A brief explanation: This is a collection of one-shots, all about Eomer and Lothiriel and how they might have met. These were originally posted on my tumblr (lothirielqueen), and are presently in the process of editing and crossposting here. Enjoy! Really, I insist you enjoy; these are not meant to be taking too seriously.

Also a special thank you to heckofabecca for kindly editing these one-shots for me 3 3

Lothíriel was all too relieved to escape the crowded stuffiness of the palace. The remedy was obvious: the cool solitude and silence of her father's famed gardens. Despite the increase of guests by a number upwards of five hundred or more, there was simply too much food and drink flowing freely in celebration of the end of the war. Privately, she rather thought her father's generous offer to entertain the various nobles and war heroes of Gondor was ill-thought indeed, but the lingering Northmen as well? And somehow, what seemed like dozens of others who did not fall into the categories of 'various nobles, war heroes, and Northmen' had thought to arrive at the palace as well. Wholly ridiculous—that she be driven from her own home to seek even a moment of peace!

Spring was fully-entrenched. The sun was bright and blinding, and the sea air was hot on her face. Summer was clearly not long in coming. Decidedly uncomfortable in her winter frock, she wove her way to the south, where carefully trimmed hedges grew in a tall maze. Her father's maze was a famous feature of Dol Amroth. The cleverest gardeners and engineers planned a new pattern every five years so that visitors could enjoy becoming lost often. This was to Lothíriel's advantage, for she knew that intoxicated soldiers or chatty guests would be unlikely to disturb her here. Finding their way through the eight-foot tall hedges was simply too much of a bother.

In the cool shade, Lothíriel began to feel invigorated, and she skipped around a bit, humming to herself as her irritation fled away. There were several places where fountains tinkled clear water, and rosebushes gave off a heady scent. Here, there no problems, only birdsong and the wispy sound of a sea breeze ruffling the foliage around her, and—

From a left turn corner, a hand shot out and grasped her upper arm painfully. She gave a little shriek as she was pulled thither, but a similarly large hand clasped over her mouth as she was drawn into a firm embrace, her apparent captor standing behind her.

"Shh!" An unfamiliar voice hissed in her ear. "If you make a noise, I shall be discovered!"

Trembling with fright, Lothíriel had no choice. His hold on her was too tight, though it preserved her dignity somewhat; her knees were weak and her mind dizzy from shock. She could not have stood herself even had she been allowed to.

Several tense moments, and then the grip on her was loosed. The man behind her sighed heavily before releasing her. Lothíriel found her footing and whirled around, fury building in her at this strange man for giving her such a scare, disrupting her peaceful walk, and now—perhaps most damning of all—how he was looking at her sheepishly, almost innocently! He had the look of a Northman; tall and well-built, with golden hair sweeping on past his broad shoulders. A neatly trimmed beard did not hide his strong jaw as much as it ought to have. His eyes were a very nice shade of green, even in the shade of the hedge. He did seem familiar, but Lothíriel could not remember him. There were so many Northmen around…

"I apologize," he told her before she could think of a scathing set-down. "I normally would not handle a woman in such a way, but I am desperate."

"Desperate?" Lothíriel forced through gritted teeth. "How could you be so desperate that you just—just kidnap me in that manner?"

"It was not a kidnapping, exactly," he said, looking infuriatingly smug as he shrugged off her annoyance. "I took you nowhere. See, the situation is thus: I am avoiding someone, and if you had continued to prance around so loudly, she would have become curious of the noise and discovered me. I could not have escaped, see; it would have made even more of a racket. And I cannot find my way out of this ruddy maze!"

Lothíriel stared dumbly. "She?"

In response, the man pulled her further back down the walkway (much more gently this time), and with creeping footsteps he guided her down twenty feet or so. Then they moved closer to the hedge, and, following his example, Lothíriel peeked through the thick brambles to the other side, where a lonesome, middle-aged woman attired in black was wandering slowly around a carved marble fountain.

