Éomer watched as Lothíriel left the room. He felt as if he had just been punched in the gut… with something sharp and serrated. He turned to face Éothain, whose face was pale. "Éomer…" Éothain began, forgoing formalities. The situation seemed to require none. "With Imrahil's daughter—"
"I did not know it was she!" Éomer began, his voice louder than it should have been. He closed his eyes, willing his temper to subside. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to wrap his mind around what had just transpired.
"How did this happen…" he muttered quietly to himself.
"I think we both know how this happened," Éothain replied, in a somewhat dry tone. "The problem lies not in how the child was created, but in what is going to happen now. Princess Lothíriel does not seem keen on marrying you—or anyone else," he added, still looking bothered by this fact. "But the fact of the matter is, if you can get her to marry you—the Riddermark could use her dowry—"
"Dowry?" Éomer looked up, startled. The thought of the princess' dowry had completely escaped his mind. Somehow now that did not even seem a priority in marrying the princess. "Yes… I suppose that's… that would be useful. But at the moment I thinking of the child, Éothain. What is going to happen to the child? My child, might I remind you."
"Are we sure that the child is yours?" Éothain asked, a little skeptically.
Éomer sighed. "She would not have admitted it was, if it was not," he said. "She has made it quite clear she wants nothing from me, and expects nothing." His hand curled into a fist. How dare that woman! He did not blame her for the seven and a half months gone by—she did not know who he was, or where he was. But to deny him his right as a father! To care for her and the child… And how would a spoiled princess care for a child on her own? Any other woman might be equipped with a community and the resourcefulness to care for a child by herself. But a princess? Who was scorned by her peers? Who knew nothing of hardship and hard work? He was worried more for the safety of the child, then for Lothíriel herself. With a sinking feeling, he realized he would need to speak to Imrahil on this. After dinner. Éomer had still to get ready for the feast tonight, and Princess Lothíriel was correct in one thing: At least give Imrahil one more meal of ease before breaking the news to him. It aggrieved Éomer not to be honest from the start with his friend, but… for now, he would honor Lothiriel's wishes.
He turned and walked from the room until he and Éothain reached the guest quarters. He stormed into the private sitting room where Éowyn was reading on a sofa. She looked up from her book, raising an eyebrow. "What has you in such spirits?" she asked, "You look like you could skewer someone at this very moment."
She wasn't wrong—and his squire, Cerdic, cowered before him. Éowyn however, looked more amused at Eomer's obvious foul temper than anything else. A benefit of being one's sister, Éomer thought.
"What is it?" she asked. "Did you see something you did not like while exploring the beach?"
"I will tell you about it later," he gritted out through clenched teeth, walking towards the door that led to his own chambers.
"You can tell me about it now!" she called after him, but he shut the door behind him. He hoped Cerdic would not follow him straight away—he needed some time to himself to think. He exhaled softly, sitting down on a chair, and looked out at the sea. He stood up suddenly, walked to the tall, glass windows, and gazed shrewdly at the waters below, and out at the setting Western sun. Not far was where he and the princess met again… how he would have wanted it under different circumstances! He certainly would never have knowingly slept with Imrahil's daughter… and how would he tell Imrahil the news? What kind of scandal would this spell for both Gondor and the Riddermark?
He only hoped that he would not lose Imrahil's friendship… and that Princess Lothíriel would come to her senses soon.
"What was it that has you so bothered?" Éowyn whispered, as they stood, drinks in hand, waiting to be allowed into the dining hall. "You still look like you are surrounded by orcs with poisoned arrows."
He shook his head slightly. He wanted to tell Éowyn—needed someone he could trust to talk to about it, but this was neither the time nor place.
"Ah," Imrahil said, walking towards the door, and Éomer looked up, blinking as Lothíriel entered the room. A few faces turned sour at her entrance, mostly lords and ladies that Éomer had no real interest in gaining the good favor with.
That is, if they were not the very reason he came here not two months after his coronation.
Imrahil kissed Lothiriel's cheek, before she took his arm and let him lead her to Éomer and Éowyn. "My I present my daughter, Lothíriel," Imrahil said, inclining his head in Éomer and his sister's direction.
Lothíriel curtsied, as gracefully as someone in her condition could, and Éowyn returned the curtsy. "Lothíriel," Imrahil said, "May I introduce the Lady Éowyn of the Riddermark."
"A pleasure to officially meet you, Lady Éowyn," Lothíriel said, nodding her head. "We met briefly after you awoke in the Houses of Healing, but I departed from the Houses shortly afterwards, so we did not have the chance to become better acquainted."
