Chapter 4

Lothiriel was not a morning person. She had barely managed to fall asleep last night, before Amrothos showed up at her door at the crack of dawn, annoyingly cheerful as he asked her to saddle his horse.

"I need to go run some errands for father," he said, pulling the covers off her, "So be quick about it, okay, little sister? And while you're there, can you clean out Dasher's stall as well?"

She replied by tossing a pillow in his gleeful face. Unfazed, Amrothos tossed it back and told her he would be coming by the stables after grabbing some breakfast, so she had better get to it.

She plotted various ways to poison her own brother as she got out of bed, stumbled to her dresser and pulled on her work clothes, which consisted of said brother's old pair of trousers and tunic. Grabbing a hat to keep her hair away from her face, Lothiriel made her way to the stables, grumbling all the way.

This was the last time she participated in any games. She was going to spend the rest of her life staying away from cards, or wagers, or forfeits of any type.

She was also going to spend the rest of her life staying away from the King of Rohan's bedroom. In the light of day, her actions last night made her want to hit her head against a wall, repeatedly.

She imagined what it would be like to find a practical stranger in her own bed, and groaned in embarrassment. No wonder Eomer had thought she wanted to seduce him into marriage. Lothiriel almost laughed out loud at that, like she could seduce him even if she tried.

So much for avoiding him. She was supposed to keep away from him, not give him more reason to develop a poor opinion of her. And yet, she continued to make foolish decisions when it came to that man.

Not anymore, she thought, as she reached the stables, renewing her resolve to avoid him like the plague.

But it was becoming increasingly evident it would be harder to do than she had thought. For one, they did live under the same roof and she was bound to run into him sooner or later. And also, it was now clear to Lothiriel that she tended to do stupid things when it came to Eomer, and there was no guarantee that she would not do something stupid again.

At the least, if I ever see him shirtless again I'll run in the opposite direction, she vowed.

Feeling quite vexed with herself, Lothiriel grabbed a shovel and moved to the stall where Amrothos' horse, Dasher, was kept. She took out her frustrations on a pile of horse manure as she got to work cleaning out the stall.

In her enthusiasm she almost missed the sound of someone approaching. Stopping she looked up and inhaled sharply as she saw Eomer, as if summoned by her very thoughts, his long-legged strides eating up the distance between them.

Lothiriel felt herself flush and her stomach flutter in a mixture of dread and anticipation. At the moment, she would have preferred to face the Dark Lord than him. Valar, she was not prepared to face him, not when she was only half awake and feeling less than generous with herself.

Eomer was coming closer now, surely not to talk to her. Alarmed, Lothiriel turned away, remembering her newly strengthened resolve to avoid him like the plague. Before she could think on what to do, she heard him call out to her, but he had not recognized her because he was calling her lad.

He had not recognized her! Seeing her chance, Lothiriel walked quickly into the stall behind her, keeping her head low.

She started to shut the stall door close, but he was there suddenly. He easily pushed it open and stepped inside. Lothiriel inched away as he stepped close to her.

He inquired after his saddle, thinking she was a stable boy. That was good, very good. If she played her cards right, she could be out of here without him ever knowing.

And then of course, that was the moment she tripped, her hat flying off, as she landed on a pile of hay before him.

"Princess." Eomer's eyes widened as he instantly recognized her.

His gaze traveled over her clothes, and Lothiriel blushed as she realized she was hardly in proper attire for a princess. Before she could pull herself up, Eomer extended his hand.

Resigned, she took it and hauled herself up, at the same time as he pulled. Quicker than she could blink, she was falling against him, his arms going around her instinctively to steady her.

Lothiriel could feel her heart jolt in her chest. The feel of his body pressed against hers reminded her of last night, when he'd had her pinned on his bed. She shivered involuntarily.

For a long while, they stood there like that, so close that she could detect a faint whiff of soap off him and a pleasant mixture of leather, musk and horse. She inhaled deeply and looked up at him. His face was close to hers, causing her stomach to flutter at the way his eyes were focused on her, giving her that strange feeling again that he could see into her very mind.

Like last night, there was something in his expression that brought fire to her face. Her heart was pounding now, her breath unsteady, and she realized that Eomer was breathing hard too.

Somehow, against all odds, a tiny bit of sense left in her made Lothiriel extricate herself from him.

She stepped away, crossing her arms, "What are you doing here?"

