Minas Tirith
Midsummer, 3016

"That's surely a Rohirric horse you have there," a strong, warm voice broke into my concentration. I looked up from the hoof I had been inspecting, apple in mouth. Deep blue eyes belonging to a strong, handsome face looked back at me. Blond hair hung to his shoulders, marking him as one of the men of Rohan who had come to Minas Tirith for a council. He stood there, an imposing figure clad in armor, leaning over the stall to study my horse, Bane.

My heart clenched, warmth spread through my chest, and my breath stilled. Something about him, something about his presence tugged at my core and caused my brain to cease working.

If I had been capable of coherent thought, I would have noticed what a sight I made: hair half pulled back in an unruly knot, old riding britches and oversized shirt borrowed (well, stolen) from one of my brothers, bent over a hoof with an apple stuck in my mouth, utterly dumbstruck by a very handsome stranger.

An eyebrow arched over one of his blue eyes, his gaze directed at me, and my heart sputtered. Several things happened at once: my jaw slacked, the apple fell from my mouth and landed with a thump, and the heat of a blush shot across my face and neck. I realized that I had been staring, mouth agape like a bloody trout, as he waited for some sign of intelligent life from my being.

"Yes," I said as I grabbed the fallen apple and then stood, brushing the hair back that had fallen in my face. "Yes," I repeated, looking at Bane with renewed concentration, looking anywhere but at the amused grin that had formed when the apple had dropped. "Bane came from the Eastmark, I believe, some three years ago."

Don't be a simpering idiot, don't be a simpering idiot, I chanted in my head. I kept my eyes on Bane's neck, not daring to look back at the horselord and risk looking like a fool again, especially since I could still feel his eyes on me.

However, my lack of self-control couldn't resist a quick peak. He had his elbows leant on the stall door, arms crossed at the wrists and dangling into the stall. He had an amused yet warm grin on his face as he looked at me. I found that I couldn't look away, so I grinned back, all the while feeling like I just might melt into the floor; whether from embarrassment or the strange knee-weakening sensation building in my body, I could not tell.

He took mercy on me and finally spoke.

"Is he from Folcred's herd? Along the Entwash?"

"I could not say for certain. I did not go to see the herd myself, but I do know that Boromir prefers his steeds from this particular herd," I supplied. He knitted his brows at the mention of my cousin. "Captain Boromir," I amended. "He's a... he's the captain... here. He is Captain of the White Tower... I think."

Valar, help me.

He nodded his head in acknowledgment. "Aye, that would be Folcred's herd, then." He jutted his chin at Bane. "I know this fellow. He was difficult to break in. Gave Folcred a headache or two. Certainly had spirit to spare." He grinned ruefully at Bane and clucked his tongue, beckoning the horse forward to nuzzle in his outstretched hand.

I felt I could breathe again, now that his focus was on Bane and not on me. I watched him stroke Bane along the muzzle, greeting him in Rohirric. The rich timber of his voice caused my heart to clench again.

"He used to break into a canter at the slightest provocation when I first got him, but he's grown out of it now," I said. I couldn't decide if I wanted to recede into the background or if I wanted his attention on me again. Unfortunately for me, I had never been able to keep my mouth shut long enough to arrive at well-thought conclusions.

He grinned. "It gladdens me to hear that he has become more somber in his maturity." He nodded at Bane and then looked at me. "This horse is well-cared for," his eyebrows were raised with approval.

It seemed having his attention trained on me once more had exhausted my capacity for intelligent conversation, so I just smiled and looked back at Bane.

At some point during the exchange, I had backed against the wall of the neighboring stall, facing Bane's flank as he continued to receive attention from the handsome horselord. I peaked at him from the corner of my eye, watching as he continued to murmur to Bane in Rohirric.

I truly had no way to understand how he had elicited such a strange reaction from me, no way to describe much less understand what I felt. For the first time in my life, I had been utterly discomposed by a perfect stranger. I had the desperate urge to steady myself and find some semblance of composure. For some reason, I believed that anchoring myself to the wall, to something solid, would help me find my bearings in the midst of the odd and incredibly foreign feelings that had hit me.

Of course, it could also make me look like more of an idiot, back plastered to the wall, mimicking a painted tableau. The stranger, however, seemed oblivious to my struggle. Thank the Valar. Yet I felt the need to speak. I opened my mouth to say... something, anything to look less like a mute fool.

