PROMPT: I met you at a concert I got dragged to and we kinda makeout back stage and you're kinda the drummer of the band I dissed earlier AU
Lothiriel loves her brothers. And her cousins, too.
Enough that she's willing-or, mostly willing-to allow herself to be very abruptly dragged to a concert out in the middle of nowhere. The crisp, cool air makes her shiver and very glad for the wooly headband around her ears. But Boromir has brought heavily-spiked cider, which he passes to her with a wink once they've exited the car, and Faramir lets her tuck herself against his side good-naturedly, even as Amrothos teases her about her aversion to the cold.
(Alright. Sometimes she loves her cousins more than her brothers.)
"It's barely chilly, Loth, honestly," he says, poking her cheek.
"It's cold enough," she grumbles as they trudge their way along the winding dirt road to what appears to be the concert venue: a large barn, adorned in twinkly lights, and with about 12 ramshackle vans parked out front.
EDORAS STABLES TALENT SHOW: ONE NIGHT ONLY reads the large banner over the doorway. At this, she turns narrowed eyes on Faramir, and is rethinking that she loves him best.
"You told me this was a concert," Lothiriel says.
"It is," Faramir answers, unruffled. "Of a short."
'Of a sort' means his not-so-secret girlfriend's band is performing, and he'd agreed to bring them all for both support and an impromptu meet-and-greet. Which she can't really blame him for-she wouldn't want to introduce anyone to her family with the menacing, disapproving gargoyle that was her uncle hovering in the background either-but she wishes she'd known.
"I look like-like an idiot," she grumbles, "all bundled up like this, she's going to think I'm some kind of baby-"
"Eowyn," Boromir interrupts with a dangerously dimpled smile, "doesn't put much stock in appearances, Lothiriel. I can promise you that."
"Is that an insult to my good looks?" Faramir asks drolly.
"She may not, but I've heard all of those blokes she plays with are a handsome bunch," Amrothos says cheerfully. "So it's probably best that I stand out as the best looking sibling, instead of you."
"There's no chance of that," adds Elphir, "you're only the third best-looking sibling on the best of days, Am."
This, of course, results in a scuffle, despite the fact that Elphir is in his mid-thirties and Amrothos is a good head shorter than him.
"Idiots," Lothiriel grumbles, though not without fondness. "And more cider, Boromir, if you please."
She's two full cups deep before the first group goes on and feels slightly warmer. It's hard not to smile at the sheer cuteness of the tiny brother-sister duo performing, even if they forget a few chords and stumble over a few words in their enthusiasm. They're followed by a truly bizarre, if amusing, rendition of Beren and Luthien on an accordion, and then there's a fantastic fiddler that she wishes had played for a bit longer.
The next singer has a beautiful voice-the songs are all Rohirric, of course, but lovely all the same. Lothiriel likes it very much, and leans her head on Erchirion's shoulder, who nudges her.
"See?" He says, gently. "Not so bad."
"Not so bad," she agrees.
She quickly finds herself revising that statement, because the next band that comes on is. Is. Well. They're not bad, per se, but Lothiriel's never been a particular fan of….whatever sort of music it is they're playing. The lead singer-a very pretty blonde with a veritable waterfall of blonde hair-has a good voice, and the guitarists-equally handsome and blonde-are good too, but there's just….something about it that she doesn't like. There's a bassist, too, darker-haired than the rest, and in the back she can just make out the drummer, banging somewhat nonsensically on the drums. It's rock, she thinks, but with some sort of local twist, and she can't follow it.
She opens her mouth to ask what the song-and the audience, for that matter-could have possibly done to be tortured in such a manner when she catches the look on Faramir's face.
It's completely twitterpated, complete with slightly flushed cheeks and starry eyes.
She looks to Boromir, who snorts a laugh into his cider before giving her a small nod, confirming what she suspects-the beautiful blonde wailing into the microphone is none other than Faramir's girlfriend.
"Oh," Lothiriel mutters, "oh, Valar."
"Remember, when they ask if you liked the music," Boromir whispers, "say yes."
The band-the Riders of Rohan-has the longest set thus far, and Lothiriel's ears are ringing by the end of it. She excuses herself to "get some fresh air", and it's a mark of how much cider the rest of them have had that not one of them questions her. The light has faded outside to the prettiness of twilight and she takes a deep breath of cool air to clear her head.
"You alright?" Asks an impossibly deep voice.
Lothiriel jumps, whirling around to find the source. It's-Valar-a very tall, broad-shouldered, nearly insultingly handsome man. Who is most certainly Rohirric, with long blonde hair, and is also, bafflingly, in only a t-shirt and jeans, and what appears to be a pair of very sturdy work boots.
"Fine," she answers, softening her short answer with a smile. "Just wanted to get a bit of fresh air."
"It does get stuffy in there," he agrees, with a soft smile of his own. "You here for the show?"
"I'd hardly been in a stable in the middle of Rohan otherwise," Lothiriel answers, and then winces as his face shutters at the unintended rudeness. "Sorry-I-that's not to say it isn't a very lovely stable, or that Rohan isn't nice, I just-I'm not good with the cold-"
"And yet you still came outside," he interrupts, stormy expression veering dangerously into smirk territory. It shouldn't be attractive-Lothiriel's never been one for teasing from any men outside her brother and her cousins-and yet.
"It's peaceful out here," she says, blushing even though it's not technically a lie. "My ears were ringing a bit."
He nods, mercifully no longer offended. "I keep telling them the acoustics are a bit...off. It's a stable. Not a concert hall."
