CHAPTER FIVE

Her father found her some time later.

"Lothíriel," Imrahil called.

Lothíriel blinked and turned to watch him approach her bench. She had not moved since Éomer had left her to seek her father out. She wasn't sure what to say, so she only ducked her head in respect.

Imrahil sat beside her; she did not meet his eyes.

"Éomer came to speak to me," Imrahil began.

Lothíriel nodded. "Yes," she said hoarsely. "So I gathered." She dug her toes into the dirt and stared at her hands spread against her skirts. Her father did not continue until she glanced up at him.

"He told me about a promise that he had made to wed Lord Aldor's daughter, Lady Æmma. Did you know about that?"

"I did." She looked back down. Curse her father's penchant for storytelling! Had Éomer asked for her hand or not?

"And yet he tells me that he has chosen to break his promise… because of you." Imrahil cleared his throat; Lothíriel darted a look up at him. Her father's face was grave, and she gulped.

"Adar, I—"

"Did you contrive to make Éomer break his word?" he demanded.

Her heart sank. There was no lying to her father. "I did," she mumbled, not quite meeting his eye. "But I didn't—"

"You have done badly by my sworn friend. How am I to understand this? Have you no respect for his wishes at all?"

"Of course I do!" Lothíriel cried. She jumped up and paced before her father, hands clenching and unclenching into fists. "I came across Æmma right here. She was sobbing with grief because of the betrothal, and I promised to help her before I knew who she'd been promised to. No woman should have to marry unwillingly, Adar. How should I have reacted to such a tale? Have you not always urged us to be honorable, and help those in need?"

Imrahil's lips thinned. "What of Éomer's request, then? Did you truly have no motives of your own?"

"I only wanted to redeem my word to Æmma," she said. "There was never… Wait, what request?" Her heart beat fast, and she clenched her hands together behind her back.

"He has asked for your hand."

She drew in a shaky breath, lips parted. Her heart had gone beyond beating; it was soaring. Éomer had asked for her hand! He wanted to marry her! He wanted her!

Yet… hadn't she spent the last day and half determined to avoid this? Insisting to Æmma that she wanted no part of this incident, telling Amrothos that she was too young to be wed…

Well, so what if she had? Did that matter now that she had a chance at—at what? Happiness? Queenship?

Love?

Her face warmed, and she swallowed. Imrahil's head was tilted as he looked up at her from his seat. His hands were clasped between his knees. Lothíriel could not guess at his thoughts; his face was the same polished mask he used with courtiers. She tried to school her features to match his.

"What did you say to him, Adar?" she asked, voice stronger than she felt.

"I told him I could not consider giving my assent—"

A little choked wail broke free from her throat, but her father carried on as though he did not hear.

"—without him begging Lord Aldor's pardon and breaking off his attachment to Lady Æmma. And I would have to speak to you."

Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Oh," she said.

"I must admit," Imrahil said, "I did broach the subject of a match between you only this morning. I was… surprised at the speed of his declaration. Before last night, I saw no sign of attachment."

Lothíriel cheeks flamed. "No," she managed. "He did not notice me at all until yesterday."

"Quite," Imrahil said. He reached out, and she quickly put her hands in his. "Daughter, I want your happiness. I cannot be glad that my friend made a promise that he could not keep."

"It wasn't—"

"A man's word is his honor," Imrahil continued. "And Éomer has broken his once." He tightened his grip on Lothíriel's hands. "I trust him and love him, Lothíriel, but this is so sudden. What if he meets another woman and does the same to you?"

If her father's hands had not been gripping hers so tight, Lothíriel was sure she would have stumbled away. How could her father suggest such a thing? But he had not seen how Éomer's face had shone when she declared that all was well after he had kissed her. He had not seen how little Éomer cared for Æmma, and how glad Æmma was at the thought of being free of him. And as of yet, he had no notion of her feelings.

Did she?

Lothíriel squeezed shut her eyes and tilted her head back. The sun filtered through the branches and shone red behind her eyelids. She thought of Éomer: tall, brave, handsome—a king among men in every sense of the word. His very presence grounded her. She knew now how foolish it would have been to try and beguile Éomer out of his promise to Æmma, but she had known that as soon as she clapped eyes on him, hadn't she? He'd given her the wisdom to know what to do.

She had given that to him, too, in her own way. They had helped each other find the best path.

And their best path was… together.

She opened her eyes and looked down at her father without fear. "If Éomer gives his word," she said, "I would do as Lúthien, and chase him to the Halls of Mandos and back until he redeemed it."

"If that is true—" Imrahil kissed her hands— "then I wish you joy." He stood and embraced her. Lothíriel's eyes stung with unshed tears, and she wrapped her arms around her father and buried her face in his tunic.

