Leap like a lunatic
Over the chasm below
erupting as you go
Your true self awaits you
Now, you will know.
- Skalkisham of Umbar

Chapter 7

Lothíriel had already bawled out her eyes by the time her father knocked at the door of her bedchamber and stepped in. It was a good thing he didn't find her crying, because she hated doing that in the front of people, and Father especially seemed so shaken when she did cry – she thought that was because he usually didn't even believe she was capable of tears.

"Daughter", called Father softly, approaching her; she was seated on the bed and hugging her knees close to her chest. She didn't turn to look at him but could feel his eyes on her, and she could very clearly imagine the concerned expression he must be wearing. He spoke again, "Daughter, Aredhel said she saw you coming home in tears. Is something wrong?"

Worrying her lip, Lothíriel wondered what to tell him. Somehow it didn't feel like she had it in herself to spill any more truths tonight. But then, perhaps it was for the better she explained this to him herself, before he heard some twisted version from second hand source. Or worse: from the King Éomer himself.

"Father, I've been a complete and utter idiot", she replied at last in a thin voice.

He remained silent and unmoving for a bit, but then he came to sit beside her. He picked up her hand in his own and considered it.

"Would you like to tell me about it, my child?" he asked gently.

There was not really choice about it – not when her dear father asked like that. And she had always been able to tell him about things that troubled her, until now at least. Years had shown he worried for her sometimes, more than for her brothers, even though ultimately he did trust in her ability to handle herself. Lothíriel had never been able to ask what was the root of this emotion.

After one more moment of hesitation she started to speak. She described the chance encounter in the woods of Ithilien and the webs she had spun with Amrothos to conceal her identity, with the result of digging the hole ever deeper. He listened quietly to her and asked no questions, not until she came to this very night, when she had gone to the Rohirric camp with the intention of telling the truth.

"How did he react when he heard?" Father asked. His voice did not betray what he was thinking or if this information displeased him. She had thought he'd be angry if and when he heard of all this, but no matter how she searched his eyes she could not find anything even remotely furious.

"He... I thought maybe he'd be angry. Well, he was. But not outrageously angry... he was just... coldly disappointed in me. I can deal with fury and rage, but that kind of icy resentment..." she mumbled, not daring to look at her father. The tears were threatening to spill out again, but somehow she held them at bay. Thinking back and remembering what had happened in the King's tent seemed to tear at that wound she had inflicted herself by her foolish actions; she had not known seeing that kind of remote hostility could be so hurtful... what made it so stinging was how open he had been before the unfortunate exchange, and how she had seen those doors to his soul closed.

King Éomer had not said much, not in words at least. He hadn't needed to, for all that she had to know had been there on his face. His reaction had been cold and minimal and yet it hurt like he had hit her: he had just ordered her to leave.

"Did you apologise to him at least?" Father asked.

"I tried. But he didn't want to listen. He looked like he'd have me thrown out if I didn't go by myself, and so I left... Amrothos was luckily there, and we came home", she answered and sighed heavily. "I knew he'd probably be angry with me. I just hoped it wouldn't be so bad."

"He has quick temper, my daughter. If I know him at all, I should say his anger was mostly because you just wouldn't tell him the truth, like he'd expect from the daughter of a friend. Honesty is important to Rohirrim", Father said, shaking his head. "I'm not surprised to hear he wouldn't listen. He's as stubborn as you, Lothíriel."

"Oh, I know that", she muttered. Then she lifted her eyes to look at her father, "Are you angry with me?"

Father didn't respond right away. Instead, he regarded her silently, until suddenly he leant down and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"No, I'm not. You look like you've already received a fair share of anger and disappointment... and to be honest, I'm not too surprised to hear of this. It sounds like something you would do", he said gently. Lothíriel let out a hysterical little laugh at that, though the sound ended with more of a sob than a chuckle. She threw her arms about her dear father and hugged him tight.

"The important thing is that you know that you have acted wrong and tried to apologise", Father murmured. "I will perhaps have to make my own amends to him. But please, Lothíriel, can you promise me this won't reoccur?"

"Of course! I'll behave better from now on. I swear you can be proud of me again", she insisted. Then mumbling into his shoulder, "I'm sorry that I've been such a horrible daughter lately."

