AN: I know, I know, it's been over a week. I've been busy! Plus, plot bunnies are leaping around in my head like nobody's business, and I've been hard pressed to find the one I want to use. Anyway, thanks as always to my reviewers! I love you all, even soccer-bitch, who writes the same three lines every time. ;-)
Even hermit crabs come out of their shells when they get angry enough. I waited until we were again mounted on Wingfoot before I said my piece. That way, Eomer would be safely behind me and I wouldn't have to make eye contact. Body contact was another matter entirely. My bottom and back were already sore from riding all through the night in the cramped position I had assigned myself in order not to lean back against or touch Eomer any more than was strictly necessary. It didn't help that we were riding astride, which I was not used to doing for long periods of time. Our short break hadn't been nearly enough to alleviate my aching muscles.
"Is that all you have to say?" I smothered a wince as Wingfoot broke into stride.
"About what, Princess Lothiriel?" Eomer used my formal title for the first time in days, rather than sobriquet that even my father sometimes called me by. That irked me even more; was he purposely trying to build a wall between us?
"You know very well what. I practically tell you I'm falling in love with you, and you don't make any sort of comment! Even laughter would be preferable to silence. Don't you care at all?" Had I been standing, I would have crossed my arms across my chest. As it was, I settled for drawing my cloak tighter around my shoulders, giving away not only my insecurity, but also the chill creeping over me as dark storm clouds rolled down from the mountains.
Eomer sighed. "I'm trying to keep this from becoming complicated, Ri—Lothiriel."
"How is it complicated?" I shivered. The wind was picking up.
"You are a princess, that is how."
"So it wasn't complicated when I was merely your seamstress?" The morning sky, which had so very recently been robin's-egg blue, was now nearly as dark as my mood.
"Not nearly so much, no." Eomer broke off for a moment, then started again, hesitantly. "Matters of the heart are always complicated, but as my seamstress, I could have simply courted you for a bit, then either married you or not. Now that you're a princess, however, there are certain rules that have to be followed."
"R—r—rules? Like w—what?" I wasn't having much luck suppressing my shivers as the first drops of icy rain seemed to find every bit of exposed skin on my body.
"If you're cold, lean back." Eomer suggested. I shook my head no. He muttered, "stubborn female pride" then hooked one arm around my waist and pulled me backwards until my bottom was between his thighs and my back was snug against his chest. As if the new position wasn't disconcerting enough, Eomer opened up his cloak and wrapped it around me until it covered both of us. I was warm now. Oh, Valar, was I warm.
"You didn't answer my question." I said, trying to keep my mind off Eomer's nearness.
"Rules, of course." The King's voice came from directly behind and above my right ear. A shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature snaked down my spine. "Had I known you were a princess, I would never have spoken to you so…frankly as I have become accustomed to doing."
"I like it when you speak frankly." I interrupted. "It is a welcome change from polite discussion of the weather and the day's fishing prospects, which is all Kutheia and I ever talked about."
"Yes, well, I certainly hope I make better conversation than that selfish coward."
"You do." I noticed that Eomer's hand had not left my waist.
"Neither would I have been alone with you long enough to either instruct you in knife fighting or kiss you." He continued.
"So far you have only given me ways that courting becomes more complicated for members of the nobility. You have said nothing of your emotions, or even why you will not reveal them to me!" I tried to sit up straighter, but Eomer's arm kept me pinned to him. "Am I nothing to you? Merely another conquest you might have had, save for the unlikely circumstances of her birth?"
"No!" Eomer hissed vehemently into my ear. "I know not how, but you were different, Ria. From the very beginning. I'm a little preoccupied with an impending crisis right now, though, so you'll have to excuse me if I don't have my feelings sorted out. All right?"
"All right." I agreed, temporarily appeased. We rode in silence for a while, and I occupied myself by trying to find a more comfortable position as the rain continued to drizzle down from the bleak sky. It seemed impossible.
"How long will it take us to ride to Minas Tirith, Eomer?" I asked finally, shifting my weight again.
"We should be through these mountains by nightfall. After that, and a short rest, Wingfoot will earn his name, and we will hopefully reach Minas Tirith by sunset tomorrow. Will you stop wiggling around?" Eomer tightened his grip on my waist- again- and I caught my breath.
"I'm sorry." I said. "It's just that I'm not used to riding astride for so long…I know we can't stop."
"Lift your left leg over the saddle." Eomer ordered.
"Why?"
"It will be more comfortable."
Slowly, (it was tricky on a moving horse) I raised my left leg up over Wingfoot's back to dangle down his side next to my right leg. Oh, what blessed relief! My bottom was still aching, but having my knees together helped a great deal. Then Eomer hauled me backwards until I was practically sitting on his lap, which helped even more but did little to ease my embarrassment at such familiarity.
"I think this probably breaks about ten of the rules you were reciting earlier, my lord." I said in my best prissy-princess voice.
"Do you mind? I could think of something else…" Eomer began uncomfortably.
I laughed. "No, I don't mind. In fact, it's rather nice."
Had I just said that out loud? Oh, Valar, was I in trouble. With a small intake of breath, I decided to give in to the urge that was plaguing me. I slowly wound my arms around Eomer's waist and laid my head against his shoulder. He didn't push me away, so I relaxed.
"I take it you don't mind, either?" I asked.
"No," He said, sounding a little choked. "I don't mind at all."
Eomer thought he was dreaming, but he couldn't decide if it was a good dream or a nightmare. Riding to Minas Tirith with the most beautiful, desirable, spirited woman he had met in a long time- all right, perhaps ever, if one didn't count the Queen of Gondor's Elven beauty- was both an unprecedented delight and a torture beyond endurance. Delight because, well, Ria- Lothiriel, he corrected himself,- was the most beautiful, desirable, and spirited woman he had ever had the pleasure of becoming remotely involved with. The torture part stemmed from the fact that, unlike most of the other women he had wooed over the years, he couldn't have her.
All right, he admitted to himself, he could have her- but he would have to marry her first. Marriage frightened Eomer more than any battle ever had. It demanded the kind of love that would last beyond the boundaries of this world, commitment from both parties to try to make a lasting partnership even through the trials that would undoubtedly come. The kind of relationship that his parents had had. That had killed his mother.
Eomer recalled the day the messengers had arrived from Dol Amroth, proposing a political union between Lothiriel of Dol Amroth and himself. The thought of an arranged marriage had disgusted him…how could Imrahil make something political out of so sacred a vow? His parents would have died for each other, and the young King of Rohan had promised himself that he would marry for no less than that.
Had she really been a seamstress, he thought, he could have courted Ria until he was sure. When he knew the truth of his regard for her, he would have either proposed to her or gently parted ways. Yet Ria was a princess, and he knew his day of reckoning was coming. They would eventually reach Dol Amroth, the matter of Mutheia and his son would be settled, and he would have to either ask for Lothiriel's hand or watch her be married off to some other nobleman, who might perhaps be worse than Kutheia.
She admitted that she loved him, but she would do her duty and marry the man her father chose for her. That he knew. He could save her from the fate of spending the rest of her life trying to love someone she did not, or he could walk out of her life forever.
Which would he choose?
An: Again, sorry it took so long. If you review, I would really appreciate advice on how to make Ria and Eomer's feelings for each other seem more real, as well as, well, how long it takes to ride from Edoras to Minas Tirith. Merci Beaucoup, mes amis! A tout a l'heure!