"Thank you, Adar," she whispered. "Thank you." She pulled back and beamed up at her father. "This day has been full of surprises, but this one is a gift." She stood on tiptoe to kiss Imrahil's cheek.

"Surprises, hm?" Imrahil's mouth spread into a sly smirk. "I have a thought."

. .

. .

Lothíriel secluded herself in her rooms until dinner, when she went with her parents, brothers, and aunt to the great hall. Faramir came over at once.

"Mae govannen," Faramir said. He clasped Imrahil's hand, kissed his two aunts' cheeks, and passed Erchirion and Amrothos with little more than a smile before embracing Lothíriel. "Blessings of the Valar for you, dear cousin." He drew back, eyes glimmering with pleasure, and caught sight of someone behind her. "Éomer! Good evening."

Lothíriel carefully schooled her features. Erchirion drew her a little aside so Faramir could greet his new brother. Her heartbeat rang in her ears, and not until Faramir had escorted her mother and aunt away did she glance Éomer's way.

The moment she did, she lost her breath. He was already looking at her, his blue eyes wide and bright with hope. He took a step towards her, but stopped and swallowed when Imrahil approached him with a steely smile.

"Éomer, good evening." Imrahil clasped Éomer's hand. Éomer peeled his eyes reluctantly from Lothíriel to stare at her father.

"Imrahil, have you—"

But Imrahil held up his hand. "Peace, Éomer. We can speak at greater length tomorrow." He offered Lothíriel his arm and drew her away. She glanced over her shoulder at Éomer before the crowd swallowed him up.

Once they were out of earshot, Lothíriel allowed herself a tiny giggle, but a knowing glance from her father quelled her. Imrahil escorted her up to the dais, where she was seated at the long high table just beside Queen Arwen, whose keen eyes measured Lothíriel up in an instant.

"Good evening, Lady Lothíriel," Arwen said. A slow smile spread across the queen's face as she glanced at Éomer, who was watching Lothíriel and her family with a torn expression.

Soon, the whole table was seated and servants began to serve the meal. Lothíriel's father was at her other hand; Éomer was on the far end of the table, next to Faramir. If she leaned forward, she could just make him out.

When she sat back to start on her soup, she noticed a strong gaze fixed on her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Lord Aldor was staring at her, his worn face bearing a strange mix of interest and confusion. Lothíriel ducked her head at him and smiled as best she could. After a moment, he nodded back and turned to Æmma, who shot Lothíriel a satisfied look from beside him.

They knew, then. She took a shaky breath and sipped at her wine. Valar willing, Lord Aldor would not hold Éomer's supposed fickleness against her. Or him.

It took a great effort to keep herself calm. Her father spoke to her very little; Queen Arwen said not a word. Lothíriel wished she could make time fly, but she was stuck in her seat, taking measured bites of her boiled lamb and looking out at the long, crowded tables that ran the length of the hall. At least no one down there was paying her any mind, apart from the occasional glance from Lord Aldor and Æmma. She'd taken care to dress just well enough to invite appreciation, not fixation, from other eyes. That had made Éomer's intense look all the more reassuring.

But her stomach still churned. Lothíriel forced down another bite and swept her eyes over the crowd. There were so many ladies here prettier than she.

Lothíriel's hand spasmed; her spoon rattled against her dish. What if Éomer decided he had erred in choosing her?

Imrahil reached over and pressed her trembling hand. He smiled soothingly at her, and she did her best to smile back before pulling her hand away, leaving her spoon behind. She was done eating.

It felt like an age before Faramir stood to raise a toast, and Lothíriel's heartbeat galloped in her chest. She leaned forward in her seat, and was instantly caught in Éomer's gaze. For the life of her, she could not look away.

"My lords, my ladies," Faramir began. He bowed to Éowyn, who was seated as his side. "As I have been blessed, so too may you all be, if you are not so already." He turned to his other side and gripped Éomer's shoulder. Éomer, startled, turned away from Lothíriel to look up at Faramir. "And to one I may now call brother, I wish you joy and will call you cousin as well!" Faramir pulled Éomer to his feet.

A grin spread across Lothíriel's face and a giggle bubbled out of her throat at the look on Éomer's face. His eyes were circles in his face; his brows disappeared into his hairline as he stared at Faramir.

Imrahil helped her to her feet. The whole company swiveled their gazes from her to Éomer and back again, but she ignored them as her father accompanied her to Faramir's side. Éomer sucked in a breath, and then he laughed aloud and reached out for Lothíriel's hands.

She slid hers in his. "You'd be mad to refuse," she murmured, and his bright eyes twinkled as he squeezed her fingers.

"Mad? I am too happy to know anything else!" he answered. He drew her hands to his lips and kissed them.

"Now let it be known that Éomer of Rohan has plighted his troth to Lothíriel of Dol Amroth!" Faramir finished, and he raised his glass. The company cheered, and Lothíriel squeaked when Éomer pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his. Her eyes shut and she kissed him back, smiling. His beard tickled her chin, and his arms wound about her waist.