"It's all right, Lothíriel. I haven't been the best father either, what with the war and my constant absence in your life", he said gently, stroking her hair. "I promise it will change now that we finally have peace."

"You've been wonderful, Father. Really, you are", she said softly, seeking for the right words. "I know I don't say it very often, but... I'm thankful. For letting me be the way I am."

He held her a bit tighter then and his voice was full of emotion when he answered, "Daughter, I want you to be happy. And if being the Little Wolf is what gives you joy in life, then so be it. I just wonder if it can sustain you, when I'm no longer here."

"I'll be fine. I can take care of myself", she assured him and pulled back so that he could see her smile.

"Father, is any of your ships here in Minas Tirith? I... I'm thinking maybe it would be for the best I return to Dol Amroth, before I cause further damage", she said softly.

"Star of Belfalas is in Harlond. It is set to leave for our home tomorrow", he replied. Searching her face, Father asked: "Are you sure about it, daughter?"

"Yes. I think I have got enough of all these celebrations."

Marshal Elfhelm had been enjoying himself rather finely. The night was fair and there were many delightful little feasts taking place in the camp; he had already taken part to five different gatherings. Eorlingas were on a fine mood indeed, and he had heard some talk about how their King had been seen walking and then dancing with a lady from the city. Some overly imaginative fellows had already made their assumptions and apparently there was even a bet going on about when the royal wedding would take place.

This talk had roused Elfhem's curiosity, and now he was approaching the tent of his king and friend. For one, he wanted to know if the woman in question were the same archer from the woods, or if the young Lord of the Mark had already changed the target of his fancy, though that wasn't so likely. The moment Elfhelm had learnt how his friend obsessed about this lady he had known it was serious.

Éothain, the captain of the King's Guard, was seated outside the tent. He was conversing with two of Éomer's riders when Elfhelm arrived. At the sight of the Marshal Éothain lifted up his eyes.

"If you're looking for the King, I must inform you he's not present", said the captain.

"Did he return to the Citadel already?" Elfhelm asked, taking a sip of mead from the flask he had acquired.

"No. He just grabbed his horse and rode away. Seemed angry", Éothain replied and shook his head.

"And you let him go just like that?" demanded the Marshal, his voice rising. The captain shoot a sharp glance at him.

"Of course not – I sent couple of lads after him. I wasn't born yesterday, you know", Éothain snorted, and his words made Elfhelm relax. Of course he should have trusted the captain's judgement. Though the man was perhaps one of Éomer's best friends, he also appeared to possess the ability of putting aside that friendship and acting purely as a lieutenant. Still, after the misfortune that had fallen on Théoden and Théodred, Elfhelm was sure no one was was willing to take any chances when it came to the safety of their king.

"Why was he angry, then?" asked the Marshal. He took seat as well and offered the flask to the captain, who took a long sip before answering.

"He didn't say anything, but it's not hard to guess. You know that mysterious woman he keeps talking about? She was here and I gather they argued, what with the way she fled in tears... the delightful part, however, is that she's apparently none other than the daughter of Prince Imrahil. Her brother was here and they left together – I recognised her about as soon as I saw them together; they look much alike and it's a wonder I didn't make the connection before now", Éothain explained.

Elfhelm had to process this information for a moment before he made the necessary connections – the mead and wine were dulling him down. But eventually he understood what it meant, as he too had heard of the scene in the parlour of Prince of Dol Amroth. Altogether he found he was rather relieved to hear this news, because from a purely political point of view a marriage to the daughter of Prince Imrahil was about the most brilliant thing the young Lord of the Mark could do... and it cleared out the Marshal's concerns that in his stubbornness Éomer might insist on marrying a commoner and insulting collectively the Gondorian nobility in the process.

"Well", he said after a moment and another sip of his drink, "that certainly changes things."

The Marshal glanced at the Captain, "He wasn't glad that this mysterious lady wasn't a peasant after all?"

"Maybe he will be, when he has had time to think of it. You know how he gets sometimes – reacts before thinking. And wild stallions aren't always so wise when they realise they've been tamed", Éothain answered with a shrug.

Elfhelm nodded emphatically. He knew his king well enough to understand why a lady's pretense would cause such a reaction in him. This Lady Archer had obviously shot her arrows at the King too... and he was a man who rarely took blows of that kind.

