Eomer winced at the kick. The baby was giving him hell. But everybody was telling him that such activity heralded the end of pregnancy and - with his generous frame - the birthing should be easy.
Bema be praised for wide hips!
The next kick made him wonder - for the gazzilionth time - whether the deal he had made with Faramir was worth it. It was a trade - he agreed to Eowyn's marriage to the Gondorian in return for Faramir's discrete cooperation in producing the heir to the throne of the Mark.
He opened one of the score of lockets with Lothiriel's visage Imrahil had inundated him with to remind himself of why he was doing this. He was King - he could withstand the scandal of a child without a Consort. He would sooner bear Gimli's lovechild than mate with the Princess of Dol Amroth.
()()()()
"Stop stonewalling Eomer! Who's the father?!"
Eomer shifted to make the cushion under his back more comfy. Then he returned to contemplating his swollen ankles he had set up on the chair.
"So not telling", he replied with the maturity of a 29 year old single father to be.
"Doesn't make a difference, still a bastard."
GASP! Eowyn eyed him with eyes whose cold should make his balls shrink.
"Was. He. That. Low? Stable. Hand. Marriage. Officiated. By. Firefoot?"
"Perish the thought, sister! A right gentleman he was."
Eomer counted on making Eowyn so furious as to stomp away. He needed to pee. Again.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!" Eowyn's screech made him forget his bladder for a moment.
"Oh Bema! I can't believe you are such a slut, Eomer! So you've whored yourself through the beds of Gondorian nobles!? The people I am marrying into? Do you know how that reflects on me?! Couldn't you keep your crack shut?!"
"It was out of Royal Duty!"
"Duty my wet pussy! Impossible man!"
The slam of the door rushed in hopes for a few hours of calm. The King of the Mark eyed the chamber pot with a soldier's eye, calculating the angle of elevation and estimating muzzle velocity. He sighed - Shot On Target was unlikely. Straddles were NOT Good Enough.
He took his feet of the chair and slid his bottom to the edge of the sofa. He planted his feet on the floor in broad separation. Eomer then bent forward and let his belly drop between his thighs - then he put his hands on his thighs just above the knees and pushed himself into a - more or less - upright position. After straightening his back he waddled with purpose towards the chamberpot. He'll do it point-blank.