The growing light of day brought him back to the waking world. The glimmer of light tickled his face and slowly, Éomer's eyes fluttered open.

He could not remember when he had last felt so rested, so calm. Back in Rohan it was usually very late that he could get to bed, and though he would be tired and yearning for sleep, his many concerns would still keep him awake long before rest would come. Even during his visit here in Dol Amroth peaceful sleep often elude him. Especially after all the excitement of yesterday he'd have thought to be too anxious to find any repose, but instead the moment he had lowered his head on his pillow, he had slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Watching how the amount of light grew in the chamber, Éomer thought of the last night. After getting a grip of himself, he had swam for the shore and dressed, though he could not quite forget the kiss he had shared with the princess in the sea. The next time he'd see her would be most interesting... and he had no idea how he was supposed to be able to look at her without the desire to kiss her again. Damned woman.

He had got back to the palace and to his surprise, the ball had not yet ended. So he had slipped in and tried to look as if he had not been away. After a while, Imrahil had spotted him and it looked like the Prince noticed the young king's damp hair and sand on his clothes (though he had tried to press away as much water as he had been able and smooth away the sand). But at least Imrahil did not comment on his appearance; instead, the older man had noted he looked tired and prompted Éomer to go to bed. That had been a suggestion the Lord of the Mark eagerly complied with. He had wandered into his room and had probably strongly resembled a sleepwalker as he did so, and Éothain gave him some pointed looks that implied the captain thought he had been drinking anyway despite of their agreement.

But now there was a prospect of breakfast looming before him, and how in the name of Béma was he supposed to act natural after what had happened last night? How would he be able not to stare at her and think of their encounter at the beach? The feel of her body against his, the taste of her mouth...

He stopped that line of thought before it could get to full swing. Éomer quickly got on his feet and decided a quick wash was required to get rid of the feel of dried salt water on his skin. While doing that, he pondered whether he should insist he was sick, but came to conclusion it would have been a poor idea. For one, it would have looked like he was having a hangover and secondly, being locked inside his room would only have left him bouncing off the walls while trying not to think of her in a way that was potentially quite dangerous.

It was still pretty early when he left his chamber, but Éomer felt he could not just sit there alone any longer. As he made his way to the family's dining hall, he thought of what he'd do and say once he's see her, but suddenly all his confidence and charm seemed to have left him. He had always been popular with ladies and not only because he usually knew just the thing to say, but Lothíriel...

No, he had been foolish to think he could just leave now. He couldn't just ride home and pretend this mermaid had not bewitched him. He'd have to solve the mystery that was the Princess of Dol Amroth... and if he was certain of one thing, it was there could not be loathing in her heart for him, not with the way she had kissed him. He dared to hope: perhaps she was just as drawn to him as he was to her.

When he got to the dining room, he passed by servants who had apparently just set the table for the Prince and his family. He was somewhat relieved to be there first, but he found himself hoping that Imrahil or even Erchirion had already been present. As soon as that thought passed his mind, Éomer felt like kicking himself. He was not a teenager anymore, damn it!

He was gazing out of the window in an attempt to come up with what he should tell her when the door opened and someone stepped in. The step was too light to belong to one of the princes, and the soft rustling sound of skirts made his heart beat slightly faster. Slowly, he turned around.

Lothíriel stood quietly watching him, dressed in pale blue and her hair falling on her shoulders like rivers of black silk. He tried to read her eyes and perhaps guess what she was thinking of, but her gaze gave no hint of what was going in her mind. And still the sight of her made him feel curious warmth inside, like something had been missing during her absence but was now returned.

"Good morning", he finally managed. The princess tilted her head lightly.

"Good morning, Sire", she answered. Now the glint of humour was obvious in her eyes and he relaxed. Perhaps she would not send her brothers after him for doing... well, what he had done. Then again, she had contributed most enthusiastically.

"I take it you're not angry with me?" he felt obliged to ask. She had seemed kind of annoyed last night... but then, her temper was quarrelsome – at least it had been so far. Unexpectedly, he was starting to feel light again, and his confidence was definitely returning when he remembered how effortless it could be with her. Why had he been worried again?

The princess lifted her eyebrows.

"Should I be, then?" she asked back and took another step forwards. She lay her small delicate hands on the backrest of her chair, watching him with some curiosity in her eyes now. It was probably a good thing there was a dining table between them, for otherwise he might just have leaped towards her and grab her, and it would not do if Imrahil walked in on that.

"I don't know. If you are, it would very much make me worry for my abilities of charm", he answered. That made her smile, and sudden sense of wobbliness came to him. Damn, she was pretty when she smiled.

"Oh, my good king, that is one thing you needn't worry about. I hear your powers of charm were quite the sensation among the ladies last night. Some of them were very dazzled by... how do they call you? The Lion of Rohan?" she said. Éomer frowned.