"Oh!" Swallowing a giggle and unable to repress a smile, she laid a hand on the man's arm and nodded towards the path in front of them. He understood, and they continued quietly until out of earshot.

"Do you know her?" he asked.

"Indeed," Lothíriel said with a smile. "She is my aunt."

"Lady Ivriniel is your aunt? But that means you must be—" The man's expression, previously anxious, now morphed into what could only be described as mortification.

"She is not so bad, really," Lothíriel continued. "And you have clearly discovered the best way to dissuade her lectures: hiding."

"But I—"

She looked at the man again, wondering where she had seen him before. "But who are you to have earned her attention? Generally she favors her relations as her, er—victims, as it were."

The man hesitated. "I—I am Éomer, princess."

"You have the advantage of me," Lothíriel said, significantly more relaxed now that she was clearly in no real danger. The situation was becoming more comical by the moment. "Éomer of what? I daresay every man and woman in the palace of late is a lord, lady, marshal, commander, captain, or a dozen other myriad titles. Even a king or two!"

He was frowning more now, and unimpressed by his manners though amused by them, Lothíriel lifted her brows as she waited for an answer. "I am afraid I fall into the last category, princess," he muttered at last.

"Oh!" Momentarily disconcerted, Lothíriel thought quickly. There were only two kings in residence: Elessar, and the king of the Northmen, whom she had met at the welcome feast, but…but… "I did not recognize you!" she exclaimed. "We have been introduced, I am sure of it."

"Indeed," Éomer said gravely. "I did not recognize you either, princess. The over-attired feasts have little in common with an afternoon in the gardens, evidently." His tone was bitter, and Lothíriel tilted her head briefly.

"You are dressed as one of your men," she said, motioning vaguely at his unadorned and nondescript riding clothes, which seemed to be the daily wear for Northmen. "That must be it."

"Must be," he mumbled. "Anyway—Lady Ivriniel has left. May I escort you—er, somewhere? I have no head for this maze; were I not desperate I would not have dared try to navigate it."

"I will escort you, then," Lothíriel smiled, and with a gesture began to lead him back the way they had come. "I have been wandering these mazes since I was a little girl."

Éomer's eyebrows creased at this, and so she hastened to explain how her brother had thought it massively amusing to take her for a walk in the maze and then happen to conveniently 'lose' her somewhere within. "A most cruel trick," Lothíriel told him. "But I rather think Amrothos was vexed that his status as the young darling of the court was taken by me. At least, that is how Father explains it. A princess holds more interest than one of three princes, after all."

"And so you learned to navigate the gardens early on," Éomer said. "Very wise. How old were you, exactly?"

"The first time…I was nearly six years of age. It was not until I was thirteen that I could find my way around very easily, however."

The king's expression turned into a grimace, and Lothíriel bit back another giggle.

"If you could do it when you were thirteen and younger, I—at an advanced age—should certainly be able to!" he growled. Their path wove north, away from Ivriniel.

"Not without practice," Lothíriel said. "That is necessary at any age! But I shall give you a worthy hint indeed: if you wish to escape a maze—any maze—always turn left."

"Left?" Éomer asked in surprise.

"It may take some time," she added. "But it will lead you out… eventually."

"Eventually… that is what I was afraid of." Éomer looked at her ruefully, though there was a hint of a smile about his lips. "I thought the vultures would be picking my bones clean by week's end. That, or I would have had to call truce with Lady Ivriniel."

Lothíriel laughed. "Why is it that she bothers you so?"

"Well . . . It is a rather long explanation, if you can bear it." His green eyes were hesitant, but if she was not mistaken (which she rarely was), there was a hint of pleading, too, as if he did wish to speak of it.

"We have plenty of time," she told him. "I estimate that we shall be free of the maze in a half-hour." And of course, if it became necessary, Lothíriel knew where they might accidentally happen upon a dead-end or two.

