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Chapter Text

A man is riding along the beach. Lothíriel squints her eyes – the sunlight reflects on the water and blinds her, so maybe she imagined it – but when she looks again, he is still there, coming closer. For goodness’ sake, not again. Why is there a guy sitting on some great beast of a horse thundering closer as if he were riding into battle? Didn't he see the signs? Lothíriel resolves to ignore him and continues to furiously scrub the table. It's not strictly necessary, the guests actually don't eat straight from the wood, but she has already spent ten minutes on this particular stain and by now she just wants it gone on principle. 

The clattering of hooves nears and Lothíriel resigns to tell yet another poor lost rider that no, the Rohan stables are at the opposite side of the bay, and no, he can't ride here, as this part of the beach is private property and belongs to the Dol Amroth Yacht Club. 

"Excuse me," a deep voice says and Lothíriel looks up. And up. And up. Close up, the horse is even bigger, and the man sitting on it doesn't seem short, either. But maybe that's just because of the horse. 

He swings from the saddle, ties the reins loosely around the back of a chair, and approaches her. Lothíriel corrects herself. It is not the horse. The man is still huge without it. 

"Don't let the horse shit here," is what comes out of her mouth. "Someone will step on it and then they'll want a refund."

The man falters, then smiles.

"I sadly can't control when my horse shits," he says, and Lothíriel could slap herself because he is attractive and the first thing she said to him was a sentence concerning horse manure. 

"Also, I just finished cleaning the terrace."

Now he looks vaguely guilty. He scratches his neck. 

"Ahem... I am sorry." 

There is a short silence in which Lothíriel warily eyes him. She also shoots a glare at the horse, for good measure. 

"This is the yacht club, yes?" The man asks.

Lothíriel rolls her eyes. 

"Yes. If you already knew that, why are you here? No horses allowed."

Why, oh why, is she aggravating this man? Summers are long and boring, and this man has thighs like tree trunks and could make this summer decidedly less boring if Lothíriel were just a bit nicer to him. By now she fears she has snuffed out any potential interest he may have had in her. Talking about horse shit and being rude; her brain must be even more fried from the heat than she has suspected. 

The man gives her a long look, from the blue summer dress (with a few stains on it), her windswept dark hair, to the wet rag still in her hand. 

"I wanted to speak to Mr. Amroth. Is he available? When we talked on the phone, he said I could come by whenever. I mean, that was a few weeks ago now... it was chaos down there, I couldn’t find the time before, sadly. I am Éomer Éadig, by the way."

Oh. 

Lothíriel rises to her full height and finally throws the wet rag into the bucket. So, this is the famed Éomer, who has inherited Théoden's riding club and its stables? Lothíriel knows next to nothing about horses, but Rohan's are apparently the best. She side-eyes Éomer's horse again, which is surely worth a fortune, and has calmly started eating the table decorations Lothíriel spent way too much time arranging. 

Then another thought hits her: Éomer doesn't know who she is. 

She grins up at him.

"Mr. Amroth and his sons are currently on a business trip. We expect them back in three weeks’ time."

Éomer blinks at her. Lothíriel grins wider. 

"Okay," he says. "I am sorry to hear that. Well, I will leave you alone then. Thank you."

He turns away and Lothíriel is treated to the sight of a very muscular back and nearly sighs. Before he mounts, Éomer turns back.

"What is your name?"

"Lori," Lothíriel answers, internally cringing that she told him her childhood nickname instead of her real or a completely normal but false name. 

"Lori," he repeats, and there is a dimple on his cheek. Lothíriel stares at it. She wants to poke it. 

"I'll see you around," he says and finally jumps into the saddle, directing his horse away from her with those muscular thighs that from now on will have a permanent place in Lothíriel's personal fantasies.

Just before he leaves the terrace, he looks back at her and winks. 

And then, the horse shits. 

///

It is three days later, as Lothíriel visits the farmer's market to buy fresh produce, when she sees Éomer again. He is not hard to find. Lothíriel is not a small woman, as most of the Dol Amroth family are blessed with genes that make them grow like sprouts, but Éomer towers over the rest of the Saturday morning crowd like... a tower. Lothíriel is no poet, indeed. 

She inconspicuously elbows her way in his general direction and tries to think of a suave way to open a conversation. 

"Hey," she says when she reaches him. 

Éomer turns around and blushes furiously.

"Hey," he answers and stares at a point somewhere near her left ear. "I am deeply sorry my horse did, indeed, shit on the terrace."

Lothíriel laughs. 

"Oh, that," she waves her hand. "It was no bother."

"Still, you probably don't get paid enough for that. It was inconsiderate of me to barge straight up to you, I am sorry."

Did he beat himself up over this, Lothíriel wonders? And did she hear right, he rode up to her specifically? Now she feels flattered, and when she looks at his contrite face, the warm brown eyes and open expression, her stomach flutters, too. 

"I really didn't mind so much," she assures him. "And anyway, I'm only working here during the summer."

"You're a student, then?" Éomer asks with interest.

Lothíriel nods.

