He had been banging on the door for what seemed like hours before Lothiriel finally got his attention. "What?"

"You do realize there's a window?" she said.

"So?" Eomer growled back at her.

"Obviously, your sister forgot that windows in Dol Amroth do not have shutters or glass. We can call for assistance, because she is most certainly not going to help us." She walked over to the wide window, and he followed. "You stay back," she snapped. "The last thing I need is for someone to get the wrong idea." Eomer backed away a little as Lothiriel called out, "Excuse me!" A couple men looked up at her. The princess waved. "Excuse me, gentlemen, I seem to have locked myself in the second-floor linen closet by the servant's quarters. Could you come open the door for me?" She flashed them a bright smile.

"We'd help you, milady," replied one of them, "but we have been given specific instructions to stay out of that part of the palace. The maids are washing the floors and we're to keep outside so as not to track in mud. Your father's orders. Maybe there's a servant up there that can help you."

"Curse them all," muttered Lothiriel. "I'll bet you anything that they're all in on this. Even Erchirion."

"What do you mean?" The princess turned to see the king sitting on the floor, his back lazily rested on the door.

"This!" She waved her hand at their surroundings: the largest linen closet in the palace, stuffed to excess with sheets, towels, washcloths, and the occasional diaper. "You and I, if you haven't noticed, are stuck in here. With each other. Until they decide to let us out." She glowered. "And the Valar only know when that will be. It's either that, or we find a way out ourselves."

"I suggest we do that," Eomer said, "because I suspect Eowyn wants us to be stuck in here until either we kill each other or...." He didn't finish his sentence.

"Or what?" She paused, expecting him to elaborate. "Or what?"

Eomer reddened. "Nothing."

"Nothing my foot. Until we kill each other or what, oh king of a horse's buttocks?"

"Fine!" he exclaimed, rising from where he sat. "Do you honestly want to know?"

Lothiriel scowled. "No," she snarled sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "You can keep it to yourself. Of course I want to know!"

"Well then, I'll tell you. Eowyn wants us to be stuck in here until either we kill each other or--" he paused and then spoke quickly, "--make love." He grimaced. "There. I said it. Are you happy now, oh princess of swan droppings?"

Lothiriel ignored the insult. Instead, she sank to the floor, glaring at the floor tiles. It was cruel, what her family was putting her through, locking her in the linen closet with the stupidest, most arrogant, most idiotic man in the world. And there was nothing she could do about it. Except...Lothiriel quickly pulled a hairpin from her high bun. She shoved Eomer out of the way and stuck the pin inside the lock, willing it to work. It was useless. "Tronking orcs! They've blocked it!" She turned to Eomer. "You haven't got a knife, have you?"

"Why?" he asked suspiciously.

Lothiriel rolled her eyes. "So I can try to pick the lock. Valar, man, are you daft? Did you think I was going to slit your throat or something?"

"I wouldn't put it past you," he muttered.

"Well, I'm not, alright? Not yet at least."

"Just for that, I don't think I'll tell you whether I have one or not." He smirked at her, glad that she was the one backed into the corner for once.

Lothiriel took a deep breath. "Fine. If you don't want to escape, I won't make any effort to do so. We can just stay in here--together--until your sister and my family decide they've had enough fun and let us free. It's your decision, I don't care."

Eomer visibly cringed at the thought of being stuck in the closet with Lothiriel for much longer. Since the first day the king of Rohan had met her in Minas Tirith, she had done nothing but spit sarcastic comments at him. Of course, he returned the favor. Eowyn was convinced that the two would make a perfect match, but Eomer begged to differ. It wasn't that she was hideous to look at or anything (quite the contrary, actually), but by Eorl's beard she was insufferable! "Here," he said at last and tossed her a long, thin dagger from his boot.

"Thank you," she said primly and set to work on unblocking the lock.

"You're not getting out that easily," said a voice from the other side of the door. "You'll have to push through the barricade as well."

"Faramir, I'll have your head on a stick the moment I get out of here!" It was Eomer who said this, and Lothiriel was taken aback at the anger in his voice. But only for a moment, because she whole- heartedly agreed with him (though she would never admit it).

"You let us out this instant, you cad!" she yelled.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," replied Faramir mildly. "Eowyn won't let me."

"Curse Eowyn and her stupid ideas! What did she hope we would do? Kill each other?" Eomer huffed.

"Actually, I was hoping you might start to get along. Lord Imrahil agreed to help in an effort to make the two of you stop sulking around your respective palaces." Eomer could almost see the grin starting to form on Eowyn's face.

Lothiriel was turning redder by the minute. "I haven't been sulking," she muttered to no one in particular. She looked up at Eomer. "Have you been sulking?"

