Chapter Six: One Night with the King
Celebrating. Cheers rising up into the air. Victory. Relief. Peace.
Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, Eomer was soon to learn, had been at the Black Gates, leading many of his own people. Upon the armies arriving at Minas Tirith, the prince had found Eomer, had expressed his deep sympathies on the death of Theoden, and had then inquired as to whether the new King of Rohan knew the whereabouts of the Princess Lothiriel. Wisely, Eomer replied that he did not know, and then all further communication was interrupted by the frenzied cheering and applauding of the people of Gondor as the armies entered the royal city and made their way slowly to the castle. Eomer found himself being pulled off Firefoot's back by his jubilant sister, and he embraced Eowyn with all the strength he had left in his body to do so. To be in her arms again was the greatest of comforts, and she entirely forgot her new beau and led Eomer off to the Halls of Healing, leaving someone else to tend to his horse. Normally, he would have refused to leave Firefoot to someone else, but he was weary and could not think clearly for all the emotions that were swirling through him.
Necklaces of flowers were thrown about his neck as Eowyn led him to a room, and with a mighty sigh of gratitude, Eomer let her help him get his armor off. When he was down to his tunic and breeches, she left him, promising she would bring medical attention, water, and food when she returned.
He fell asleep immediately on the bed of furs provided for him, and when next he awoke, it was to hear someone entering the room. He recognized Lothiriel immediately, for she still wore her helmet and her armor, choosing to continue serving the men rather than tend to her own needs. She removed her helmet and glanced at him, blushing when she saw his eyes were open.
"I didn't mean to wake you," she apologized, setting a bowl of water and several towels on a small table next to him. "I have already tended to your men. I had thought you would rather they were assisted first."
"You thought correctly," Eomer nodded, sitting up.
"The cuts behind your knees must not be as bad as we thought they were," Lothiriel said, sitting on the edge of the bed as he moved to sit up. "I am certain Eowyn would have called for help sooner if they were greatly damaged."
"They sting terribly, but I don't believe there is severe damage."
"May I?" Lothiriel asked, gesturing to his legs.
"You may."
His leggings were already ripped, and she ripped them more, starting from the bottom and working up so that he wouldn't have to remove his breeches entirely.
"They look very painful," she commented, surveying the cuts before she began to apply pressure to them as she cleaned them.
Eomer didn't speak, but watched as she cleaned his wounds and then left the room, giving him the quiet he needed. There was to be a great celebration that very night, and Aragorn's coronation was to take place the next morning. It was going to be a late night, and Eomer needed all the rest he could get. Something troubled him as Lothiriel left the room, but he could not determine what it was, and so he allowed himself to sleep.
That night, there was a celebration in Gondor as there never had been before. Eomer stepped out of his room that evening to find the halls crowded with joyful people. There was dancing in the halls, and the great throne room was crowded with dancing, singing, and rum. Eomer's men greeted him there, and together they went outside, making their way towards the White Tree where the entire kingdom of Minas Tirith had gathered for rejoicing. Every star had crowded the sky to watch. Every light in the kingdom had been lit and was dancing merrily on the thousands of people that crowded the streets and circled the White Tree.
Eomer pushed and slipped his way to where the great Fellowship stood, surrounded by everyone, congratulated and hugged to no end. He knew he would not be able to speak to the Hobbits on this night, for there was a never-ending rush of people wishing to talk to them, but he made his way close enough to where he could see the group of heroes. A small smile tugged at his mouth as he looked from one man to the next, rejoicing inwardly that all had survived.
Aragorn stood proud and regal, like a lion before his pride. He was solemn and gracious, grateful for the attention given him, but too humble to boast about his accomplishments. Beside him stood Legolas, silent and beautiful, speaking mostly to Gimli, and the two constantly shook hands. Gimli looked happier than Eomer had seen him, grinning from ear to ear and unable to stop talking. Perhaps he had already begun celebrating with the rum. Merry and Pippin danced up and down in circles around Frodo and Sam, occasionally jumping in to hug both Hobbits before they leaped out again. How they managed to keep their pipes in their mouths with all of their cheering and laughing, Eomer couldn't guess. Frodo stood exhausted but content, tired and still a bit bruised, but happy, and next to him stood Sam, ever loyal, ever humble, ever grateful.
"You should be in their midst," a rich voice spoke from Eomer's side, and he turned his head to see Gandalf standing there beside him, pipe smoking.
"I am no hero," Eomer shook his head. "I did as anyone should do."