He saved me the trouble and addressed me again. "You know the Captain well?"

"Who?"

"Boromir."

"Oh, right," I shook my head slightly in an effort to focus. "He is my cousin."

"Ah," he drawled, raising his eyebrows. "So you are a lady, then." He glanced swiftly at my wrinkled clothes, no doubt thinking that I hardly looked like a lady.

"In station, yes. In comportment... it depends on who you ask."

He chuckled at my response, eyes twinkling. I think I melted a bit at the sound of it.

"Who then shall I ask for an accurate assessment?" he said. I thought I heard a slightly teasing tone in his voice, though not unkind. It was the sort of tone my older brothers would use with me. It bothered me for some reason.

"I could hardly suggest anyone, my lord."

"Well then, what say you?"

"I could hardly assess myself, either."

His mouth twitched under his beard. "I supposed I shall never know."

At that moment, a gruff voice called from the other end of the stables in rapid Rohirric. The man before me turned his head toward the sound. A host of ten horselords, all tall, blond, and intimidating, were stood at the entrance of the stables. He responded in Rohirric and then looked back at me, giving Bane a last absentminded pat on the neck.

"Well then, my lady, if that is indeed what you are, I must bid you good morning." He straightened up. "I have a council with your cousin, and I must not delay any longer."

"Yes, he can be rather ornery and impatient if kept waiting."

"And which cousin may I say caused my delay?"

"Caused your delay?" I arched an eyebrow. "I shouldn't agree to that accusation."

"You shouldn't?" His lips twitched again.

"No. It was my horse who claimed your attention, my lord. I can hardly be accused as the guilty party."

"Perhaps asking after your horse was merely an excuse, and you are in fact the guilty party," he said, a new warmth in his eyes. Something about his look and the tone of his voice made me feel lightheaded and unsteady again.

"Excuse?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Aye, perhaps."

For some reason, I did not press for an answer. The only thing I could think of was to give him my name.

"I am Lothiriel, sir," I said. My voice sounded small to me, but I was honestly surprised I had been able to choke out anything at all. I did not curtsy nor bow; offering my name was all I could manage.

"Lothiriel," he repeated.

He looked at me for a long moment, a smile reaching his eyes but not quite turning the corners of his mouth. The warmth stayed in his gaze, but was joined by a subtle intensity. He wasn't quite staring, but seemed to be considering me deeply, as if saying my name had led him to an unexpected premise. At first I felt like squirming in uncertainty, but something in his eyes caught me and steadied me. It was all warmth, strength, and security. I knew I was out of my depth, but I could not look away. As foolish as it sounded, something convinced me that this man, this perfect stranger, could look into my very depths and know me completely.

Finally, he took a step back. Whatever had transpired between us in that look broke, and his eyes returned to their former, uncomplicated warmth. As for myself, I felt unsteady and uncertain again.

"I am Eomer Eomundson, at your service," he bowed. He glanced back at his company, and then back at me. "Farewell then, Lothiriel."

And with that, he left to join the other horselords. I stood still for a moment, still shivering at the sound of my name on his voice. After a moment's pause, I strode to the stall door and pulled it open, stepping into the main hall of the stables and walking toward the entrance.

The company of Rohirrim had walked out into the courtyard in the morning sun, a tall, impressive group; a sight handsome enough to pull at one's heartstrings. One particular Rohir in the company looked back over his shoulder to see me standing there, watching him leave. He smiled, inclined his head, and then disappeared with his group beyond the gates of the courtyard.

"Eomer," I breathed.

A/N:

I wrote this as a very first exercise in fanfiction writing. I've always liked the idea of Eomer and Lothiriel having a "meet cute" a couple of years before the war. And then maybe they'd meet each other officially after the Ring War, see a familiar face, share a knowing smile like, "Oh there you are!"

Lothiriel would be about 17 here. I'm thinking she has grown up around men all her life (only girl in the family, surrounded by warriors) but hasn't had much experience with men romantically. While she's completely and utterly drawn to Eomer, she has no idea why.

Eomer, on the other hand, thinks she's cute if a little young and just wants to talk to her. He flirts a bit but then gets more than he bargained for. When he starts to get hit with some feels, he reels it back in quickly. He definitely finds her cute, but she's young and so obviously out of her depth.

So then they meet again a couple years later, and then the rest is history.