Author's Note: Ah, once again, this is what happens when I watch 'Troy.' Come one, I've got to do something to get the images of Eric Bana shirtless out of my head…! ;)
No matter how many times Lothiriel told herself it was hopeless, her heart refused to listen.
Each night when she crawled into the fur-covered bed and stared out the window at the clear, gem-like stars twinkling down at her from the Northern sky, she recited in her head all the reasons why she should not fall in love with them. Then, undoubtedly, she would scoff at her feelings, berating herself for even entertaining the notion that her infatuation was anything like that pure, all-encompassing emotion that was love.
And anyway, she would finish off with a sigh, rolling over and closing her eyes as she clutched a pillow to her breast, it doesn't matter whether I love him or not. I haven't the slightest chance of ever being more than a friend to him.
But the next morning, without fail, she would think of him and take extra time dressing her hair, or wear one of her nicer, newer gowns instead of a work dress, or experiment with some of the face powders and paints she had smuggled out of that little shop in Edoras and that would cause Hysel, her ladies' maid, to die of shock if they were found in her chamber. Then, once she had chided herself for being so silly as to think an extra minute of primping would make any difference and finally went down to breakfast, she would hear his name and her ears would perk towards the speaker. Worst of all, she might see him.
Then, oh, then the fun really began! If their eyes met she blushed. If he spoke to her, she tried not to look at him, instead staring down at her feet or over his shoulder, giving the man the impression that she was, at best, shy, or at worst, didn't like him.. But eventually he would go about his business, leaving her to fritter away the day analyzing every word he said, looking for hidden meanings (often found only to be debunked later when more rational thinking took over) and agonizing over every inane, obvious thing that had come out of her mouth.
Only one person was priviledged to know of Lothiriel's pain, and if Lothiriel had had her way, even she wouldn't have found out. It had been a complete accident.
"Eowyn…tell me what it's like to be in love." The conversation occurred not two weeks after Lothiriel's arrival at Meduseld to aid her future cousin-in-law with preparations for her wedding. They were walking outdoors, under those wonderfully vibrant stars in the vegetabble garden behind the Hall. Lothiriel thought she was being clever by asking what it was like to be in love rather than the more obvious 'how do I know when I'm in love.'
"Why don't you tell me what your symptoms are, instead, and I'll tell you if we have any in common." Eowyn answered with a smile.
All right, not so clever after all. "I- - I don't know what you mean…" Lothiriel hedged. "You think I've fallen in love with…someone?" She tried her best to look innocently puzzled.
Eowyn chuckled. "You've been dreamy ever since we arrived. Don't think I haven't noticed! So who is it?"
"Blast. Am I that obvious? Here I thought I was being such a good actress, and you've gone and seen right through me. By the Valar!" Lothiriel's eyes widened with fear. "That means he's probably noticed, as well!" She began pacing between the cabbage beds and the squash hills.
"Don't worry. I haven't the faintest idea who you're so hung up on, and if I haven't guessed he certainly hasn't, unless you've said something to him, because I've been watching you like a hawk! Who is he?"
"I'm not going to tell you!"
"Why not?"
"Because!"
Eowyn crossed her arms. "That's not a good enough reason."
"You might tell him."
"Of course I won't. Not if you don't want me to."
"Will you swear?" Lothiriel looked at her friend gravely.
"If I must." Eowyn sighed dramatically. "I promise not to tell this mystery man that you are in love with him unless you say I can, or unless I know, without a doubt, that it will benefit your cause. Now who is it?"
"It's…he's….oh, I can't say it! It's too humiliating!" Lothiriel plopped down on the ground and leaned her forehead on her knees.
"Very well, I'll guess. Let's see…he's obviously one of the Rohirrim, since this only started after we came to Edoras. A soldier, I presume?"
Lothiriel nodded mutely.
"And a noble, I hope? Not that it makes any difference to me, but I know your father…"
"Yes!" Groaned the figure huddled on the ground.
Eowyn sat down next to Lothiriel. "Well, I'd start in with hair color, but since we're all blonde here that wouldn't really narrow anything down."
Lothiriel lifted her head to glare at Eowyn. "How you find this so amusing when I'm so obviously in extreme agony is beyond my comprehension."
"Is he handsome?"
"Unbelievably so." Lothiriel hid her face again.
"Well, being in love with him, you would say that…let's see…does he reside at Meduseld with the court?"
"Yes."
"Halathain?"
"No."
"Erulehton?"
"No…although he is certainly handsome as well."
"Hmm…oh, I know! Eudoreth!"
Lothiriel let out an unladylike snort and burst into a fit of giggles. "Oh, yes, certainly. The sixty-year-old arms warden with seven bastard children is the man for me."
Eowyn laughed as well, but continued to list off names of all the eligible soldiers at Meduseld. Name after name was rejected. Finally, she threw up her hands in exasperation. "This is ridiculous! There's no one else except my brother, and by the way you act around him, I'd say you couldn't stand the man."
Silence.
Eowyn paused. "Lothiriel? You mean…Eomer?"
Lothiriel gave an anguished moan, thankful that if this embarrassing secret had to be revealed, at least it was night and Eowyn couldn't see her flaming cheeks.
To LSOA: Hey, I hope you don't mind that I stole one of your names…I was running short of my own! I'll change it if you want.