"I study up in Belfalas. Economics, and Mathematics," she says. She has always been good with numbers. There is no chance that she will take over the yacht club, not with three older brothers, but she can either support them as an accountant (or whatever they need, Lothíriel knows how to run the business in and out) or make her way somewhere else. 

"And during the summers, I work at the yacht club. Always have, since I can remember."

That much is the truth.

"I did not expect that," Éomer says. "Economics, yes, but doubling in Maths?"

"What, because I’m a woman?" Lothíriel wonders if her attraction to Éomer is worth it if he doesn't believe her capable of studying a STEM subject. 

"No, no!" Éomer holds up his hands in a placating gesture. 

"I am sorry. I don't think I am making a good first impression here. Or second."

"Your arms do try to make up for that," Lothíriel mutters. With those arms raised, she can see the muscles contracting and it is distracting her. 

"What?" Éomer sputters.

"Nothing," she innocently smiles up at him and sincerely hopes he ignores her blunder. Éomer takes a deep breath. 

"I did not expect that because honestly, math is a nightmare for me, and even the basic courses we had to do for veterinary medicine were a struggle. I prefer skills with practical applications and that's what I’m good at."

With great self-restraint, Lothíriel manages to hold back another inappropriate comment. Such as, "you can practically apply yourself to me any time", for example. 

"So, I actually do not expect anyone to study Mathematics voluntarily, which is obviously not the case, and admire anyone who does."

It is a nice save, and Lothíriel believes him. His eyes are earnest and kind. She stares into them and belatedly realizes that she is supposed to answer.

"Um… do you want to grab an ice cream and sit down by the pier?" She asks. 

Éomer's eyes light up. Lothíriel can't believe her luck – this man apparently wants to spend time with her, even though he must know that he is way out of her league. He is probably a few years older than her, runs a business, and is so attractive women all over the kingdom must fall over their feet for him, while Lothíriel still has two roommates and spends her summers working for her family so they can go on vacation – cough, business trips – together. Lothíriel knows she is smart, but she is also a hot mess. She is glad today's dress is at least stain-free. 

"Yes, let's do that," he says, and they leave in search of the nearest ice cream stand. 

After the air is cleared of the heavy topic of horse shit, Éomer finds his footing. He is actually quite self-assured, as he leads her down the streets and onto the pier. Lothíriel, in contrast, is uncharacteristically quiet. She is nervous. Normally, she blabbers, and if she is lucky, the person she is with finds it endearing, and if not – well, then it wasn't the right person. Her friends and family know that her mind always jumps around and that she has a habit of blurting embarrassing things at unfortunate moments. But suddenly she feels as if the stakes are higher. She wants Éomer to like her. And as already proven, she has no control over her mouth when Éomer stands in front of her in all his kind and sexy glory. 

"Penny for your thoughts?" The man in question asks, looking at her and then, slowly, licking his ice cream. Is he doing that on purpose? Does he want to torture her? 

"I like your hands," Lothíriel says, and it's true. She is very proud she didn't say something like "please lick me too" out loud, and the hands are close to where her gaze has strayed. They are big and the ice cream cone looks small in it. Éomer’s skin is golden from the sun, and there is a light smattering of blond hair. His fingers are tattooed, and he wears a few silver rings. Lothíriel doesn't think she has ever been this attracted to hands. 

"Thanks," he smiles, and oh, now that his natural confidence has come out, it is deadly.

"May I see?" She asks, and he holds one out for her. Lothíriel carefully takes it. Her fingers are pale in comparison, and her own hands seem tiny. She traces the tattoos - they are old runes, various horse-related ones, but also symbols for luck, and prosperity. Éomer holds very still as she inspects them, then she turns his hand and feels his palm and the callouses on his fingertips. 

"You're very soft," he murmurs, and Lothíriel feels his voice deep in her bones. She doesn't dare to look up, lest she do something stupid like kiss him and then they would both fall into the water and everything would be ruined. She wants to savor this moment. So, she resolutely continues to explore his fingers and feels Éomer gradually relaxing next to her. When she finally looks up, she sees that his eyes are closed and he is smiling faintly. Lothíriel feels something blossoming in her heart, and there is a peaceful silence within her. 

///

Éomer accompanies her back to the yacht club. The guests are out and about by now, and the morning buffet is closing. They stand in front of the main entrance, and Lothíriel dreads going up to her father's office and starting today's work. 

"Do you want to exchange numbers?" She asks. "So I can send you horse memes?"

Éomer throws his head back and laughs. It's a throaty, full laugh, and Lothíriel is happy. 

"I can send cat memes, too, if you prefer," she adds. 

He chuckles and withdraws his phone from his pocket. With quick fingers, Lothíriel adds her number. 

"I had a great time, Lori," Éomer says.

Oh, this. Lothíriel nearly forgot she didn't give him her real name. Well, if she admits it now, it's just embarrassing. Let's see where this goes, first. Sometimes, men are intimidated by her family's wealth and more importantly, her three overbearing brothers. When she first went to the city, she had been so glad to step out from her brothers' shadows and hadn't been aware that people would date her for her money and antiquated title. It was a hard lesson when she brought a boyfriend home just to see him spend more time with her father than herself. She doesn't think Éomer would do that, but better safe than sorry. 