Hopefully, when he had calmed down, Éomer too would realise the other side of what that meant.

He smiled and lifted up the flask, "To the future Queen of Rohan."

Éothain made a sound between a chuckle and a snort.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. You know how stubborn he can be", said the captain, but accepted the flask anyway. Elfhelm grinned.

"Oh, I do. And I am counting on it."

When Amrothos had first decided he'd take up the task of making his sister see how wonderfully her spirit matched that of King Éomer, he had forgotten the frustrating extent of her pig-headedness. Well, perhaps this was something he ought to have expected: it would have been a wonder if all would go smoothly between two people who had so many rough edges. Stubborn to a fault, neither did not see the need for reconciliation... unless he could open their eyes before it was too late.

That morning, he stormed into Lothíriel's chamber. She was in the middle of packing her things, as she now had it in her head to go home and leave behind not only the city but also the man for whom she was obviously falling.

She did not turn to look at him when he entered unannounced. The expression on her face was set as she continued folding her clothes in her travel chest.

"What is it, brother?" she asked in stony voice that was devoid of its usual colour and spirit.

"Oh, what do you think? I just came to watch you make a fool of yourself because you're just so stupidly headstrong that you keep running away from a good man who likes you very much", he answered sharply. She shot a glare at him for those words.

"Likes me very much? More likely he loathes me very much now!" she snapped angrily.

"Of course he doesn't hate you!" Amrothos argued, wanting to shake her.

"You didn't see him! You didn't see how he looked at me!" Lothíriel exclaimed. "He told me to leave and that's what I'm going to do. I will not show my face before him again."

"Sister, don't you see how blind you're being?" he asked, exasperated. "You keep making the same mistake even now!"

"Amrothos, please", she said and the tone of her voice suddenly scared him. It was so small and weak and unlike her... so beaten. His brave, fierce little sister was reduced to a mouse.

And someone had to remind her she wasn't a mouse at all.

But now she was sniffling to herself and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

"If you go now, you will regret it bitterly", he told her. She said nothing and concentrated again on folding her clothes.

Groaning to himself, Amrothos realised he wasn't going to get any help from her. Well, he should have guessed that anyway. Like he had told Legolas, the poor thing had absolutely no sense at all when it came to dealing delicately with men... and her own heart. It was foolish to expect she'd have learnt to do so overnight.

So, deciding he'd approach this from a different angle, he dashed out without further word. On the way, he ran past Aredhel, who tried to stop him: "Amrothos, where are you going?"

He yelled over his shoulder: "Sorry! I've got a horselord to catch!"

"What?!" asked his sister-in-law, but the prince grinned at her.

"I can't explain. Just take cover and watch the fireworks!"

"... and really, my King, it was just so wonderful, the way you came to our aid, and I wish I had been there to see your famous charge, everyone is talking about it, my lord, and I've never heard anything like that before, it's like from the Elder Days..."

The babbling just went on. Éomer had no idea what had been its starting point or where this monologue was going; he had even forgotten the name of the lady providing him with this utterly bland account. As long as he made affirmative sounds every now and then it appeared she could go on forever.

His eyes were fixed on the statue of some long-dead queen, placed here in the royal garden where the gathering was enjoying refreshments and sticky delicate pastries. Aragorn had invited some of the more important lords in the land to get to know them better, and he had asked his fellow king to join as well. Originally he hadn't meant to join the gathering, as he had been on a foul mood, but on the morrow the task of finding a queen had seemed particularly pressing.

But now, having endured this social event so far, he found his thoughts wandering ceaselessly away from this garden. A memory of last night would come to him, and with it he'd be reminded of a warm strong hand in his own, the grey eyes fixed on him and enchanting him... and the face of a woman he had so tried to make sense of without any success.

Lothíriel, the Princess of Dol Amroth... when he thought of the name, all he could see was a mad orange-clad, veiled woman. Yet it explained so many things and he knew it could only be true.

"What do you say, my lord?" called the voice of the noble lady, and Éomer managed something of a smile for her.

"Very delightful indeed, my lady", he said, though he had no idea what she had been talking about. But apparently his answer was what she had wanted, and so she proceeded into yet another lengthy explanation.