"No. I think Eowyn is just trying to make us both very angry because she knows we can't do anything to her while she's pregnant." He slid down the door and sat with Lothiriel. "Maybe if we pretend to be civil with one another they'll let us go soon," he whispered.

"Don't count on it," she murmured back. "If my family's in on it, they'll not free us until they've had a bit of fun. We'd be better off finding our own way out."

"We're headed off to dinner now," called a third voice from the other side. It was Amrothos. "You two want us to bring you anything before we leave? It might be a while before we get back. We're having a picnic and bonfire out on the beach."

"We don't want anything, but you could take down the barricade and let us go, oh tronking brother of mine," suggested Lothiriel.

"Mmm, sorry. The Lady Eowyn won't allow me to do that. I suppose we'll see you later, then. Goodbye!" And with that, the conspirators left the reluctant lovebirds in their closet barricaded only by their gullibility.

The sun was setting, and Lothiriel looked desolately out at the ocean. Eomer came and stood beside her. "It looks like home," he said. "Especially in the daytime."

She turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"The waves, they remind me of the fields of my own country. Don't you think so?"

"I wouldn't know," Lothiriel whispered. "I've never left Gondor."

"Never?" He raised his eyebrows.

She shook her head. "Unless you count the eastern shore of the Anduin as a separate country, I've never been outside my homeland."

"You'll have to remedy that after we escape. Rohan looks resplendent this time of day. The mountains look black and the sun shines between them in hues of gold and pink and purple and orange. It also glints off the fields of grass. But it's during the day that the fields look alive. They move in the wind like the waves do here."

Lothiriel smiled. "The waves don't move in the wind. The moon pulls them, creating the tides."

"Really? I had no idea."

Lothiriel rolled her eyes at him. "Maybe you are the one who should travel more. You obviously don't know very much." She walked to the door and gave it a swift kick. "Ouch!" she cried out. "I think I just broke my foot!"

Eomer laughed. "You shouldn't have kicked the door." He sank down onto his haunches. "Here, let me see it." He gingerly took Lothiriel's ankle in his hands. "I don't think it's broken, but it might be sprained. We need to wrap it." He glanced around the room. "Do you prefer white or blue?"

Lothiriel looked at him quizzically. "Blue, I suppose. Why?"

"No reason. Will your father mind if I rip one of these sheets?" he asked, gesturing toward the shelves of linens.

"Probably not, if you have a good excuse."

"I think the princess of swan droppings having a sprained ankle is a good excuse, don't you?" He selected a blue bed sheet and began to rip it.

"Don't call me that," Lothiriel muttered.

"Why not? You called me 'the king of a horse's buttocks,' if I remember correctly."

"You deserved it."

"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, but I don't think it's very polite of a lady of Gondor to say such things." He came back to her and leaned down, wrapping her ankle gently but firmly.

"I'm not a lady of Gondor. I'm a princess of Dol Amroth."

"Still, princesses shouldn't curse at their relatives, no matter how much they deserve it," he replied mildly.

"Don't you start on me, too!" Lothiriel exclaimed. "I've been told that my whole life. And where do they think I first learned those words? The maids? Ha! You'd be amazed what things you learn with three brothers and two male cousins constantly in and out of the house."

"I'm sure I wouldn't, actually," he countered, tying the ankle wrap. "I was a lad once, you know."

"And yet you didn't think of picking the lock. Elphir and Faramir taught me how to do that years ago. Did you know that they once escaped their lessons by clim--that's it!"

"What's it?" asked Eomer.

"Of course! Why didn't we think of it before?"

Eomer continued to look confused. "Think of what before?"

"Where are we?"

"The second-floor linen closet."

"And what else is in here?"

"Linens." Eomer was beginning to wonder if spraining her ankle had somehow addled the princess's brain.

"And what is remarkable about Amrothian closets?"

"They have rather large windows without shutters."

"And what does one do when one wants to escape their lessons?"

"Climbs out the wind--oh! Of course!"

Lothiriel smiled. He had finally caught on. "So now all we must do is make a rope out of bed sheets, hook it to something here in the room, and escape! It's quite simple really. I don't know why we didn't think of it before."

So, the two of them set to work on making a rope of bed linens. It actually wasn't that hard, and Lothiriel only had to fuss at Eomer's craftsmanship a couple times, and that was just because she could. When they deemed it long enough, they brought it over to the window and looked out. It was dark now, so there was little chance anyone would see what they were up to. They dangled the rope out the window, making sure it would reach far enough.