"Me too," she answers. "Okay, bye!"

She turns and quickly runs up the steps. The danger of kissing this man unprompted is ever present, best to remove herself from the equation. 

On the first floor, she curses herself for giving her number instead of asking for his. Now she will have to wait. Maybe he is just nice. Maybe he doesn't even want to see her again. Maybe he didn't even want to exchange numbers, but it would have been awkward to decline. Maybe he will never text her. 

On the second floor, her phone vibrates and Lothíriel nearly misses a step. 

On the third floor, she is out of breath as she strides into her father's office, flops down on his leather armchair, and looks at her phone.

"Éomer :)" The message reads. 

Lothíriel quickly sends him a horse GIF, then groans and buries her head in her hands. Why is she like this? After taking three deep breaths, she starts up the computer and opens the first file. And if she opens a second tab and spends half her working time researching horse puns, it's no one's business but her own. It's not as if she gets paid, anyway. 

After a while, Lothíriel sinks into a haze of rows and numbers, only getting up to drink, pee, and send a horse pun, in that order. 

Éomer responds every single time.

///

The next day, Lothíriel carries a stack of freshly washed towels to the pool house, when an Éomer-shaped shadow falls over her. 

"Hi," she chirps happily. "You look even better with fewer clothes on."

And then she hides her flaming face in the tower of towels. After a few seconds, she looks up again. Éomer simply grins. He's only wearing swim shorts, his very own beach towel slung over his shoulders. His hair is unruly from the summer breeze, his chest is broad and tanned, and she wants to lick those abs. When her look stays glued too long to his shorts, she realizes that she has spent a whole damn minute checking him out. 

"Thank you, Lori," he says, and is that smugness she can detect? "Are you ready for a swim? I left the provisions at the beach."

"I'll just drop those off," Lothíriel says, and Éomer follows her to the pool house before they go down to the beach, where Éomer has laid out a blanket. There's a basket filled with bread, cheese, and fruits for later. Lothíriel thinks she can spy a wine bottle. 

Lothíriel lays down her straw hat before pulling her dress over her head. She has put on her favorite yellow bikini because the cut shows off what little boobs she has and the color makes her happy. She hears a strangled sound behind her. 

When she turns, Éomer's eyes are wide, and he makes an aborted move in her direction. Lothíriel decides that it is her turn to feel smug now. Éomer’s gaze roves from her head to her small breasts, to her flat stomach, and Lothíriel feels very naked and validated at once. There is heat rising to her cheeks again.

"Oh, I like your blush," he says in a deep voice and this time, he really steps closer. Lothíriel thinks that this might be the moment they kiss. His hand rises and he slowly touches her shoulder, and strokes down her arm. Lothíriel feels goosebumps rise in the wake of his fingers. His other hand comes to lie on her waist, and then he hoists her up on his shoulder, and Lothíriel screeches. 

"What are you doing?" She laughs and is simultaneously disappointed that there was no kiss. Yet. She does think they're on the right track here. 

"We're going swimming, aren't we?" Éomer teases and carries her to the water. Lothíriel half-heartedly slaps his back, but secretly she is impressed that he can just lift and carry her around. And also, there may have been no kiss, but she feels his muscles when she drums on his back and really, the slaps turn into caresses. 

Éomer walks into the water until it is waist-deep and then she is flying, splashing, and sputtering. When Lothíriel resurfaces she can't hold back her laughter, and then she can't hold back in general, and she jumps back into Éomer's arms, who catches her easily. 

"Enough of that," she says, and then she kisses him. 

His arms immediately tighten around her, and she is pressed against his warm body. She wraps her legs around him and it feels so good she doesn’t mind she probably looks like a half-crazed octopus hugging its favorite tree.

Éomer breaks the kiss just as it gets interesting (there is a considerable bulge pressing against her). They wait a moment so he doesn’t get arrested for indecent public exposure, then head back to the beach to eat the food he brought.

///

Walking through the gates of Rohan is like entering another realm. The houses are wooden, with crude but still beautiful carvings. People in riding leathers cross the courtyard to the stables, and the smell of horses is in the air. The main building's roof is golden, and it's so beautiful Lothíriel stares. The atmosphere is warm and lively, and guests laugh and joke with each other while brushing down their horses. It's homey, Lothíriel realizes. Through the gate, she can still see the glittering water of the bay, but other than that, she feels very far from Dol Amroth. But... safe. And warm.

Éomer meets her on the steps to the main building and kisses her, not caring that they are in full view of all his guests and employees. Lothíriel melts a little inside. Then he takes her by the hand and leads her to the stables. He introduces her to a gentle mare, shows her how to brush her, and finally helps her into the saddle. Lothíriel, who has last ridden a horse when she was seven and her father indulged her horse phase (which came as fast as it went) is pleasantly surprised by how much she enjoys it. She secretly feared she would hate it, and how could Éomer love her then? If he would, hypothetically, of course.

Éomer is in his element, leading the mare around the paddock, speaking softly and confidently to both the horse and Lothíriel, and she desperately tries not to show how much his voice is affecting her.

