Author: Wow. I just saw Cold Mountain. Very good movie! I mean, even if they hadn't had the uber-hot Jude Law in it, it would've been good. Not as good, but still good. Then, the next night, I watched The Notebook. Chick Flick overload alert!I usually don't like sad movies, but this one left me wanting to write so badly, it was weird! Unfortunately, I'm not quite sure what's going to come next, but I guess I'll wing it ;)
Thankyouthankyouthankyou reviewers!!! ::orders pizza for everyone::
"I can't help but notice that you don't seem the least bit affected by our long ride, Eomer." I said as I stretched my sore muscles by walking back and forth between the two massive pine trees that grew at the northern and southern ends of our campsite. "Either that, or you hide it well."
"I have ridden in many campaigns, Princess. I am used to working through discomfort." Eomer was busying himself by giving Wingfoot a rubdown. I carefully walked over to stand next to him. From there, I could see that he was not entirely unstrained. His face was pale, and he was oh-so-slightly favoring his right arm. I noted with alarm the small spot of blood on his shirt at the left shoulder.
"Eomer!" I shrieked.
He put his hand at his side and half-drew his sword, peering into the trees, instantly on guard. "What is it?"
I yanked him backwards until he was standing fully in the golden light of the setting sun. "Why in the blazes didn't you mention that your wound wasn't fully healed? By the Valar…you're bleeding! There's no way in Arda you should be riding so strenuously as we have been! Sit down." I ordered shrewishly, but I didn't care about the tone of voice I used. Eomer looked at me in bewilderment, then slowly sat down on the needle-covered earth.
"I just need to change the bandage…" He protested. I glared him into silence, muttering about the stubborn idiocy of arrogant, foolhardy Kings of Rohan while I searched Wingfoot's saddlebags for ointment and dressings. Luckily, I found both. "It's a good thing you're not wearing full armor," I remarked as I grappled with Eomer's jerkin and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Your arm would never have born the weight."
I paused for a moment when the first patch of bare skin appeared below Eomer's throat between the parted sides of his white shirt. It occurred to me that I was, for all intents and purposes, undressing the man. Alone. In the wilderness.
And he certainly wasn't weak enough not to notice.
I shook my head briskly and resumed my task with an air of professionalism that belied my racing pulse. Nonsense. I was nursing a wounded soldier back to health; re-bandaging him for his own good. Surely there wasn't anything improper about that? At least, nothing worse than the things I had already done with him.
"I am perfectly capable of doing this myself, you know." Eomer pointed out as I pushed his shirt over his firm shoulder, trying my utmost not to dwell on his beautifully defined pectorals, biceps, triceps and, well, everything.
I swallowed. Wounded! Poor, battle-scarred weakened soldier who needs his injury cleaned and tended. He didn't look very weakened.
"Nonsense. You've had a long ride the past day, and goodness knows how long you chased me before that. You never should have left Edoras…" I carefully unwound the slightly bloodied dressing from around Eomer's shoulder and tossed it aside.
"Neither should you!" He interjected with a wince. "What were you thinking, riding off alone, in the middle of the night? Do you know what would have happened if I hadn't come along in time to get rid of that soldier? Do you have any idea how reckless you were?"
How had our conversation changed so swiftly from my scolding to his? "As I said before, I had the situation entirely under control. You are overreacting. You're liable to start bleeding again if you don't calm down…" I began cleaning Eomer's wound with some salve he had brought with him.
"Calm down?" Eomer said raspily. "If you want me to calm down, you have to stop doing that."
"Doing what?" I asked as I wound a new bandage across his shoulder. To secure it, I had to wrap it twice around Eomer's chest. This required that I reach my arms all the way around him. Wounded! Poor, battle-scarred, weakened soldier who needs his injury cleaned and tended…not a dangerously attractive, half-naked warrior at all.
"That." Said the King as I finished bandaging his shoulder and tied the ends of the strips together. I paused, mesmerized by the heat in his brown gaze. My hands were still resting on his chest.
"We can only rest for a few hours. I suggest you get some sleep." Eomer spoke softly, a few inches from my face. Reluctantly, I backed away and allowed him to put his shirt back on.
We slept on opposite sides of the clearing.