It gave him some time to ponder more on what had taken place in his tent last night. Her confession, which had cleared out so many things... the stinging feeling of disappointment and anger, for this insane woman leading him on a merry chase for no good reason at all and messing with his head constantly... and he had been angry at himself too. Why hadn't he listened to her the first time when she had told him to leave her alone? She was a liar and a pretender and he did not know where that stupid obsession with her had come from.

And still... when he had woken up this morning, the first thing in his mind had been her, and the thought had been without a faintest touch of anger.

"My lady", he said in a voice strong enough to interrupt the noblewoman who had been monologuing at him. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Yes, my King?" she asked.

"What do you know of the Princess of Dol Amroth?" he asked in the spur of the moment. He wasn't too surprised to see her wrinkle her nose in distaste.

"I haven't met her, my lord", said the noble lady, "but I hear she's one of the more atrocious things to have happened to the Gondorian courts. She's of very high birth yet she's wild and unruly, and her father even lets her bear arms... she has very little manners for a lady of her status. I would not recommend getting acquainted with her, my lord. The Princess Lothíriel is trouble. Not to mention a very poor dancer."

At that Éomer very nearly snorted. Well, perhaps she was a poor dancer as far as Gondorian court dances went, but she had done just fine when they had danced to the Rohirric tune back in the camp... but that thought made him want to slap himself. Hadn't he made a decision to forget about that nonsensical woman for good?

However, now he had to ask himself: was that decision rooted in wounded pride or reason? He couldn't tell, which was truly worrisome.

This thought did nothing for his mood, and more than that it also gave voice to something that had been growing at the back of his mind ever since the morning. Perhaps it didn't matter at all.

"May I ask you to walk with me for a bit?" he inquired the lady, if just to clear his thoughts for a bit. Not to mention the sugary pastries had left him with an unpleasant, heavy feeling; such food, if it could be called that, didn't agree with him very well.

"Most certainly, my lord!" she answered and took his arm in delight. Slowly, they trailed down the path through the garden. Like most things in this city it looked like a result of intricate engineering planning. It travelled in stern straight lines, and flower beds and statues and other such things meant for pleasing the eye were arrayed in such severe orderliness to make him feel that a single creased leaf might bring a gardener running after him with a pair of scissors.

"My King, does your land have many gardens?" asked the lady by his side. Éomer shook his head.

"Not beyond the necessary kitchen orchards, my lady", he replied. "Weathers are not as mild as here, so I doubt most of these flowers would even survive in the Mark. There is a small garden in Meduseld, but I'm afraid it has received very little attention past few years."

He briefly recalled a time Éowyn had tried her hand in gardening. She had possessed little patience for it and thinking back he now perceived it was more out of a desperate need of finding some outlet for all the shadows that haunted her mind. Obviously the gardening project had not survived long. Now, however, the things were different. Conversations with her had proved Éowyn already had great many plans for when she'd live with Faramir in Ithilien, and those shadows she had carried had transformed into a wish for healing and growing. It was good to see her so full of hope and plans.

They had now arrived to the stone railing at the edge of the garden, from which one could see the great city expanding below them. It was a beautiful city and rightly called the greatest that now existed in Middle-earth, but what wonder he still had left for seeing it was now mixed with longing for his own home. Well, not for Meduseld in particular, because it was years since he had lived there and most likely it would feel like a dwelling of ghosts when he'd return. No, he yearned for Rohan itself: the plains and the brooks and vales and groves and rivers... the ever-present wind chasing clouds over the rolling hills, the great wall of mountains to west, and the sky blazing with the setting sun.

"... my lord?" asked the lady, bringing him back from those thoughts of home.

"I beg your pardon. Would you please repeat what you said, my lady?" he replied, doing his best to form a charming smile for her. Homesickness or insane princesses were no excuse to forget his manners. In truth out of the two of them she wasn't even such bad company – he was, what with the way his mind constantly wandered away.

"I was just asking whether you could tell me more of Rohan, my King", she said, quickly smoothing away the frown that had risen to her face. He sighed to himself; looking at this woman he knew she'd be a wonderful queen. She'd bring grace and beauty and order into his household. She was probably more than competent in all the skills noblewoman could possibly need. Why couldn't someone like her stir him, make his mind and heart run wild? Why did it have to be a wild, unladylike princess who rode like an Eorling and punched men who annoyed her and tried to pose as a people-hating bush?

