Lothíriel slept fitfully that night, unable to shake the king of Rohan from her mind. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw his eyes, raw and lonely, and she was instantly wide awake. So it was that she had only been asleep for a few hours when Fingwen knocked on her door.

"M'lady, your lord father is taking the nobles on a tour of Dol Amroth and the port and he asked me to make sure you were ready to accompany them,"

Lothíriel lifted her heavy head from her pillows; she looked at Fingwen and had to blink several times to focus on the maid. Fingwen was already busy, pulling a light riding dress from Lothíriel's wardrobe and then heading to the balcony to open the louvered glass doors. A blast of fresh air hit Lothíriel as she sat upon the side of her bed and she inhaled the cooler, fresh smelling breeze. Fingwen turned from the doors and frowned at Lothíriel.

"It's a good thing I came when I did; your hair is going to take some work," Fingwen walked quickly to Lothíriel and took her by her arms and sat her down on her vanity stool. With quick strokes, Fingwen brushed out Lothíriel's hair, frowning at the tousled waves when they would not behave. As Fingwen continued to fight with Lothíriel's suddenly unruly hair, Lothíriel noticed a light stinging on the back of her neck. When she turned a little she was able to see that the sun had burned her some during her time upon the beach the day before. Then, a thought occurred to her and Lothíriel felt all sleep leave her. Thankfully, Fingwen was nearly done with Lothíriel's hair and when the maid's fingers tied the final braid up, Lothíriel dashed from her chair and threw on her clothes. Fingwen rushed behind Lothíriel, vainly trying to help the princess dress.

"What has gotten into you, M'lady?" Fingwen huffed, tucking back a strand of hair that Lothíriel had knocked loose.

"Nothing. Thank you Fingwen," Lothíriel said quickly, pulling on her riding boots as fast as she could. Then she dashed back to her vanity, grabbing a small ceramic crock and running out of her rooms with Huan on her heels.

As soon as she was in the halls, Lothíriel walked as quickly and sedately as possible, thankful that the leggings under her riding skirt allowed her to walk quickly without seeming improper. When she came to the door of the guest chamber she was looking for, Lothíriel knocked sharply on the polished wood. She heard movement on the opposite side, and uncertainty hit Lothíriel full force as she realized what she was doing. But then, the door creaked open and Lothíriel knew she had made the right decision.

"Princess?" Éomer stood at the door, his expression confused. Lothíriel looked the man up and down quickly, taking in his sun-pinked cheeks, to the blazing red patch of skin that Lothíriel spied at the neck of his linen shirt, to the brighter red of his forearms. Without thinking, Lothíriel pushed the door back and walked into the king's room.

"The sun burned you yesterday and you will sicken if you do not do something," Lothíriel said, remembering stories her brothers told of young, inexperienced sailors falling ill when burned by the sun. Lothíriel as well had experienced her share of sun burns and she knew the king must be uncomfortable at the very least. And when Lothíriel studied the incredulous monarch before her, she knew he was in more than a little pain. Small beads of sweat stood out on his forehead and he held his shoulders stiffly. His expression was precariously close to dangerous so she held the small crock in front of her like it was a shield.

"It is ointment made from desert plants especially for burns. If you put it on now, it will ease the sting and lessen the time your skin peels," The Princess and King regarded each other for a tense moment until Lothíriel reached out and gently touched Éomer on the shoulder. Though he tried to hide it, lothiriel did not miss the grimace of pain that flashed across the king's face.

"My lord, you will be in worse pain as the day goes on if you do not use this," Lothíriel held the crock out again, this time, lifting its lid and scraping out a glob of ointment onto her fingers. She raised her eyebrows at the king as he stared her down. Then without a word, Éomer gingerly took off his shirt. Lothíriel's eyes widened at the blazing red of the king's torso, noticing that the scars crossing his body were a deeper red. Without permission, Lothíriel started rubbing the ointment onto Éomer's shoulders.

"You know, you could get yourself into trouble for being here," Éomer finally said, breaking his silence. His voice was unusually terse but Lothíriel wrote it off to his discomfort.

"I know, but I will just have to be in trouble; it is not good hospitality to let our guests suffer when it is in our power to help them," Lothíriel said, moving from the king's shoulders to his back. "And, you are my betrothed," Lothíriel added quietly. Éomer looked over his shoulder at Lothíriel, his eyes unreadable. Lothíriel only continued her ministrations in silence. Éomer flinched when she rubbed the cool ointment on the middle of his back. In spite of her tension, Lothíriel had to suppress a smile when she heard Éomer sigh as she spread the cool ointment on his skin. As Lothíriel finished rubbing the ointment onto Éomer's back, he turned and placed his hands on Lothíriel's arms. Lothíriel stilled and she could not stop the goose bumps that rose at his touch.

"Lothíriel, I,"

"I have done all that you cannot reach; make sure you let the ointment dry before you finish dressing. You will have to put on more tonight before you sleep," Lothíriel rambled, suddenly feeling trapped by Éomer's touch.

"Lothíriel, you do not need to fear me," Éomer said, seeing the strange tension vibrating through the Princess. His words brought Lothíriel's eyes to his and she looked at him questioningly. For once, Éomer felt at a loss for words. With their betrothal being agreed to in writing but not in word, he felt his footing was unstable as water with the Princess. One thing he did know though was that he wished her not to fear him.

"I am sorry, it is just that… that," Lothíriel stopped talking as Éomer gently pressed his fingers to her lips.

"We must speak with your father; today if we can manage it. I have been lax in pursuing your father in this matter, and it is my fault that there is this uncertainty between us," Éomer looked down at the Princess, surprised that she still held his gaze. Without thinking, he placed a kiss upon Lothíriel's brow.

"You can trust I am a man of my word," Éomer dropped his hands, taking the small crock from Lothíriel's hands.

"Thank you," He said quietly. Lothíriel only nodded, walking slowly to the door and into the hall, where Huan was waiting patiently. Lothíriel walked away from Éomer's door, slightly in a daze, and she did not notice Huan's small warning bark as he turned and looked behind her.

"I am glad I was not the only one who noticed Éomer had taken his fair share of the Sun," a slightly amused voice spoke behind Lothíriel. The princess nearly jumped from fright, whirling around to meet the eyes of Aragorn and Arwen. The royal couple each had bemused smiles on their faces and Lothíriel felt her face redden.