"Oh!" Éowyn's eyes widened, her mouth forming an 'o' of surprise. "I do remember you!" she exclaimed, her face livening. "How wonderful that we should be reunited. Tell me, how fair you?"
Lothíriel blinked, her eyes flickered to Éomer's again, before looking back at Éowyn. She obviously was not expecting a jubilant Éowyn. The last time Lothíriel saw his sister she had been close to death—and not far from it in mind. "I am well," Lothíriel answered.
"I am glad," Éowyn said, smiling down at Lothíriel, who was a good few inches shorter than her. "I hope we can become good friends."
Lothiriel's eyes met Éomer's again, confusion in them. Ah, Éomer thought, she must be catching on that he had not told Éowyn the news yet. That Lothiriel's child was his. She looked back at Éowyn. "I would love that, My Lady."
"Éowyn," Éowyn said firmly, squeezing Lothiriel's hand. "Call me Éowyn. We are to be cousins soon—we should be informal with each other, especially as friends."
Lothíriel's smile widened. Imrahil smiled as well, clearly pleased that his daughter had a new companion who did not scorn her current predicament.
"And may I have the pleasure of introducing his highness, Éomer King of the Riddermark," Imrahil said, inclining his head respectfully to Éomer. Éomer gave a stiff bow, and Lothíriel returned it with a tiny curtsy.
Éomer offered his hand, knowing it was customary for lords to kiss the hands of ladies in Gondor when introduced (an act he had, unfortunately, had to become quite accustomed to, since every lord, lady, and other such person seemed intent on introducing their unmarried daughters to him.) It was a custom not generally enforced in the Riddermark, but it was damn near expected here in Gondor. She stared at his hand for some time, but did not accept it, and Imrahil frowned, clearly sensing tension between herself and Éomer.
"Lothíriel," Imrahil murmured, quietly for Lothiriel's ears only, though Éomer and Éowyn heard him. Lothíriel finally looked up at Éomer, and smiled. Not for the first time that day, Éomer was struck with how breathtaking she was. Just when he was about to retract his hand, she reached out with her own. Blinking in surprise, he took her hand, and kissed the air above it gently. He felt her slender hand shiver in his own, and she removed it far too quickly, causing Imrahil and Éowyn to frown at her in confusion.
"Excuse me," she said quietly, before turning and walking towards her brothers.
"I… apologize," Imrahil said slowly, watching her leave, before turning back to Éomer and Éowyn. "I have not seen my daughter in quite a few months—I'm not sure what has gotten into her as late."
Éomer's mouth fell into a thin line. Certainly he knew what had gotten into the princess. In more ways than one. He felt Éowyn's eyes on him, and glanced at her. There was confusion in her face, and he shook his head slightly to keep her from asking any questions in front of Imrahil. "Excuse me, my sister is beckoning me," Imrahil said, bowing to Éowyn, and clasping Éomer's arm gently, before heading over to Lady Ivriniel.
"What is the matter?" Éowyn hissed at Éomer. "No wonder Lady Lothíriel was so frightened of you! You were practically glaring at her the moment she walked into the room…"
"I was not," Éomer replied sharply. "I was merely…"
He paused, closing his eyes. This was not the time or place, he reminded himself. If only he could excuse himself and his sister for a moment to properly explain! He felt as though he would burst if he did not come out with it. It felt like dishonesty, keeping it secret from Éowyn and Imrahil. He turned so that no prying eyes could see him speak his next words. Quietly, so no prying ears could hear him either, he whispered, "I am… responsible for her condition."
Éowyn stared at him. "What?" she asked, blinking dumbly in surprise. "What condition-" her eyes widened. "You mean," she began, and he let out a small hiss of a hush. "How is that possible?" Éowyn demanded, quieter. "I mean," she added, her face pale with shock, "How did you not know… before now?"
"I did not," he replied. "Neither of us knew who the other was."
"Well," Éowyn said, glancing at Lothíriel. "And what will you do? Have you told Imrahil yet?"
He shook his head.
She exhaled softly. "Perhaps this will be for the better," she said. "If she marries you, her dowry will be useful for the Riddermark—and of course, it will be good for her and the child also—"
"She won't have me," Éomer said stiffly.
"What?" Éowyn looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean, she won't have you?"
"I already offered to marry her," he said softly. "But she refused."
Éowyn blinked. "You… when?"
"This afternoon," Éomer replied.
Éowyn frowned. "And how long have you known that she was… the woman with whom you…"
"We met officially this afternoon," he said.
He looked at Éowyn in shock and indignation when she smacked him on arm with her fan.