"Yes!" She cries, realizing what had been troubling her during the last set. "I couldn't pinpoint it, but that's exactly it."
"You like music, then?" He asks.
Lothiriel nods. "Very much! I sing, a bit."
His smirk has softened back into a smile and Lothiriel finds that she prefers it that way. "What do you sing?"
So she tells him, forgetting to be nervous in the face of his earnest, uncomplicated questions-so she can sing but can't play an instrument, but has she ever tried? What were her favorite sort of genres, favorite bands? No, he hadn't heard of them, but he'd happily give them a try if she'd try out some of his favorites. Alright, yes, Gondorian music was decent, but she really should give Rohirric folk a chance, if she wanted something really different-
At some point, she'd shivered, despite how much she was enjoying the conversation. He'd frowned before pulling a flask from his back pocket. "This'll help you warm up," he says, "if you'd like."
"Normally, I wouldn't accept alcohol from strange men," she says, snagging the flask anyways, "but seeing as how any fan of Prancing Ponies can't be anything other than a good person…"
He laughs as she takes a swig. The taste is sweeter than she'd expected, but with a lovely burn at the end. "Wow," she says, blushing slightly at the sudden husky quality of her voice. "That's delicious."
"Rohirric whiskey," he says, though she doesn't think she's imagining that he'd had to take a gulp of his own before he'd answered.
Lothiriel's not usually one for things like this-having 3 over-protective brothers and 2 nosy cousins tends to put most men off, after all-but the combination of the cider, the whiskey, and the way this handsome, funny, kind man is looking at her makes her bold. So she takes another deep sip before slipping the flask into her own back pocket.
She steps closer, gently taking one of his hands with hers. "You must be cold, too."
He huffs a laugh. "Really, really not."
"That's a shame," she says, ignoring the sensation of her heart in her throat, "because I was going to offer you a taste to hel-"
He's kissing her before she can finish the sentence. Lothiriel would be embarrassed, if she could think of anything outside of the incredibly warm press of his skin when she slides her hands up his arms, or the sensation of strong, nimble fingers in her hair, and the sinful slide of his teeth along her neck. She's not sure how he managed it, but she's pressed up against the side of the barn, her legs around his waist, and this is a terrible, horrible idea, because her brothers are inside and she doesn't even know his name-
But then his mouth is back, at the bend of her neck, and Lothiriel decides not to worry about any of that for a while.
At least, she does until there's a sudden flurry of cheering from inside, followed by a bellowed, "Eomer! Eomer, get your arse in here, we've won!"
And he-Eomer, she supposes, a handsome name for a handsome man-pulls back to meet her surely flushed face with a dazed expression.
"I-I have to go-"
"It's fine. Really," she says, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice, "and congratulations by the way, Eomer."
He huffs another laugh, gently lowering her back to her feet. His friend-whoever it is-is yelling for him again, but he helps her tuck her hair and jacket back into a less disheveled state before stepping back. "I should have asked, but," at this he swallows, reaching up to run a gentle finger along her cheek, "what's your name?"
"Lothiriel," she says, relieved.
"Eomer Eorlsson I will skin you alive if you don't appear in the next five-"
"Lothiriel," he says, and she's fairly certain her name has never, ever, sounded so good. "I'll remember that." And he kisses her again, quick and sweet, before dashing off towards his friend's voice.
Lothiriel sighs, letting her head hit the side of the barn with a thunk.
Once she's composed herself-with maybe a sip or two more of whiskey, who could blame her?-she ventures back inside. Boromir raises an eyebrow, but lets herself tuck against his side without complaint.
"Get enough fresh air?" He asks, in deeply suspicious tones.
"Yep," she chirps. "Just the right amount!"
"And now we'd like to congratulate this year's winners-"
"It's rigged!" Someone crows, but there's a round of good-natured laughing, so Lothiriel assumes it's an old joke.
"To the Riders of Rohan! Thank you again for a wonderful show!"
There's whistles and cheers throughout the whole barn, but no one louder than Faramir. Lothiriel is too busy smiling at her cousin's obvious happiness to take much note of the other bandmembers as they accept their prize-however questionably deserved, she thinks, though not unkindly.
In fact, it's not until Eowyn has launched herself into Faramir's waiting arms that she thinks to look at the rest of the band. The two guitarists are introduced as Elfhelm and Eothain, the bassist as Theodred, Eowyn's older cousin, and the drummer-
"Oh," she squeaks as Eomer steps into view.
Numerous pairs of questioning eyes turn on her. Eomer looks equally gobsmacked.
"Have...you two met?" Elphir asks, sounding baffled.
"Er-"
"We-"
"Oh ho," one of the guitarists-Eothain, she thinks-says, looking worrisomely amused, "I think we've found the reason why Eomer was gone so long after our set, lads."
There's a lot of yelling-mostly of the amused, happy variety-and no shortage of drinks before Lothiriel has the chance to talk to Eomer.
"You forgot something," she says.
Eomer smiles, leaning against the door of one of the paddocks. "I certainly did."
She pulls the flask from her pocket before he can say anything else and presents it with a sheepish expression. "This looks very nice. I wouldn't want to keep it from you."
Eomer laughs again, gently, and she twists her foot in the dirt to keep from looking at him. "Alright, apparently I forgot two somethings."
She crinkles her nose at that, confused. She didn't remember him handing her anything else-
"The flask," he says, taking it from her with one hand and tugging her closer to him with the other, "and your number, Lothiriel. How else am I supposed to be sure you get a proper musical education?"
She tucks her face away against his shoulder, feeling happy enough to burst.
Alright, she thinks, maybe the music wasn't so bad, after all.