"I apologize if I've offended your sensibilities, my lord and lady. With his fairer complexion, I was concerned that he would sicken if not taken care of," Lothíriel said hastily, wringing her hands in front of her. Huan felt her nerves and nudged her hands with his long nose, stilling Lothíriel's nervous movement.

"We are not offended, young one," Arwen said, her serene voice amused. "Sometimes the warriors are the last to take care of themselves and need others to do it for them," the elf queen cast a glance up at her husband with these words and then smiled at Lothíriel.

"Tell me, what did you do to ease his pain?" Aragorn asked, his healer's curiosity piqued.

"I gave him an ointment made out of a dessert plant of Harad; I forget its name but it's a plant with long spear-like fronds. Father always buys the ointment from the merchants whenever they pass through Dol Amroth," Lothíriel spoke quickly, her voice relieved. But a movement behind Aragorn and Arwen drew Lothíriel's attention and her relief vanished. Aragorn glanced behind himself when he noticed Lothíriel's expression and had to suppress a smile.

"Well, my lady wife and I should be going; we will see you during your father's tour," Aragorn said, holding out his arm to Arwen then walking away down the hall. Lothíriel though, stood rooted in place.

"Your previous boldness seems to have worn off, Princess," Éomer walked up to Lothíriel, his usual charm back in place. "May I escort you to breakfast?" Éomer held out his arm to Lothíriel, a charming, if not a little mischievous smile on his face. Lothíriel took his arm gently, making sure not to hold too tightly for fear of aggravating his sun burn.

"Thank you, again," Éomer said quietly, smiling down at Lothíriel.

"You are welcome; it did not occur to me to warn you about the sun yesterday and I only thought of you after my maid accidentally brushed the back of my neck," Lothíriel said, training her eyes forward. Éomer quickly looked below Lothíriel's braided bun on the back of her head, seeing that her neck was a little red but not nearly as bad as his.

"Well, I am still grateful and thank you for your help," Éomer smiled down at Lothíriel, winking at her when their eyes met. Though her cheeks were still pink from yesterday's sun, Éomer could still see the blush that bloomed on her face.

The pair walked in silence until they came to the great hall. Lothíriel would have groaned if it had been polite. Obviously, her father had invited all his lords and several of their wives to accompany the tour and they all looked at Lothíriel upon Éomer's arm with an almost ravenous interest.

"Aunt Lothi!" a small voice yelled from the crowd and all eyes darted away from Lothíriel to the child running at her knees. Lothíriel knelt and grabbed the child up in a bear-hug, lifting the young one off his feet. The child giggled and laughed and tangled his small fingers in the fine hair at the back of Lothíriel's neck.

"How are you, my little Alphros?" Lothíriel beamed at her nephew, kissing his sweet face. The little boy's blue eyes crinkled as he gave his aunt a silly smile and Lothíriel ruffled his downy blonde hair. Alphros had taken his mother's coloring but Lothíriel didn't mind, for her whole family bore the dark hair and olive skin common to her father's line.

"I've been a good boy for mama, like you told me. She's been extra sleepy and dada says I shouldn't be naughty,"

"Is that so?" Lothíriel said, looking past the three-year-old straight into the eyes of Alarwen, his mother. Alarwen sent Lothíriel a calm smile that gave nothing away, though Lothíriel was suspicious of the twinkle in her sister in law's eyes.

"Who is that?" the small boy asked, pointing at Éomer who still stood at Lothíriel's side. Lothíriel gently lowered the toddler's hand.

"It is not polite to point, Alphros," Then, turning to Éomer, Lothíriel looked up and smiled. "This is king Éomer of Rohan,"

Éomer smiled as the little child looked at him with large blue eyes then turned and whispered something to his aunt. With a nod, Lothíriel sat the child down, patting down an unruly tuft of hair at the top of his head.

"I am going to practice my bow," Alphros announced, bowing with as much grace as a child could, then sending a questioning glance over his shoulder at his mother and aunt. The lad's mother nodded and gave Alphros an encouraging smile and the boy turned and gave an impish grin to Éomer.

"Mother and aunt Lothi say that it is nice to bow when you meet a king," Alphros offered, surprising Éomer with his precocious words.

"You did a fine job and I am glad to meet you, young Alphros," Éomer said, causing the boy to shuffle his feet and smile shyly. Then, the little boy looked over his shoulder and was off like a shot.

"Legless! Saerdada!" the child yelled excitedly, dashing into the arms of the elven Prince and then leaping from him into the arms of Legolas' dour, green-eyed kinsman.

"Things are never dull when Alphros is around," Lothíriel's voice floated up next to Éomer. The Horselord looked at the princess, seeing the love she held for Alphros shining in her eyes. A small smile turned up the corner of Lothíriel's mouth as she watched Elphir enter the scene and try to extricate his son from elven arms. Legolas' dour kinsman whispered something in Alphros' ear as the child began to fuss and Alphros' face fell a little but he surrendered to his father's care without any more struggle. Éomer could not help but chuckle at the crestfallen expression on the boy's face and Lothíriel looked up at the king.

"He reminds me of myself somewhat when I was a child. Uncle used to say that not even the Mearas could pull me away once I had set my mind to do something. And often it was when I was disobeying my parents when that expression was applied," Éomer said in answer to Lothíriel's questioning gaze. The Princess smiled then, her heart fluttering a little with Éomer's shared story. She was sure Éomer's story was something he would tell anyone but remembering their encounter just minutes earlier, Lothíriel's heart refused to listen to her head and it continued to flutter. But then, one of the older nobles' wives came over and Lothíriel's heart sank. This particular noble-lady was a notorious gossip and Lothíriel was sure she was searching for a juicy tidbit to spread amongst the court. And Lothíriel and Éomer certainly had a trifle worth a hefty sum in the market of gossip. That thought alone had Lothíriel wringing her hands before the woman spoke.

"My lord king Éomer and Princess Lothíriel! What a fine day it is, what with the storm last night," the noble-woman said with an ingratiating smile. Lothíriel returned the gesture but her smile was stunted because of her nerves. Éomer merely looked at the woman with a steely gaze, his jaw tense. The woman shrank back some but instead turned her full attention to Lothíriel. Knowing she was expected to answer the woman's question, Lothíriel spoke quickly.

