Notes: Thank you so much for your kind comments. It's really encouraging! I have another chapter in progress, but this one came really easily. Hope you like it!

The beginning of the dinner was exactly as Ella had described it. Nothing logistically important was said, though the discussion was brisk and did not skip over the difficulties the city faced. Thanks to Ella, Eomer knew to give every man a greeting, and to clasp hands with each of them and introduce himself or remind himself to each while meeting their eyes. A few of the men tried to test his grip, adding more pressure to the arm than strictly necessary but Éomer had been raised among rougher and hardier folk. Or at the very least men who went ahead and hurt you if that was their intention. He made note of those who had aimed to push him. They were not to be trusted blindly.

Prince Imrahil was a handsome man with dark hair shot through with silver, his daughter's blue-grey eyes and the same olive skin which had the weathered look of a soldier. He had few lines to mar his features but the ones he did have were deep set in his skin. Éomer saw that some of the lines that were most prominent were the ones that came whenever the prince smiled, or when his eyes crinkled with warmth and that helped ease some of his worry. The Prince was trustworthy, and the men under his command, who were many and made up a good portion of Gondor's fighting force, were all loyal and true. This was a man that Éomer could work with.

He liked the many courtiers of Gondor's late steward rather less. These were men who had spent most of their lives catering tp a man that (he was assured) had once been a good leader. He wasn't sure about that. Denethor had abandoned Gondor's defences, tried to burn his own son, and seemingly gone mad. Éomer's uncle Theoden had not fared welll several years but that had been through cruel magic. Denethor seemed to have turned to madness and weakness on his own. Though, he thought, if he had been surrounded by these little men who spoke in accented voices, and carried themselves like delicate crystal glasses, perhaps he might be driven mad too.

Aragorn was dressed plainly but he presented himself to the men in the room as the heir of Gondor though not as a King. That was something most of the men present seemed to respect. Aragorn was a great warrior, and talk of his deeds was well and good, but he was not their king. He was not their leader. Not yet.

Unspoken in the air hung a thought shared by all. In little time, there might be nothing to be King of left.

What Éomer had not expected, and certainly not been prepared for was the short, sharp bell that indicated the ladies would be joining them.

The women streamed in like colourful birds, all perfume and powders, and some with Kohl around their eyes. Éomer knew from Lothiriel that these women were often just as powerful as the men they had wedded or been born to. Éomer wasn't afraid of strong women. Rohan had it's share of Shieldmaidens and riders who could mount a horse without a saddle and out-ride a warg. This was different. None of these women knew how to fight, (Though Ella assured him that they all carried knives, just to be safe. Honour was everything.) These ladies of the court however, most often served as their family's ears. They listened to their own private collection of trusted voices and let even the highest ranking person know what the lowest ranking peasant knew and thought. The women of Gondor were also tasked with the writing and telling of tales. They were accomplished weaver, singers, writers, dancers. ("Indeed", Ella had told him. "There is not much that we are not expected to perfect. It's arduous work, learning your family's genealogy.")

Éomer searched the faces of the ladies, looking for the one he recognized but she wasn't there. Where on earth was the tied back hair and plain cotton dress?

He scanned through the small group again and narrowed his eyes, finally recognizing the plain girl from the battle fields as the delicate lady who took her Father's offered arm and ducked a quick curtsy. Her father pressed a fond kiss to her forehead, reaching up his hand to catch her chin and study her. Éomer couldn't hear what he said but could see the slight concern that crossed his features. To his surprise, Ella didn't shy away, or shrug aside his concern. She spoke earnestly to him, transformed into a calm, poised, perfect daughter. Strangely there was no lie in her eyes. She adored her father, that much was clear.

