Chapter Nine
Éomer couldn't remember when he had been this nervous. He couldn't remember IF he had ever been this nervous. Sure, he's had the random butterflies in his stomach just as he was about to dive head first into a band of hungry and angry orcs, but this was completely different. Orcs he knew he could handle, but running an entire country? Yes, he has been said to be a good and just leader to his eored, but that wasn't the same as settling disputes among clan leaders and entire population of people. Heck, he even found it difficult to not drop his sword upon feuding men and now he was to handle matters in a diplomatic way? Why not just feed him straight to a pack of wargs. He would welcome that better than he did this day.
"Éomer, what on earth is wrong with you?" Imrahil snapped from somewhere in his room. His coronation was to begin any minute and his friends had congregated in his room to help and lend moral support. Of course he was too proud to admit it and brushed off their effort with calm tolerance, but inside, he found their presence comforting. And now Imrahil was lounging in one of his lush armchairs, sipping his best wine, wearing the most annoyed face to be seen on a man, and Éomer couldn't help grin. He didn't realize his pacing was as irritating to his comrades as it was pacifying him. Aragorn was sitting adjacent to Imrahil in an identical armchair, Merry was polishing a non-existent speck on his armor and Faramir was by the window, looking out towards the city. Faintly, the sounds of people celebrating could be heard.
"Nothing is wrong with me, old friend. Just clearing my head, a little jittery in the stomach," he answered. Imrahil snorted.
"The look you wear now is no different than what King Elessar wore on his wedding day. You have yet to meet that milestone, friend, so what you feel now is but trifle," said Imrahil and the other three men laughed in response. Éomer just gave him a withering look.
"I would welcome marriage than this day. A wife I can handle but an entire city? I shudder to think of it," he answered, the nervousness returning and he resumed his pacing. Why was it taking so long? When will it begin? When will it end? Why hasn't Feälef or Helfast come to get him yet?
"You shall do well, my lord. My hobbit senses tell me that you shall be the best king yet to rule Rohan," consoled Merry. Éomer gave his friend a grateful smile. He didn't believe Merry's words but he was comforted nonetheless.
Faramir who had been absorbed with the outside world turned to look at Éomer, his face breaking out into a mischievous grin.
"That cannot be disagreed with, Master Merriadoc, but Éomer, do not be quick to say such words. Well, I have not seen her in a while but I doubt much has change," he said and left his words hanging until Éomer growled at him to explain his words. Faramir laughed again.
"Only that, I think that you would soon welcome the tediousness of diplomatic matters than handle Lothíriel when she is in one of her moods," was his answer and Aragorn and Merry let out a huge laugh. Imrahil did not say anything but couldn't help smile a little especially when Éomer turned bright red. The Rohan king tried to defend himself but his stuttering caused even more laughter from Aragorn that in the end he resorted to accosting the Gondor king and his steward with his pillows instead. The two men caught the pillows and threw it back to the king, still laughing.
However, Éomer just caught it absentmindedly as Faramir's words suddenly reminded him of something. Biting his lips he paced a little bit more before turning to the three. He was silent as he contemplated his words, ignoring the decreasing laughter that was soon replaced with inquisitive looks. Aragorn and Faramir exchanged confused looks then turned to Imrahil and Merry. But the Dol Amroth prince just shrugged his shoulders, his actions mirrored by the hobbit. He did not know either. Finally, Éomer lost his contemplative look and cleared his throat, turning to the men, Imrahil in particular.
"Imrahil, I was just wondering…"
Never had the Dol Amroth princess heard such noise. Pleasant noises, but noise all the same. Yes, the city of Dol Amroth was busy with activity and these days with celebrations and joyous festivities, so it was hardly a sleepy town. But even when the entire populations were outside, never had the city been so… loud. She wasn't sure to cover hear ears or join them. From where she was sitting, under a man made canopy at the foot of Meduseld, and the remaining non royalty/nobility of Edoras a step bellow them, shielding their red faces from the fierce rays of the sun with whatever they could use, Lothíriel could not differentiate a man's voice from a woman's or a child. They were all meshed up together in one uniform sound. And she loved it.
Every decibel, every syllable uttered enraptured her. Maybe it was the foreignness of the language that enthralled her, or perhaps the intensity or their sorrow and joy that captured her attention. Whatever it was left her spellbound. Even though she was sitting among the noblewomen of Rohan (she had finally been introduced to them, and found them as boring as Éowyn had said), and above her head, Lady Helena, Queen Arwen and Lady Éowyn were conversing in the common tongue, not a word did she hear.