"Yes indeed, I watched the storm come in last night and I am glad it came. The heat yesterday was unbearable,"

"Unbearable indeed," The noblewoman concurred, fanning herself with a small lace fan. "Speaking of unbearable, the worst sort of rumors have been spreading about the court that you are involved with a certain king," the noblewoman's eyes flicked to Éomer for a moment. "And that you are planning to elope. I am only seeking the truth so that I can set those gossipers straight," The noblewoman opened her eyes wide, in an attempt to look innocent and her tone was self-righteous. Lothíriel's heart sank, for the rumor was too close to truth outside of their supposed elopement. When Lothíriel looked up at Éomer though, she was alarmed to see the dangerous look in his eyes.

"Do you know what happens to tale-bearers in the Mark?" Éomer asked his eyes intense and his hand resting upon his sword. The noble-woman looked at Éomer, her expression wilting in his gaze. She opened her mouth to speak but Éomer spoke over her.

"If tale-bearers cause enough harm with their words, they are charged restitution for every lie they have told, and if their debt is great enough and their words criminal, they are given the choice to either be forever a slave to their victim's family, or to have their tongues cut out. I think it would be best if you passed this on to whoever is spreading these rumors," Éomer said, ending his words with a dangerous smile. The expression was frightening to Lothíriel but when she looked at the noblewoman, she had to turn a sudden giggle into a cough. The woman looked at Éomer as if he was going to cut her tongue out himself and her hands fluttered nervously at her throat. The heavy makeup she used to conceal the signs of age stood out upon her suddenly pale face like a clown's mask and Lothíriel felt a small twinge of sympathy for the woman; but not enough to offer her placating words.

"Would you walk with me, Princess?" Éomer asked, holding his arm out to Lothíriel. She took his arm, not wanting to refuse him while he still wore the dangerous smile upon his face. Then without another word, Éomer led Lothíriel out of the Grand hall. As they walked past the table set with food, Lothíriel hastily snatched a small loaf of sweet bread and a citrus fruit with her free hand. Huan as well trotted after the pair, stealthily snatching a meat pie off the breakfast table as he passed by.

Éomer's long strides did not slow until he entered the stables and Lothíriel walked with the man in silence, wondering why he brought her along. Hopefully not just to be witness to his anger but Lothíriel did not fault him that emotion. She had grown used to the gossipers of the court and though it still ruffled her, she was more resigned to her fate. Lothíriel was not ready when Éomer suddenly stopped and she bounced against his side before he let her arm go.

"Are there many rumors about us?" Éomer asked, his voice resigned but not angry as Lothíriel had anticipated.

"Only a few. Amrothos has done a fine job in silencing most of the wagging tongues out there. He seems to think it is his personal mission to protect my virtue. It really doesn't bother me much anymore," Lothíriel said, hoping to placate the king.

"All the more reason to speak to your father and have us announced," Éomer said, his voice still low and his expression still slightly dark. On impulse, Lothíriel placed her hand on Éomer's arm. She offered him a smile and Éomer's stern façade cracked and he let out a deep breath.

"I wonder if that noble-woman's husband had to send for the healers by the look of her face," Éomer said, chuckling some.

"I saw the elven healer there; I'm sure if she had fainted, she would have been taken care of," Lothíriel said, tearing the loaf of sweet bread in half and offering it to Éomer. The king looked surprised but he took the bread, an expression of chagrin in his eyes.

"I would always rather eat outside anyways; especially on mornings like these," Lothíriel smiled up at the king, reading the apology in his expression. When he took his half of Lothíriel's bread, the pair walked deeper into the stables

The stables were certainly the busiest Lothíriel had seen in some time as Grooms scurried about, readying the horses that Imrahil's company would ride upon. But for the busy bustle in the stables, Lothíriel found it to be a much more peaceful place than inside the palace. And for once, she did not feel the crippling butterflies in her stomach with Éomer so close.

"Your father has good horse-flesh; where does he acquire all his steeds?" Éomer asked, as Lothíriel stopped next to a stable that held a mare and her young foal.

"Before the war, my father traded horses with your people and grew his stock from their seed. But in the years just before the war, he bought Silvermane from a merchant of Harad and has been growing our stock from him," Lothíriel said, her tone slightly business-like save for the enraptured expression on her face as she petted the velvety nose of the foal. A movement at the princess' feet drew Éomer's attention and he could not stop the superstitious curse jumping to his lips. A black cat rubbed against Lothíriel's legs, and the princess stooped and picked up the cat without a thought. When she turned, Lothíriel could not help but laugh at the horrified expression on Éomer's face.

"Certainly the king of Rohan does not believe in superstitions?" Lothíriel asked, still laughing. Éomer's face suddenly became stormy and Lothíriel could not control her mirth.

"Look, she is not all black," Lothíriel said, holding up the cat's back paw to show one white toe. Éomer still looked doubtful but Lothíriel let the cat go, still laughing.

"I do not believe in superstitions," Éomer blurted defensively.

"Really? Then why did I hear you call upon Béma and curse the dark spirits to the Void?" Lothíriel smiled at Éomer in an irksome manner that reminded the king of Lothíriel's older brother Amrothos.

"You are certainly strange, Princess, and are becoming increasingly bold," Éomer said, dodging the issue entirely. His words though, immediately wiped Lothíriel's smile from her face and she stood up a little straighter.

"If I've offended you, I do apologize," Lothíriel's expression was contrite and Éomer immediately regretted his words. The stark contrast of Lothíriel now to herself mere moments ago was slightly startling to the king.

"No you have not offended me," Éomer said quickly, "and yes, you heard correctly; some superstitions are hard to let go," Éomer said, quieter this time, hoping there was no one around to hear his admission other than the princess. Lothíriel's answering smile was tentative but the coolness in her demeanor was gone.

"I was going to saddle Firefoot; if you wish, you may come along," Éomer offered. Lothíriel's eyes lit with an unknown emotion and her smile widened. Éomer took that as her answer and held out his arm again and the princess took it readily.

Firefoot was in a more solitary wing of the stables. He had thrown the place into an uproar when they had first arrived and the grooms had run to Éomer, hastily requesting permission of the king to move his stallion. Éomer had given them permission quickly, knowing well the lusty nature of Firefoot.

When the pair came to the stable of Firefoot, Éomer stopped short, putting his hand on Lothíriel's shoulder.