She was someone else entirely now, Éomer realized, or else she knew her role so well, it was near impossible to see where the mask started or ended. She must have done this a hundred times. She scanned the room and read it in a moment, saw something, and then with a barely perceptible nod began to walk her father to the table. If he had not been staring at her, Éomer might have missed this sign, but he couldn't have missed the swift migration to the table that happened as soon as this signal was given. He found himself opposite the table and several chairs over from Princess Lithiriel and wondered if she had planned this just so. The Princess glanced over at her father and something silent passed between them, she looked back to the people assembled and with something like a small breath she sat. Everyone else seemed to move in unison with her and Éomer found himself just a half second behind. He looked to Ella to see if she had noticed and she looked back just as boldly. Prince Imrahil had remained standing and he spoke a quick prayer and while all eyes shifted to him, Ella keep her gaze on Éomer. She pulled her curtain of hair over one shoulder and seemed to hide behind it to give him a bare whisper of a wink before shifting her gaze back to her father.

He had never seen her with her hair down, he realized. Her hair was dark burnished ebony turned liquid and long. Gondorian ladies loved to dress their hair in braids and curls and rolls and ribbons, something that Rohan women would have found strange. They preferred plain, simple styles that would not tangle. This was not a concern that Ella seemed to share. She wore a single braid like a crown woven through with a silver ribbon which disappeared like magic into the rest of her hair. Nothing could have been done about the freckles and darkness of the sun on her skin, but someone had attempted to draw attention away and down with wide, open neckline and a bodice pulled tight that ended right at the waist and let the rest of the dress bloomed out. In Rohan women rarely wore bodices and even more rarely were they so tight. Could Ella breath? Éomer noticed that she often shook her hair to keep it covering her chest and that she always had her arm or hand shielding her bright clothing like she was trying to hide it. Ah. There was the crack. He could see where the real girl was. She was comfortable being in charge, but not comfortable with all the dolling up that came with it. That was interesting.

"Father," Ella turned expectantly to Prince Imrahil, her hands again unconsciously smoothing her hair down. "I don't think I've told you how King Éomer helped me with Lothian. That soldier. The one I told you about?"

So Prince Imrahil knew about his daughter's odd self appointed tasks. His eyes flickered up to appraise Éomer and he found himself caught in the man's attention. "No, little bird. I don't think you mentioned that part."

"Prince Éomer was extremely helpful. He helped organize a cart to get Lothian to the Houses of Healing. He was the one who brought me home that day too. Did you know? And after having done battle and arranging command of his men. Isn't that exceptional, Father?"

"Exceptional." The prince agreed. Éomer felt his face go hot, but he couldn't look at Ella. What was she doing? She must have some sort of plan but it certainly wasn't clear to him. Perhaps she was upset at him for pulling her from the Houses of Healing and siding with Ioreth. Could that be it? It didn't seem possible. Everything else she had told him had been true and helpful. She must have some sort of idea of where this was going, musn't she?

He realized he was expected to talk and gruffly he shook his head, "I did what any man would have done. It was your daughter who found him. He'd be dead were it not for her."

"Perhaps." The prince was not a man of many words and he did not waste them, he seemed to be looking into Éomer's very soul and trying to appraise the whole of his worth.

"I don't think it's what any man would have done." Ella's voice turned slightly sharp before she caught it, and that same lilting accent returned. Conversations around the table were growing quieter. Everyone was still pretending to mind their own business, but they were all focusing on the three who carried this conversation. "In fact, when our Cousin Faramir was almost burned by his father, still alive, it was not 'any man' who saved him. It was a hobbit and a wizard. Outsiders to our city who did best by it. I think it's a mark of a noble soul that all lives hold value. Don't you think so?"

Éomer saw that Ella was pointing these remarks away from him, her tone was light and conversational, maybe even curious. You could scarcely accuse her of insulting anyone without having to explain that she was being false and perhaps pretending to be stupid. Éomer understood what her game was suddenly. Yes, she was lifting him up, but she was determined to do so to bring down the men who had stood by silent while her cousin almost died. It was not a bad idea, but he didn't particularly want to be a part of it.

