Éomer was unaware that it was even possible to get seasick. Not until he went to sea for the first time.
The sons of Imrahil were not so affected. They ran up and down the sloop; checking the rigging, casting the sail and so on, with nary a thought for the waves bouncing the boat up and down as Éomer got sicker and sicker, sitting on the edge and only a foot or two from the surface of the glassy sea.
"You're looking a tad green around the gills," was Amrothos's helpful comment, from where he stood on the boom, clearly showing off. Éomer grimaced.
"Don't get in my way," he said tersely. Amrothos gave him a salute, and hopped down to busy himself elsewhere. Éomer closed his eyes—which almost helped. But the swaying of the sloop was still there, and he tried to think of anything else.
I am on a horse, he told himself firmly. We are galloping across plains—flat plains. The breeze doesn't stink of fish. Ah…and I didn't make the mistake of eating breakfast in the morn.
"It's a perfect day for sailing!" Erchirion called from the bowsprit. Éomer opened an eye to peek at him—he was sending back a cheery smile, which Éomer did not feel like returning.
"Couldn't ask for better weather, really," said Elphir. He was securing a taut rope, and received Éomer's next half-hidden scowl. "It will be calmer outside the bay," he promised, smiling the same as his brothers and likely just as unsympathetic to the plight of their guest.
I want to go back to the palace, was Éomer's internal reply. His fingers clenched on the edge of the sloop, and the nausea in his gut twisted and churned.
It seemed to him that going for a sail the first morning after his arrival in the city was a hasty and rather cruel way to show him Dol Amroth. Perhaps a day or two to get accustomed to the humidity and piercing sunlight would have been better. Or exploring the sea from horseback on the cliffs. Really, why did it have to be sailing?
Imrahil's sons knew that Éomer was to be formally presented to their sister that night—and that she would be his bride in two days' time. Her brothers making him completely ill on a sailing excursion seemed an unkind way to welcome him into the family. So why did they do this? Did they intend to test his mettle? Show him how unfit he was to wed a woman who loved the sea? At least, Éomer assumed she loved the sea—he knew almost nothing about her. He could barely even remember her face from when they had met in Minas Tirith months ago.
These anxieties did not ease his roiling nausea.
The voices of the princes, chattering amongst themselves, warped into warbled din in Éomer's ears. The rush of the waves, the creak of the boat…then all at once, everything stilled. The clenching of his stomach abated slightly, and he peeked open his eyes.
Gone were the towering mountains which encircled the bay and protected Dol Amroth from weather and war. All around him, nothing but the serene, blue-grey sheen of the sea, sparkling in the morning sun as the cries of gulls echoed in the salty breeze.
"I did say it would be calmer."
Éomer turned to see Elphir, standing nearest him, coiling a rope with an amused smile.
"This is not so terrible," Éomer said grudgingly, still out of humor. "Why is the bay so rough?"
"It's hardly rough," countered Amrothos. "Try a storm sometime, and then say the bay is rough."
"No, thank you."
The wind was gentler than before, urging the sloop southward as the princes adjusted the sails. Éomer turned his face to the sky, breathing in fresher air than had been in the bay and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face. With the cool breeze, the sun wasn't hot enough to be uncomfortable. It was all very pleasant, and his mind wandered back to think of the princess—he did not doubt she would love the sea.
"Let's take it slower 'round the point," Elphir said after several minutes. "The scenery is too good to pass by."
Éomer privately agreed to this as the princes raised the sail. To their left, the mountains rose into pure-white cliffs, bright emerald grass topping it like a stately crown. Though it was not visible from the sea, he knew from riding into the city the day before that colorful flowers dotted the ridges in splashes of color, scarcely imaginable to his eyes, so accustomed to the browns of Rohan.
Without the wind driving them through the waves, with every swell of water they were prodded and jolted instead—Éomer grimaced, but forced a smile.
"Wine?" Amrothos was proffering a cask, but Éomer shook his head. Wine would not help, he was sure of it. Instead he cast his gaze to the sky above, wondering why a sea so beautiful was liable to make one so ill. He listened idly to the conversation between Imrahil's sons, and with his eyes closed he suddenly heard a strange popping of water. Éomer opened an eye, looking around. Nothing seemed amiss, and his attention was the only one diverted.
Then his heart and stomach gave simultaneous lurches—a dark, wet head was peeking over the opposite edge of the sloop; large, grey and glittering eyes gazing at the princes. Briefly the eyes flitted to him, and Éomer's heart beat fast again from surprise. What in Bema's name was this? The grey eyes crinkled at the corners, as if smiling. While he was thus entranced, a pale arm reached out from the water and slender fingers wrapped around the unsupervised cask of wine at Amrothos's elbow. All disappeared under the surface of the sea with only the slightest splash.
"What the—?" Amrothos had reached out for the wine, but got only empty air. He blinked, befuddled, at the coil of rope where the cask had rested. He stared up at Éomer in confusion, but Éomer only stared back with equal, if not greater confusion.
"There was a girl…a—a woman," Éomer said, stumbling over his words. "Ah, she…took your wine."