Eomer's face closed off, his composed mask falling into place as he looked down at her and mirrored her pose, "I could ask you the same. Strange how we seem to run into each other so often."

Lothiriel narrowed her eyes, "Are you assuming that I somehow conspired this too? To run into you at the stables at the crack of dawn. Well, fear not. I assure you, I prefer to be back in bed."

Eomer stared at her, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

"In my own bed. Sleeping." Lothiriel cleared her throat, glaring at him for good measure and turned away to grab a broom.

Ignoring Eomer, or pretending to at the least, she got busy sweeping hay that had scattered from her fall. She had had little sleep last night and was feeling more than a little cross with Amrothos and with herself, and was not in the mood for Eomer and the way he tended to make her composure all but disappear.

Somehow, he always tended to catch her at the most inopportune moments. Lothiriel was frustrated, she wanted to put down her broom and tell him she was a graceful, dignified and intelligent princess. She had impeccable manners, good sense, and an adequate amount of wit. She was a healer's apprentice, an upstanding citizen. She followed the rules and never did anything she ought not do.

Except when it came to him.

"Lothiriel," Eomer said from behind her, his voice soft. The sound of her name made her pause. "Will you look at me?"

Slowly, she turned, resting her hands on the broom handle as she raised a brow in question. To her surprise, Eomer looked apologetic, running a hand through his hair nervously as he shifted.

"I know you didn't conspire this. And I apologize for last night, for thinking that you were scheming against me."

Lothiriel blinked in surprise. The last thing she had expected from him was an apology, a sincere one at that, and it quite threw her off. Eomer was looking at her earnestly, looking so unsure that her anger melted right away, unmasking the tentative warmth she felt in his presence.

"I- I suppose I understand why you would think-" she started to say.

"No, I made some pretty foolish assumptions last night. It was unfair of me, to both you and your father. I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I ask for it regardless."

Again, she blinked in surprise. Feeling awkward all of a sudden, Lothiriel swallowed thickly. If he could admit his mistakes then so could she.

"I should apologize too, my lord, for coming into your room unannounced." She offered.

"You were naturally concerned for your guest, princess. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Still, I could have managed that better." She shrugged.

Eomer inclined his head in agreement, amusement lighting up his eyes.

"Well, you know what I think?" Lothiriel said straightening to point the broom handle at him. "I think you've been introduced to all the wrong sort of ladies at court. There are plenty of other more interesting noble ladies, ladies without cunning schemes and false tongues."

"Yes, I'm starting to realize that." Eomer said, taking a step towards her.

"Good. If you want, I can introduce you to some of them." Lothiriel offered, leaning back as Eomer stepped closer. "What are you doing?"

"Hold still." He said, his voice quiet. One of his hands crept up towards her face.

Lothiriel's eyes widened as he stopped inches from her, then closed tightly. A moment later, she felt a coarse cloth moving over her cheek. Her eyes shot open.

"What are you doing?" She asked in confusion, leaning away from the piece of linen he held.

Eomer looked at her, using his other hand to tilt her face towards him. "You had a smudge on your cheek. Don't worry, the cloth's clean."

Considering that she'd been shoveling horse manure not ten minutes ago, she could guess what the smudge on her cheek was. Alarmed, she grabbed Eomer's hand, the one rubbing her cheek clean.

"Give me the cloth, I'll do it." She said.

"No." He raised his brow, going back to rub at her face.

"No?" She squirmed under his hold.

"Stop moving, it's almost done."

"You're taking too long."

"Well, that's because it's hardened now. It needs more rubbing."

"It needs to be wet, to make it easier."

"What in Eru's name are you doing?"

Lothiriel and Eomer stopped their struggle for the cloth and turned towards the stall entrance. Amrothos stood there, his mouth agape and his eyes wide as he looked them over.

"Oh, you're here already." Lothiriel said, letting go of Eomer's hand and stepping away. "I haven't saddled your horse yet, I'll go fetch it."

"Wait," Eomer grabbed her arm, halting her. "Do you know where I can find Firefoot's saddle?"

"Probably in the tack room at the back. Follow me, I'll show you." Lothiriel offered.

She made to leave the stall, but Amrothos moved in front of her, blocking her path.

"You know what, Lothiriel," her brother said, shooting a glare past her at Eomer, "Why don't you go back? I'll show Eomer to the tack room."

"Yes, but I have to saddle your horse for you. I lost the forfeit, remember?" Lothiriel said, shaking her head as she tried to move past Amrothos.