After they have brought the mare back to its stall, they sit down in the grass. Lothíriel scooches closer and closer until Éomer laughs and just pulls her into his lap. Content now, she snuggles back into his strong chest and lets him feed her morsels of food he has stolen from the kitchen.

They watch the sunset over the bay. When the air gets colder, Éomer gets up and holds out a hand for Lothíriel. 

“Shall I give you the grand tour now?” He asks.

Lothíriel sincerely hopes she is right in her assumption of where this is going. Still, she smiles coyly up at him and says: “There is one room that interests me above all others.”

“Oh?” Éomer says, and she can watch his pupils dilate in real-time. 

“Your office,” she says.

“Of course,” he chuckles and they head inside.

///

Lothíriel eyes the chaos on the table, lifts a folder to look at the papers beneath, checks the charts that still lie in the printer. 

"Oh my," she says. 

"Yeah," Éomer agrees.

“May I take a closer look?” She asks. Éomer makes a sweeping gesture encompassing the cluttered office.

“Go ahead,” he says. 

Lothíriel starts up the ancient computer and begins going through the papers on the desk while it is loading, trying to decipher the system. When the screen finally turns blue, she clicks around and finds out that Théoden did use it, but as with the rest of the technology in this room, the accounting software is rather antiquated. There are also thousands of single documents saved on the desktop; lists of horse names and lists of business expenses side by side. Lothíriel thinks it may take weeks to sort it through, to maybe implement new software on a new computer, and create the orderly rows of numbers she loves so much. 

After a while, she finds out that expenses are sorted by employee name, not by topic or even alphabetically. Since Rohan is a family enterprise that prides itself on its job stability and fair wages, it makes sense that Théoden knew every single one of his employees personally. There is a big folder titled after a man named “Gamling”, and the documents date back to over twenty years ago. Lothíriel is delighted that Éomer trusts her with his most personal business information. It is a pleasure to get a glimpse into another thriving business, so different from Dol Amroth. The yacht club is more corporate, and even though she likes it, she can’t help but wonder how it would be to be part of something so alive and warm, a business that is as much passion and love as it is home. Lothíriel feels Théoden’s ghost in every corner of this office, his presence calming in the dark wood and the fancy bottle of whisky waiting on the sideboard.

Lothíriel sinks into the familiar haze of organizing until she remembers, sometime later, that she is not alone. She looks up and sees that Éomer has made himself comfortable on the chaise lounge, his long legs dangling over the edge. He has opened a book and reads with his head resting on the cushion. As if feeling her gaze on him, he lowers it and looks at her. 

“Is your curiosity satisfied?” He asks, and Lothíriel blushes. Here she is, visiting her… whatever, and she spends the time in his office of all things instead of getting the man naked and under her. Or the other way around, she has no preference, really. Éomer surely imagined this evening to progress differently.

He stands up and comes closer.

“I like this,” he says. “I like it when you’re in your element and forget your surroundings. I’d be happy to spend the evening reading next to you, but maybe some other day? I don’t want to force you into working through my chaos the first time you visit. Except if you want to stay here?”

Lothíriel sees herself sinking back into the haze of papers and expenses and decides that no, however tempting the prospect of just comfortable spending time with Éomer while they both do their own things is, she does not want that today. She jumps up.

“Show me your bedroom,” she says. 

“Alright,” he answers, and she skips over to him, implementing a small pirouette, because it is just so easy with him. When she meets his gaze again, there is a low fire in his eyes.

///

Lothíriel excuses herself to the bathroom to freshen up, which is an elegant turn of phrase to hide that she frantically searches and locates a washcloth. She washes the strategic points on her body: Face, armpits, between her legs. Then she also washes her feet, just to be safe. She doesn't think Éomer has a foot fetish, but she finds in herself the grace to forgive him if that's the case. 

Sadly, when she leaves the bathroom and Éomer scoops her up to kiss her deeply, his hands in her hair and his tongue in her mouth, the question doesn't leave her. 

She breaks the kiss and asks: "Do you want to lick my toes?"

Éomer looks at her, a bit breathless and a bit confused. 

"No. Why, do you want me to?" 

"No," she says. "That's good. I just... thought about it."

"Okay, then," Éomer is unfazed, and Lothíriel is so glad that he is unflappable. He kisses her again, and whispers: "Don't think."

Lothíriel kisses him back, and slowly, he maneuvers her to the big king-size bed. She feels soft and pliant, but still, thoughts are running through her head, most of them concentrated on Éomer: Arousal looks good on him, his warm eyes are dark and intent on her. She can't believe her luck and really hopes that whatever happens, he isn't disappointed in her. She feels herself being distracted by that last thought instead of enjoying Éomer’s lips on hers, so she withdraws and says:

"Make me not think, please." 

Éomer's pupils darken, and he looks kind of feral right now. But he cups her head gently, and then turns it a bit so that her neck is exposed. His hands wander down to her waist, but Lothíriel obediently stays as she is, and Éomer slowly leans down and kisses the sensitive skin beneath her ear. 

