Chapter 1

Minas Tirith,

April 3019, T.A.

Lothiriel had been in denial.

She did not know she had been in denial until she happened to chance upon Eomer, King of Rohan, sparring with some men in the courtyard.

Shirtless.

Unable to tear her gaze away from the play of muscles shifting under sun gold skin, her eyes followed the rivulets of sweat as they tracked paths among the plains of his abdomen. She was intrigued by the faint dusting of golden hair on his chest and even more intrigued by the small trail that disappeared below the waist of his trousers.

Lothiriel swallowed thickly as she mentally acknowledged she was no longer in denial.

She was attracted to the king of Rohan, plain and simple.

Apparently, something about his brutish strength, hulking figure, and simmer of emotions barely leashed behind a dark glower 'fired her forges', as her friend, Miwien would say.

Why?

Lothiriel was more perplexed by her revelation than anything.

Her tastes had always run towards articulate, well-dressed and humorous Gondorian men possessing a touch of fashionable ennui and cynicism. Clean-shaven men with a lean, healthy physique, not overly tall or overwhelmingly large. Men who recited poetry and gazed at constellations and spent their time in scholarly pursuits.

But life was confusing and Lothiriel felt drawn towards Eomer who was neither scholarly nor humorous. As far as she knew, he didn't care about poems, stars or fashion. He wasn't articulate. He wasn't even clean-shaven, having a well-trimmed beard that admittedly made Lothiriel want to run her hands through just to see what it would feel like. And he was most definitely overly tall and overwhelmingly large, towering well above her own petite frame, exuding strength and power that attested to his prowess as a warrior and king. Her own father and brothers were tall, strong men but next to them Eomer was like a bear.

It was ridiculous, the attraction she felt for this gruff arrogant man. Ridiculous, because Lothiriel was fairly sure he didn't even like her.

They had been introduced at a feast, following the end of the war. Eomer had hardly said two words to her. Her father, having struck a friendship during the war, invited him to dine with them a few days later. He said 'Good evening, my lady' and then barely glanced at her for the rest of the night. At first, she assumed he had an aversion to females (despite being a brother to one), and yet he had been perfectly polite when dealing with her sister-in-law and even managed to carry on a conversation with her. She ascertained that he hardly saw her as worthy of his notice or interest; for him she was just a friend's daughter, a noble lady who should be handled with courteous disinterest and nothing else.

Lothiriel, suffering from a bruised pride for some unfathomable reason, had passed the rest of the dinner by fantasizing ways to take him down a peg or two. She thought of accidentally-on-purpose spilling her wine on his white as moonlight tunic. She imagined dying the horse hair of his helmet pink. She thought of replacing all his ale with water, and putting salt in his tea, she thought of cutting his hair in his sleep and stealing all his left boots.

By the time the dessert course was served, Lothiriel had come up with an elaborate scheme to drug him with a concoction made of dumb cane plant extract that would swell his tongue in such a way that he would temporarily go dumb.

However, imagining the mighty king of Rohan being unable to speak was hardly amusing, since the man was already so taciturn. But then dinner ended, and Eomer went away to his lodging at the citadel and Lothiriel never saw him again.

That is, she did see him occasionally but always from a distance as she went about her day and he with his. The sight of him always left her slightly flushed and uncomfortable, and Lothiriel thought it was because she had an acute dislike of him.

Oh, she had so been in denial.

"What are we looking at?" Lothiriel was startled out of her thoughts by the cheerful voice of her friend, Miwien, suddenly coming from behind. "My, the delicious Rohirric riders are out training. Why did you not send for me?"

They were standing in an archway surrounded by vines and trees. It looked towards the training courtyard just a few yards away, and yet was partially hidden from view. Lothiriel realized that caught in such a place, looking at shirtless men, could be interpreted in the wrong way. As if she was peeping, which she supposed she was, but still. She didn't want other people to think that, especially not her friend Miwien who wasn't exactly known for her closed lips.

