Author's Note: These are prompt fills from tumblr and are thus unrelated to any others of my works! But I hope you'll enjoy them all the same :)
PROMPT: "Not you again..."
"Not you again," Eomer grumbles.
"Eomer!" Cries Eowyn, horror plain in her voice.
"Yes, me again," Lothiriel chirps, unfazed by his less-than-polite greeting. "And it will be 'me again' until my cousin asks for a different chaperone."
"Which I will not," said cousin adds, grinning at both of them over Eowyn's shoulder.
"Chaperone," Eomer grumbles. Gondorian courting methods are entirely too stuffy for his taste. Eowyn, however, seems not to mind them, as long as she is still able to spend time in her Steward's presence.
As it is, his little sister is staring daggers at him until he begrudgingly offers the princess his elbow. Her touch is dainty, proper, and barely-there, as if it discomforts her to touch him. They stroll aimlessly around the gardens for a while, a "respectable" distance behind Faramir and Eowyn. Neither of them speak, though he knows silence comes as easily to her as it does to Pippin.
The sudden press of her fingers at his elbow after they round another corner startles him. She must feel his flinch because she offers him a wry smile, nodding down at a particularly colorful flower. "Do you know what this flower is, my lord?"
"Gardening is not amongst my strong suits," he admits. "So no, I do not."
"Hm, let me think," she says, peering at the flower with apparent interest. She looks and looks and looks-Eomer can feel his irritation mounting.
He knows very well she is Imrahil's daughter, Faramir's favorite cousin, and no person of little importance to Eowyn, either, who has so few female companions in Gondor, but he cannot stop himself from finally spitting out, "Are you quite finished, my lady?"
She blinks innocently up at him. "Yes, I remembered its name. A peony. It represents a wish for a happy life and a happy marriage."
"Thrilling," Eomer answers, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
The princess remains unfazed, saying, "Isn't it? Perhaps Eowyn would like-oh, but where have they gone?"
The garden is empty. Neither Eowyn's blonde head nor Faramir's darker one are anywhere in sight.
"Oh, dear," Lothiriel says in an entirely unconvincing tone, "I suppose they will have to continue on without us."
He blinks down at her in surprise. "You...planned this?"
"Not all of us Gondorians enjoy stuffy traditions," she answers with a smile. "And I like Eowyn. She and Faramir have earned their happiness, don't you agree?"
"Yes," he murmurs, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. Surely, she has not always been so lovely? It must be the sun-soaked garden, or the heady smell of the spring flowers, that are making him notice the raven-sheen to her hair, the dark depths of her eyes, the flush of pink in her cheeks.
Eomer's hands move of their own accord to pull the nearest flower-the peony-and he tucks it into her hair, just behind her ear, before common sense has the chance to catch up with him. The pink in her cheeks darkens, but a small smile plays at her lips as well. "You do know you have just wished me a happy life and a happy marriage, do you not?"
"I can think of no thing you deserve more," is his honest answer.
This time, when her arm comes to rest in his again, there is nothing dainty-or proper-about her touch.