"Indeed," Gandalf puffed, "but you were the only king who stood with Aragorn at the Black Gates. You were his most loyal comrade outside of the Fellowship."
"I wish for none of the glory. Were it not for my men, I would not be standing here," Eomer said deeply. "It is my men to be praised, not I."
"Suit yourself," Gandalf shrugged. "Ah, the food smells delightful. I do believe the feasting is about to begin. I shall see you in the Banquet Hall." He put a hand on Eomer's shoulder and then left, making his way through the crowds, significantly taller than anyone else.
Eomer watched as his men met with their wives and children, everyone overjoyed to see each other again. He caught a glimpse of Imrahil, Elphir, Erchirion, and Amrothos together cheering, and his mind immediately went to Lothiriel. He had not seen her since leaving his chamber some time ago. Concerned, he made his way into the palace again and to the Halls of Healing. He inquired of the princess' whereabouts, but none of the maids or servants had seen her. They informed him that she had her own room, on the east side of the palace, overlooking the fields and mountains, and he made his way there. With her spirit, he believed, it was unlike her not to be seen at such a joyful event with her brothers.
Perhaps he simply hadn't seen her amongst the thousands gathered to celebrate. He considered this as he walked down the empty halls to the room the servants had directed him to. There was no real reason he should have been concerned, but perhaps it was because she had saved his life that he found himself in this part of the castle. The least he could do was make certain that she was well.
He arrived at her door and knocked, but there was no answer. He knocked again, and he was surprised when the door gave way beneath his hand and opened. He would have closed it shut, but he caught a glimpse of several candles alight, and wanting to make certain that they weren't unattended, he stepped inside.
The view in front of him caused him to come to a stand still from just inside the doorway.
On a bed of furs lay Lothiriel. She was undressed, resting on her stomach, her entire back and legs exposed. One of the fur blankets was tactfully resting across her backside, but the rest of her skin was bare. Eomer's first response was not one of lust or heat, but of concern. Her back was covered with abrasions, and her legs were bruised and bloodied. Her face was towards him, and though she was asleep, he could see the bruises and cuts that lined her cheeks, chin and forehead. He could see that it had been her plan to become naked so that she could air out her wounds, but she been so tired she had collapsed onto the bed just as she was. There was a jar of salve near her head, and the fingertips of her right hand, draped on the side of the bed, were touched with the faintest green, showing that she had intended to get the salve on her skin but had then fallen asleep. Her long hair, glittering in the candlelight, was mostly pulled away from her back, but several loose strands had fallen into her cuts, sticking and stinging.
Without a second thought, Eomer stepped fully into the room and then closed the door softly behind him. As quietly as he could, he made his way to the bed and then sat on the edge of it. He dipped his fingers into the salve and then carefully applied the moisture to Lothiriel's legs, back, and face. He saved her face for last, knowing that the possibility of her waking up and being embarrassed was greater when he touched her face. Tentatively, he touched her face, and as he had suspected, her eyes immediately open. She sat bolt upright, spinning onto her back and struggling to pull the blanket over her chest. She succeeded in covering herself quickly, but her legs and shoulders were still bare. Her face went from ashen white to bright pink in a matter of seconds, and she sat gasping for a bit, trying to calm her racing heart and regain control of her breathing.
"What are you doing here?" she panted when she found her voice.
"I did not mean to startle you. Your wounds needed to be cared for."
She could think of nothing else to say, and Eomer continued his work, putting the salve on her face and then on her neck and shoulders. This was dangerous ground, and while he hadn't realized it when he had first come into the room, he was realizing it now. His weariness from battle was fast turning into that last adrenaline rush that came after the fight was over. With the end of fighting came the need for affection and to release the last bit of tension, and he had put himself and Lothiriel in a compromising situation. He was assisting a beautiful, naked woman with something that a female servant should have been doing.
"Let me get someone else to tend to you," Eomer said abruptly, standing up.
To his surprise, she caught his hand, her eyes wide.
"No, don't. Please," she said quietly. "I am sorry this is difficult for you, but if a servant helped me, my father would be sure to learn that I had fought in the battle, and I do not wish to cause him worry. Please, help me, my lord King Eomer. I don't wish to worry my father, and I do not want the other men to know that I fought with them. I would not wish to upset anyone."
She gazed at him imploringly, and slowly he sat back down. Her cheeks were still pink, and she thanked him multiple times as he added salve to her cuts. She seemed just as uncomfortable in this situation as he suddenly did, and she refused to look him in the face, thoroughly embarrassed.
"I hadn't planned on fighting," she spoke after several minutes of silence.