"Princess, are you well? Or is the heat too much?" Lady Helena's voice brought her back to the present. Lothíriel turned to the lady and smiled (Lothíriel had decided sometime in the night that it would benefit her to befriend the Chief of Marshal's daughter, than to make her an enemy).
"No, I am fine. I am simply caught up in the festive mood. It is so wonderful to have a reason to celebrate again," she said the last bit wistfully and turned back to the happy Rohirrims, only in her mind she was by the sea again, watching little children with dark hair laughing as they try and "catch" a wave, a family member nearby. Nights had been filled with music dancing as far as the stretch of beach went. A sudden longing for her city washed over her, and her light mood dampened a little. She felt Éowyn place a hand on hers.
"Time shall fly quickly, and soon you shall be home," she said gently. Lothíriel just gave her a smile.
"Yes, Edoras is beautiful, but home is where the heart is," said Queen Arwen and she too longed for her White City.
"It's just a little longing, Éowyn, Queen Arwen, but as long as I am here I shall make best of my time," she answered and the two ladies shared a laugh. Then from her other side, Lady Helena joined in.
"No doubt, your highness that your brothers are enjoying their stay," she said and Lothíriel looked to the canopy opposite the ladies, separated by a narrow carpet of red color that began form a hidden corner all the way up the steps of Meduseld and into it. Amrothos was in a heated discussion with Gimli watched by an amused looking Legolas (both who had arrived at Edoras early that morning along with the other three hobbits), Erchirion was sending a few ladies into fits of giggles and blushes with his winks and inviting smiles, Elphir was talking to Aearon, and the hobbits were busy cleaning out the buffet table. In each of their hands was a huge mug of ale. No fancy smancy wine for those fine warriors, only Rohan's best.
"Aye, although I'd say it was the ale that really has their attention," said Éowyn dryly.
"Your brew must be very strong if dear Elphir could be made to relax," Lothíriel replied and couldn't help laugh as she continued looking at her eldest brother, sprawled across the chair, not a single line of worry on his handsome face. And that itself showed the magic of Rohan ale as Amrothos has sworn many a times that Elphir was born worried. Lady Helena followed her gaze.
"Yes, I think this is the first time since your highness's arrival that I have seen Prince Elphir at ease. Is he always uptight?" asked Helena, in a blunt manner possible only to a Rohirrim.
"Yes, he is. It is not very often when he is without worry," Lothíriel replied, becoming a little somber as she thought of the responsibilities her eldest brother had been saddled with. During the dark times, her brothers had gone separate ways and guarded different parts of Dol Amroth and Gondor. The idea behind this was to ensure that Dol Amroth was never without an heir, for it was unlikely that three areas would be attacked at once and all three princes perishing together. But Imrahil was ever cautious and as he was heir, Elphir would only be assigned to areas that were near to the city where the full regiment was positioned in case of an attack, so reinforcements could be given almost immediately.
So since Elphir had first dips on backup, he had spent most of those nights worrying more about his brothers and that he would not be there to protect them had something bad were to happen. Reunions had always been joyous in the palace by the sea and never, in all the years that Lothíriel could remember, had Elphir ever shied from showing his family how he really felt. And that usually meant some bone crushing hugs to either his father, brothers or sister. This trait made him even more endearing to the people of their fair city.
"I realized he is not yet with wife, but does some fair maiden stand wait for him?" she asked. Lothíriel and Éowyn exchanged looks.
"Are you interested?" Éowyn asked as both ladies looked at her. Even Arwen was interested. Helena looked at them a little startled but shook her head.
"No, I was just thinking that if he did perhaps have a lady waiting for him, he wouldn't be so uptight. Do you suppose I should extend our hospitality to him and "help" him unwind?" she asked and raised an eyebrow, the meaning in her words as clear as the smirk on her face. Lothíriel was stunned and could only look at her although Éowyn, quite used to Helena's shocking personality, just rolled her eyes and shared an amused smile with Arwen. But Lothíriel was already entertaining thoughts of Lady Helena as her sister in law. The idea didn't seem bad at all, especially if it would get the young lady away from Edoras! Eh, where did that come from? The sudden vehemence of her last chain of thoughts startled her. But she wasn't able to ponder long as Helena began to laugh at Lothíriel's shocked face. She grasped the princess's hand in hers.