Lothíriel shudders, and clings to him. Éomer continues kissing and licking, and then he bites. Lothíriel gasps and her knees buckle, and if he hadn't held her against his body, she would have fallen. Éomer bites and then soothes, and Lothíriel can't think of anything now except how the sting travels straight to her center, and how wonderful the man in front of her feels, pressing his hard body against her.

"So beautiful," he says as he lifts her dress and pulls it over her head. "You're like a forest nymph, so light on your feet and full of laughter. I don't think you know how magical you are. Men would follow you to their doom with a smile on their faces.” He reverently touches her cheek. “I want to shower praise on your body, and I want to take you apart with my touches and rebuild you again, until the only word you know is my name on your lips, and the only thing I know is your taste on my tongue."

Holy shit. 

“Yes,” Lothíriel says and frantically rips the shirt from his body.

And Éomer proves that he can indeed do all the things he promised.

After, Lothíriel licks his abs and pokes his dimple, and Éomer draws her closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder.

///

When she first saw him, she thought he was nice to look at, just a daydream for her lonely hours. She had not dared to hope for a summer fling. Now she hopes it’s not just a summer fling. She has found him, and she wants to keep him.

///

They establish a wonderful routine. Lothíriel spends her mornings in her father’s office, doing the daily work that needs to be done so the yacht club doesn’t fall apart while her male relatives are gallivanting across the country. At lunch, she goes down to the terrace to wipe the tables, move her body a bit, and catch some sun. Sometimes she watches the bay and with every rider she spots on the other side of the water, she likes to imagine that it’s Éomer. She is so infatuated it’s actually disgusting. 

In the evenings, Éomer picks her up and takes her for dinner, sometimes he chooses a romantic restaurant on the waterside with lit candles between them, sometimes they just grab food from a stand and wander the streets, holding hands. 

Éomer tells her how his uncle retired to the countryside, only taking his two favorite horses with him, and listens patiently when she tells him about her life in the city.

“Do you want to stay there, once you graduate?” He asks.

Lothíriel doesn’t say that lately, she dreams of his cluttered office and how she thinks that she could really be an asset to him. It would be so easy. The way she sees it, there is a Lothíriel-shaped hole in his life in which she would fit perfectly. She does not say it, of course, it’s too early for that. 

“Not necessarily,” she answers, stroking his arm. The muscles have not lost their distracting allure. “I like the quick pace of living there, but every time I come back home, I realize it’s mostly a diversion from my loneliness. I’ll finish my Master’s next year and I look forward to going wherever I am wanted.” There, she thinks. A non-committal answer that nevertheless shows that she is open to the possibility of ending up right here, next to him. 

Éomer covers her hand with his own, and they stop under a streetlight. 

“Oh yes, this is perfect,” she sighs and stands on her toes to kiss him softly, the sound of the distant waves in the background. His arms wrap around her and Lothíriel thinks she never wants this moment to end.

///

The weeks pass by in a blur of soft touches and sweet memories. It’s sooner than she expected when she wakes up in her childhood bedroom and hears a loud voice calling her name.

“We’re hoooome!” That’s Amrothos.

Lothíriel scrambles up and runs down the stairs. Here they stand: Imrahil, her father, tall, proud, and regal, her brother Elphir, the hair on his temples already turning grey and not looking any less regal than their father, Erchirion and Amrothos, both younger and sporting a wide grin. 

“I missed you!” She calls and jumps into a group hug. Four pairs of arms embrace her, and Lothíriel sighs happily. She is away most of the year for her studies, and then every summer her father and brothers go on vacation for a few weeks, but she always is the most content during the time she is surrounded by her family. Then she freezes. Her family is back. That means sooner or later, she will have to tell Éomer the truth, and she hopes he won’t be angry with her for deceiving him a little.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Elphir asks and Lothíriel steps back. 

“Nothing,” she says. Then decides, whatever, this is her family and they have no secrets between them. “I may have met a man. He may have the impression that I just work here during the summer and have no personal affiliation with the Dol Amroth family whatsoever. Now that you’re here, I don’t think it will stay a secret much longer.”

Amrothos throws his head back and laughs. 

“Oh Lori, you’re a mess,” he says.

“Is he kind to you?” Erchirion asks. His eyes glint dangerously, and Lothíriel is reminded of her brothers’ protectiveness. 

“Yes,” she says and looks at her toes. “Very. He took me out on dates nearly every day the last two weeks, and we went swimming and even riding.”

“Riding?” Her father asks. “I did not know you have an interest in horses.”

Lothíriel blushes.

“Is he a club member of Rohan’s?” Amrothos asks, always the quickest to come to the right conclusions.

Lothíriel blushes further.

“It’s Éomer,” she says, and all four of her men stare at her.

“You met the heir of the Rohan Riding Club and did not tell him who you are?” Her father asks incredulously. “I mean… he seemed like a good man when I talked to him on the phone. I invited him to talk about his new position and maybe give him a few pointers if he needs them.” 

“That’s actually why he came here the first time,” Lothíriel says and bites on her lip. “And then his horse shat on the terrace.”

Amrothos doubles over in laughter.