When they parted, gasping for breath, Faramir cleared his throat. Éomer wrinkled his nose at Faramir, but he let go of Lothíriel's waist, only keeping hold of one of her hands. "Do not try and take her away! You will find me loath to part from her," he warned.

"No need for that," Faramir said lightly. He kissed Lothíriel's cheek. "Cousin, I wish you joy." He settled her in his own seat and he moved down to take hers. Éomer sat beside her happily, and the company surged forward to congratulate them.

Lothíriel was glad she'd lost her appetite, for the flow of well-wishers was endless. A great number of Rohirrim, who spoke varying degrees of Westron and Rohirric, bowed deeply to their king and smiled at Lothíriel, who thanked them all. When Éomer whispered to her how to give thanks in his tongue, she switched to using that with his countrymen, though the words felt strange in her mouth and more than one Rohir's lips twitched at her pronunciation. But Éomer looked at her proudly.

When Aunt Ivriniel reached them, she gave Éomer a sharp look. "I hope my niece does not grow to regret her hasty choice," she said. "You made quick work of it, King Éomer." Her gaze softened when Lothíriel scooted closer to Éomer and narrowed her eyes at her aunt. "But I am glad to see her happy. May the Valar bless you both."

"Thank you, Lady Ivriniel," Éomer said. He gave Lothíriel a bemused look as Ivriniel went over to her brother.

At last, the crowd settled and Lothíriel was able to greet her sister-to-be at her left hand. Éowyn had sat quietly while Éomer and Lothíriel had received their congratulations, but as soon as Lothíriel turned to her, she smiled and hugged her.

"Lothíriel, I am glad!" Éowyn exclaimed. Her bright smile was dazzling. "It is enough for my brother to be happy. But now I will have a sister whom I already love." She kissed Lothíriel's cheeks.

Lothíriel blinked back sudden tears. Éowyn's joy was as bright as it had been yesterday when she had wedded Faramir. "Thank you," she said in Rohirric, and Éowyn laughed.

"It is a good start," she said. She raised her glass to Lothíriel and Éomer. "To your happiness!"

Éomer squeezed Lothíriel's hand under the table. "Amen," he said. Lothíriel beamed, heart full.

"Amen."

. .

. .

After the meal began to break up, Éomer pulled Lothíriel up and to a doorway at the end of the dais. He pulled the door shut behind them, and they were swallowed by darkness. Lothíriel's heart raced as Éomer cupped the back of her neck.

But he did not kiss her.

"You minx," he murmured. "Did you know the whole time?"

"What?" she said breathlessly.

"I spent all those hours not knowing what your father would say, and there you were, laughing! If I were not so happy, I would be half inclined to be upset," he teased.

Lothíriel giggled. "It was my father's idea," she said, "but I thought it fitting. You were hardly any better! Kissing me in the garden like that, with no warning! Tsk tsk!" She stepped back against the wall and reached out until she found Éomer's shoulders. This time, she drew him close, and she stood on her toes to kiss him.

Éomer hummed hungrily when she pulled him flush against her. One of his hands slid along her arm to wind it around his neck before gripping her waist. His other hand on her neck was large and hot against her skin, and goosebumps spread from his touch.

When they parted, Éomer rested his forehead against hers. She ran her fingers across his face.

"You're smiling," she said.

"So are you," he pointed out. "I can hear it in your voice." His hand traced her lips all the same, and she shuddered at the touch. "And yet I would see it. Will you walk in outside with me, my lady?"

"Just for the sake of my smile?" she teased gently.

"Nay," he murmured. He pressed a kissed to her forehead. "I would see the stars in your eyes. Will you come with me, Lothíriel?"

Her heart leapt. It was the first time he had called her by her name. She wound her hand in his and tugged him towards the gardens.

"Éomer," she said, "I will."

. .

. .

A/N: Well, there you have it! A cute lil story :) I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

—LOL right? Ah yes, the perfect trick! ENRAGE THE BROTHER!

MissCallaLilly—Haha, yes very cheeky! And yes... I tried to get across that he hadn't really been feeling it as he'd hoped to with Æmma, and that he was regretting his own hasty decision! (Thus his asking Lothíriel about regretting hasty decisions...) He kind of dug himself into a hole, but fortunately Lothíriel came along to drag him out of it :)

cCeret—Hahaha! I'm so glad you like it 3 Yay for laughing!

The Solaris—Éomer actually repeats her twice! There's "mad to refuse," but also "a very noble sentiment" is something she said in ch3 :) HE'S A LOST CAUSE. And she'll just have to deal with it :P

Ambercoal—THANK YOU SO MUCH! xoxo I'm so glad you liked it, and I hope the conclusion was as satisfying!