You know why.

It was not this woman's fault, and anyway she'd probably have hated the Mark. She'd have missed the stone city and its gardens, the long-haired and loud-voiced Rohirrim would have put her off, and in the end he'd probably have just scared or displeased her with good many things.

But he forced aside those thoughts and in a strained voice he started: "Rohan is a very beautiful land, my lady..."

He didn't get to continue that sentence much longer than that, because his eyes suddenly fell on a figure of a man down below the garden, waving his arms at him. Then came shout: "My lord! My lord! King Éomer"

To his surprise, Éomer recognised the shouting fellow as Imrahil's youngest son.

"Prince Amrothos", he called back, "what are you shouting about?"

The noise had attracted some attention now. The lady beside him had fallen completely silent and was gazing from him to Amrothos and back. Some of the other guests had also approached to see what the shouting was.

"She's leaving the city, my lord! Today!" Amrothos bellowed from below so that the entire Citadel seemed to be echoing with his shout.

"What are you talking about?" Éomer demanded, frowning at the prince's words.

"My sister of course! She's going back to Dol Amroth and she's convinced you hate her!" he shouted. Now this display was starting to raise a soft chatter, but the King of Rohan paid no heed. Instead, he was staring at the young man down below. Princess Lothíriel was leaving the city...

It was then he felt a presence on his right side, and turning his face he saw Legolas. He hadn't seen the Elf attending the gathering, but perhaps the Elven Prince was here just to enjoy the garden. He too was far away from his home after all, and maybe the stone city raised similar feelings of yearning for home. In this city of stone a dweller of the Woodland Realm must have found green things all the more precious.

"I beg your pardon, my lady", said Legolas in a soft melodious voice to the noblewoman who was now looking at them both with something that resembled terrified suspicion. The Elf continued, "I know I am interrupting you, but I must speak with King Éomer."

"Oh... just... go ahead, my lord", said the poor lady, and slowly backed away. Éomer had a feeling that was the last he'd discuss with this woman.

Legolas' voice re-engaged his attention then.

"She is young and perhaps a bit foolish. But something tells me she's worth it", commented the Elf softly. That Legolas knew of this matter did not surprise him too much, though he was starting to wonder just how widely it was known what was happening in his... well, one couldn't perhaps call it love life, really. Be it as may, this show by Amrothos had probably made sure all of the city would know before the night had fallen. He couldn't decide if he should be amused or angry about that.

Still, altogether this was a matter he wasn't sure he wanted counsel about, though Legolas seemed determined to give it anyway. When the young king regarded the Elf, Legolas was watching him in a way that felt like his mind was being read.

"You have always been able to follow your heart's judgement in the important choices of your life, haven't you? And it has lead you well?" asked the Elf slowly after a moment of silence.

"Aye. That is true", Éomer answered quietly... and he already knew where this would go.

"Well then", Legolas said, and there was a faint smile on his fair face, "what are you waiting for?"

The journey down to Harlond was made quickly enough. Lothíriel had said goodbye to her father, Aredhel and her brothers except for Amrothos. He had run off somewhere, for which she was sorry. She'd have liked to bid farewell to him too before leaving. However, the ship wouldn't stand in the harbour just waiting for her, and so she, her handmaiden Bainiel, and the guards Father had sent to escort her had departed.

The docks of Harlond were busy and bustling as one of her guards tried to make way through it. Though it was now some weeks since the war had ended, it seemed like the flood of people and goods from south was not going to diminish any time soon. It wasn't only that though: traffic from the north had received a boost as well, and Lothíriel remembered overhearing her father talking about King Elessar's plans on how the trading routes to north could be improved, and if ports could be established to the upriver of Anduin. Seeing all this life caused her some regret for making the decision of going back to Dol Amroth. Looking at Bainiel confirmed the poor girl was regretting her mistress' choice to leave as well.

But she told herself it was necessary. She had to leave behind this city, and especially the man whose presence filled even her chambers. She needed some place safe, where she could make what sense there was to be made of all this... and then she would carry on.