"Do not look so shocked, as I was only jesting. I promise I shall not compromise your brother's virtue," she said laughingly, and Lothíriel couldn't help but laugh as well. All four of them turned to the men who had turned to look at them, somewhat attracted to their laughter. The young ladies just smiled and waved at them, and Aearon replied with a salute of his glass.
"Princess, stop me if I am prying, but what of you and Admiral Aearon? Are you his lady?" Helena asked and immediately Éowyn perked in her direction. Although Helena had agreed to help Éowyn with her 'scheme', doubts and second thoughts began to take shape when she saw how close Lothíriel and Aearon were. Helena had told Éowyn previously that if princess Lothíriel and Admiral Aearon harbored even the slightest mutual feeling for each other then she will not assist, but agreed that if it was neither public or if either did not reciprocate then the princess was still an open option for Éomer to wed. So basically, Lothíriel's answer to Helena's question would determine Éowyn's final act.
"Nay, he is just a childhood friend. We have spent many years growing up together that is all," she answered firmly. Éowyn and Helena exchanged looks, each thinking the same thing. If Elphir had allowed the admiral to befriend her, he may encourage a union between them as well.
"Are there any thoughts of marriage, your highness?" Helena asked again, trying hard to not sound too interested. Éowyn was trying hard to ignore Arwen's piercing look. Lothíriel blinked at her. The thought never crossed her mind. But when she flicked a gaze towards the laughing admiral, she began to think what if? It came too easily into her head; herself with a little boy, probably burnt as his father, running and laughing across the shore or perhaps at the stern of his father's beloved ship, his father positioned protectively behind him, an arm around her… Lothíriel shook the images out of her head. What was wrong with her? Why was she thinking of marriage all of a sudden? First to Boromir, then Éomer and now Aearon. Her mother would turn in her grave if she knew of her daughter's wanton thoughts.
"We are only friends, m'lady, the topic has never and will never be brought up between us," she answered with honesty but her tone indicating that the subject was close. However Éowyn and Helena had seen the look Lothíriel wore when looking at Aearon and knew that this was just the beginning. The two ladies would have to work hard to make Éomer push such thoughts of Aearon out of her head and push himself instead into its place, all the while, not trying to appear like they were involved in the scheme. Such blatant intrusion on their part would only push the young king and the princess further apart. All at once in Éowyn's mind, three weeks was just too little time.
But any thoughts of matchmaking was gone for at that moment the other missing guests joined them and a sudden blast of fanfare swept over them, effectively quieting the crowd. One by one, the people in attendance stood and waited. They didn't have to wait long as from where the red carpet bends into hiding emerged Merry, wearing the official regalia of Edoras. His head was solemn and proud, making him as tall as any man present. Held proudly in his arms was a cushion of silk green with gold trimmings and on top of the cushion was a set of polished armor, a sword and a crown of gold. If he felt the heaviness, his stoic face hid it well. Then behind him was the Chief Marshal, Second and Third Marshal, each dressed in their official suit and armor, polished till it shone in unequal brightness. Behind the three men was Éomer. Lothíriel was a little surprised to see him dressed casually… and incomplete.
He was naturally wearing tunic and pants of silk material and on his feet, boots of the best animal hide, but neither of the three had any intricate designing on it. Just plain and simple. His beard had been trimmed to reveal his strong jaw and full lips and his gold hair tied back in a ponytail. But on top his tunic was a vest that was usually worn underneath the armor. Lothíriel concluded that this would be different than the coronation process in Gondor and felt excited for it to begin. She also concluded that in no way did his simple dressings do anything to dim the ambiance radiating around him. She could almost see the power and the king that he would become shinning out from his very body and engulfing them in its influence. It did nothing to mar his handsomeness either, judging from how the ladies were swooning as he passed by. In fact one lady had to be supported by another as her knees were too weak. Lothíriel and Éowyn exchanged amused looks.
Finally Éomer reached the base of the steps that would lead up to Meduseld. There at the very last step was Feälef and Merry, who still held the armor and sword. Éomer knelt before Feälef. In a loud voice Feälef began to recite in Rohirrim.
You have been chosen by kings of past to lead us, Éomer son of Eomund, Éowyn translated into her ear, as Helena did the same to Arwen.
Will you bind your life to Rohan and the people that walk its land?