"Certainly." Prince Imrahil took a small bite of something and chewed thoroughly, "But was it not also Beregond who abandoned his post to protect his captain?"

"Yes." Whether she was doing it on purpose or not, Ella mirror her father and took a long drink of wine before continuing, "And Noble Beregond is rewarded, is he not? He has his life still, despite those he had to kill to save our Cousin, and he will go to battle with you as his commander. Is that not true? Honour deserves honour."

"And so you propose we reward your King Éomer in the same manner? He has his own men to command. I do not think that he will wish to fight under mine." The Prince's eyes crinkled with that same warmth and he looked to Éomer as if to say, Isn't my daughter something else?

This had gone too far, but Éomer wasn't sure how to intervene. He should speak for himself, and he wished he could kick Ella to silence her like he used to kick Éowyn when she told his secrets at dinner. "Indeed, Princess, I think you'll find my men would grow displeased with me if I should accept command under your father, noble though he is, and left them to another man to lead. A king should be with his people." This gave him the opportunity to meet Ella's eyes. The table had gone quiet and everyone knew that this matter should be closed. That Ella should giggle and agree with her father and let Éomer know that she thought he was very good to care so much for his people. Instead, Ella picked up her wine glass and pretended to examine the contents. Her eyes didn't leave his, and though her tone didn't change, there was a slight tilt to her head that gave her the look of that little bird her father had named her.

"How silly you must think me." Her lips turned up into a wry little smile, her tone said the opposite. Something had sunk into place just as she had wanted it to. "But you do agree that a man should be rewarded. And what kind of reward, Father, is it for the King of Rohan to have his troops spread thin to serve as human shields for our own troops when next battle is upon us? It seems to me," here her gaze turned dark and challenging as she swept the table, focusing on a few of the men, "That we, in turn, become as dark as our enemy when we so punish our friends who have paid dearly for a people who are not their own. How, then, Father, would you have me reconcile such uncivil behaviour?"

"I'm sure that's not-"

For the first time, Ella interrupted her father and she didn't seem to do it lightly, Éomer could see now that the girl was genuinely upset. "On the contrary, I have it under good authority that Lord Gathreo and Lord Lirium and Lord Mestror had exactly that sort of plan to suggest. Not quite in those words, of course. I simply think it is most fair to all involved that we know who is in what standing... and exactly who each man here is. I can vouch for King Éomer. I have seen the nobility of my Father and the strength of Lord Aragorn and his companions. I cannot say the same for these men and their delusions of grandeur."

This speech was met with silence. It was not nearly as awkward as Éomer expected it to be. Lothiriel had made a decent attempt at propriety but what she said should have shocked everyone at the table. Instead they all seemed somewhat uncomfortable but not surprised by her bluntness. Only the men she had pointed out and their peers seemed ruffled by her accusations, and their reactions varied between outrage, defence and pure speechlessness. Éomer saw the divide form. These were the outsiders to these rooms: the courtiers and their wives who had been invited as a nod to the new status quo. Those who seemed unperturbed were the ones truly welcome here. They were the trusted ones who knew Prince Imrahil, his sons and his hornet of a daughter. For truly, the grace that the gods had not given her, she had replaced with a brazenness only rank and the support of her father could allow.

Which left the question. Where did Éomer fit into this picture?

The dishes were cleared soon after and the women 'retired' and many guests made their excuses and left, though some of the closer family friends stayed a bit longer and talked with each other. Aragorn spoke to Éomer for a bit, promising him that if what the princess had said was true, then he would make sure see that it did not come to pass. The Prince, for his part said the same thing. Éomer felt the anger that had risen inside of him begin to abate. These were men of good character. He could trust them.

As he was about to leave, he saw Ella slip back into the room unseen and wait behind. Her father noticed her and led her gently to a window, the two looked out of it, and Éomer could hear only the faintest of conversations. Ella hadn't expected for guests to remain. She had combed out her ribbons and jewels and had returned to a simple dress.