"I'm sorry?"
"I hadn't intended to fight. If I hadn't feared being captured by Sauron's armies, I wouldn't have been with you."
"I should not have said you were foolish. You were wise to join the armies of the west. Your father would be proud of how you fought," Eomer said softly. "And you did save me. I thank you for that."
He rested his hand on her shoulder, finished with the salve. Her skin was hot, heated from the damage that had been inflicted on her. It was no wonder she had decided to remove all of her clothes. She was so beautiful. From how close he was, Eomer could see the freckles that were splashed across her nose. He could see every strand of red and blonde in her hair, every speck of brown in her green eyes. She was truly a lovely and talented woman. Her brothers and father had great difficulty on their hands, keeping unworthy men away from her.
Her lips parted and she tried to speak, but before she had the chance, Eomer had pressed his lips to hers. She inhaled deeply, surprised, and then tentatively put a hand to his cheek, not pushing him away, but touching him for support. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it struck Eomer that she may have been saving her kiss for her future husband, that she may have given away her first kiss to someone she hadn't wanted, and he began to pull back, disappointed with his actions. He was pleasantly surprised when she kissed him back, thinking about every action, and he grinned against her lips, amused by how much thought she was putting into it. When he pulled back, he found that she too was grinning, with pleasure as well as merriment.
"I see now why the ladies gossip so about you, King Eomer," Lothiriel smiled, that blush permanently trapped in her cheeks.
"Gossip?" Eomer smiled, his hand lingering on her shoulder. "All silly servant stories, I am certain."
"Might I..."
"Yes?"
"Might I try again?"
He blinked, hazel eyes questioning.
"You were right. I haven't kissed anyone before. I rather liked it. Might I try again?" she asked shyly.
"By all means, fair lady."
She swallowed nervously and then leaned forward, the candle light flickering across her face as she closed her eyes and kissed him, both hands now holding up her fur covering. He reached a hand to her hair, weaving the silken strands between his fingers and deepening his kiss, turning it not into something inappropriate, but into something more meaningful. This time, when she pulled back, her eyes were closed and a gentle smile was on her face.
"Thank you," she said softly. "That was just how I imagined it would be."
A heavy knock suddenly sounded on the door, and Lothiriel gasped, pulling her fur even more tightly to her as she called out.
"Yes?"
"Princess Lothiriel, it is I, Aragorn. Might I have a word with you?"
"Just a moment, please!"
Lothiriel struggled to her feet, and she nearly collapsed as she stood, her back turned towards the wall so Eomer didn't see more of her than she wanted him to.
"You haven't the strength," Eomer said firmly, guiding her to sit back down. "Aragorn, her ladyship cannot come to the door at the moment. Her wounds are too great."
"Might I come in?" the king's voice asked.
"Just a moment!" Lothiriel spoke hurriedly, rushing to pull a robe over her shoulders and tying it rapidly across her chest when Eomer wasn't looking. She covered the rest of her body in the fur and then pushed her hair away from her face, doing her best to look presentable despite the situation. "Come in, King Aragorn!"
The door opened and Aragorn stepped inside, looking first from Lothiriel to Eomer and then back again. His eyes rested momentarily on the salve on Lothiriel's face, and he nodded in understanding.
"I had hoped that the hidden hero of the Battle of Mordor would present herself at the banquet this evening," Aragorn smiled. "I have much to thank you for, Princess."
"No one was to know I was at the battle!" Lothiriel gasped. "How could you..."
"I saw you fighting with two swords and recognized your technique," Aragorn comforted. "I knew it was you. It was wise of you to mingle with the men when the battle began. It kept you safe, relatively speaking... I am glad Eomer found you. I knew you had need of assistance."
"Truly, nothing indecent occurred, my lord," Lothiriel stammered.
"I had not thought it. You and Eomer are highly respected people," Aragorn chuckled. "I am afraid I must bring Eomer back to the Banquet Hall with me. I wanted to thank you, however, as I know you would not have yourself be honored with the men for the battle."
"Oh no! Please no," Lothiriel shook her head.
"Then you shan't be named," Aragorn spoke. "I will make certain that provisions are sent to you. Your father has been searching for you. Shall I send him your way?"
"Now that I have been assisted, yes, please," Lothiriel nodded.
"Very well. He shall come to you shortly. Eomer, your people await you, brother."
"My lady," Eomer nodded, standing and taking Lothiriel's hand in his. "Rest well."
He bowed low and kissed her hand, and she smiled brightly as he turned and left her room with Aragorn.