"No, no, no, it's fine. I can saddle Dasher on my own." He blocked her again.

"But the forfeit-"

"I'm relieving you from the forfeit."

Lothiriel looked at Amrothos. Something was wrong, her brother was acting unlike himself.

"Are you well, Amrothos?" She asked, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

Amrothos smiled benignly at her, before shooting a nasty look over her shoulder. At Eomer? Why would he do that?

"I'm quite well, Lothiriel." He said.

Strange as it was, she was not foolish enough to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Amrothos wanted to withdraw the forfeit, then she would accept. She did not fancy the thought of waking up so early for a week, after all.

"All right. You can't take it back now." She said. Turning, she pointed at Eomer, "And you'll be the acting witness to his statement."

With that, Lothiriel pushed Amrothos aside and gleefully went back to the house.

She thought of her bed longingly. If only she could catch a little more sleep. But, since she was awake already, Lothiriel decided to go to her workroom so she could prepare that salve for Eomer.

Crossing the entrance hall, she went to the archway leading to the back garden. There, she went to her workroom which was an old gardening shed, now converted into a place where she kept her herbs and made her medicines with them.

Lothiriel had been young when she decided she wanted to learn the healing arts. Around that time, her home, Dol Amroth, had only had one healer who often had to travel to neighboring settlements to provide his services to the people there. It was a large burden on only one healer.

When she was around nine years old, at such an occasion where the healer had been away from the castle, her mother had contracted a sudden illness that took her life. She remembered the day vividly, the helplessness and the waiting as her mother had struggled with breathing, and she and her family could just stand and watch. Elphir had ridden out that day, to bring the healer as soon as possible, but by the time they had returned it had been too late.

The healer had concluded that it was something her mother had eaten that had caused a bad reaction, akin to poisoning. It could have been countered with proper medication, had the healer been there.

Ever since that day, it had been Lothiriel's dream to learn the healing arts so she could help the people of Dol Amroth. She had gained much experience during her time as an apprentice at the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, and Lothiriel wanted to implement her knowledge to set up a similar establishment in her hometown and train more healers so that never could the people in her home be helpless again.

It was also her apprenticeship as a healer that had made Lothiriel discover her passion for herbs. She preferred working with plants, growing them, studying them. There was a calm in it that she had come to value.

It was this calm she now sought, as she gathered the ingredients for making the salve. She was in desperate need of some calm.

A certain King of Rohan was proving to be too much of a torment to her. The way she felt about him was dangerous, especially because now she had a terrible suspicion that her attraction to him was no longer just physical.

If Eomer had been merely good to look at, she could have felt safe around him. But there were depths to him as she was discovering. Depths that were pulling her in deeper, and she had to be careful before it was too late and she drowned.

Imrahil, the twenty-second Prince of Dol Amroth, was a firm believer of routine.

Since the war, he had settled into an efficient and productive one where he woke up at dawn every day, dressed and rode to the lowest level of the city to supervise the construction work. The outer wall of the city had taken extensive damage in the siege of Minas Tirith, and Imrahil had taken up the responsibility of making sure it was sufficiently repaired in time for Aragorn's coronation.

Delegating the construction tasks for the day, he rode back to his house in time to break his fast with his family. Afterwards, he had the morning council meeting to attend at the citadel.

By midmorning, Imrahil was in his study, as per routine, going through his correspondence and attending to his administrative duties.

He had news from Elphir. His eldest son was managing the seaside Dol Amroth principality for as long as Imrahil remained in Minas Tirith. His reports were promising, the fishing season was going well and the sea trade had begun to be reestablished now the threat of corsair attacks was abolished.

Imrahil enjoyed the peace and quiet of his study as he wrote out a reply. It was a warm day, the wide window across his desk open to let in bright sunshine and a soothing breeze. He had made himself comfortable, his coat draped behind his seat leaving him in his shirtsleeves.

The sound of his quill scratching against parchment was interrupted by a sound all of a sudden. Puzzled, Imrahil paused in his writing and listened.

The sound came again, from the hallway outside his door. If he wasn't mistaken, it sounded like the meowing of a cat.

Imrahil had a dislike for domestic pets, so he had never allowed his children to have a pet in the house. He especially disliked cats, and so he was alarmed to hear the sound, which was unmistakably a meow, come from the hall again.