"Firefoot is skittish around newcomers, though he is a little better around women. I would still have you take caution with him though, until I have his tack upon him," Éomer said, his voice bringing the warhorse's broad head around to look out of the stable. Firefoot whinnied excitedly as Éomer entered the stall, giving the stallion hearty pats as he ran his hands over Firefoot's legs and body. Lothíriel watched from a safe distance, more than once noticing how relaxed Éomer looked; as he worked, some of the lines of worry faded from his face. When Éomer looked up to see that Lothíriel was intently watching him, he winked at her and she looked away quickly. Lothíriel studiously kept her gaze away from the king then, noticing that the king's tack was stored in the stable next to Firefoot. She walked over to investigate, drawing a curious snort from Firefoot as she walked past the opening of his stall.

The king's saddle sat on a rack and Lothíriel walked to it, reaching out and touching the worn but strong leather. Even for the obvious wear, the workmanship of the saddle astounded Lothíriel and she ran her hands over the embossed leather, tracing the outlines of horses and charging soldiers. As Lothíriel ran her hands over the swirling shapes in the leather, her hand stopped on an animal figure that was curious to her. She leaned closer to see that it was a great lion; its teeth were bared and its claws were out, attacking some unseen foe.

"I am not called the 'Lion of Rohan' for nothing," Éomer's said, right next to Lothíriel. The princess stood quickly, bumping into the king. She hastily stepped out of his way, feeling the familiar blush creeping up her throat. She wrung her hands self-consciously, watching Éomer pick up the heavy saddle with ease and walk back around to place it upon Firefoot's back. Lothíriel watched in fascination as Éomer fastened each strap and buckle with efficient movements, cinching the saddle strap tight. Then when all was to his liking, Éomer bridled Firefoot. For the stallion's fiery nature, Lothíriel was amazed at the obedience and calm the horse exuded as Éomer set his tack. Lothíriel had never seen a horse submit to its master so well in this manner and she leaned against the stall partition, watching with rapt attention. When Éomer was done, he stood in silence for a moment, noticing that Lothíriel still stared at Firefoot intently.

"I have never seen a horse behave so well. Silvermane always fights the bridle and bit," Lothíriel said, still studying Firefoot.

"I raised Firefoot from a foal; our relationship is much like yours to your hound," Éomer said, nodding in the direction of Huan; the great hound sat outside the stall, watching Firefoot with lazy disinterest.

"Hounds and horses do have some of the same temperaments," Lothíriel said, looking between Huan and Firefoot and having to smile for the only thing they had in common was the steely-grey color of their coats.

"Some of my riders should be here soon; they would like to meet you," Éomer said, leading Firefoot out of the stall and waiting until Lothíriel walked next to him. As Lothíriel walked past Firefoot, she again noticed the lion embossed in Éomer's saddle.

"Why a lion? Why not an animal of the plains like your Great wolves or even one of the Mearas?" Lothíriel blurted. She looked at Éomer curiously, only realizing how abrupt her question was when the man laughed a little.

"I have asked that question of myself many times," Éomer said, "The Mearas are sacred to our people and I would not wish to be called by their name even if I were the purest of heart. As for the epithet, I did not choose it myself. One of the old warriors upon my uncle's council had journeyed to the lands of Harad when he was a young man. Some years after Éowyn and I had taken refuge in Edoras, the old warrior likened me to a young lion he had seen in the eastern lands. He said that my fire and anger were all-consuming and he feared what I would become when I was full grown. The name was more of a warning, really; I had forgotten it until Éothain started calling me by it when I became a Marshall. My men took it to be a name of victory but to me, it is ever a warning," Éomer paused and his gaze became far away, but then a slightly roguish smile crossed his face. "As for Wolves, Théodred was more likened to one," Éomer's smile widened at some secret memory though he did not elaborate. "That tale is for another day, Princess," Éomer smiled at Lothíriel, giving her a wink before they entered the main stables.

"There you are! I was wondering if you had forgotten us, suffering outside the city," A hearty voice boomed from the center of the stables. Lothíriel looked up into the merry eyes of a man of Rohan. He seemed to be the same age as Éomer, though his hair was a darker shade of gold with a tint of red. His hazel eyes crinkled at the corners and Lothíriel found herself smiling though she did not know the man.

"You know I would have come to you soon enough; I have been surprised not to hear any reports of you all ravaging the town," Éomer answered with like tone. The merry rider laughed and slapped Éomer upon the shoulder, causing the king to flinch. The rider seemed not to notice but Lothíriel touched Éomer's arm gently and offered him an apologetic smile. Éomer looked at Lothíriel quickly and smiled, though he rolled his shoulders gingerly. The rider, though, was still talking and missed Lothíriel and Éomer's exchange.

"If it wasn't for Elfhelm, I'm sure we would have burned this place to the ground already. On accident, of course," The merry rider said, fixing a twinkling eye on Lothíriel. "Elfhelm will have to scold you for not introducing your lady to me though," The rider then bowed low, taking Lothíriel's hand and brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "Éothain, at your service m'lady," Éothain then straightened up, winking broadly at Lothíriel. The princess nearly rolled her eyes at Éothain, having been greeted in such a manner by many of Imrahil's Swan Knights. But instead, she smiled demurely at Éothain.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir Éothain; I am Lothíriel, Imrahil's daughter and Princess of Dol Amroth," At Lothíriel's words, Éothain's eyes widened and he waggled his eyebrows at the princess.

"So you're that princess; I'm sorry to say that the wine and mead had caught up to me the night of Éowyn's wedding and I do not remember seeing you, though I did hear about you," Éothain waggled his eyebrows again.

"That's enough, Friend," Éomer said, placing a heavy hand upon Éothain's shoulder. The rider fell silent but his look was not repentant. "You will have to forgive Éothain's antics; he has no woman back home to keep his eyes from wandering and his tongue from wagging," Éomer said, turning to Lothíriel with an apologetic smile.

"You should meet my brother Amrothos, Éothain. I have a feeling you two would get along well," Lothíriel said, laughing. As if he had been called by Lothíriel's mention of him, Amrothos' voice rang through the stables.

"Lothíriel! There you are!"

The tone of Amrothos' voice was harried and Lothíriel wondered if something bad had happened. Lothíriel looked at her brother questioningly as he stomped toward her. When he neared, Amrothos must have assumed Lothíriel knew what he was upset about for he began speaking as soon as he was within speaking distance.