I will
Will you forfeit your life to the enemy of the Mark if so needed?
I will
Will you honor your oath to your people?
By all that is willing and Eorl as my witness, I will
Will you protect us from harm, will you protect us from fear, will you protect us from pain,
As long as there is breath in me, I will
Who do your loyalties belong too?
I belong to the Mark and to the people who swear by her
How do you see yourself, Éomer son of Eomund?
I am the King of the Mark, where my life and soul belongs to her and where I will defend her from her enemies, where I will rule her people in fairness and justice,
Raise Éomer King, take thy new name, Eadig, and receive thy blessings; Éomer rose to his feet and looks at Feälef
This armor to protect as you ride out to defend; Feälef took the body armor from Merry and with Helfast's assistance, strapped it onto him,
This sword to slay those who would harm thee and prevent thy duties to The Mark; hethen took the sword, handed it Éomer, who placed a kiss onto its blade before sheathing it.
Take this mantle, a token of thy people's love; he draped a green mantle across Éomer's shoulder, which Éowyn explained was made by the seamstresses of Edoras, a gift from the people to their king.
And take this crown, a symbol of thy rule and leadership, and may Eorl bless thee with wisdom, he said and placed the gold crown on to Éomer's head. He then stepped down from the stairs as Éomer moved up one step and Feälef knelt before the new king and everybody followed suit; the men kneeling, the ladies in a curtsy. In full armor, he did not seem plain anymore to the princess's eyes.
Hail, Éomer Eadig, Eighteenth King of Rohan and first of the third lines of kings, whom we lay our allegiance too and to whom we vow to follow and support, I, on behalf of the people of Riddermark acknowledge thee, O Éomer King.
I accept thy words, Feälef, who represent my people. Take thy place by me, loyal friend. Feälef rose and went to stand on Éomer's left.
Then from the corner of her eyes, Lothíriel saw Éowyn step away from them and onto the red carpet where she curtsied before walking up to Éomer. Once she was there, she got onto her knees and held up a sword with both hands, that Lothíriel hadn't noticed she had been holding. Head bent low, she spoke.
I, Éowyn daughter of Eomund, give you my sword, my king, to wield as you see fit, to cast away if needed, my loyalty to thy crown as long as I walk on thy land, Éomer King, this time Helena translating to both ladies.
Éomer took her sword and swung it above her head. The blade made clean slices through the air, and then Éomer placed it back onto Éowyn's open palms.
Take back thy sword, Lady Éowyn, sister to me, and may you use it to fight alongside me if so required. Arise, fair sister and take thy rightful place beside me, Éomer responded and helped his sister back to her feet. He then leaned forward and placed a soft kiss onto her cheeks, not customary but it brought a smile to those around them to see the blatant sibling love between the two. Éowyn took her place by his right side on the steps, although slightly behind. Then came Merry, Helfast and the other two Marshal of the Mark and they recited their oaths to him. His reply was similar to his reply to his sister and they too took their places behind him. Éomer was about to speak when suddenly movements from one of the canopy stopped him.
Emerging from it was Aragorn, Faramir, Imrahil, Legolas, Gimli and the three hobbits. They walked towards Éomer and once Aragorn was only several feet away, in unison they got to their knees. Firstly let it be explained that as the King of another realm, Aragorn and those under him were not obliged to pay homage to kings of other cities. So for Aragorn, King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, to kneel by the feet of the Rohan king was a great tribute and honor to the ruling liege. And for him to be accompanied by other beings of Middle Earth in paying their respects made it a bigger honor. Big enough to render the articulate king speechless.
"Éomer King of the Mark, we, the free people of Middle Earth, acknowledge thy rule of Rohan and with our swords," they all pull out their swords, and axe (for Gimli), and place it at their feet, "pledge our armed forces and service if thy so as needs it, so says I, King Elessar of the Reunified lands, and those who rule under me," said Aragorn.
"And I Prince Legolas of Greenwood the Great, second the words of King Elessar," said Legolas.
"And I, Gimli son of Gloin of the Glittering Caves," repeat Gimli.
"And we, Frodo Baggins, Samwise Gamgee and Peregrine Took, of the Shire," chime in the hobbits in unison.
Éomer was so touched by their words that it took him a while to respond.