"My lady. There is the Star", said her guard then, pointing at the ship at the dock. It was a low, wide ship meant for travelling on Anduin, and its pennant carried the small swan symbol to signify it was one of the Prince of Dol Amroth's ships. It was nothing like the tall proud ships that guarded the coasts and voyaged the high seas.

"Good. Let's go, then", Lothíriel said, leading her mare towards the ship waiting for them.

Upon their arrival, a man she presumed was the ship's captain approached them. He was a nice-looking fellow, about Amrothos' height, and his hair greying; his eyes glinted with a light she could only call the sea.

"I am Captain Uinost. Do I have the honour of addressing to the Princess Lothíriel?" he asked.

"Indeed you do, Captain", she answered with a slight smile, though she wouldn't say it was much of an honour. But the captain needn't know that.

"Welcome aboard, my lady. We should be ready to sail shortly. Your cabin is ready, if you would like to see it", he said and bowed.

"Thank you, captain", Lothíriel managed, and with her small company she made for the ship.

Once aboard, she didn't make for the cabin, though. As far as travelling on ship went the departure had always been her favourite part, and she liked to watch the men as they prepared the marine vehicle for the journey. It was the time spent travelling she didn't look forward to, because especially the journey on Anduin was in her opinion rather tedious.

Wishing for some time alone she dismissed Bainiel and her guards and instead chose a spot by the rail by the port-side of the ship where she could observe the preparations without being in anyone's way. From there she watched the port and felt regretful. What had this journey to Minas Tirith benefited? She had made a complete fool of herself, and she had earned the hatred of a man who... who was...

She couldn't finish that thought. Stubbornly she rubbed at her eyes, to keep away that moistness that again threatened to pour out. I never cry this much. Stupid man.

At last the brow from the dock to the ship was removed and the anchor raised, and ship was made ready to depart... but then suddenly she heard some exclamations and the area at the pier cleared of people: two riders had arrived, their great warhorses startling away the crowd with their mere size. And there was the King of Rohan, scanning the docks in urgency. Dressed in formal attire but bearing a wind-blown countenance, she knew he must have raced here from some social gathering up at the Citadel, and that realisation hit her hard and made her tremble. Frozen where she stood, Lothíriel understood the thing he was looking for was she.

"You!" she exclaimed, "What are you doing here!"

Her shout immediately captured his attention and his eyes fixed on her. And he dared to grin at her! Lothíriel didn't know whether she wanted to shake or kiss the man. Probably both, and preferably in recursion.

"I came to speak with you, of course!" he shouted back. "Who said you may leave the city just like that?"

"I did! I go when and wherever I please!" Lothíriel informed him. This seemed to frustrate him.

"Get back here at once!" demanded the King of Rohan.

"Certainly not! I'm not turning around this ship just for you!" she replied. Their shouting had already attracted quite a crowd and even the crew of the ship had hard time concentrating on their duties.

A fierce, determined look came to the face of the horselord and he turned around his horse. For one instance Lothíriel thought he had changed his mind about this and was going to leave... but then he raised his voice: "Make way!"

Oh no. He wouldn't.

The great stallion galloped down the pier all the way to the edge of it, and he leapt, and his flight from the quay to the deck seemed to take forever... until at last he landed there in the ship and Lothíriel was deafened by the screams of the crowd. But as the man and his horse made it safely screams turned into laughter and wild cheering.

Lothíriel stared. For the longest moment she could not speak or even move – she could only stand there and gape at this... this lunatic! There he sat on his horse, looking both majestic and absurd, and smiling at her in a way that took away her breath. The crew was apparently similarly indisposed, until Captain Uinost came running and demanded: "Why in the name of Uinen is there a horse on my deck?!"

"You are completely insane!" managed the princess at last. "Don't you realise you could have got yourself killed!"

"Yes, I am. But I am not letting you go before I've talked with you, my dear Lady Princess, even if it does indeed end me!" announced the maddening horselord and dismounted. He glanced at the captain, "I apologise for this, captain. It was not my intention to inconvenience you, but I really must speak with the Princess."

Lothíriel judged the captain was too astonished to be angry about this turn of events.

"I... I suppose it is all right, my lord of Rohan", Uinost said, barely able to speak from his bewilderment.

