The couple at the center of the dance floor swayed to a stop, ending their stately pirouette, faces set in polite masks.
"Your highness. Thank you for the dance."
"Eomer King. It was my pleasure to grant such an easy favor to the savior of Gondor upon our acquaintanceship." She let a slightly awkward pause lengthen, before continuing. "It is a lovely night. Perhaps you would accompany me on a cooling walk?"
"It would be my pleasure, your highness. I have something I would like to discuss with you. I have spoken with your father, although he has continually deferred any answer to you."
"So he has informed me. Let us away from these revelers that we may discuss the issue."
The two promenaded gracefully thru the crowd of boisterous and colorfully dressed nobles waiting for the next dance to start. Despite the density of people, they parted before the striking couple. He powered forward tall, broad, and bronze, barely contained seething anger and despair a battering ram preceding his physical self; she glided in concert: tall and slender with black flowing hair, silver eyes and pale face so icily serene she palpably settled any who laid eyes upon her. Whispered speculation and high hopes followed the royal pair as they walked away from the music, none more so than the matching grey stares of his friend King Elessar and her father Prince Imrahil.
When they stopped on a level stretch of riverbank, the music was a slow throb in the distance. Lothiriel retracted her hand from Eomer's guiding arm and folded her hands together at her waist, tilting her face to the bright full moon as if she could feel the sun's reflected rays, stillness in her every aspect. Eomer in contrast stalked back and forth along the smooth sand at the water's edge. After three full passes, he bit out his plaint.
"My people have no food."
"How many are you?"
"Ninety-thousand total. Mostly scattered."
"I will leave the dispersal to you. What have you stored?"
Eomer made a despairing sound, but answered the question calmly enough. "The East-fold sheep herds have maybe three thousand head left, the West-fold cattle herds have maybe a thousand head in mostly individual households although those will be slaughtered in the coming winter decimating our chances of repairing numbers thru breeding, if we do not find another way to feed the crofters."
"The hay harvest was good last year and there is some leftover. If I get the men back soon, we may have a decent hay harvest again this year. There will be no grain harvest. Those fields were destroyed during the Uruk-hai march from Isengard and when the East-fold was overrun."
"Many of the East-folds winter crops were also destroyed. Hopefully the West-fold will be bounteous enough to cover themselves and then some. Edoras can cover itself for vegetables. But it still is not enough food - the Rohirrim have never managed to cultivate enough lands to exchange grains for tubers."
Lothiriel interrupted gently. "Your people will be fed, my lord."
Eomer snorted in disbelief, but the princess continued. "What do you have to trade?"
Eomer rushed to tower over her, practically in tears, gesticulating wildly to encompass the lushness of the Gondorian night about them. "We have nothing to trade."
Despite the angry man looming over her, Lothiriel maintained her infinite calm. She reached up to cup his face with slender fingers. He was so startled by the gesture that he stilled, dropping his hands to his sides, his entire body now canted into her touch.
"Here is what we will do, my lord. For the next five years, through us, Dol Amroth and our allied states in the south will supply Rohan with ten thousand bushels of assorted grains, five hundred head of long hair sheep, one thousand head of milk cows, and five hundred head of pigs per year. "
"In return you will provide exclusive use of the Dimholt and armored caravan guards for the same time frame, for which we will pay a twelve percent toll on any goods sent through the ways. We will give you fair terms for additional amounts of any of the aforementioned goods as well as any dry goods you may need to come thru our ports."
"At the end of four years, you will give us right of first refusal on any extensions and additional terms on the Dimholt passage."
By the end of her recitation, Eomer was grinning wildly, his hands gripping tightly to her slender waist. When she finished, he threw her up in the air with a whoop, catching her against his chest and kissing her soundly. When he finally pulled his lips from hers, her fingers were tangled in his hair, her arms wound tightly about his neck. His arms encased her just as firmly, his breath puffed warm against her cheek.
Her voice sounded if possible even drier than during her description of the trade contract. "I will still expect you to sign and seal a written document, my lord."
He pulled back a little to study her face in the moonlight, heart beating wildly in his chest at the possibility he might have offended her and endangered his people's hope for salvation. But when he saw the quirk of her eyebrow and how her lips were compressed to hide a smile, he relaxed again. Blandly he replied, "Of course, my lady. At such generous terms, your every trifle is my command."
She laughed then and replied, "Well then, my lord. I am sure to save up my trifles for you to fulfill. By this time next year, I suspect we will have a successful exchange."
He threw his head back and whooped again in delight, spinning her around and around in an exuberant parody of their earlier dance.
A/N: This is the first chapter in my attempt at something similar to Willow-41z's "First Meetings" Eomer and Lothiriel fic series. Actually there are several musing lists which I aspire to match in quality - check out LadyBluejay and Lialathuveril's fic lists as well.
When I think of Lothiriel, I picture her as an involved leader in Gondor despite her youth. If her father and brothers mustered to the capitol, then she would have held together the leadership hierarchy of the principality against corsair raids.