"Rise, my friends and let it be known that your words are received with many thanks and gratitude. As long as I, Éomer, am king of this land, so be it that all of you and your kin will always be seen as friends of the Mark," he said loudly for all to hear. He bent down and picked up Aragorn's sword, kissed it then returned it to the Gondor king. Then he unsheathed his sword, cast it up into the descending sun's rays then laid the tip of the blade upon the ground at their feet, both his hand still on the hilt, and recited.
"Hear now all people who bow not to the Shadow in the east, I vow in the name of Eorl the Young and in mine, Éomer Eadig, on behalf of the Eorlings of the North that between us and the Great People of the West there shall be friendship for ever, their enemies shall be our enemies, their needs shall be our needs. And whatsoever evil, or threat or assault, may come upon them we will aid them to the utmost of our strength," he spoke in a great voice. Aragorn copied Éomer's previous actions with his own sword and replied to his words.
"This oath shall stand in memory of the glory of the Land of the Star, and of the faith of Elendil the Faithful, in the keeping of those who sit upon the thrones of the West and the North and who is above all thrones, for ever," said Aragorn in a voice of equal greatness. Such oath had not been heard since the time of Eorl and Cirion, in the founding of Rohan, and now the Oath of Eorl was reborn between the two kings.
All that heard the oath were in awe of the two kings, for at that moment, dusk had fallen and as the sun went down behind the Golden Hall, its last rays cast a fiery glow upon Éomer's armor and Aragorn's white robes that their attire were said to be on fire, sealing the words they had just spoken. The two men embraced and the city erupted in cheers. Even Lothíriel found herself clapping with uninhibited ardor. Only Queen Arwen seemed composed, but there was happiness and proudness in her eyes. And it could only be etiquette and protocol that was holding Éowyn back from jumping into Faramir's arms, appreciative of his accolade to her brother. Their hands still clasped around each other, Éomer and Aragorn led their friends and family into the halls of Meduseld, where they shall rest while waiting for the summon that will lead them back outside and into the heart of the celebrations.
That night Edoras shone like a brilliant star against the night sky. And within the walls of the city, in the center of the green field, underneath a huge tent, a celebration like no other was being held to welcome the crowning of their new king. On the high table, looking down towards his people as they ate and laughed, was the king himself, his radiance and supremacy causing him to stand out amongst the crowd. He had replaced his armor, to don instead a silk shirt of green and a vest of similar color, decorated with gold thread embroidery. He wore tight leggings, also in customary green and boots of black hide. His hair was neatly arranged in a neat ponytail and atop his gold tresses was a circlet of silver trimmed with tiny emeralds. Never a man to put his looks over his battle abilities, Éomer had to admit to himself, he looked very handsome, and he had the lusty and starry eyed looks of nearly all the ladies to prove it. Nearly all because the one that would have really mattered to him was engaged in a conversation with her brother and an annoying sea admiral at the table adjacent to his.
Lothíriel could barely hear what her brother and Aearon was saying over the pounding of her heart. It had not stopped pounding since she fist laid eyes on Éomer after the coronation. How could it be possible that such a man could be so good looking? Why, he must be a god to be blessed with such beauty. And his clothes. Her mouth became dry as she thought of his muscular chest stretching within the thin fabric to give the seer a perfect view of the masculine contours, narrowing down to a slim waist and washboard stomach. And his breeches did nothing to hide how his legs muscles flexed when he walked and it took all her willpower and self pinches to stop her from gazing at the tightness of his derrière. She quickly reached for her wine goblet to hide the blush creeping up her face and neck as she suddenly wondered how it would feel to touch his skin… intimately. Thank heavens, only she could hear her thoughts for her father would be scandalized if he knew her mind.
Éomer nodded absently at what Aragorn was saying. He really was trying to listen to his friend… it was just that a little beyond Aragorn's right shoulder, in direct line of his vision was Lothíriel, and try as he might, he couldn't drag his eyes away from her. So hoping that he would not arise any suspicion from his friend, he kept on nodding every once in a while.
"So you agree that it is true then?" Aragorn's words broke into his thoughts and the Rohirrim focused back on the Gondorian. To his left, Imrahil looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Éomer blinked and tried in vain to recollect what they were talking about. There had been some talk about trading horses for grain and wheat. Taking a chance he nodded. Aragorn nodded slowly, and Imrahil shook his head with a sigh. That immediately made Éomer wary. What had he agreed to?
"Tis a shame to your people and your land, but I suppose it is accurate if you have said so," said Aragorn again, and then patted Éomer on the shoulder sympathetically.