"Why, of all days do you decide to not be the polite Princess that I know you can be? What was so special about today, Hmm? Did you wake up and decide you were tired of peace and quiet and wanted to try your hand at some mischief? You could have at least had the presence of mind to not threaten the wife of one of the council members. I mean really, cutting out their tongues and making them slaves for life? I'm not particularly fond of any of the old bats but really, have you lost your mind?" Amrothos' face became red as he ranted and Lothíriel merely watched her brother, waiting to speak until he was finished.

"Well, what do you have to say for yourself?" Amrothos looked at Lothíriel, his gaze as stern as he could manage.

"Amrothos, I did not say those things," Lothíriel said, her glance flicking for a moment to Éomer. The king was trying to look dour but Lothíriel saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Amrothos though, threw his hands into the air.

"Well the grand hall was all abuzz by the time I got there and one of the old biddies had nearly fainted on the floor. Apparently, you do not like gossips and you threatened the woman,"

"I did nothing of the sort, though it sounds like whoever said those words hit the nail precisely on the head. Perhaps the gossips will think twice before spreading rumors, don't you think, lord Éomer?" Lothíriel cast a glance back at the king her expression serious but her eyes were full of laughter.

"Um, yes, indeed," Éomer replied, turning his sudden chuckle into a cough. Amrothos missed the exchange between the king and his sister and speared Lothíriel with a look.

"Fine, if you won't confess, your fate is upon your own head. You know how lady Veweth is," Amrothos turned away from Lothíriel then, nearly running into Éothain. The rider was unperturbed and he smiled jovially.

"It seems your society is a little stiffer here than back in the Mark," Éothain said, jutting his hand out to Amrothos. "Éothain, at your service,"

"Amrothos," The prince replied, shaking the rider's hand. Éothain grinned at Amrothos and elbowed the prince good-naturedly.

"It seems this day has started out quite well, don't you think?"

Legolas found it very hard to not to roll his eyes, as he observed the scene before him. A noblewoman was leaning against her husband, sobbing with a hand to her forehead. She was indeed pale, Legolas noticed, but there were no tears in her eyes and every so often, she would cast a quick glance around the hall to see who was watching. Legolas had many good friends of the human race but he was often confused by the child-like behavior exhibited by many adults. And this time, the behavior was verging upon pathetic.

"Husband, you must take me out of here at once! I will not be near that horrid princess and her mangy cur,"

"Whatever are you talking about?" The husband asked, baffled and a bit embarrassed by his sobbing wife.

"That Princess threatened me and said she would cut my tongue out and force me to a life of slavery!" the woman nearly screeched, adding more sobs at the end of her words. The husband's expression was mortified now and he almost looked like he was pushing his wife away.

"Calm down dear, that does not sound like the Princess; perhaps you misheard her?"

"Calm down! How can you just stand there when someone threatens your wife? It is a good thing Imrahil's wife is dead, for she would certainly be shamed to death by her horrid daughter today! I…"

"That is enough!" Legolas stepped forward, unable to take the woman's words anymore. "I think it would be wise, if you go home and take this day to rest. It seems that you are vexed to your limit," Legolas smiled benignly at the nobleman and his wife, though his eyes were sharp. The wife looked as if she would speak again but her husband took her arm and left without another word. The grand hall was silent until Imrahil appeared. Legolas smiled at the prince, hoping the man had not heard the noblewoman's ugly words. Imrahil had apparently not heard the brief but dramatic confrontation but his eyes followed the retreating couple curiously.

"His lady wife was not feeling herself," Legolas offered as Imrahil walked next to him. The man nodded in understanding though his eyes were curious.

"I will have to send a servant to them later and see if they are faring well," Imrahil said, to no one in particular but then his face burst into a smile when Alphros called his name.

"Papa!" The little boy launched himself at Imrahil and the man picked up Alphros and tossed him into the air. Alphros giggled in delight and those in the hall smiled at the sight. Legolas inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, thanking Ilúvatar for the sometimes timely distractions of children.

Lothíriel had to stifle a yawn as the party yet again stopped to see a sight and hear Imrahil's explanation. Normally, Lothíriel liked riding through the city with her father but with the added number of kings and nobles, the tour was going at a maddeningly slow pace. Lothíriel was just thankful that the last night's storm had taken much of the oppressive heat out of the air.

As it was, she was one of the few ladies who had decided to come upon the tour. Éowyn, of course did not turn the tour down and neither did Queen Arwen. But those two ladies rode next to their husbands, leaving Lothíriel to ride between Amrothos and Erchirion most of the time. Once in a while, one of the older, single lords would try to ride next to Lothíriel and start a conversation but were soon carefully ushered away by one of her brothers. Lothíriel did not know why exactly they did this but she wondered if the surreptitious glances from the king of Rohan had anything to do with her brother's behavior. Éomer had tried to have Lothíriel ride next to him, but as the company had set out, he had been pulled to the front to ride between Elfhelm and his fellow king, Aragorn.

Lothíriel raised her eyes from the back of her horse's head, stifling a bored sigh. As if on cue, Éomer looked over his shoulder; his eyes met Lothíriel's for a moment, then he signaled one his riders. It was Éothain, Lothíriel saw, who rode up between Éomer and Elfhelm and the jolly rider listened to Éomer for a moment, then nodded his head and pulled out of the column. As Lothíriel and her brothers came abreast of him, Éothain smiled broadly.

"Princess, my lord Éomer has requested that you ride next to him, if you so desire," Éothain said, his jolly voice only reaching Lothíriel and her brother's ears. The rider smiled again broadly and Lothíriel cast a quick glance at her brothers. Erchirion shrugged and Amrothos sighed resignedly.

"Go on. I doubt we would've stopped you anyways," Amrothos said, pulling his horse up and allowing Lothíriel to pass. She guided her gelding to follow Éothain, taking the sudden empty place next to Éomer. Small butterflies fluttered in her stomach, but since the events of the morning, Lothíriel felt she understood the Horselord a little better. In light of that, Lothíriel decided to speak first.

"How have you liked my father's land?" Lothíriel looked at the king, her eyes glancing slightly behind the man to see Éowyn lean towards Faramir and whisper something to him. Faramir rolled his eyes in a very unlordly way and Éowyn shot Lothíriel a mischievous smile.

"They have been conniving since we first arrived," Éomer said in a low voice, glancing behind himself as well. Éowyn's look sobered when she noticed Éomer's scrutiny and Lothíriel could almost imagine Éowyn sticking her tongue out at her brother's dour expression.