"Good," said Lothiriel, satisfied with their handiwork. "Now, let's tie it to something and escape." She looked around and then cursed again. There were no hooks of any sort that would hold their weight. She sighed. It was hopeless. "Curse them all a thousand times over!" she screamed and burst into tears of frustration. "I want out of here! I was going to go riding this evening and then visit Mista down at Saberman's! And just when I think I can escape, we find out there's nothing to hook the rope onto!" She sank to the floor again, muffling her sobs in her skirt.

Unsure of what to do, Eomer set the rope down and moved toward Lothiriel. He apprehensively took her into his arms, comforting her as best he could. "Lothiriel, I've an idea."

She sniffed and looked up at him through tearful eyes. "What?"

"Why don't I hold onto the rope up here, and you climb down? Then, when you've gotten down, you can come and let me out. It might take a little longer than we first expected, but at least we'll be out of here. And then we can go on despising each other again." Amusement crept into his voice.

"I don't despise you," she muttered.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Oh really?"

"I just strongly dislike you." She sighed. "But your plan is good, for once, and I will do anything to get out of here."

"Well, then, shall we get on with it?" he asked, standing and offering her his hand. She accepted and allowed him to pull her up. She tied the rope about her waist, and motioned for Eomer to do the same.

He helped her onto the window sill, where she looked straight at him. "This had better hold," she said, "or I'll come back to haunt you."

"I don't doubt it."

Slowly, he lowered her down to the ground. Lothiriel landed with a soft thud. She promptly untied the rope and made her way around to the nearest door into the palace. Once inside, she walked quietly, lest the conspirators had returned. They had. As she came to the corner by the Great Hall, she heard Faramir talking to Eowyn. Lothiriel froze, listening. "When do you plan to let them out, my lovely?" he asked.

"In the morning, I think," she said. "We wouldn't want to disturb their beauty sleep." Laughter filled the hall, and Lothiriel recognized Amrothos' laugh mixed with the Lord and Lady of Ithilien's.

She quickly decided to take a different route from her earlier plan. She didn't want to run into those three after what she had just heard. At last, she made it to the hall where the linen closet was located. There were a few chairs scattered about, causing Lothiriel to wonder how many people had actually been in on the conspiracy. She also noted that there was no barricade whatsoever. "Tronkers," she muttered.

"Lothiriel? Is that you?" Eomer called from the other side of the door.

"Yes, it is. Eomer, turn the doorknob, it's unlocked already."

"What about the barricade?"

Lothiriel snorted. "There wasn't one. They lied."

Eomer opened the door. "You mean we could have gotten out hours ago?"

"Yes."

The king scratched his chin. "You know what this means, don't you?"

Lothiriel shook her head. "What?"

"We have to play a trick of our own on them." He grinned, and Lothiriel smiled back. She could already see the wheels turning.

The next morning, Eowyn trudged up to the second-floor linen closet. Faramir and Amrothos followed behind her. She slowly opened the door to the closet and promptly gasped in shock. Eomer opened his eyes sleepily and looked at his sister and then down at Lothiriel, who was sprawled across his bare chest, her long hair fanned around her disrobed shoulders.

"Lothiriel," he whispered. "It's morning, love."

"Unnnh. Tell them to come back tomorrow. We haven't finished discussing business." She snuggled closer to him, adding to the effect.

"Eowyn, could you come back later?" Eomer asked. "The princess of swan-droppings--" here, Lothiriel smacked him lightly muttering about her telling him not to call her that, "--and I have not finished discussing business." He smiled broadly at his sister's incredulous expression until Amrothos showed himself. The prince was scowling.

"And just what sort of business were you discussing with my sister?" he asked.

"Ways to get you back for locking us in here all night." It was Lothiriel who spoke. She rolled over, taking the blankets with her and revealing Eomer's completely clothed lower half. "Relax, we were only having a bit of fun with you. Nothing really happened."

Amrothos finally relented, but Eowyn still scrutinized her brother. Certainly, nothing physical had happened between them, but she could see a change in his eyes. She smiled slightly. Her plan had indeed worked. She mentally predicted they would be wed within the year. "Well then," she said, "if that's it, I suggest the two of you come down to breakfast. But Lothiriel, I might recommend that you put your dress back on before doing so."

A/N: w00t! my first-ever challenge fic! this is for the countries united challenge, if you haven't guessed it already. wish me luck! yes, i know i didn't make it all lovey-dovey, but i wanted to do something different. i thought them coming to a nice little compromise of sorts would do nicely. also, i changed locations from rohan to dol amroth...i just thought it would be a nice twist because i don't think anyone else had set theirs in lothiriel's home rather than edoras or ithilien. hope you liked it!