"Fool!" she hissed. "No wonder she looked like she despised you! How could you propose marriage after barely knowing her? Things are different here in Gondor," she added. "They are much more particular about courting and such."
Éomer looked at her with a furious expression, feeling heat rise to his cheeks at her words. "But I doubt those unspoken rules apply when the woman in question is in her condition."
Éowyn shook her head, exhaling in frustration. She opened her mouth to retort when the gong was struck, and sent Éomer a look that told him the conversation was far from over. He was not particularly looking forward to being scolded again for acting like a brash brute. Just like the princess most likely assumed all his people were like.
He followed his sister into the dining hall, and was seated next to Imrahil. Lothíriel was, unfortunately, seated next to him on his other side. He glanced at her, then down to her lap, to see the swell there that he had not had the time to truly observe. He quickly looked away when she sent him an lidded look of distaste. Imrahil watched them, a crease in his forehead, before turning his attention to his left, where his eldest son, Elphir, sat. Imrahil was an intelligent man, he may just figure out the truth before Éomer had a chance to explain. If only Lothíriel had permitted him to explain things to Imrahil quickly… Éomer hated this deceit.
"How…" he kept his voice soft and, he hoped, gentle. "How are you feeling?"
He glanced at her, and found her gazing down at her lap silently. Then she looked at him. "I am well—as well as I can be," she added. "And yourself?"
He nodded, taking a sip of his wine. "I am well, as well," he said. "You…" he glanced around the table, "You won't reconsider my offer?"
"Offer?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He nodded. "For… you know… matrimony," he said the last word quietly, so hopefully no one could overhear.
She stiffened slightly. "No," she said, equally as quietly. "I have not reconsidered. For I had not realized you had made any such offer—rather it seemed to me that you made a proclamation that such an arrangement had already been arranged."
He stared at her. "It was not…" he gritted out quietly, "My intention to offend you, Your Ladyship—but rather to make right a situation that—"
"You clearly know nothing of women," she replied, grabbing her own goblet and taking a sip.
It was his turn to stiffen in anger. His next words came out against his better judgement. "Might I remind you, Your Ladyship, that you are in no position to—"
She turned to look at him, fury in her eyes. "I am in no position to… what, Éomer King? Demand respect? Do not forget that you are… the reason for…" But she did not bring herself to say what it was she was going to say, not without those around them perhaps understand her words.
He narrowed his eyes. "That is exactly why I am offering to—"
"Éomer."
Éomer looked away from Lothíriel to Imrahil, who was watching them with a slightly confused—and concerned—expression. "Is everything alright?" he asked, glancing between Lothíriel and Éomer. Éomer set his jaw, and nodded. "The Lady Lothíriel and I were merely having a… discussion," he said, remembering the word that the noble class of Gondorians liked to use instead of 'argument'.
Imrahil's eyebrows rose, and he looked to Lothiriel for her answer.
"Yes," Lothíriel said, her voice pleasant. "We were discussing the history of Eorl and Cirion. It seems Gondor and Rohan have a few… differences in our histories."
Éomer glanced at her, irritated that she was lying. Of course, this was not the place to even talk about the child, and what needed to be done because of it.
Imrahil nodded. "Of course," he said, though his eyes were still worried. He looked away, Elphir gaining his attention again.
"We'll have to tell him eventually," Éomer said, quietly. "He can't discover it from someone else."
"Perhaps we should tell no one," she replied, taking a sip of her drink.
"Tell… no one?" he asked, turning to look at her with a horrified expression. "How in Middle-Earth would that be possible?"
She shook her head slightly, before helping herself to some dinner. "We will discuss this later," she said.
"And when will we tell your father?" he asked, watching her with a careful look.
"As I said," she said, not looking at him and instead gazing serenely ahead of her, "We will discuss it."
His jaw worked angrily, but this, he had to keep reminding himself, was neither the time nor place, to discuss such things. Not if he wanted to minimalize the scandal for both her and himself. He could not believe that the snobby princess sitting next to him was the same, sweet young woman he had slept with in the houses of healing. If there was not proof, he would have insisted they had been different women. But there was proof, and he did not want to deny it. Why would he? He was no coward.
But this would complicate things… and he only hoped that he still kept Imrahil's friendship by the end.
And he hoped the princess would see reason soon.
Hi! Thanks so much for reading!
This is a bit of a slow burn story, so while Éomer and Lothíriel aren't getting along great now, that isn't the premise of the story (they're merely just getting off on the wrong foot, as I mentioned in the last chapter, and they're both being a tad defensive.) So don't worry! They won't be antagonistic towards each other forever :)
Thanks for reading!
See you soon!