"It is big of you to admit it, though" he added again. Éomer's eyes widen. What shame?
"Wait a moment, what had I agreed to?" he asked not caring anymore that his lack of concentration would be known. Had he just been bested by a man of Gondor? And how had he been bested?
"Whatever are you talking about, old friend? Agree to what?" Aragorn asked, his features confused as if Éomer had said something that made no sense.
"You just said I had agreed to something, what was it?" he asked his tone taking a desperate turn. Aragorn narrowed his eyes at Éomer.
"Has being hit numerous times on the head finally made your mind dull? Your words do not make sense. What did you agree too?" he asked again. Éomer's eyes widen. Was he losing his mind?
"I don't know, I was agreeing to what you said," he responded.
"You don't know what you were agreeing too? Friend, that wasn't very smart," Aragorn said his eyes wide in surprise. Éomer just gaped at him. Aragorn wanted to say more, but a delicate arm emerged from behind him and gently pressed two fingers against his lips.
"Enough, my love, do not tease our dear king," said Arwen, trying to sound reprimanding but there was a twinkle in her eye. Éomer let out a sigh of relief.
"So you were just baiting me," he said and Aragorn's grin grew bigger.
"Yes, and enjoying every moment of it," was the reply. Éomer wanted to say something scathing but he saw the humor in it and couldn't help laugh.
"That will teach me to listen to your words in the future counsel we shall have together. I may end up giving you half my kingdom and not realize it," he said and Aragorn laughed along with him. Then his laughter ceased to be replaced with a mischievous grin.
"I believe Éomer," he said loudly, "that your fantastic ale has begun to take effect on me for which a remedy must be needed."
"A remedy? And what would that be, O great healer?" Éomer asked, a mixture of wry and mockery. He knew what Aragorn was about to say, and felt his palm begin to perspire.
"Why dancing, of course, what else!" cried Aragorn and gave Éomer a hard thump on the back. Now, sweat had begun to prick his hairline as well, and with Imrahil looking at him, the butterflies in his stomach returned. He hesitated, and Aragorn, seeing this, motioned to Feälef, who was hovering nearby.
"My good man, your king wishes that the floor is cleared and your talented minstrels ready for some dancing, is that not so Éomer?" said Aragorn looking at the flustered king. Éomer gave a curt nod to Feälef and an eye blink later, the floor was cleared and the musicians waiting for their king to descend to the floor. In fact a sudden silence had fallen over the guest and it was like all had ceased to breathe.
Lothíriel watched the rapid change with surprise.
"What is happening?" she whispered to Aearon. The young admiral shook his head and he too was slightly confused. Then from his other side, Helena whispered.
"It is customary that the king have the first dance with the lady of his choosing. It is a great honor to the lady and her family as it more often than not results between a union between the king and his chosen lady," she whispered, and then pointed to a small group of women at the base of their table.
Lothíriel followed her gaze and nearly laughed. It was a group of six pretty young ladies, modeling the latest fashion of clothing's, color and hair styles and each of them wearing an expression of hope, anxiety and fear. To Lothíriel, they looked like fishes out of water with their wide eyes and gaping mouth. She silently wondered which of them Éomer would pick.
But then, a mop of brown hair blocked her view and she realized that he may not pick any of the six ladies. A scraping of chair legs against wooden flooring caused her to turn to where the king in thought was sitting… or standing as it would be. From the corner of her eyes she saw him make his way to her side of the tables and involuntarily she held her breath. But she released it when she remembered that lady Helena was sitting two seats away from her.
They would make a wonderful pair, he so strong and tall, she petite and beautiful. No doubt their children will be striking and gold, naturally, and Captain Helfast would be terribly proud. And wasn't Éomer's father once the Chief of Marshal, so it is befitting that Éomer would marry the daughter of a…… ah!
Lothíriel looked stupidly at the hand that was hovering near her head, its palms upwards in an inviting gesture. Her eyes then traveled to look into the blue eyed owner, who was smiling down at her, somewhat nervous.
"Princess, will you dance with me?" his deep voice said but it was a few seconds before she could comprehend his words. Carefully she placed her hand into his, and nodded.
"It would be an honor, your majesty," she barely recognized her calm voice, a complete contrast to the raging storm within her.
