would clear his head at the moment.

He washed and dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, grabbed his sword and made his way out of the house. Not knowing where the kitchens were, he grabbed two apples from a fruit basket sitting in the front hall.

One of the apples was gone by the time he made it to the stables, and spotting his horse, Firefoot, in a stall he quickly made his way over to him and offered him the other apple in greeting.

Firefoot practically swallowed it whole, nearly biting Eomer's fingers off in the process, and nudged his shoulder for more.

"Greedy bastard," Eomer shook his head fondly.

He looked around for Firefoot's saddle, ready to take his horse out, but found the stall devoid of the saddle and reins. Ah, maybe Imrahil's stables had a separate store room for the tack.

Looking around, Eomer noticed a stable boy cleaning out a stall that housed a beautiful black stallion, which Eomer recognized as Amrothos' horse. He made his way to the boy, intending to secure directions to the tack room.

As he approached him, the stable boy glanced at him from beneath the brim of his straw hat, before stiffening and turning away abruptly.

"You there, lad," Eomer called out as the boy hurried inside the stall he was cleaning, "I need to know where the tack's kept. Where are you going?"

The boy didn't answer. He was now attempting to close the stall door behind him. Annoyed, Eomer stepped forward and grabbed the door, preventing it from closing. The boy pushed harder, but he had as much strength as a stick insect. Stepping inside the stall, Eomer let the door go. The boy took a step back, his face hidden beneath his large hat.

"Just let me know where my horse's saddle is and I'll keep away from you." Eomer said, his arms folded, as the boy inched back.

One of his shuffling step caught on a piece of rope, causing him to flail about before he fell backwards, landing on a pile of hay. The straw hat went flying, making a dark braid of hair tumble down. Familiar dark brown eyes stared up at Eomer in alarm.

"Princess," Eomer was stunned.

Of course it would be p\Princess Lothiriel. She was dressed in a loose belted tunic, with form fitting trousers and worn boots. From this angle, it was hard to mistake her for a stable boy, because her figure was unmistakably feminine; her tunic had ridden up to reveal lightly curved hips and thighs.

Her honey coloured skin was slightly flushed with exertion, a faint smudge (that suspiciously looked like horse manure) on one cheek, and her long hair lay in a messy braid and yet she still looked achingly lovely.

Slowly, Eomer unfolded his arms and extended a hand to help her up. She accepted it hesitantly, and hauled herself up at the same moment that he pulled. The momentum caused her to stumble, and he caught her against him, his arm going around her.

She was small, her head only coming up to his shoulders, but she fit against him in a way that just felt right. Her hair smelled like sweet herbs and hay, and Eomer had a sudden urge to gather her closer and never let go.

Her breathing was not quite steady as she looked up at him, her eyes a dark mix of cool earth and warm amber. For a moment, she leaned closer or maybe it was him. The distance between them shortened.

Then with a quite exclamation, Lothiriel pushed away, stepping a safe distance away from him.

Eomer wished he didn't feel so disappointed.

A/N: ok, so I had so much fun writing this chapter because Lothiriel is just such an oblivious dork who has it bad for Eomer and I like torturing her. Also, I'm a sucker for bed tropes.

Once again, thank you for reviewing and following and favoriting! I love you guys.

I'm kinda nervous about the next chapter, which I'll post next week hopefully, because I'll be introducing my secondary pairing. Three guesses as to who it's gonna be!