“Oh Lothíriel, this is precious,” he gasps. “Never a dull moment with you. Come on, we will unpack and you can tell us all about your horseman.”

He grabs his suitcases and leaves in the direction of his room, whistling the melody of “save a horse, ride a cowboy”. Lothíriel doesn’t meet her father’s eyes and quickly follows him.

///

Dinner is a loud affair. Lothíriel texted Éomer that her family is back in town and she can’t meet him today. He was very understanding and wished her fun. Amrothos still can’t believe she didn’t tell her lover who she is and wants to hear every detail of their summer romance. Then, in turn, her family tells her of their vacation, the weddings they have attended, and the yachting trips they took. Yes, they can do that at home, too, but it’s hard to keep a Dol Amroth away from the water for long. 

Finally, when the initial chaos and delight of reunion has died down a bit, her father says: “I am thinking of inviting Éomer for dinner. I had planned to do that anyway, but I think I want to meet this boyfriend of yours properly.”

Lothíriel chokes. Is Éomer her boyfriend? They haven’t talked about it. It still feels too soon to spring her whole family on him. Maybe she can avoid the dinner.

“Don’t tell him!” She blurts. This she must do on her own. The mess is her doing, it’s her duty to clean it up. 

Her father eyes her. 

“If you wish,” he agrees. “But the invitation stands.”

Lothíriel feels her stomach sinking. Her uncomplicated summer fling suddenly has a deadline, and she isn’t sure enough of Éomer’s affection to be confident that he won’t end whatever they have when he finds out that Lothíriel has lied to him.

She swears to tell him the next time she sees him, wishes her family a good night, and retires to her room. Then she spends two hours in bed exchanging horse puns with Éomer.

///

Lothíriel wants to tell Éomer, she really does. Now that her family is back, her workload is reduced dramatically (to nothing), and she can spend every minute Éomer is not working himself at Rohan’s. She becomes a pro at petting horses, too.

“I need to tell you something,” she mumbles when she meets him, and he suddenly looks so scared that Lothíriel loses her courage. She doesn’t want to ruin the mood. “Did you see the new bar that has opened downtown? Do you want to check it out tonight?”

“That’s what you needed to tell me?” Éomer asks and Lothíriel nods. She is a stupid, dumb, coward. He doesn’t look completely convinced, but relieved nevertheless. 

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he smiles, and Lothíriel thinks she really doesn’t deserve him. It’s just her luck that her brothers are also there this evening, and Lothíriel quickly turns Éomer and kisses him, so he doesn’t see them and vice versa. Then she hides in his arms.

Logically she knows it’s not a big deal at all. Even the nickname Éomer thinks is her real name is not that much of a lie, as Amrothos still sometimes calls her by it. But she feels like she is deceiving him, and the longer she keeps up the ruse, the worse it gets. She also knows she is deep in overthinking territory now. Every time she wants to tell Éomer, she panics a little. After two more false starts, the obvious solution is to just ignore the problem. 

And then it finally happens.

///

“I’m going out!” Lothíriel calls as she passes the dining room. Éomer is busy tonight, so she plans a little stroll along the beach and to maybe, finally, come up with a game plan that she won’t chicken out. That’s the thing with self-made tasks, no one else forces you to do them, and therefore they don’t work. Lothíriel needs to find a way to trick herself into being brave. Hopefully, a few hours of quiet introspection will help.

“Come in for a moment, dear,” her father answers, and Lothíriel turns and freezes. There, sitting at the table with her father and brothers – her whole goddamn family – is the man who is the reason for all her very happy and lately, very panicky thoughts. Éomer’s eyes flicker between her father, Elphir, Erchirion, Amrothos, Lothíriel, and back. The family resemblance is striking.

“Yes, Dad?” Lothíriel asks and wants to sink into the ground. 

“Am I right in assuming that you haven’t told Mr. Éadig here yet that you are, in fact, my daughter?”

“You’re completely right,” Lothíriel says.

“Well, then,” Imrahil aka the Most Meddlesome Father in Existence says calmly, while Lothíriel nearly experiences a heart attack. “Éomer, meet Lothíriel, my daughter. When she was little, we called her Lori. I think she cares very much for you, or she wouldn’t have been so scared of ruining things between you two. Please don’t hurt her feelings, as she is very precious to me.”

Éomer’s face changes from the initial shock of seeing Lothíriel in the private quarters of the Dol Amroth family to a mix of confusion and amusement. Her brothers, those useless cretins, are utterly silent.

“Did you lie to me?” Éomer finally asks.

“Yes,” Lothíriel whispers. “I am sorry.” 

Éomer shakes his head a little, then stands up and opens his arms.

“Come here, Lori,” he says, and she does as she is told. When Éomer hugs her, Lothíriel feels the tension drain from her body, and she fiercely hugs him back. 

“I really am sorry,” she repeats. “It was meant as a joke, maybe? But then it became such a big deal, and then I got scared you’d be angry with me.”

Éomer strokes her back.

“It’s really not a big deal,” he tells her. “Actually, it’s a bit funny. And you did tell me you have three overprotective brothers and a father who runs a business. It’s not as if I couldn’t have figured it out, I just didn’t connect the dots. You were just too distracting.” 