The Prince did not seem too upset with his daughter, but neither did he seem particularly pleased and that, in turn upset Ella who protested the injustice of the information never seeing the light of day. Éomer was struck again by how emotional the girl was, or perhaps how little capacity she had to keep her emotions hidden and to herself. Without the powder, he could see red, hot splotches spreading over her cheeks and shoulders and back as she tried to keep herself quiet. The Prince took both his daughter's hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, calmly speaking to her and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "Enough, little Bird. It is done. You've a good heart." Ella took a deep shuddering breath and let herself relax.

"I got it from my father." She agreed. "Who was said to be quite the hot-head in his own youth, coincidentally enough."

Her father laughed and with the spell broken, they both became aware of Éomer trying to exit as quietly as possible. The Prince looked to his daughter. "Perhaps, Ellie, you ought to apologize to our guest for making him your bait. Then to bed with you."

Ella nodded meekly and curtsied to her father, who left with an expression that was half bemused and half exasperated. From her corner of the large space, to his corner she called, "I am sorry. I didn't mean to make them all stare at you. I just wanted- I wanted them to know that they don't get to win."

Éomer wasn't sure how to react to this. He felt frustration rise up, and with it some anger left over from the dinner and having spent a night only half understanding the language, the jokes, the conversation, and then being put in the spotlight. "Do you think I'm a fool, Princess?"

She frowned, "No. Not at all."

"So, perhaps when I asked for your advice, you thought that meant that I could not manage my men, and my rule on my own?"

"That's not-"

"Perhaps you wanted to show how very smart you are."

"That's not fair-" Those red splotches were back and she had her hands balled up into her skirt. She took a moment to regain her breath, "I wouldn't- It wasn't information you had. I had it."

"Then you bring it to me. You do not announce to a table of my peers that I do not know how they want to use my troops."

"But I-"

"And you assume I have the intelligence to handle the situation myself."

"I was trying to help! I was trying to show that I could be helpful. That I might have use..."

"To who? Your father? By putting a target on my back?"

"No! To you. I wanted to show you. No one would have said 'King Éomer, may we lead your men to slaughter?' They would have told you how strong your troops are. How important their horses and how that makes you the battering ram that would break enemy lines and lead the way for the rest of the armies. They would have made it seem full of glory and honour and it would have been lies."

"I know battle!" He surprised himself with how hot his anger got. It always simmered low in his chest. A furnace of anger and drive and determination. If he was being honest, it wasn't just Ella he was mad at. He just wanted to be angry at someone. "I know battles. I have fought them since I could ride a horse and swing a sword of a proper size. I don't need you to protect me. I am a King. I can smell their lies as well as you."

"I'm not protecting you!" Éomer felt the soft thump of her slipper hitting his chest. He had not ever in his life had someone throw a shoe at him. Not even Éowyn. Not even Theodred. "I'm being your friend. I'm trying- I'm trying to be your ally here in Gondor. To make you allies with my Father."

"And why would you do that? I didn't ask you to."

"No. You didn't." Ella came closer and looked up at him, finding his eyes and keeping them with hers. It was a disconcerting habit of hers that he doubted he would ever get used to. "But if Men have a future. If there is a chance for a world after this darkness, then I would like it to be a world with good men in it. A world with you in it."

"I am not your friend." Éomer didn't know what to say, but the moment he spoke the words he felt himself grow suddenly cold. Truth was, he wasn't sure it mattered whether he was friends with Ella or not. The army would march within days, and unlike her, he wasn't sure there was a future for men at all.

"No. I suppose not. But I'm fond of you all the same. I would prefer a world that had you living in it." Ella curtsied to him. If she was very upset by his words, she refused to show it. She nodded to him one last time, her face unreadable, and then she walked quickly from the room and left him there. They might not be friends, but he felt it was very like her to find a way to get the last word.