Trying to control her flush Lothiriel tore her eyes away from Eomer and turned towards her friend with a schooled expression. Miwien was older, and the daughter of the illegitimate son of a noble. Blunt and outspoken, she possessed endless bounds of energy that kept landing her in one scrape or another. They had met by chance and become fast friends when Lothiriel had come to apprentice in the Houses of Healing five years ago and Miwien had been brought in for a broken ankle. She claimed to have hurt it while dancing, but later confessed to Lothiriel that she broke it while climbing down her bedroom window and landing on it badly. Why was she climbing out her window? To sneak away for a ride, because she was forbidden to leave her room by her mother. Why could she not leave her room? She was being punished for calling a court lady 'pompous parrot' after she called Miwien's father a bastard.

To be fair, the court lady in question did resemble a parrot and was quite pompous, in Lothiriel's opinion.

"Miwien, I was just on my way back from the Houses," Lothiriel said, smiling at her friend, trying to appear indifferent. "Mistress Ioreth wanted my help with making a batch of salves."

"And you stopped to take in the view." Miwien nodded, "I don't blame you, dear. They don't make men like those in Gondor. If they did, I would have taken the healer apprenticeship with you to learn some practical anatomy, if you get my meaning."

Miwien grinned unabashed, looking at the practicing men in appreciation. Her friend was the kind of person who was blunt to a fault. She had a habit of speaking first, thinking second which was quite endearing because Miwien tended to say the most amusing things sometimes.

She had never married, despite possessing a subtle beauty and an abundance of charisma and wit. Miwien had beautiful auburn hair and warm round eyes that seemed to always sparkle. She was petite with a peaches-and-cream complexion and a charming dusting of freckles on her nose.

And yet she had never had honorable offers of marriage, just because of the circumstances of her father's birth. Her family was well-respected by the nobility of Minas Tirith, but not respectable enough for marriage.

Once Lothiriel had suggested a match with her brother Erchirion, who was around Miwien's age, to her friend.

"Oh Valar, no," Miwien had laughed, "after all these years of knowing your family I feel as if your brothers were my own siblings. Besides, I'm not desperate. I'm quite content to spend the rest of my days with just you, me and my seven cats."

And it was true. Her friend was comfortable with her life, being happy and frivolous and doing what she wanted, never seeing herself as an old spinster (even though she really did have seven cats).

Lothiriel was very fond of her happy-go-lucky friend, and admired her carefree take on life.

"I wish Gondorian soldiers practiced like this occasionally. It's a sight for sore eyes." Miwien said, her eyes glued on the dozen or so shirtless Rohirrim.

"If they did, your peeping would frighten them back into their tunics, I'm sure," Lothiriel pointed out.

Miwien turned to her with a mischievous grin, "Not if I stole them first."

They laughed at that, before Lothiriel realized they were somewhat being peeping-toms. She quieted down, hoping they weren't noticed.

"By the way, what are you doing here?" Lothiriel asked.

"Um, learning anatomy?" Miwien shrugged.

"Not that, you idiot," Lothiriel rolled her eyes, "I meant what are you doing at the citadel?"

"Oh right, I actually came looking for you, thought we could go to the market." Miwien said. "I was bored, but don't worry. I'm no longer bored."

"Spying on shirtless men is not an acceptable activity to combat boredom." Lothiriel said, but she too turned back towards the courtyard, her eyes automatically landing on Eomer's powerful form.

He was sparring with a sword now, his movements measured and graceful. Occasionally, he would stop to correct his opponent, a younger man who Eomer seemed to be training.

Eomer and his opponent took a fighting stance. Lothiriel watched as Eomer said something and the young man attacked, his sword out. Eomer parried the attack, turning the boy's own momentum against him. He was so fast, his muscles flexing, as he made his opponent's sword fly out of his hands in just a few moves. The boy landed on the ground with Eomer's blade at his chest.