"Since their wedding would be a more accurate time, I think," Lothíriel said, a quick memory of Éomer's kiss flitting through her mind. When Lothíriel looked at Éomer, he had a small smile on his face and there was a strange fire in his eyes.

"Yes, I think you are right," Éomer said quietly, his smile broadening some. Lothíriel was suddenly at a loss for words. She rode in silence for a few moments, thankful that her father stopped to explain how Dol Amroth's aqueduct worked. It was something Lothíriel knew about so she listened half-heartedly. She studied those around her, noticing how Faramir stifled a yawn or how Éothain was whispering something to Elfhelm and smiling. But one thing that truly caught her attention was how Éomer would roll his shoulders from time to time and how he wiped the light perspiration from his temple. A plan formed in Lothíriel's mind and she was thankful that they were nearly back to the palace. She fidgeted until her father was done speaking and took a deep breath before she spoke.

"Father?"

Imrahil turned in his saddle, smiling inquiringly at his daughter.

"I was wondering if I could show king Éomer and his riders the hunt kennels," Then Lothíriel looked to Éomer. "They have hunting hounds in then Mark, do they not, my lord?"

"Yes we do though not as much as in days past," Éomer said, his expression slightly confused.

"I think that would be fine, if his majesty is agreeable to it?" Imrahil said, seemingly unaware of Lothíriel's ulterior motives. Éomer only nodded his assent and Lothíriel smiled.

"I will see you back at the palace then, father," Lothíriel pulled her horse to the side of the column, and Éomer and his riders followed suit. As Amrothos passed, he shot Lothíriel a strange look to which she smiled back demurely. When the final riders of the column had passed, Lothíriel turned toward the palace. Éomer rode up next to her though remained silent as Lothíriel led them on. It was some minutes before they came to the road that Lothíriel was looking for and she turned down the quiet path with a sigh. The road was shaded by ancient citrus trees and Lothíriel loved the sharp smell of their leaves and seeing the small, young fruits peeking out from beneath their branches.

"This road leads through the old grove. These trees are centuries old; I believe they were planted before my grandfather's time, for Aunt Ivriniel tells of wandering through this place when she was a child and the trees were as knarled and rough as they are now," Lothíriel said, brushing her hand along a branch that hung into the path. She looked at Éomer and smiled, seeing that he was still a little skeptical of this side-trip. But he smiled back and Lothíriel felt her heart flutter.

"The kennels are not far now," Lothíriel said, hearing the deep baying of one of the hounds ahead of them.

In a short amount of time, Éomer noticed that the ancient trees were thinning around them. Ahead of them, a clearing opened in the trees revealing a long, rectangular, two-storied building of grey stone. Save for the center of the building, where a double door stood open, the bottom of the building was lined with concentric openings shorter than a normal door. The second story was nondescript, except that its windows were wide and all their shutters were flung open.

As soon as they rode into the clearing, a cacophony of deep baying erupted. Lothíriel pulled up her horse and dismounted, leading him along with a smile. Éomer dismounted as well, muttering a few words in rohirric when Firefoot snorted nervously. As if she had passed a prescribed point, the face of a hound appeared in almost every small opening. But these were not the type of hounds Éomer was used to seeing. They were even different from the hound Huan that belonged to Lothíriel. As Lothíriel got closer, several of the hounds emerged from their homes. Their bodies were stocky and strong with deep chests, though their shoulders looked to only come to Lothíriel's hip. Their heads were broad and their noses short, dropping into deep jowls and their necks were like a thick collar of skin. Every hound that ventured out was a varying shade of mahogany red and golden brown. All the hounds sent a cursory look at Lothíriel as she advanced and barked past her at Éomer, Elfhelm, and Éothain.

"Béma," Éothain muttered, "Those beasts look as they could tear a man's throat out,"

"Aye," Éomer agreed, keeping a wary eye on the hound closest to him. A quick look to Elfhelm showed that the older man was not as awed by the dogs as Éothain was but instead wore a thoughtful look on his face. Lothíriel's voice though, drew Éomer's eyes away from Elfhelm.

"Harma! Are you here?" Lothíriel yelled, her voice barely carrying above the noise. A moment passed, where the barking of the hounds seemed to increase and then two men walked from the open double doors. Éomer's warrior eyes flicked from one figure to the next, weighing them in the balance.

The first man was tall and thin with long limbs wrapped in hard sinew. The only evidence of the man's age was the steel grey of his hair and beard and the deep creases that lined his sun-browned face. The second man though, gave Éomer pause and he did not like what he saw. The second man was much younger than the first, and his shoulders were broad and his arms were thick with muscle. He stood a hairsbreadth shorter that the older man but that did not diminish the power of his physique. The younger man's hair was black and thick and hung in a heavy braid down his back. His eyes were a perceptive shade of brown and there was no beard upon his face, evidencing his youth. Looking at the young man, Éomer saw a glimmer of conceit in the young man's eyes and he knew why; the young man's cheek bones were high and his jawline strong. It was a combination that you would have to be blind to ignore and the young man knew it. The combination of the thick muscle wrapping his frame, and the younger man's looks had Éomer instantly on edge and he did not miss the cat-like readiness in his posture that Éomer guessed could turn dangerous in the blink of an eye.

The younger man's perceptive brown eyes flashed toward Éomer and hardness entered them for a moment. But what truly caused Éomer's concern was the way the younger man looked at Lothíriel: All too familiarly and slightly possessive of the Princess.

"Princess, it is good to see you. You haven't been here in a while. Nauro was beginning to think you had forgotten him," the grey-haired man, whom Éomer guessed was Harma, spoke. He smiled at Lothíriel and Éomer saw that one of his teeth was made of gold. Holding out his arms, Harma hugged Lothíriel quickly.

"Well, I have told Nauro many times that he should not keep his hopes up," Lothíriel replied a strange expression flashing across her face as the younger man hugged her; Lothíriel's body became stiff, though the young man seemed unaware of the Princess' discomfort. Before he let Lothíriel go, Nauro shot Éomer a dark glance over the princess' shoulder. Nauro's hands lingered for a moment too long upon Lothíriel's shoulders and Éomer could not stop the sudden surge of jealousy in him. True, he and Lothíriel were still trying to find their footing with each other, but she was his betrothed whether Nauro knew it or not. Éomer's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and he was about to call the younger man out when Lothíriel spoke.