As she followed him onto the makeshift dance floor, her head bent as she walked beside him, Lothíriel could feel the stares boring into her back like daggers. She was also very much aware of the death looks from the Gawking Six and made a quick prayer that she would leave the dance floor in one piece. But when Éomer placed his one arm around her waist and clasped his other hand around hers, pulling her close that her body was molded into his, any thought of those around her melted as did her surroundings. Looking into his eyes, she could see no one but him and that his arms were around her. And within her, she could feel the pleasant stirring of heat radiating from the middle of her body, becoming larger and larger that it engulfed her entire self, making her aware of every inch of her that was pressed against him.
Éomer didn't realize the mistake he had done until he was on the dance floor with her body pressed closely against his. And the way she was looking at him made him feel he could lift a mountain and drain a sea. How could something so near be so far away from his grasp? He wanted to close his eyes and savor the feeling of her body molding perfectly to his. A sudden stirring caused him to quickly withdraw his thoughts and think of neutral things. They were too close for her to not feel… him and the last thing he wanted to do was insult her delicate sensitivity.
But it was so hard to stop himself from not feeling. Never had he wanted such a woman in his life, in his bed like he did her. When he looked into her ocean blue eyes, he could see his entire future in it. Never would his life be boring if she were in it. Damn protocol to hell and back. If it weren't for his stupid sense of duty to his countrymen he would have this delectable raven haired angel in his arms and perhaps already with his child. Whoa, slow down… this is dangerous grounds, Éomer, his inner self warned. Mentally he gave himself a shake and instead gazed into her eyes, emptying his mind to drown into their depths.
From the high table, Éowyn moved to lean against Faramir's shoulder. In response she felt him wrap his arms around her knowing that as long as Éomer was distracted by Lothíriel, he has nothing to fear. He felt Éowyn sigh against him.
"Do you think we can have a double wedding?" she asked her voice complacent. What she had originally thought would be three weeks of conniving and scheming seems to have become a one night event, where she didn't even have to strain a brain cell cooking up manipulative scenarios.
"If you mean your brother and my cousin, then we may never get married," Faramir replied. Éowyn sat up and looked at him, her eyes wide.
"What do you mean?" she asked. Faramir cringed at the thought of dashing her hopes of Lothíriel and Éomer getting married but she had to know.
"This morn, just before his crowning, Éomer asked permission from my uncle to engage Lothíriel for a first dance," he said.
"That is good is it not?" Éowyn interrupted.
"Perhaps, only Éomer made it clear that he is doing so because she is a guest princess. He is extending courtesy, as he says it," replied Faramir. Éowyn put on such a disappointed look that Faramir couldn't help but laugh and pull her back into his arms and tried to elevate her despair.
"But from what is going on the dance floor, you may still have your wish," he added. Éowyn looked to her brother and friend and cheered up. Faramir was right. At the rate they were staring hungrily into each other's eyes, marriage was inevitable.
And, in the eyes of the Prince of Dol Amroth, who sat glaring at Éomer (despite giving permission), if they do not marry for mutual feelings then, it will be at the end of Imrahil's sword, for any man looking at his daughter like that must wed her to save her honor.
Erchirion and Amrothos had their hands full of trying to stop a despondent Elphir from drinking himself senseless to really have an opinion of their sister and Éomer.
Aragorn, his arms around his wife, gave a sympathetic chuckle.
"He is hooked, yet he knows it not. I pity him when he does realize it," he whispered into Arwen's ears and the four hobbits exchanged looks as if saying poor Éomer. What the Master Dwarf said to the Elf Prince would probably not be proper to be repeated in decent company.
However, on the dance floor, the subject of their friends pondering yet unaware of it, Éomer and Lothíriel continued swaying to the gentle music, not once breaking eye contact. Their heads were so near each other that he could see those lips, so lush, so succulent, calling him to touch it with his own. He watched her lips part and seeing the pink moist tip against her lips made his knees weak. Memories of their first kiss under the moonlight so many days ago came flooding in, and he knew by the pink tinges on her cheeks, she remembered it as well.
His eyes hypnotized her, like he was seeing pass her into her soul, and he was pulling her closer towards him. She didn't feel any movement but suddenly she could make out the individual strands of his thick lashes. His smell, a mixture of sweet hay and maleness drifted into her nostrils, the kind of smell that made her know he was all male and she was all female.
But at that moment, a loud sound in the form of someone clearing his throat broke the spell that bound the two. Lothíriel blinked and to her embarrassment she realized she was on her toes and judging from the angle of his head, Éomer was about to kiss her. And that the music had long ended.
