This is a short little story I wrote about 18 months ago. I posted it to tumblr, but never here, strangely enough. As always, don't take it too seriously. I do this for fun, you guys.

Lothíriel swirled her spoon through her soup, staring at the creamy broth but unseeing. The clatter of the meal around her sounded too normal and happy to be allowed, and deep within herself she dared to resent it, for her heart was aching.

Her cousin Faramir and his bride had been married just the day before, and had left that morning for Faramir's home in Ithilien. The wedding was not the cause of her discomfort, however; she loved her cousin and had been fortunate to come to consider Éowyn a friend. That much was happiness. But now, in her father's house only a few guests remained; namely, Rohan's king and his men. They were not bad guests: perfectly courteous and lively enough to keep spirits high. But if she could be even a fraction less attracted to Éowyn's brother, it would not be such agony.

Lothíriel's eyes rose to watch him, sitting by her father and speaking with him in grave tones. Even the mere sight of him made her catch her breath. How handsome he was, this Éomer! How brave and kind and…and… Her lips were drawn in a thoughtful frown. They had exchanged only a few words during their brief acquaintance, but every time she had met his gaze, she felt her soul and body stirring in such an unfamiliar way that she felt completely drained when they parted. And knowing that he would never see her in the same way…she, the youngest child of his sworn-father, the little sister of his brothers-at-arms… She could be nothing to him, really. Would he even recognize her in a multitude?

Sunset was long past. Being early spring, the sun still did not see fit to grace the world with light late into the evening. Candles lit Imrahil's hall, and in the small space made a lovely golden glow by which to eat and socialize by. The prince's residence in Minas Tirith was hardly anything compared to the palace in Dol Amroth. But it suited Lothíriel much better. Anywhere that Éomer dwelt would suit her perfectly, unrequited affection notwithstanding.

She brought her wineglass to her lips, sighed, and placed it back on the table without drinking. Lothíriel felt positively miserable.

But before she could dwell further on her heavy thoughts, a messenger entered the hall, bearing a sealed scroll which was presented to Imrahil. Lothíriel's attention wandered, too preoccupied to be curious, as her father opened it and began to read. A half-moment later, and Imrahil was standing, the blood drained from his face as he spoke in a harsh voice. "Amrothos, ready your men at once. There can be no delay! We leave for Dol Amroth tonight."

Her brother also stood, looking baffled but determined, and before Lothíriel even had time to put her spoon down in surprise, the hall was emptying. Imrahil beckoned her to join him, and she made her way, dazed. Erchirion had also approached, and the king of Rohan was on his feet with his stern gaze in place. He was much, much taller when she was near him, and Lothíriel gulped, trying to focus on what her father was saying.

"The corsairs have attacked," Imrahil said, his brows drawn together. "Elphir sent a message asking for reinforcements immediately. How I wish we had not slackened the patrols!"
"There are not enough corsairs to be attacking the city," Erchirion said. "That would be a death sentence."

"Nonetheless," their father said. "Erchirion, I want you to stay here. Inform Elessar of the situation; perhaps he will see fit to sent more soldiers. Lothíriel, you will be mistress here while we are away." She nodded numbly; this much was to be expected, having done just the same during the Ring War.

"Éomer, I am sorry to leave. But you are welcome to stay here as long as you need."

"Thank you, Imrahil." His deep voice made Lothíriel tremble, but not with fright. "And I know I have only a dozen men with me, but we are at your disposal, should you need it."

"I would rather not endanger your life," Imrahil said.

"But mine is acceptable to be tossed away," Amrothos interrupted, having sent all the men to ready themselves. Their little group were now the sole inhabitants of the hall, apart from a servant or two beginning to clear away the remains of the meal. "Father, you need to prepare as well. Erchi and Lothíriel can take care of things by themselves."

"Goodbye, son. Daughter." Imrahil kissed Lothíriel's forehead, and was gone. An awkward silence ensued the trio, and Erchirion cleared his throat.

"Well," he said. "I am off to see Elessar, then. Éomer, would you care to join me?"

To Lothíriel's surprise, Éomer glanced at her before answering. "Your sister should not be left alone," he said. Lothíriel's heart squeezed most oddly: he was showing concern for her! That would keep her heart beating for quite some time.

"I ought to be safe for a few hours," Lothíriel managed to say. "Do not worry on my account."

Éomer only gave her a level look, and shrugged. "Very well."

And so then, where only a scant ten minutes earlier there had been light and laughter, Lothíriel was left alone in the dim candle night, with only the bustle of servants cleaning for company.

She had dozed in a chair in the family quarters, too restless to sleep but too tired to stay awake. It was past midnight when she was jolted into full consciousness by Erchirion barging through, and she sat straight in her chair, gripping the armrests.

"Oh!" he said. "I thought you would have gone to bed."

Lothíriel slumped back, rubbing her eyes briefly and blinking as she watched Éomer enter the room as well, closing the door quietly behind them. Oh! Oh! How her heart beat faster. "Were you able to see Elessar?" she asked, trying to appear attentive.

"Indeed," Erchirion said, collapsing into the chair next to her. "That is why we were gone for such a time."

Lothíriel scowled at him. "And? What did he say?"

"He said that his scouts have reported no increased movements on the coasts. It was all very perplexing! Though he is alerting a contingent or two of soldiers anyway, in case Father needs assistance. We did see Father and Amrothos riding out with their men."

Nothing of the situation was making sense, and although Lothíriel had plenty of practice waiting about for war and battle, this time felt different. More unsettling, almost. A clear enemy could inspire clear hope; but one with no reported movement? Lothíriel rubbed her arms through the thin silver silk of her dinner frock, a sudden chill taking her. Éomer had walked past her just then, standing near the dying fire with his brows drawn together.

"I asked for tea to be sent up," Erchirion said to Lothíriel's nonresponse. "Then we should to bed. Morning will bring more news."

Lothíriel nodded mutely, twisting her hands together as the thick tension in the room began to make the hair on the back of her neck rise. Erchirion tapped his knee with his fingers. Éomer was silent. Several uneasy minutes followed in this manner before the tea was brought in. Lothíriel made busy with that, simply for something to do, and offered Erchirion a cup without a word. Then came the most difficult part.

"My—my lord, would you care for some tea?" Her voice was squeaking, and she cringed inwardly. Éomer stirred by the fireplace, as if drawn from a trance.

"Yes, thank you."

Lothíriel's hands trembled, though she managed a wobbly smile at the king as he sat near her, accepting the proffered tea. Erchirion had already drained his and was fiddling with his cup, the delicate clinking sounding louder than it ought. Lothíriel began to sip from her own cup. Was it her worry that made it taste so…so bitter? Perhaps it needed more sugar.

"Well," Erchirion said lightly. "Not much else to do now. If we are needed, someone will send a messenger. Or do you think we ought to—" Without warning, the cup fell from his loose grip and shattered across the woven rug. Lothíriel startled, and looked up to see the whites of his eyes before he collapsed forward.

"Erchirion!" she cried, and fell to her knees to lift his head. Her mostly-full cup of tea splattered against her skirt and rolled across the woven rug. Éomer was already there, holding Erchirion's wrist to search for a heartbeat, and then with a groan that alarmed Lothíriel even worse, he slumped to the floor as well, pinning her slippered feet underneath his heavy torso.

She swallowed a scream, but it was unnecessary, for her throat closed over as spots appeared in front of her eyes. Her last thought was of how awkward this would be when they woke. Then Lothíriel blacked out completely.