"Well, I didn't agree to talk with you!" Lothíriel tried weakly, though she too was still bewildered. But the man had startled her too – for a moment she had been certain she'd go down in history as a woman who caused the King of Rohan to get himself killed in a most insane display of horsemanship.

"Then I will not speak", he growled, and with one long stride he was on the front of her; and his arms were like bands of iron when he lifted her up and his mouth descended on hers, there on the deck of a ship that was supposed to take her back to Dol Amroth, and they still had the audience of the size of the entire port... but then thoughts of them fell away, for the King of the horselords was kissing her and he tasted of something sweet and his lips on her own were just as hungry and demanding as she had hoped they would be, and her breath came as quick gasps whenever he ceased... it was all teeth and tongues and her head was dizzy, until at last it occurred to Lothíriel that the ship was moving away from the docks and now there was a king on board.

So, when the annoying man pulled back slightly – though he didn't lower her down on her own feet – she peeked around his wide shoulder at Captain Uinost (poor man didn't seem to know whether he should laugh or be angry).

"Captain, can I perhaps ask you to bring the ship back to the port? I should not want the Rohirrim thinking I've kidnapped their king and am intending to whisk him away to south", she asked, trying not to mind how croaky her voice sounded.

"As you command, my lady", Uinost answered in carefully guarded tone and turned to shout commands for his men.

At last the King of Rohan lowered her down on her feet. There were flames in his eyes, and no man had ever looked at her with such fire and desire; her head was swimming with the overwhelming realisation that this man here wanted her just as she was. He had kissed her... and she had liked it.

But none of it made any sense, not after how angry he had been with her last night. Sweet Elbereth! Why couldn't this man stop for five minutes and cease with his nonsensical ways? Moreover, why did he have to keep on confusing her so insolently?

She didn't get to dwell on these questions for too long nor did she have a chance of gathering her calm, because he spoke at last: "Now, my lady, I would like to talk with you, and settle everything for good."

A/N: And here's some reactions at last! I hope it was an enjoyable read. :)

When I began to think of how Éomer would react to hearing the truth I hesitated between a positive and a negative response. I suppose a case could be made for the positive reaction but in the end I decided to go the way you see here. After all, their dynamics in this piece so far has been defined by unpredictability and electric chemistry, so I chose to write him initially being angry... but then, when he gets a moment to cool down and think of it he eventually understands it doesn't matter. Hence came also Lothíriel's sudden decision to leave for Dol Amroth. At this point, due to their personalities and their attempts to figure out each other do cause some extreme reactions and decisions. Well, if there was no drama there wouldn't be a story either!

I know Lothíriel remains reluctant still, but perhaps that is understandable. Of course we as readers like to see her together with Éomer, but from her point of view it is an enormous choice. It's not only a marriage to a man who comes from a different culture, but also a marriage to a king. And for someone like Lothíriel, to a person who has never given particular thought to the possibility of marrying anyone, it's not something she just clears out instantly.

Also as you can see Imrahil isn't actually too angry about things - she understands the fault in her ways after all and has apologised. I must say her worry that he'd be so was mostly just Lothíriel making a mountain out of molehill. I believe that's sort of understandable considering the situation.

Still, if she remains indecisive we do have things going somewhere at least, and we have the first kiss too, hopefully you, my dear readers, liked that! :)

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing!

Inspiration for the chapter: Jennifer O'Connor - Between the Church and the River

Quote in the beginning originally by Jane Evershed.

The Hare and the Otter - Hopefully this is along the line what you wished for!

Talia119 - I'm a writer. Cliffies are what I do. :D

wondereye - Oh yes, Éomer has far clearer ideas what he wants to happen than Lothíriel does. :)

Le Pleiade - Hopefully the road I chose makes at least sense to you. I think he's going to be amused, once he has had time to think things through.

Nakita - I'm glad to hear that! Sometimes I just feel like people aren't as "in" the character's head as I am (which is probably understandable, it's my story after all), and my view is that people aren't always rational, especially not in highly emotional situations which are new to them. Personally I find it more realistic that people don't necessarily move from A to B in their thought processes and reactions - they might stray to D or E and then understand the fault in what they have thought and done, and get back to where they started. Also I think that's not only more interesting to read, but also to write.

Kiiimberly - He is... eventually. :D