He smiles down at her. There is a cough behind them.

“We will give you a moment,” her father says. “Come, boys, we were finished anyway.”

They wait until Lothíriel’s family has filed out of the dining room, Amrothos throwing back a wink before leaving. 

“We are alright?” Lothíriel asks. “God, I am such a dumbass. So, yeah. I guess you have met my family now.”

“Your dad sure is something,” Éomer says. “And yes, we are alright. I am actually quite relieved, to be honest.”

“Relieved?”

“Something wasn’t right the last few days, but you didn’t tell me what it was. I am glad it’s just that your family is wealthier than I expected. I thought you planned to break up with me,” he says.

“What? No!” Lothíriel exclaims. Then his words catch up with her. “Are you telling me that we are together?”

Éomer stares at her. “Yes? Are we not? I thought it was obvious.”

Lothíriel is suppressing a small bit of hysteria now. She squeezes Éomer tightly and it helps her to calm down.

“Oh fuck, I love you,” she says.

“What?” Éomer chokes. Even the most unflappable guy gets flapped by something. But Lothíriel doesn’t regret saying it. All is out in the open now. She grins up at him.

“Yeah, I really think I do,” she confirms.

Éomer laughs incredulously. “You’re a menace, you know that?” Then he kisses her. “And just so you know,” he murmurs against her lips. “I love you, too.”

Lothíriel brims with happiness. She continues kissing him, then takes him by the hand and drags him (the man she loves, the man who loves her) to her bedroom. Amrothos peeks around the corner, sees the two of them, whistles, and gives Éomer a thumbs up. The man (who she loves, who loves her) groans, but he doesn’t sound unhappy, and he quickens his steps when Lothíriel indicates which room is hers. The door closes with a bang and he lifts her up, turns around, and presses her against it. 

“You – are – so – smart,” he says between pecks on her lips, cheeks and forehead. “How the hell did you not realize that I want to be your boyfriend? And that I – very much – love you?”

Lothíriel shakes her head. 

“I don’t know,” she says and winds her arms around his neck, stroking the soft hair on his nape. “In hindsight, it is pretty obvious.”

His mouth is on her then, devouring her and effectively shutting her up. Her brain shuts up, too. But being pressed against the door hinders them from shedding their clothes, and Lothíriel very much wants to be naked now, and more importantly, she wants him to be naked, too. So, with great difficulty, she wrenches her head away and thumps it against the door. 

“Take me to bed,” she demands breathlessly. “And make love to me.”

“Gladly,” Éomer answers, and does just that.

/// 

Lothíriel’s final year at university passes quickly and not quick enough. She travels home nearly every weekend, and it’s not only because of her boyfriend. She realizes she should have come home more often before, too, because their weekly Friday family dinner soon becomes her favorite part of the week. It is nice to be around her family again, not just during summer or over the holidays. Her boyfriend is a seamless addition to the men in her life, joking with Amrothos and talking shop with Imrahil. It seems as if there was an Éomer-shaped hole in her life, too. Some weekends Éomer travels to her instead and they explore the city life, visit museums, and go to fancy restaurants. Her roommates are jealous and Lothíriel can emphasize. When the only thing left is writing her Master’s thesis, she spends more and more time at the Rohan Riding Club. She sits in Éomer’s office (now mostly clutter-free) or on a balcony overlooking the paddock, tapping away on her laptop. When she hands in her thesis, Éomer surprises her by taking her bungee jumping. They all come to the city to celebrate her graduation. 

Afterward, Lothíriel announces to no one’s surprise that she is moving in with Éomer. Amrothos pouts, Erchirion claps her on the back, Elphir once again warns Éomer to treat her right, and Imrahil is misty-eyed. They act as if she is moving to another country, not a thirty-minute drive away to the other side of the bay. 

No one except Lothíriel is surprised, either, when Éomer proposes six months later. 

“You are my favorite summer fling,” she tells him after he gets up from his knees. And then she starts crying, big and ugly happy tears.

Life is good, and it’s endless summer at Rohan’s Riding Club.

Chapter Text

Éomer Asks for Lothíriel’s Hand in Marriage

Éomer walks up the steps to the Dol Amroth Yacht Club. He is nervous, which comes as a surprise. Éomer didn’t think he would be nervous when the time came. Lothíriel’s family knows and likes him, after all.

He buzzes, gets let in, and goes straight up to Imrahil’s office. The older man holds the door open and greets him, and Éomer sits down at the opposite end of the wooden table. 

He says nothing.

Imrahil waits. He looks at him with a knowing smile.

Finally, Éomer draws the little box from his pocket and sets it on the table. It contains a whimsical ring with a sapphire at the center – Lothíriel doesn’t like diamonds and has strong opinions on the topic.

Imrahil takes a look at the ring and nods. 

“I take it you want to marry me?” He asks.

Despite himself, Éomer snorts, and the nerves disappear. People take a look at regal, calm Imrahil and think that Lothíriel’s humor and outgoing personality must have been inherited from her late mother. They are wrong. Imrahil loves to stir trouble, too, he just hides it better.