"A woman?" Erchirion repeated with a skeptical lift of his brows. Elphir was tilting his head towards Éomer, his eyes shrewd. Grey eyes, Éomer realized. The same grey of the woman in the water. His confusion grew. Amrothos was studying the sea, but there was not even a ripple out of place—at least, to Éomer's inexperienced knowledge.
"Not a woman," Elphir said at last, and he leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees as he continued to gaze intently at Éomer. "A nereid."
"Sorry—a what?" It did not escape Éomer that Erchirion had suddenly rolled his eyes, and that Amrothos had returned his attention to the happenings on the boat with a brightening smile.
"A nereid," Amrothos confirmed. "They are people—mostly women—who live in the sea rather than on land. Do you not know of them?"
"Of course not," Éomer said irritably. "I have never even seen the sea until today."
"Nereids are beings made by the Maiar of the sea," Elphir explained, his voice growing low. "They have certain…farseeing abilities. If you see one, hold its gaze until it blinks. Then it is obliged to answer one question."
Éomer wondered if the princes were making a fool of him. It seemed rather likely. But Elphir was not smiling, and Amrothos was nodding along eagerly. What other explanation could there be for a woman in the sea? The nearest beach where she might have entered the water was probably a quarter-mile away; it was not a distance he could swim.
"And they have a taste for wine," Éomer said dryly.
"Who doesn't?" Amrothos said with a laugh.
Anyone about one jolt away from losing their breakfast, Éomer retorted inwardly. Aloud he said, "Do…nereids usually bother people out on the sea?"
"Oh, yes," Elphir said. "It is their favorite pastime."
"They're a myth," Erchirion cut in loudly, starting Éomer.
"Then how do you explain the wine?" Amrothos retorted.
"Easily; it was—"
"Shh! I hear something!" Elphir held out an arm to stall his brothers' escalating disagreement, and the sloop went utterly still. The creak of the sail, the light splash of water against the hull. Éomer glanced around. The pale hand suddenly broke the surface of the sea some ten feet head of them, and he nearly toppled over into the water in pure surprise. The woman was back, and this time she was laughing.
"Who is going to come and get it?" she called. Her voice was low and musical, and quickened something strangely in Éomer's veins. "Or…" she said, quirking a brow at the silent men watching or. "Shall I drink it myself?" And she pulled the cork from the cask, tilting it upwards as if to drink.
"No!" said Amrothos and Elphir in harmony. Then, Elphir alone, coaxed, "We wish that you would grant to us unknown knowledge, o nereid."
The woman's nose scrunched in apparent perplexity. It was so unlike the image of a beautiful sea-creature that Éomer's jaw nearly dropped. But a moment later she gave an unladylike shrug, and dipped again beneath the surface. His fingers clenched the edge of the sloop as the other men glanced around at the sea, waiting for her return.
She surfaced beside Éomer this time. There was an intake of breath from Elphir, and he hissed,
"Hold her gaze, Éomer! Do not let her lure you into the sea!"
The last thing Éomer wanted was to be lured into the sea. But staring into the grey eyes of this woman—creature—whatever she was, it was seeming less and less horrifying.
Her black hair was plastered to her back, exposing the porcelain smooth skin of her neck and shoulders. She was wearing a flimsy white…something, but wet, it appeared that she was wearing nothing at all. Her lips were pink, her teeth bright as they bared in predatory smile, and her nose dotted with faint freckles. Freckles? Éomer wondered dimly. How did one get freckles when one lived in the sea? But it was her eyes that were the most entrancing of all, and he leaned out further to see them closer. Droplets of seawater clung to her dark lashes, dimples formed in her cheeks. Her features were both so familiar and foreign that he did not know what to think, and…and…
She blinked, her cheeks flushing a fetching pink.
"Ah, you've won!" Elphir said beside him. Éomer flinched; he did not realize how near Elphir had come to him. "Ask her of your future!" the prince urged. "'Tis her forfeit."
The woman gave Elphir a dismissive glare filled with…exasperation, most likely. Éomer could think of no pressing desire of knowledge. So, casting his thoughts back on the last hour, he blurted,
"The princess—will we be happy together?"
There was a choke behind him, turned to a grunt as he heard what sounded like a sharp elbow meeting a gut. Elphir was still beside him, though his lips pressed tightly together as his eyes danced. Éomer turned back to the woman, who was looking far more baffled than he expected of a sea-creature that had farseeing abilities.
"Well," she said at last, her voice sounding now pragmatic rather than musical and mysterious, "That depends on you, I should think."
"On me?" he asked in surprise. "What in Bema's name is that supposed to mean?"
"Only one question," Elphir cut in. "Begone, spirit of the sea!"
The woman cast Elphir one more baleful stare, and disappeared beneath the water. A moment later, and the cask of wine was thrown out of the sea, clattering to the deck of the sea as all the men stared at it.
"That wasn't very mystical," Éomer said.
"Let's keep sailing," said Erchirion.
"That was an odd question to ask," was Amrothos's contribution. Elphir merely clasped Éomer on the shoulder, and gave the order to bring down the sail once more.
And soon they were skimming the waves beneath the bright sun once more, and Éomer went back to pretending he was anywhere else and trying not to vomit.