Sighing, he set down his quill and ran a hand over his forehead. No doubt, it was either Lothiriel or Amrothos up to something troublesome as usual. Pushing back from his desk, he went to the door to investigate.

He had to put a stop to this before his children managed to sneak a cat into his house, or the next thing he'd know all his furniture would be scratched up and there would be cat hair everywhere.

Exiting his study, Imrahil strode down the hallway, following the meowing sounds. He turned a corner and stopped short.

The hallway was deserted, apart from a petite woman crouching beside a low settee. The only thing visible was her backside, the skirts of her pink dress falling around it in a rather flattering way. The rest of her was hidden as she tried to reach underneath the piece of furniture.

There was no cat in sight, and Imrahil realized where the meowing sounds were coming from… the woman.

"Meow," she said again, stretching to reach something just beyond her reach.

The new angle offered him a nicer view. Unnerved, he looked upwards, mentally searching for patience.

He cleared his throat. Loudly.

Startled, the woman gasped and got up as if burned. Or rather, she tried to get up but bumped her head on the underside of the settee pretty hard.

"Ouch," she exclaimed, extracting herself from under the furniture more carefully, her hand going to rub at her head.

With surprise, Imrahil recognized the bright red hair of the woman, as she slowly straightened up from the floor. It was Lady Miwien, his daughter's friend. He knew her father quite well, but he had only met the lady on a handful of occasions. On those handful of occasions, he had got the impression that the lady was well-meaning but rather loud and a bit scattered. Finding her in his home, crouching under his furniture and meowing only reinforced his opinion.

The lady in question now turned around to face him, her hand still rubbing over the bump on her head. She looked mildly annoyed, and ready to say something (to scold him, no doubt) but as she saw him she froze. The color seemed to drain from her face and her hand dropped to her side, nerveless.

"M-my lord," she managed to say, her eyes going wide.

She looked frozen, her large eyes big and shocked, her mouth gaping open. She looked as if she expected him to smite her down for finding her the way he had. But Imrahil was merely concerned, and took a step closer, his hand extended in a gesture of peace.

"Lady Miwien, are you well? You seemed to have hit your head pretty hard." he said, indicating the settee.

She swallowed, her throat moving up and down, as she looked up at him, "Yes, I am well."

"Are you sure?" Imrahil was not convinced, especially because she was looking quite pale.

Her expression was one of panic and alarm, and she stood rigid. Imrahil could read fear well, and he wondered why she was afraid. Not of him, surely? Schooling his expression into one of calm, he took another step closer and tried to look at her in a hopefully non-threatening manner.

"Are you sure you do not need anything?" he asked.

She shook her head quickly.

"Then, if I may ask, why were you on the floor? Have you lost something?"

At that, Miwien seemed to gather herself, looking around her frantically. "Yes, actually, my lord. Um… your highness."

She looked up, confused as to how to address him. Before he could help himself, he spoke.

"Just Imrahil, please." he offered, smiling kindly. Or he hoped he appeared kindly.

"Imrahil…" she uttered, seeming surprised that he would allow her the use of his given name. He was surprised too.

Unwilling to dwell on it too much, he slowly approached her, grasping her shoulders in a comforting gesture. She was stiff beneath him.

"Now, lady Miwien, there is no need to be alarmed." he said, "Tell me what you have lost and I will help you look for it."

She opened her mouth to speak, but she had hardly gotten two words out before Imrahil inhaled and abruptly let go of her, for something sharp was suddenly digging into his right leg. It felt like tiny needles stabbing and lacerating his flesh, and, to his horror, the sensation was climbing up his leg.

He looked down and saw some kind of monster, a small creature that could only be a spawn of Ungoliant, with black fur, and sharp claws that ripped into his flesh as the beast ascended over his shin and reached his thigh. Dismayed, Imrahil shook his leg to dislodge the evil being, but it only dug in his claws and held fast.

"Wait! He'll run away again." Lady Miwien cried out, dropping to her knees before him, one hand going behind his thigh to hold him still.

Since Imrahil's leg was suspended in the air, the action caused him to lose his balance and he faltered before tilting forward. He went down, using his arms to brace his weight so he did not crush Miwien, as they both tumbled to the floor.

A beat passed, before he dared to assess the damage. He had landed on Miwien, who was sprawled on the floor beneath him breathing hard, winded from the fall. Her face appeared flushed as she looked up at him, her brown eyes so close that he could see his face reflected in them. With a jolt, Imrahil slowly registered the fact that they were pressed close to each other, intimately close, with his legs nestled between her thighs and his arms cradling her petite body.