"I have not been king very long," Éomer said, his tone serious. "I was ill-prepared—am ill-prepared, I should say. I have welcomed advice from Aragorn, from your father, and from anyone else more experienced than I. Your aunt is shrewd enough to guess the nature of my—er, discontent, and decided she can help as well."

"Even I could tell you that has little truth to it," Lothíriel said.

"I know that now!" he said fervently. "Your aunt—well-meaning as she is—has convinced herself and is seeking to convince me of the same—that my problems would be much alleviated by taking a bride."

"Why, that is terrible advice!" she exclaimed. "Even a most experienced bride, able to run a nation herself, would do nothing to fix your inexperience! It may even worsen the issue by giving you little chance to learn kingship yourself."

"An apt conclusion; mine is much the same. Though I have my pride to consider," Éomer said with a sideways glance. "I could not allow someone else to carry my mantle and still retain any self-respect."

"Very fair."

"And truthfully, I have never considered marriage. When I was younger, I was not confident enough that I would survive the war that I thought it prudent to marry. Recently, events have been happening so quickly and unexpectedly that the thought of taking a bride only fills me with more apprehension rather than relief."

"For such serious matters, preparation is essential," Lothíriel said, feeling wise. "And while I do not mean to belittle your concerns, I have experienced much the same in twofold. Firstly, that Aunt Ivriniel has been hounding me to marry for nigh on five or six years, and second, I have had to manage preparations for the influx of hundreds of guests in my father's house with hardly any warning nor time to prepare. A blindsided blow is the most fatal, I hear."

Éomer was grinning now. "Yes, the unseen consequences can prove the most influential."

There was something in his tone of voice which made Lothíriel think he was not speaking of houseguests any longer, nor even her aunt. She looked away, clearing her throat awkwardly. She was fiddling with the pearl buttons on the sleeve of her frock, unnoticed until this moment, and she stopped, embarrassed.

"But now you have increased my own concerns," Éomer continued. "I did not realize that entertaining my men was a burden to anyone, let alone you."

"It is no large matter," she interjected hastily, suppressing the guilty thought that is was a large matter; large enough to have her running from the palace to seek solace in the maze.

"It is too late, princess; you have guilted me, and that is the end of it." His eyes were laughing at her, though he kept his face grave. "We shall pack up and leave this very week. There is no use pretending I haven't duties elsewhere, anyway. I am only reluctant to admit it."

"But what of my feelings of fault!" Lothíriel exclaimed, mortification turning her beet-red. "By the Valar—I have very nearly uninvited my father's guests of honor! I am positively embarrassed!"

"Nay—I have claim on embarrassment. That I give so little thought for the well-being of my hostess!"

Lothíriel began to feel distinctly that he was teasing her, and lifted her head loftily.

He began to laugh at her expression, and as she flushed red again, he said, "I am being unkind! Do forgive me—I have little experience with ladies other than my sister."

She inclined her head. There was little else to say; they had exited the maze, and towering steps of marble which led to the large feasting hall loomed before them. Soon it would be time for supper, and Lothíriel would have to endure the guests another night. But it did not fill her with dread any longer. Perhaps she could enjoy Éomer's company. He was pleasant enough, in his own way, and it would preserve them both from her aunt.

"I have a meeting scheduled with Aragorn before the meal," Éomer said. He paused as they took the steps. She stopped as well, mystified by the sudden change in his expression. Then, "You have decided me, princess."

"I have?" Lothíriel asked in astonishment. "Of what?"

"I shall gather my courage and tell Lady Ivriniel once and for all that I have no intention of marrying at her bequest. I have issues to deal with in my own land, and a difficult role in which to step. But—" Here he lifted her hand to his lips, lingering in such a way that Lothíriel felt her breath catch in her throat. "After all is said and done—perhaps I can marry, though I will not do so for political reasons. For my own desires, however…" A final, rather mischievous grin, and Éomer took his leave.

Lothíriel stood rooted to the marble steps, feeling vastly confused though also equally convinced that he had just implied to her something important. She wondered what it was.

FIN