Eomer grinned then and Lothiriel was entranced. It was the first time she saw him without a frown on his face and it seemed to transform him. He looked warm and happy, and Lothiriel wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of his smile.

Eomer drew away his sword and extended his hand to help the young man from the ground, he patted his shoulder and said a few words. The boy nodded before picking up his sword and walking away.

"Valar, is that King Eomer?" Miwien exclaimed, her eyes trained on the sparring men like a hawk.

Lothiriel's pulse raced, startled by her friend.

"Is it? Where?" She asked, pretending nonchalance.

"There, the one with the green trousers and the muscles of a beast." Miwien said appreciatively, pointing towards a man sparring several yards away.

"No, Eomer's the one in the black trousers..." Lothiriel suddenly trailed off as she caught Miwien smirking at her.

"Ohoho, I knew it," Miwien stepped towards her, eyes mischievous, "Just now I saw you looking at the king, nay you were entranced by him. I've never seen you making eyes at a man like that. Do you like him? Do you fancy his big, hard... muscles?"

Lothiriel scoffed, turning away from the courtyard. "No." She said emphatically, glaring at her friend in warning.

"Right, and I don't fancy apple pie. Come on, Lothiriel, King Eomer is a fine specimen to look at and I've seen how you get flustered whenever he is around. I'm not blind."

"Neither am I. I admit to his being 'a fine specimen' as you put it, but beyond that I could not be bothered by the man."

"Yet you seem hot and bothered by him now." Miwien laughed, raising a brow as Lothiriel blushed.

"It's the heat." Lothiriel retorted.

Miwien eyed the cloudy sky skeptically.

"It's expected to rain today."

Lothiriel sighed in defeat. There could be no hiding the truth from Miwien, who could read Lothiriel like a book. She was also a notorious meddler, and would wheedle out the truth one way or another. Excessive denial on Lothiriel's part would certainly not deter her, so Lothiriel may as well be truthful to her friend.

"Oh Valar, fine. I have to tell you sooner or later anyway. So I may as well just confess now. I thought I didn't like him, Miwien, but then I saw him today and now I admit I may fancy the man just a tiny bit. In a purely I-want-to-rub-my-hands-on-his-muscles sort of way."

Miwien's eyes widened a bit at that. She was about to say something, but Lothiriel interrupted her.

"I mean have you seen him? It's ridiculous, how handsome he is. And like we established, Eomer is a fine specimen. You can't blame me for fancying his big, hard... muscles." Lothiriel mimicked fanning herself, then grinned at Miwien.

Miwien cleared her throat then coughed, her eyes huge as they looked past Lothiriel's shoulder. A terrible thought suddenly occurred to her.

"He's not behind me." She said, shaking her head.

"He is."

Lothiriel stilled as the deep, curt voice carried over her. She paled as she caught Miwien's twinkling eyes. Of course, her friend would find the humor in this situation.

She wondered when Eomer had approached and how much he had heard. She also wondered if the floor beneath her could just open up and swallow her into its depths.

Very slowly she turned around. There he was, standing just a few paces from her. He had donned on a tunic, but it clung to his sweat-soaked body like a glove. Lothiriel gulped as she averted her eyes to his face.

Bad idea.

He was staring at her intently. His face unsmiling and his expression mildly disapproving, as usual. Yet his eyes bored into hers with an intensity that unnerved her. Lothiriel realized that this was the first time Eomer actually looked at her, instead of staring in her general vicinity.

She also realized that his eyes were a strange mix of greens and browns, calm earthly colors. Yet there was nothing calm, but everything earthly, about the way they swept over her in a slow perusal before returning back to her face.

She felt blood rushing to her cheeks as she met his gaze.

"My lord, we did not realize you were done with your sparring." Miwien finally interjected, saving Lothiriel from having to speak.

Not that she could form any words together at the moment, even if she wanted to. Her wits had quite left her.

"I saw you and the princess and thought I'd greet you." He said, crossing his arms. Lothiriel could not help but notice how his muscles bulged at the action.