"Harma, Nauro, may I introduce, Éomer king of Rohan, and Elfhelm and Éothain," Lothíriel spoke, inching surreptitiously away from Nauro.

"My lord, welcome to our humble home. You may walk wherever you wish, though I would take the Princess wherever you go, for the hounds have a respect for her that is uncanny. Otherwise, you may be looking at them from a more prostrate position," Harma added, laughing at his own joke. Nauro did not laugh though a dark smirk crossed his face as his eyes continually flicked between Éomer and Lothíriel. Lothíriel seemed unaware of the tension between Éomer and Nauro and she turned with a smile to Éomer.

"Come, I want to show you the puppies!" Lothíriel said, a child-like sparkle entering her eyes. For a moment, Éomer thought Lothíriel would take his hand but then Nauro was at Lothíriel's elbow.

"You will not believe how they have grown; Father even kept the names you gave them," Nauro took Lothíriel's arm, pulling her away from Éomer. She cast a helpless look over her shoulder and Éomer had to stifle a growl.

"That one knows what he's about," Éothain said quietly in Rohirric. Éomer looked at his rider, wondering if Éothain's dangerous expression mirrored his own.

"He does indeed," Éomer growled, his hand falling back to his sword.

"We best catch up with the rascal then," Éothain said, a little louder this time. After a quick glance at Elfhelm, who was conversing animatedly with Harma, Éomer nodded at Éothain in agreement. Both the men's long legs caught them up quickly with Nauro and Lothíriel and they kept close to the pair. Nauro was talking animatedly as they passed the kennels of certain hounds but Lothíriel was only nodding at the man's words. Éomer noted, with satisfaction, that Lothíriel seemed less thrilled with Nauro than he was of her. She had managed to free her arm from Nauro's grasp and her expression was decidedly cool. But then, they walked through a door into a room lit with warm sunlight and Lothíriel's face broke into a smile.

One of the mahogany hounds, her teats heavy with milk, trotted up to Lothíriel and licked her hand. Several pups scampered after their mother, tousling with one another and causing happy havoc in their wake. When they saw Lothíriel, they jumped against her legs with happy barks. Éomer chuckled when he noticed the color of the puppies; all the pups were a mottle of grey and mahogany. And their fur was slightly longer than the close coat of their mother; there was no question to whom had sired this litter.

"They are wonderful!" Lothíriel said, sinking to her knees onto the fresh straw upon the floor. The puppies pounced upon Lothíriel making her laugh with pure joy. There was something infectious about the joyful romping of the puppies and Éomer stooped down and picked one up, Nauro momentarily forgotten. The whelp licked at Éomer's face and he chuckled.

"These pups are going to be giants," Éomer said, looking at the puppy's over-large paws.

"I'm not sure Huan knew what he was getting into," Lothíriel laughed, standing with two pups in her arms. She handed one to Éothain, who smiled at her and stroked the puppy's silky ears with a surprising tenderness.

"I don't think any man is sure of what he is getting into when a woman is involved; especially a woman they can only hope to grasp," Éothain said, casting a sharp glance at Nauro. The younger man bristled and Éothain smiled benignly at Nauro, knowing his words struck a nerve in the man. But Nauro's gaze was quickly drawn back to Lothíriel, who was still holding one of the puppies and talking in approving tones to the puppies' dam.

"You are such a good mama, Posey; I'm glad Huan chose you," Lothíriel glowed, patting the top of Posey's head with her free hand.

"It was my idea, really, to breed Huan with one of our dams," Nauro said quickly, causing him to get a quick look from Lothíriel.

"If I remember right, Harma caught Huan and Posey in the act and you were the one who was supposed to shut her away during her time of heat," Lothíriel frowned at Nauro, whose look had become sharp.

"Be that as it may, I think these pups may end up being better than our hounds now,"

"Well if they have Huan's penchant for robbing the table, we will have a mess on our hands," Lothíriel said, giving Nauro another pointed look. For a moment, Nauro studied Lothíriel, and then his eyes flicked to Éomer then back to the princess.

"If you need anything else, Lothi, you know where to find me," Nauro then brushed past Éomer and Éothain, and walked quickly out of the whelping room. Éothain shot Éomer a look that spoke volumes but when Éomer looked at Lothíriel he was surprised to see sadness in her eyes.

"Nauro's mother died shortly after my mother did. He and I were friends when we were younger," Lothíriel spoke, falling into an abrupt silence. Éothain looked uncomfortably at Éomer, still holding the puppy Lothíriel had given him. The awkward silence lasted only for a moment, for Éomer immediately decided that he would not let Nauro's discourtesy color the rest of the afternoon.

"Do you know how your hounds hunt?" Éomer asked his voice kinder than what a normal question warranted. Lothíriel looked at him and smiled.

"I have been on a few hunts with my brothers but I am not as good a marksman as they would like. The hounds flush out game and if we are hunting wild boar, they will bait the boar until the hunters catch up with them," Lothíriel said, placing the puppy in her hands next to its mother. "Would you like to see the rest of the pack?" Lothíriel's smile was suddenly back in its place and Éomer smiled with her. As they left the room, Éomer offered his arm to Lothíriel and she took it without hesitation.

"She is not yours, son," Harma said, as soon as the four riders disappeared into the old grove.

"She is not the Horselord's either," Nauro replied, his tone petulant. Harma turned and faced his son, his gaze stern. He could already see the anger growing in Nauro's eyes and knew that his time for reprimand was limited.

"You will never win a woman by throwing yourself at her, and you will most certainly drive her away by goading other men needlessly," Harma's gaze flicked to where the Princess and the men of Rohan had just disappeared. "I would not cross the King of Rohan if you promised me the whole of the western kingdom," Harma's voice became grave as he remembered the gleam he had seen in the king's eyes when Nauro had embraced Lothíriel.

"He is just a man," Nauro muttered. He stalked back into the kennels, taking a leather harness to his work table. He stabbed an awl through the leather angrily, nicking his thumb. He let out a curse as he brought his injured thumb to his mouth.

"I should box your ears for that type of speech," Harma said gruffly, suddenly at Nauro's side. "The hounds need to be fed; I will see to this," Harma took the leather harness from Nauro's hand, sending his son a sharp look. Nauro relinquished the harness to his father but not without his own dagger-like look. Harma watched in silence as Nauro stomped away, sighing when he was sure his son was out of earshot.

