Author's Name: Dae'kyra
Story Title: Awake in a Dream
Characters/Pairs: Éomer/Lothíriel and unimportant people like Imrahil...erm...I mean...(just kidding)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: This is FanFiction. I obviously own nothing...except maybe the idea for the story. The song Awake in a Dream belongs to Kalan Porter.
Summary: While in Dol Amroth, Éomer encounters a vision. Is it fantasy or reality?
A/N: You know, this was supposed to be a one-shot, but I got a few different people asking for a continuation. So I decided, 'what the heck', and here is chapter two of a probably three part series. I warn you, though, I'm not very good at writing long stories. I'm better at one-shot little things. And now on with the show...
The cry of a gull mingled with the faint sound of the waves on the beach. Sunlight streamed through an open window. The room held only a single occupant, a fact made known by a groan from the bed.
Forcing his sleep-laden eyes open, Éomer blinked at his surroundings.
Where in Middle-Earth am I? He wondered, groggily.
He shifted in the bed, the dust dancing in the sunlight. Dancing light...no, a different light...moonlight...
With a rush the events of the previous day and night came back to him. He had followed a shadow...the sea nymph...the swim...her eyes. He blinked. Maybe the sea air was getting to him. It had to have been a dream. But, no, there on the chair lay the cloak. She had left it abandoned on the sand and he retrieved it after she had gone. Maybe somehow he could find her and return it.
Éomer shook his head. There was no way he would be able to find her again. She was gone, leaving her cloak and an imprint on his memory.
He stretched and flung back the covers, shivering slightly. He dressed quickly, making sure that the clothes were respectable enough - he had had much grief from Éowyn on the matter, and he still wasn't used to dressing in such finery.
"But you are the king! You can't go around wearing dusty old armor or clothes not even fit for the stable boy.
Really Éomer, this is going to have to get through that thick skull of yours sooner rather than later. I only have a month left in Edoras and believe me, I will not leave you like this."
His sister was adamant and very soon he found himself spending a lot of time with the seamstress. Éowyn had been shocked at the very few "appropriate" clothes that he possessed.
"What you would have done if there had be need of them, I don't know"
He had argued that Rohan hadn't exactly been the hub of social activity lately. Éowyn just gave him a withering stare and he shut up.
Dressed, Éomer looked at the cloak. He picked it up, fingering the intricate embroidery. Sighing, he placed it back on the chair. He would figure out what to do with it later.
After breakfast in his room, Éomer walked the hallways of the palace for the second time. Prince Imrahil requested his presence in his study. Happy to comply, but a little edgy as to the nature of such a request, the king found himself being shown to the Prince's personal study.
"Ah, my lord Éomer. I am honored to have you here." Imrahil motioned to a chair. "Please, have a seat. Can I offer you something to drink?"
Éomer shook his head. "Thank you, no I'm fine."
The two men spent some time catching up and exchanging news. Éomer told some of his more interesting stories as a new king, sending the prince into fit laughter.
Finally they became silent, all topics run out. Well, all topics except for the one that had brought him here.
After a minute Prince Imrahil spoke. "I suppose you are wondering as to the nature of this requested visit."
Éomer was silent, letting the prince speak.
"Well, the truth is that I am trying to settle some things. Now, I have to say that I'm not getting any younger and I would like some things done before I leave this earth." He held up his hand, stopping Éomer's protests.
"Please, let me finish. I am still strong enough to wield a sword and as long as breath is in me, I will continue to serve my king. Don't give up on me yet." He smiled. "The fact of the matter is just two years ago, I wasn't sure if I would be coming home and I realized that there were some things that I had left unfinished. My sons are able men and my eldest is equipped to take the throne, when I die.
Imrahil leaned forward and rested his hands on the wooden desk in front of him.
"But therein lies the problem. I have been so busy with my sons and the war that I have not been able to provide for my daughter. She had to run the city alone while I and her brothers were gone."
Éomer blinked. Imrahil had a daughter? He vaguely remembered something about a daughter while talking in Minas Tirith after the fall of Barad-Dur. He then realized that the prince was still speaking.
"...and so that is the reason I asked you here."
Éomer winced. "Pardon my lord, but what did you say?"
"I would have you take my daughter, Lothíriel, as a wife and forge an alliance between our two lands. You are my friend, Éomer, and I have thought long and hard about this. I would give her no one else I trust more." Imrahil finished, resting his chin on his hands.
The room seemed to close in on him. Éomer paled and swallowed hard. His honor and friendship with Imrahil was at stake.
"My lord, would it be ungracious to ask for a few days to think about this? Maybe even meet and talk with you daughter? I feel that this is too important to give a hasty answer." He asked, praying desperately that Imrahil would not be offended.
Imrahil opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off by a knock from the door. It opened and Éomer caught sight of a blue skirt and dark hair.
"Ah, yes my dear. We were just talking about you. What do you need?"
The girl lifted her head as she stepped forward.
"My pardons, Ada, but Mistress Dorwithen wishes to know if you would have your afternoon meal here or in the dining hall."
"Tell her we will eat in the dining hall as usual. Thank you, Lothíriel."
She turned, gave a little grin to Éomer, and left the room.
He had sat in stunned disbelief, during their whole exchange. When she had lifted her head and looked his way...those eyes sparkled back at him. The same eyes that had entranced him under the moon.
He heard Imrahil give his time to think about his proposal and quickly found to excuse himself after that. Back in his room, he paced the floor, the forgotten cloak in his hand. His mind could only focus on one thing.
His sea-nymph had a name. Lothíriel.