"How courteous of you," Miwien smiled charmingly, "But I'm afraid you caught us at a bad time. I just came here to fetch Lothiriel, who is not supposed to be out of bed. As you can see she is a little flushed. She is not well, you see, she has the... the peasles. It's a short spell of sickness that momentarily addles the brain and makes the sick person spout nonsense, you see, my lord."

Lothiriel looked at her friend in disbelief, her eyes promising retribution. Peasles rhymed suspiciously with measles, and the king of Rohan was not stupid. Miwien just smiled unabashedly.

"I... see." Eomer said, looking from Miwien to Lothiriel, doubt coloring his features. "In that case, I hope for a hasty recovery for the princess."

"Thank you for your concern, my lord. Apart from making one speak rubbish, peasles is not a very serious condition. So Lothiriel shall recover in no time." Miwien said. "Now, if you'll excuse us, I really must be getting her back to bed before she says more nonsense. Good day, my lord!"

With a cheerful curtsey at Eomer, Miwien grabbed Lothiriel's arm and steered her away from the king.

Embarrassed beyond belief, Lothiriel did not dare look back at him, but she felt his intense scrutiny all the way till they stepped out of his sight.

"That went well." Miwien said, bemused.

Lothiriel buried her face in her hands groaning. If she were to dance in the city hall in her underwear, she wouldn't be half as embarrassed as she was now.

"I can't believe I told the king of Rohan I fancied his big, hard muscles. With the implied innuendo and all."

"So what, he's not going to execute you for that." Miwien said, prying Lothiriel's hands away from her face.

"I would really prefer it if he would." Lothiriel moaned, "What must he be thinking? Oh god, what if he tells father?"

"He won't." Miwien said.

"You don't know that."

"Yes I do. Because for a second there, King Eomer looked like he wouldn't mind you rubbing his big, hard muscles."

"Don't be ridiculous," Lothiriel said, blushing. "That man doesn't like me. After today, I'll be surprised if he can abide me at all."

"I have an idea!" Miwien said.

"Please, I won't pretend to be sick with peasles or whatever. King Eomer is not that gullible."

"No, no, hear me out." Miwien said, taking Lothiriel's hands. "King Eomer is going back to Rohan soon, maybe right after King Elessar's coronation which is just a few weeks away. So if you avoid him until then, you won't have to see each other and maybe he'll forget what you said today. After all, he's a supremely important and busy man. He probably meets and hears dozens of people in a day. Today's events are probably quite insignificant for him."

Lothiriel considered what her friend was suggesting. The logic made sense in a way that only Miwien could have come up with, and avoiding Eomer did seem like her best option at the moment.

"You are right, Miwien." Lothiriel said, warming to the idea. "I am going to keep away from him as if he has the plague and the pox. If I see him, I'll run in the opposite direction. At feasts, I'll keep at least a hundred yards between us. It's only a matter of weeks before the coronation and then he'll be gone."

Somewhat reassured, Lothiriel linked her arm with Miwien's and together they went on, laughing at a joke or other.

It was a sound plan.

But fate had a twisted sense of humor, and so it happened that a few days later Eomer came to live with Lothiriel and her family.

A/N: I like reading fluffy romances so I thought I'd write one with my favorite pairing. If you liked this first chapter please review or fav! Also, if you notice any mistakes feel free to let me know.

I have modeled my Lothiriel after Princess Catarina from the show 'Deus Salve O Rei', and Miwien after Amalia from the same show.

I took my information about the Dieffenbachia/dumb cane plant from google. It is a house plant, and it's leaves can cause swelling and other allergic reactions sometimes, and make you temporarily speechless.

Edit: as the reviewer Qoheleth pointed out, taxonomy shouldn't exist in Middle Earth so I changed the name of 'Dieffenbachia' to its generic name of 'Dumb Cane'.

Disclaimer: I only own Miwien. Everything else belongs to Tolkien.