They had both lucked out of going to war when the darkness had arisen in the east. Harma had suffered an injury in his younger years that made him unfit for battle, and at the time, Nauro was too young. Though he looked like a man of greater than twenty years, Nauro was only nineteen summers and his temperament showed as much. Harma had married later in life though his young wife had died closely after Prince Imrahil's lady wife had passed. Nauro had taken it hard and had acted out his grief in violence. Nauro was two years younger than the Princess and as young children, they had struck up a friendship during their times of loss. Lothíriel had been the only one that Nauro did not react to in violence, so Harma had been thankful that their friendship existed. Lothíriel as well, had seemed to take comfort from Nauro's friendship, and being around the steady nature of the hounds Harma raised for Imrahil. Nauro and Lothíriel had remained close as young playmates, until Lothíriel began to blossom into a young lady. She had slowly withdrawn from Nauro, as the responsibilities of a princess called for more and more of her time. Nauro had not understood the change in Lothíriel and began to act out again. Harma vividly remembered the night he had come home to a destroyed house and Nauro, sitting in the midst of the mess.

"She will not have me," Nauro said, his voice alarmingly bleak.

"Who, son?" Harma asked quietly, knowing the answer before Nauro spoke.

"Lothi, father! She will not have me; her actions made it more than clear!" Nauro yelled, springing to his feet. At fifteen, he was already as tall as Harma, and his frame showed the beginnings of hard muscle that would soon outmatch the muscle that wrapped around Harma's own bones.

"Nauro, calm down," Harma placed a hand upon his son's shoulder, guiding him toward a chair that still sat upright in the mess. Nauro sat with a surprising lack of resistance and Harma leveled a kind gaze at his son.

"Did you tell her how you felt?" Harma asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Nauro looked at him with frantic eyes.

"No! I was up at the palace, picking up the meat scraps for the hounds and I saw her talking with one of the Swan Knights,"

"That doesn't sound like a refusal to me, son," Harma said, his voice still calm. Nauro though, bristled and Harma steeled himself for another outburst.

"He was flirting with her father and he could barely keep his eyes from the bosom of her dress! She was blushing and laughed at his words. What woman would…"

"Enough," Harma held up a hand, stopping his son's words. "Lothíriel is nearly eighteen and soon the suitors will call on her. You know how the Princess reacts to complements and undue attention, so it should not surprise you that she blushed. Did you not stop to consider that maybe she was uncomfortable with the man's advances? Do you think maybe that she still being young does not realize how a man thinks? I would not be so hasty to pin the blame on Lothíriel yet,"

Nauro fell silent at Harma's words and rose without a sound and began to put the room back to rights.

The memory was so vivid in Harma's mind that it felt like it had happened yesterday, though four years had now passed. Something had changed in Nauro that night, but Harma was unsure what had changed and he was not sure it was for the better.

"I am going into town," Nauro's sullen voice reached Harma's ears. Harma had been so lost in his musings that the time it took for Nauro to feed and care for all the hounds had flown by quickly. Harma turned from his work, fixing an astute eye upon his son.

"Will you be able to find your way home?"

"I am not a child," Nauro muttered under his breath, turning from his father without another glance.

The evening meal had been a rather informal affair, and Lothíriel had enjoyed her time next to Éomer more than the evenings before. She and Legolas had conversed across the table about their day and the different things they had seen and Éomer had joined heartily in the conversation. Elfhelm had returned to the Rohirrim's camp to see to its running, but Éothain had stayed with his liege-lord and a place for him had been set at the table. The jolly rider had found a friend in Amrothos and Erchirion and the three were talking and laughing together as if they had known each other their whole lives.

"I hear you were impressed by the hounds, Éomer," Legolas said across the table, also having been awed by the hounds when he had first seen them.

"Yes, they are quite impressive," Éomer answered, remembering the dark looks Nauro had given them as they had left. Harma had shown off some of the older hound's skills when they had left the whelping room. All the while, Nauro had stood upon the fringe, watching them all with ill-disguised distaste.

"How are Harma and Nauro?" Legolas asked, not missing the strained expression that crossed both Éomer and Lothíriel's faces. The spontaneous symmetry of Lothíriel and Éomer's expressions had the elf wondering what had transpired at the kennels. Before he had time to ask though, Lothíriel spoke.

"Harma and Nauro are doing well. Harma has a way with the hounds and he knows how to propagate strong bloodlines. He is an asset to my father's lands," Lothíriel looked down at her hands for a moment, and then she looked up with a smile. "Next week begins the summer festival and there are sporting tournaments planned. It's my favorite time of year,"

"Indeed, your father did mention on our travel here that it was nearly festival time. My men will be happy for some frivolity before we return home. What type of contests are planned?" Éomer looked at Lothíriel, smiling.

"Well there's always an archery tournament and swimming races down at the bay. And Wrestling tournaments too. We rarely have tournaments of swordplay, for the festival is a celebration of the absence of war," Lothíriel paused, as if lost in thought but then she smiled again. "Amrothos always competes in the swimming competition and usually wins. Elphir and Erchirion are the wrestlers in our family and are quite good,"

"I have done some wrestling in my time," Éomer said, not one to pass up a friendly competition.

"Aye, it seems this festival will be a time to look forward to," Legolas said, noticing the smile that passed between Lothíriel and Éomer.

A/N: This chapter was quite long but I found no way to shorten it without cutting off something important that I didn't want to leave until next time. And we got to meet some new characters too! And good heavens, there was even an indirect mention of some doggy "alone time"... ... ... but anyways, I do hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I hope I piqued your curiosity as to what comes next. :) Thank you all for your Reads, Reviews, Favorites, and Follows!

The Moonlilly- I certainly hope you are in better health by now! I had fun writing the storm scene and I'm glad I achieved the effect I wanted. Sometimes as a writer you wonder if what's in your head translates the way you want it to in print. But with all odds against us, you're bound to hit a home run once in a while. But I digress... I hope you enjoyed this latest update and thank you for your review!

Katosade- Thanks for your review! I'm glad you enjoyed the previous chapter and I hope you enjoy this one as well!

Almythea- Thank you so much for your kind words! I hope that you are still able to say you love my story as it progresses. And, as much as we all love Eomer and Lothiriel's "alone times," I would be remiss to jump right to their wedding... as much a temptation as that is. :)