::disclaimer:: i am not floridian. i do not have enough money to buy an unnecessary hummer, let alone the rights to lotr. end of story.

Stupid Remark

It was early the next morning when Éomer led his wife down to the stables. There were few people about, but they stopped and watched the dark-haired woman beside their king. "Why do they stare?" she whispered, obviously uncomfortable.

"They've not seen you since our wedding," he whispered back. "I would stare, too." He smiled encouragingly. She wore an old blue calf-length dress with brown leggings that had once been Éowyn's. It had taken some convincing on Éomer's part for her to wear it, but she finally relented when he reasoned that it would be easier to ride in than in one of her more courtly dresses. "We'll go out the side gate instead of the main one if it would make you feel better," he assured her. She nodded, and he took her hand as they completed the short distance to the stables.

Inside, it smelled of fresh straw and feed and horses. Éomer took a deep breath and sighed, grinning when Lothíriel wrinkled her nose at the pervading scent of manure. "I love the smell of the stables in the morning," he said. "It's so fresh and clean. Don't you think so?"

"I am sure it is," she answered, waving a hand in front of her nose, "but it is very stuffy in here. Can we just find a horse and get out? Please?"

"Not so fast, my lovely lady. If you want to do this properly, we must go slowly. First, we should select a horse—either a mare or a gelding—that will fit you and your purpose." He put on the air of a horse merchant. "Now, will you being riding this horse for leisure, travel, or battle?"

His question produced the desired effect; she laughed slightly at the last. "Leisure and travel," she answered, playing along.

"And do you prefer white, brown, or black?"

"Black."

"Ah! My lady, I believe I have just the horse for you. Just follow me, if you please." He led her through a maze of stalls to one on the far end of the hall. "This," he said, guiding the horse to the gate of his stall, "is Aelfan. He was sired by my own Firefoot."

"He?" she asked, uncertain.

Éomer nodded. "Aelfan is a gelding and one of the sweetest-natured horses I've ever had the pleasure of training."

"Oh," she murmured, reaching toward the horse tentatively.

"Pet his nose, on the white star. He likes that." She touched the horse's nose, and it shook slightly, causing her to jerk back. "No sudden moves," Éomer breathed, taking her hand and guiding it back to the horse's nose. "You'll frighten him."

He let go of her hand as her confidence grew. Lothíriel spoke to the horse softly in what sounded suspiciously like Sindarin. She turned to Éomer and smiled. "He's wonderful! Shall we go?" She moved to open the gate, but Éomer stopped her.

"Not yet. We need to find tack that will fit both of you. There's no sense in teaching you to ride if the gear isn't right." He took her to where the gear was kept. "We'll find you some medium-length reins. They're not as short as the ones we use in battle, but they're not as long as some of the others." He moved to the saddles. "I believe one of the smaller saddles will fit you best." Lothíriel blushed slightly at the implication, and Éomer grinned as he picked up a saddle.

Her eyes flew up to his face when she saw what he had chosen for her. "Have you no side-saddles?" she asked quietly.

Éomer could not help but laugh. "Side-saddles? They are an abomination! A blot on society! A poor fool's unsuccessful attempt at being inventive! No wonder you cannot ride!"

"Oh," she muttered, "I did not know they were so despised. Forgive me," she said, venom in her voice, and ran out the door.

Imbecile! Idiot! Blunderbuss! Éomer cursed himself as he trudged back to Meduseld. He went to their chambers only to find what he had expected: the doors were locked. He knocked on the door, though he knew it was a futile endeavor. "Lothíriel?"

"Go away."

"Please, may I come in?"

"No."

"Not even to change my clothes?"

She did not speak for a moment, as if considering this. "What clothes do you want?"

"The brown breeches and a white shirt." He could hear her shuffling around inside, and he hoped that maybe she would open the door.

"They are in a basket outside the window," she said. "You may retrieve your things from there."

Éomer decided it would be best to humor her for the time being, though he was wary of treachery. On more than one occasion had Éowyn dumped water or worse on his head as he walked outside the windows. But sure enough, there was a basket with his clothes, waiting outside the high window.

"Do you need anything else?" Lothíriel called.

"No. Thank you," he answered woodenly.

"It was nothing." She closed the shutters.

::break::

Éomer paced in his study that evening. How in the name of Béma was he going to regain Lothíriel's good graces? She was sure to feel insulted now, and he had not even meant to do so! A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. He shook himself slightly and said, "Come in," hoping it was Lothíriel.

Instead, it was Éothain. "Éomer?" asked the younger man. "What are you doing here? I thought you and Lothí—your lady were going riding today."

Éomer sighed and collapsed into a chair. "We were. But then I made a comment about side-saddles being abominations. She's been locked in our chamber ever since. She even tossed my clothes to me from a window." He rubbed his eyes with both hands, sighing. "I don't know what to do. It seemed things were on the mend—she even liked the horse—but I made one stupid remark and—poof!—it's gone."

"You two need to talk," Éothain said. "How do you expect to ever get along if you never speak to each other?"

"She makes it impossible, Éothain, locking herself in her rooms."

"The doors are made of wood, not stone. You can talk through them, even if you can't walk through them," he answered.

Éomer snorted. "Why do I listen to you, anyway? You're not even married." He stood and stomped out the door.

"Where are you going?" Éothain called after him.

"To my rooms," he threw back.

A/N: that was lovely, wasn't it? as you can see, i have returned from the netherworld. and in response to a review i got earlier (don't remember who it was), i will be updating btsf soon. the plot reviver bug bit me while i was at the beach collecting shells, so i hope to have the next chapter of that up before the end of the year (egads! there's only a few days left!). also, i've got a belated christmas tale for you guys if i can ever get my thoughts into a cohesive story. until then, i hope you enjoyed this!