"To be honest, I don't care much about what the ladies thought. In fact, there is only one lady whose bedazzlement I am interested in", he told her.

Lothíriel lifted her eyebrows again. She tilted her head slightly and watched him with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

"You never answered my question, though. You did not tell me if there is a consistent cell in that body of yours", she pointed out and frowned.

"What would your observations so far suggest?" he asked.

"My observations tell me that you make no sense at all", Lothíriel announced and crossed her arms on her chest.

"I don't?" Éomer asked, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm afraid it is because you rob me of my sense, dearest Princess."

"Like I said. No sense or consistency at all", she muttered and shook her head, but he had time to spot a faint blush on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you last night. It was very rude of me", he said then, searching for her eyes. That brought out another of those precious smiles.

"Apology accepted, Sire", she said sweetly, but then her brow furrowed just a bit. "Well? Are you going to apologise for taking unheard liberties with my person?"

"No, Princess. I'm not going to apologise kissing you", Éomer told her. "For to say I'm sorry for knowing the taste of your lips would be a most crude lie... and at the moment it very much seemed to me you were rather delighted for me taking those liberties."

She lifted her eyebrows.

"To me it looked like you knew a lot of other things too than just my lips", she pointed out, and he couldn't suppress a smug smile.

"That I did, Princess", he agreed and then looked at her quizzically. "Do you think that is something you'd allow me to know again?"

Unfortunately, she didn't get to answer that, for the door opened and Imrahil stepped in. Like usually, the Prince seemed to be on a cheerful mood and he smiled at the sight of his daughter and guest. Fortunately he was blissfully unaware of the heavily electrified air between the two. Éomer had to tear away his eyes from her; it wouldn't do to ogle at her in the front of her father.

"Good morning, Lothíriel, Éomer", Imrahil said to the two, who answered the greeting as they took their seats by the table. As soon as they were sitting and trying to look at things that were not each other, Erchirion arrived too. The prince looked like he had had very little sleep last night.

"Amrothos asked me to say he's not going to come down", Erchirion informed his father, "or, at least I think that's what his unintelligible groans meant."

Imrahil cast a frustrated glance towards the ceiling.

"You should have kept an eye on him, Erchirion. You know that this is exactly what he does to himself when no one regulates his wine consumption", the Prince said, sounding a bit like this was conversation that had occurred and reoccurred to the point of exhaustion.

"Sorry, Father, but I had other things to attend to", the second-born prince defended himself. "And you know just as well as I do that trying to hold back Amrothos at a ball is like trying to yell to the waves not to roll towards the shore. Not to mention I have a feeling His Majesty's men might just have encouraged him to drink more than his share. Though I must say seeing Éothain and Wíglic carry my brother to bed was very funny."

"I am very sorry, Imrahil. I will speak with my riders of this", Éomer said most gravely, though he knew it would have been like shouting to the wind. His men were loyal to death but that didn't mean they obeyed him in every small thing... especially when it came to drinking with Prince Amrothos. The thought of that brought back some very amusing memories from the Fields of Cormallen after Sauron had fallen.

"Well, I'd be lying if I said I didn't expect this. Sometimes I feel that my children are descended from rocks than actual people, what with their stubborn ways..." said Imrahil and shook his head. "Except for Elphir, perhaps."

"Of course. He's a priss, after all", Lothíriel said lightly, but at the sight of her father's suffering look, she winked, "I'm just joking, Father."

"Even if it's a joke, it's still true", Erchirion grinned.

"As you can see, my children are wild beasts", Imrahil said to the young king, but there was something almost like helpless amusement in his eyes.

"Yes, they're very wild indeed", Éomer quickly agreed, which made Lothíriel lift her eyebrows.

"And how does that make you feel, Sire?" she inquired. Of course she would not yet be done challenging him... and he found he enjoyed it very much.

"I am a man of the Mark, Princess. I've encountered quite a few wild things during my life... it takes a lot to disconcert or frighten me", he answered and gave her a similarly pointed look.

"Would you then say that you like wild things?" Lothíriel asked in that same innocent tone he was already starting to know; Erchirion looked profoundly confused and this time Imrahil too seemed to sense that something peculiar was happening.

"What does your instinct tell you, Princess?" Éomer asked back.

Imrahil's daughter smiled. The expression was wide, amused, cheerful. He decided it was something he could get used to.

"I have a feeling that you are starting to understand, Sire."


BrightWatcher - I hope that is a good thing. :D

anna1991 - She was probably too flabbergasted to even think of doing that. And I doubt even Lothíriel is cruel enough to steal his clothes in this situation.

Talia119 - If it depended just on him, I doubt he would have stopped. :D

BlueNynaeve - Much better indeed!