The ride to Minas Tirith was uneventful. It took us two more days to reach the city, nearly all of which were spent on horseback. Despite our physical nearness, however, I could feel Eomer withdrawing from the camaraderie that we had enjoyed briefly in Edoras. He was distant; he spoke to me only when it was necessary. I was hurt, and I couldn't fathom what might be behind his change of heart. He still wanted me, I could tell that from the way he watched me when we camped, but it was as though he wouldn't let himself become close to me. I got the distinct impression that he didn't want to encourage my feelings for him, which was too damn bad because they were already as encouraged as they were likely to get, I thought. Still, I had too much pride to broach the topic, so we rode on in silence until we reached the proud stronghold of Gondor.
The moon hung high in the sky when we rode into Minas Tirith. All around us white stone glimmered in the starlight, and quiet streets wound away amidst the signs of rebuilding that were to be seen everywhere. The guards at each level's Gate allowed us to pass unhindered. Soon we were before the King's Citadel, riding arrow-straight towards…
"Eomer!" I hissed. "Where are we going? The Palace is that way!" Somehow, the grand luminosity of the city seemed to call for whispers, at least during the night.
"The stables, of course." Eomer said quietly.
"In case you have forgotten, we are here to avert a war. Surely there is a groom about who can see to Wingfoot!"
"Nothing," he said with conviction, "Is ever so important that a man can't take care of the comfort of his horse after a long journey."
Once Wingfoot had been properly pampered, we finally set out to find King Elessar. Passing beneath the archway, we headed toward the entrance to the Great Hall. I had been here before, years ago, when only the first shadows of war had been stretching towards Gondor, yet even so the place seemed more alive, night though it was, than it had under the Stewards' Rule. Grandiose and beautiful as Minas Tirith was, I could not help but compare it in my mind to the warm, friendly Golden Hall of Meduseld.
Two door wardens clad in black livery stopped us before the wide doors. "What business brings two strangers to the Citadel at such an hour?"
"We wish an audience with the King, late though it be. Inform Elessar that the King of Rohan has arrived." Eomer's manner was prouder and more lordly than I had yet seen from him. In that moment I was reminded that this man was, indeed, a King in his own right, and I wondered that I had so easily jested with and commanded him.
"If you are indeed the King of Rohan, you come with a strange retinue." The taller of the two guards said suspiciously, looking me up and down.
Eomer twisted a large gold ring off his right hand and handed it to the guard. I saw that it was set with emeralds and bore a running horse carved across the top. It looked ancient. "Here is my seal," Eomer said.
The guard took it and turned to go inside. The rest of us stood in silence as we waited for his return. It was not long.
"Please follow me, sir." A man, perhaps my father's age and who reminded me of his steward, bowed us into the Great Hall. Halbarad came to mind as well. We followed the stranger past the royal dais into the private hallways of the palace.
"I am Glarius, head of the staff of the Citadel." The man said as he conducted us into a smallish sitting room. I was impressed: there was a tray of hot tea and cakes waiting for us. "Please, make yourselves at home. The King will be with you shortly." Glarius quietly took his leave.
Eomer sank with a tired sigh onto a padded chair. His face, I noticed, was paler than it should be. Shaking my head, (stubborn man!) I poured myself a cup of tea and inhaled the aromatic steam with relish while I carefully selected something large and fruit-filled from the cake-plate.
Of course, King Elessar entered as soon as I had taken a particularly unladylike bite of light, fluffy golden crust and tart strawberries.
Elessar Telcontar was very slightly taller than Eomer, but not quite so broadly built. He had medium-length dark hair and a short beard. His demeanor was quiet and alert, with the sort of unconsciously noble bearing that, despite his completely genuine friendliness, would never leave you in any doubt as to the extent of his distinguished lineage. The King was wearing a simple black tunic and tights, emblazoned with the White Tree and stars. Uncombed hair was the only sigh that he had been asleep, and his eyes were clear, not sleep-fogged.
"Eomer!" The King exclaimed with a smile, but his eyes were concerned. "It is of course a pleasure to see you again, though I cannot help but wonder what brings you here in such a manner."
"Not what, who." Eomer answered. He gestured to me, and I curtsied when the King saw me, ever conscious of my travel-stained, plain, gray dress and unwashed hair, not to mention my full mouth. "Aragorn, this is Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth. No doubt you have heard of her."
Author: I know, I know...not a lot happened in this chapter. Pointless fluff followed by travel. BUT the next chapter should be verra verra exciting. Hopefully :)