“I want to ask for Lothíriel’s hand in marriage,” Éomer states the obvious.

“Yes, I suspected as much,” Imrahil says. “But why do you ask me, and not my daughter?”

Éomer flounders.

“Because I want to do it right. I love her, and I’d like to have your blessing.”

Imrahil nods again, then stands.

“Of course, and you have it. Come here, son.”

He opens his arms and Éomer is so baffled he just goes around the table and hugs the man. It’s nice.

“Thank you,” he says. “I will be the best husband for her I can possibly be.”

“You better,” Imrahil says and claps him on the back.

Éomer leaves the office with a spring in his steps. When he opens the door, he nearly falls over Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos, who clearly eavesdropped on the conversation. Erchirion stumbles over Elphir and lands on the floor. Amrothos laughs.

Éomer shakes his head. This family, he thinks fondly.

Domestic Bliss

Éomer closes the front door.

“Lori, I’m home!” He calls. There is no answer. He thinks she may have gone out with friends, but checks the rooms either way. If she’s home, he wants to cuddle her. It’s like he needs her cuddles for his continued survival, lately. She still pokes his dimples regularly and Éomer is so fucking whipped.

He finds her in the office. Lothíriel is sprawled on the floor, furiously writing lists and cross-checking the cost of wedding cakes. Éomer’s heart swells with fondness. 

“Hi, there,” he says softly and Lothíriel looks up in confusion. Then she spots him, squeals, scrambles up, and jumps into his arms. Éomer catches her with a laugh.

“How was your meeting?” She asks between kisses.

“Went well,” he mumbles, too distracted by her soft lips to give details. There will be time for that later. Lothíriel strokes over his chest.

“Holy shit, you look so hot in a suit,” she says and Éomer smiles. A man can get used to this, especially as Lothíriel’s compliments are frequent and honest, bursting out of her without much thought.

“Then I’ll make sure to wear them more often for you,” he vows. Lothíriel nods seriously. Then she looks into his eyes and says: 

“Bedroom. Now.”

Éomer is all too happy to comply. He doesn’t even let her down but carries her straight out of the office and up the stairs. He’ll get his cuddles (and probably more), after all.

Wedding Jitters

Éomer fidgets. He moves to touch his fly, but it sits perfectly straight already, so he lets his hand fall back down. He stretches his shoulders and taps his foot.

“You alright there, man?” Elphir asks.

Lothíriel generously borrowed him one of her brothers. It’s Elphir, Faramir, and him in the groom’s suite. Lothíriel herself gets ready with Éomer’s sister Éowyn and her other two brothers.

“Yes,” Éomer replies.

“No regrets yet?” His future brother-in-law asks. Éomer detects the slight warning in his voice. He has no doubt that Elphir would have his hide if Éomer lets Lothíriel down now.

Éomer takes a deep breath.

“Just eager,” he says. “I can’t wait.”

And it’s true. Éomer can’t wait to be Lothíriel’s husband and officially part of her family. His own parents are dead, Théoden retired to the steppes, and Éowyn and Faramir live far away in Amyn Arnen. He is happy for his uncle and his sister, but he misses always having them around. However, during the last two years, Lothíriel’s relatives became his family, too. Imrahil is like a father to him, and Lothíriel’s caring and chaotic brothers have wormed their way into his heart. Today, all his loved ones are here, and he is so happy he could die.

“Do not tell me what to do!” A voice yells, and Éomer grins. That’s his bride. Then the door bangs open and Éomer and Lothíriel stare at each other.

“By the gods, you’re beautiful,” Éomer whispers. Lothíriel’s eyes fill with tears. Amrothos barges in. 

“I knew you would ruin your make-up! This is a disaster!” Lothíriel slaps his hand from her face. 

"Ten horses couldn't hold her back!" Amrothos says despairingly to the men in the room. Éomer wonders idly if this family will ever stop with the horse puns. Faramir stays silent and watches. Lothíriel crosses the room.

“Want to elope?” She asks and kisses him. Éomer feels instantly calmer and wraps his arms around her.

“Oh no, no, no, no, no you don’t!” Amrothos says. He pulls Lothíriel from Éomer’s embrace, who makes an unhappy noise.

“You will literally marry each other in less than ten minutes. Come on, Lori, you saw him. Off we go!”

Lothíriel reluctantly agrees. She twirls around and laughs delightedly at the realization that her shoes seem to be perfectly suited for Lori-esque shenanigans. Therefore, she follows up with two surprisingly elegant pirouettes. Éomer has hearts in his eyes.

“I love you!” She calls. Amrothos and Lothíriel leave in a whirlwind. Amrothos shoots Éomer and Faramir finger guns on the way out. 

"Cowboy wedding of the year!" he yells. "Lothíriel is riding her man into the sunset!" 

Lothíriel gasps at him, then contemplates: "Oh yeah, that I will," she agrees. 

"Casanova of the wild, wild west!” Amrothos can still be heard two corridors down. “Does he have a horse co– " Slaps and giggles follow.

In the ensuing silence, Faramir asks: “Are they always like that?”

“Yes,” Éomer confirms happily.