37# Gratitude
With Heming gone to the town of Harrow, it was even more quiet at the farm than usual. Éomer had busied himself with chores of helping Eadgyd out with carrying firewood and water, and he had spent a good while in the stables cleaning it up – he could have been a Marshal and the King, but he was no stranger to shovelling horse manure. Even so by the time he was finished it was not yet afternoon, and so for a change he took the chance of going through some practice of swordplay.
It had been a while since he had been involved in a real battle, and with some bewilderment he realised that ever since he had started to ride on active duty as a Rider, he had never gone this long without a fight, small or big. Moreover, he kind of missed the battles, because in the middle of them he always knew what to do. It was a strange thing to comprehend, because it revealed what a violent life he had lived.
Even so, practice did feel good as he moved across the yard of the farm. It was a pity Lothíriel was injured, as otherwise he'd have asked her to join him. But even if he was alone, he was still able to lose himself for a while in the movements and stances of a swordsman; those were branded into his muscles, his very sinews and bones, as though with white-hot iron.
He was almost finished – and feeling quite sweaty and filthy – by the time Eadgyd called him from the door of the homestead.
"My dear, your wife was asking if you would mind heating up some water for her. She'd like to have a bath and it looks like the wound has healed enough that some water won't do it any harm", said the elderly woman.
"Of course I don't mind. Shall I heat up some for you as well?" he inquired back, stretching his muscles after the practice, and feeling a pleasant kind of strain in them.
"Oh, you don't need to, dear", said Eadgyd and he caught a twinkle in her eyes which first had him wondering. But then he realised what was her point. As if he needed encouraging to bathe with his wife...! Then again, the elderly woman did act quite motherly towards them both and especially her still recovering patient, and believed in the healing power of hot baths. But apparently Eadgyd knew her business, because Lothíriel looked highly pleased about the whole matter and wouldn't stop kissing him once they were in the bath. That was something he could appreciate.
Unfortunately the pleasant warmth lasted only so long, and by the time they got out of the tub Lothíriel's teeth were clattering. She practically threw on her clothes but Éomer took a moment to regard her, and gave her a shameless smile when she noticed his long stare. His wife rolled her eyes but did not turn fast enough to hide the happy look on her face. It was good to be able to show her efforts to lift his spirits were not wasted.
Mindful with the knowledge she should not be walking too much yet he scooped her off her feet, which had her shrieking with laughter and telling him her revenge would be swift and merciless, and smugly he informed her he looked forward to it.
Her revenge came in the form of a comb. Wielding it in one hand and sitting on the edge of the bed, Lothíriel looked far taller than a sitting person usually would.
"Sit down. I am going to try and see if some sense and order can be combed into that mane you call your hair", she told him firmly. He bowed at her.
"As you command, my lady", Éomer said in his most reverent voice and settled down to sit before her on the floor. She made a soft sound in satisfaction and slowly started to comb through his hair, carefully clearing the tangles and humming as she worked. It was a gentle, pleasant sound and he closed his eyes to concentrate on it... he had to wonder: why had they not done this before?
"Hmm. Why couldn't I have hair like this?" Lothíriel grumbled, half to herself. He chuckled softly, which resulted in her slightly pulling a lock of his hair. She went on, "I expect our children to be a bunch of golden-haired rascals."
"I will see what I can do about that", he retorted and smiled, relishing the idea of parenthood. It had never been quite so attractive as it had become when Lothíriel had entered his life.
She snorted as an answer and continued combing, again resuming to the song she had been humming. He did not recognise it but it sounded gentle and calming. His form relaxed and he leaned back, feeling completely at ease.
"There! All done. You look like a Man again, instead of some big lion posing as my husband", she said lightly and leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
He turned around and rose up on one knee, leaning closer to her. His wife crossed the space remaining between them and kissed him.
"Thank you", Éomer said softly. She smiled at him and kissed him again, though it was a shorter one this time. Usually she was good at reading his moods but now she did not see just how deep those words went... how they meant more than just combing his hair.
"You're welcome, dear one."
A/N: Here's a little something sweet for Saturday! This would take place around the time when Heming visits Harrow and reports that a local lad (who is of course Arric) has seen the King of the Mark walking among the living.
Hope you're having a pleasant weekend. Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Wondereye - For such a long story, there are indeed a lot of spots one can fill in!
brandibuckeye - Thank you. :)
Jo - It is very good indeed!
Thalia - Hope you like this new scene. :)