He may be getting on in years, but he was not so old that the close proximity to a beautiful woman did not affect him. Flustered by his response to her, Imrahil pushed himself off, then extended a hand to help her sit.

"Are you hurt, Lady Miwien?" he asked, raking his gaze over her to see if there was any injury.

She blushed under his scrutiny, fixing her dress which had ridden up a little revealing stocking clad calves and ankles for just a fleeting moment. Rather pretty calves and ankles, if he was being honest. He averted his eyes back to her face.

"I am fine." she said, smoothing down her skirts. "And please, call me Miwien."

She did not look harmed by the fall, but she no longer looked intimidated by him either. Her face was flushed, rather than pale, and she looked away from him due to nerves rather than fear.

Also, Imrahil noticed with relief that the little dark creature that had caused the event was no longer stabbing its claws in his flesh. Instead, it now sat next to the settee, a tiny pink tongue licking at its paws with no care to the world. With some alarm, he realized the creature was a small kitten.

Miwien noticed him at the same time as Imrahil, rushing towards it. "Feanor! There you are, finally, you naughty boy."

Feanor looked straight at Imrahil with a yellow glare, as he allowed Miwien to pick him up, who cradled him close to her in joy. He opened his mouth, revealing sharp little canines, and let out a tiny mewl.

Imrahil was not impressed.

"I take it, you were looking for this creature earlier." he said to Miwien, standing up from the floor.

"Yes," Miwien looked at him cautiously, still cradling Feanor as if he was the most precious thing on Arda. Standing, she gave him an apologetic look. "I hope he did not hurt you, when he climbed your leg earlier. His claws are a bit sharp, but he means well."

Imrahil doubted that. That thing had been aiming for his family jewels, and Imrahil had managed to dislodge it not a moment too soon.

"Miwien, forgive me, but I do not like pets in my house." Imrahil sighed, glaring at Feanor, unwilling to cow to it.

"Oh," she froze, before holding her kitten protectively, as if it needed protection from him, "I apologize. I just wanted to show him to Lothiriel. He is a bit mischievous and managed to run away for awhile. It won't happen again."

"See that it won't." Imrahil said.

With a small bow, he turned and walked back to his study, trying not to feel guilty at the way he had left Miwien cradling her cat in the hallway.

The rest of the morning passed slowly for him, the peace he valued so much now eluding him as he sat in his study once more. To his dismay, he was unable to focus on his work, his mind instead occupied by the young woman he had run into just now.

He had no idea why she had been afraid of him. Maybe, she thought he would scold her for bringing a cat in his house, or maybe because he had caught her in an embarrassing position and she feared his influence. Whatever the reason, he did not like that he scared her. He wanted to go to her, reassure her and remove that fear from her.

But it did not matter what she thought of him. It should not matter.

Sighing, Imrahil picked up his quill and tried to resume the letter he was writing.

A/N: hey everyone! Here's chapter four which introduces my secondary pairing, which is Miwien/Imrahil, if you hadn't guessed by now. I've always wanted to write an Imrahil pairing after I read Lady Bluejay's 'World of Difference' and I hope to do it justice, despite the age difference between the characters. But that's one of the things I feel would make the pairing interesting.

Also, I'm really sorry for the super late update. I had exams which completely threw my weekly update schedule off. My exams are still ongoing though so I can't promise when I'll next update, but hopefully soon.

Again, thank you for reading and taking out the time to fav and review. I read every single review and even just a few words make my day!

Also Aylatha pointed out in a review that Eomer should not be taller than Imrahil and his sons because they have the advantage of having more Numenorean blood, so technically, while tall Eomer should still not be taller than the princes of Dol Amroth. And she's right, but in my fangirl enthusiasm I have made Eomer as much taller or slightly taller than them. I'm not going to change that detail so let's just assume that genetics were very kind to him.

EugeniaVictoria also pointed out that it's very out of character for Lothiriel, a well-bred princess of a noble house, to go to a man's room at night. Lothiriel did that because she has a tendency to become obsessive and anxious over an issue and she really believed that she had to help Eomer and to do that she had to go to his room. Of course, impulsive actions rarely seem like a bad idea at the moment, and in this chapter Lothiriel is already regretting her actions.