Another new story! What! This is one of my all-time favorites, and since I wrote it last December, I've had plenty of time to decide that :P I hope you love it as much as I do!

19 July, 3019 TA

Éomer's heart was lost from the very moment he laid his eyes on the princess.

Though it was from afar, there was no denying (even by a stronger man) her stately figure, clear gaze, lovely upturned lips—features that could rival even Queen Arwen's ethereal beauty. At once he recognized that something in her had awoken a response within himself, and he could not deny it even had he been inclined to. He leaned forward in his seat, drinking in the sight of this woman as a man dying of thirst. This abrupt transformation at such a fated moment did not go unnoticed by his companion.

"Ye look as though ye've seen a ghost," Éothain leaned over to whisper. The page was still shouting out names of Gondorian royalty as they walked in. Éomer had been swallowing yawns of boredom, but now he felt every vein in his body humming with…with something.

"Béma be praised," Éomer breathed in return, not taking his eyes from the princess. "She is perfect, Éothain! Truly a divine person come to Arda."

"Wot? Old Imrahil's daughter?"

"Yes, yes! Why have I not known her before? I could have had months already to woo her!" While Éomer was bemoaning this, another noble had entered as the page bawled,

"Lord Silius of Lamedon, son of Dorn!"

Éomer watched in horror as a slim young man stood next to the princess, taking her hand. No Gondorian man would do such a thing were there not an understanding—and if the princess retained her title, she must be unwed. Éomer could guess that they must be betrothed: proof of this was given when the Lord Silius lifted her hand to his lips, though he barely brushed it. Whereas the princess was vibrant, the lord was washed out, looking like a painted portrait which had been faded by the sun. But he was still the lucky bastard that basked in her lovely glow, even receiving a smile from her. Éomer felt a growl deep in his throat; only a poke in the ribs from Éothain kept him from drawing attention to his upset. As quickly as it had come, Éomer's joy was now completely gone, and he watched with a heavy stomach and an aching heart as Lord Silius helped the princess to sit in her chair at Imrahil's table. The lord took a place next to her, and that was all the confirmation Éomer needed.

Eventually the king and queen at last entered, and were toasted by all present. Éomer drank deeply from his wineglass, still watching the princess from the other side of the hall. It was fortunate that the table for himself and his guests was straight across from Imrahil's, though he hated the sight of the princess with her betrothed. Éomer grimaced as a surge of jealousy welled in him at the very thought, even as a sense of rebelliousness rose up in him. They were not married yet, perhaps he could…

Evidently the princess's brother thought Éomer to be glowering at him, and with a wide grin Amrothos stood and made his way across the hall, dodging servants that ferried trays of food and drink.

"Hullo!" Amrothos said, sitting casually on the table in front of Éomer, and picking up a small onion tart. "If you have a mind to berate me for not greeting you yesterday when you arrived, I should tell you I have an extremely good reason."

"Eh? What's that?" Éomer asked, taken aback.

"I was with a lady," the prince enunciated. "Dare I to hope I am forgiven?"

"A lady? Not your usual sort then?"

Amrothos pulled a lovelorn face. "She is the most consummate creature to ever walk the earth."

His mind still on the princess, Éomer muttered under his breath, "I doubt that!" Then he cleared his throat and sat up. "Say, I never knew you had a sister!"

"Oh, Lothíriel? Yes, she certainly is my sister. Always has been, actually." To prove his point, Amrothos hollered the princess's name, waving at her when she looking around to see who was hailing her. She lifted her hand to her brother, shaking her head in amusement as she smiled at him. Then she saw Éomer, and inclined her head towards him. Éomer struggled to keep from flushing red and toasted her with his wineglass. With some difficulty, he turned back to Amrothos.

"And congratulations to your family," Éomer said. "A wedding is always a happy event."

"Generally I believe it is. In this case, it is more difficult to say." Amrothos took another tart.

Hope flared in Éomer's chest."Whyever would that be?" he asked, trying not to appear too eager.

"Eh?" The prince was distracted by a passing tray of cheese. Éomer smothered a growl of frustration before repeating slowly,

"Why would the wedding not be a happy event? Is there no affection involved?"

"Not that I have seen," Amrothos said around his mouthful of tart. "They have been intended for each other for years, and Lothíriel is really too kind to refuse to marry him. It is more tradition than love; certainly no one would be bothered if she changed her mind."

Éomer definitely felt hope now.

"I had better return; Father is giving me the most deathly stare." Amrothos stood, brushing down his trousers. "I shall have to tell you of my lady after supper."

"I can hardly wait," Éomer said. His eyes returned to Imrahil's table with Amrothos, before darting over the princess again. She was preoccupied with her meal, taking elegant bites with the most beautifully shaped hands. Béma, even every movement she made was so pure, so aware...

How on earth could he charm away this vision of perfection from her intended husband? No, no—he could not entertain any doubts. He must either commit himself to the chase, or leave the princess to another. He was to return to Rohan in only four days; the challenge would be enormous. But Éomer did relish a challenge, and for the hand of the loveliest woman he had ever seen?

His path was clear.

The first obstacle was for Éomer to be formally introduced to the princess. This proved easier than he expected, for as soon as the feast was concluded, Imrahil made his way through the crowd towards Éomer with his daughter on his arm. Seeing their approach, Éomer struggled not to stare at the princess; so close, he could see the dark lashes that framed her dark blue eyes. He was riveted to the spot.

"Éomer, my friend! I trust your journey from Rohan was easy?" The prince's lined face beamed into a smile, which Éomer returned.

"Very well indeed. It does bring a sense of luxury when travelling to know that there is neither an orc pack following nor an army ahead."

Oh, what a reward he had then, for the princess laughed, a most glorious sound! Imrahil chuckled as well, but he did not stop Éomer's heart as the princess did. "I wished to introduce you to my daughter," the prince said, "As I do not believe you have met. This is Lothíriel—Lothíriel, King Éomer." Éomer took her hand as she curtseyed, her eyes lowering briefly as Imrahil continued. "She is to be married next spring to Lord Silius; do you know him? I would have liked to introduce you to him as well, but he is, er, unsociable."

Éomer barely heard Imrahil's words, still intently studying Lothíriel. Even at a close distance, she was striking, and the way she smiled at him seared his soul. Her eyes sparkled, giving the impression of familiarity and humor, as if she knew everything and was thoroughly amused by it. The Princess Lothíriel was a most alluring and enchanting woman. And as he watched, a pink flush colored her cheeks, and she looked away towards her father, squeezing his arm.

"Lady Ciriweth is trying to catch your eye, Father," Lothíriel said, hushed.

"Oh!" The change which overcame the prince was immediate, and he adjusted his collar as he straightened his shoulders. "Éomer, we take leave of you. Good night!"

And so the laughing princess shot Éomer a last glance before she was escorted away, and he counted it a success. During the remainder of the evening, he only caught glimpses of her dancing with her brothers and betrothed, but to his regret, he had not the chance to claim a dance himself.

That was the end of the first day.