Quickly they released each other, neither of them looking at each other, or anyone else for that matter. Tucking her arm into his, Éomer turned to his guest and with great flourish he invited them to dance, indicating to the band to begin playing again. However no one stirred from their seats, as they were still in wonder of what they had seen transpire between their king and the Princess Lothíriel, who was still attached to his arm, though head low. Éomer gave his sister and a pleading look and she nodded understanding his situation. So immediately she stood up.
"Come my lords and ladies, the night is still young so let us dance and be merry," she said, a huge smile on her face. Then she held her hand out to Faramir and the two headed down to the dance floor, followed closely by Aragorn and Arwen. Éomer though escorted Lothíriel back to her seat and after thanking her for the dance, went to move to the furthest side of the field, far, far away from her and her glaring father. That was the first and last time he asked her for a dance that night.
But that was enough for Lothíriel as she stood gazing into the night skies from the bedchambers assigned to her. The celebration had just about ended but still there was much activity happening below her window and with the alertness of her mind, Lothíriel was not inclined to sleep just as yet. Also, she wanted to dream a little bit longer about her dance with Éomer, engrave the images deeper into her mind so when ever she wishes she can conjure it back just as clearly. She had danced with many men after him but neither of them left much of an imprint on her body as his touch did. And that she would savor for many years to come.
A soft knock on her door caused her to pull away from the window.
"Come in," she said, wondering who it could be. The door opened a jar and her father's head popped in.
"Am I disturbing, swan?" he asked. Lothíriel smiled and shook her head, beckoning him to come in. Imrahil entered and sat on her bed, where she joined him. Sighing contentedly, she wrapped her arms around her father and leaned against his shoulder.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" he asked needlessly. Lothíriel's grin grew broader as she looked up at him.
"Oh yes, father. I did very much, especially the dancing. How about you father?" she asked. Imrahil shrugged his shoulders.
"It was alright, but I was extremely disappointed Éomer didn't ask me to dance as well, you two seemed to be having much fun," he said with a little sadness. Lothíriel's eyes widened then realized her father was teasing her.
"Father! Don't tease me so! He was just being friendly," she cried out pulling away from Imrahil. Her father laughed and pulled her back to him.
"Forgive me, I couldn't help it," he said then his face turned serious.
"However, I do not think… well… from what I see… I think he likes you, daughter… a lot," Imrahil said, stressing on the last bit.
"And honestly, I don't think it's a good idea for you to stay here without me or your brothers to supervise you… or him," he continued. Lothíriel's eyes widen in despair.
"Father, please let me stay! I made a promise to Éowyn; please do not ask me to take it back. I will be good, I promise, and father, you know that Éomer would never do anything to dishonor our family or his," she pleaded to him. Imrahil inhaled deeply. It had seemed so easy when he thought of it earlier on, but now faced with his daughter, he couldn't bring himself to deny her anything. And she was right, Éomer was an honorable man. He would not jeopardize Lothíriel's virtue, but lay down his sword to defend it.
"I suppose you are right, and you do want to stay don't you?" he asked her. Lothíriel nodded.
"Yes, people here are so free spirited and happy, and let me just be a little like them before I have to return being a princess again," she said and Imrahil couldn't help laugh. She made it sound like being a princess was a fate worst than death.
"Alright, you may stay for the three weeks agreed, but if I hear even the slightest inappropriate behavior from either one of you, I will personally heave you home, is that understood?" he said sternly. Lothíriel nodded and hugged him.
"Yes, father. You can trust us, we'll be very good," she said happily. Imrahil tightened his arms around his daughter. It wasn't that he didn't trust them; it's just that Éomer was so much a man and his daughter… well; she wasn't a little girl anymore. He didn't want her to loose her heart to a man that may end up breaking it. Another knocking was heard on the door and in stepped Elphir. He grinned at them then unsteadily walked towards them, tripping on his foot and landing on the bed in a heap. Lothíriel grinned at his fallen figure while Imrahil clucked disapprovingly.
"Eli, if you can't hold your drink, you shouldn't have drunk excessively," reprimanded Imrahil. Elphir said nothing but groaned into the bed sheet. Then with a great effort he flipped himself over to look at them.
"Have you changed you mind? Will you come home with us instead tomorrow," he asked his sister, his tone a little slurred. Lothíriel giggled but shook her head.
"No, Eli. I will stay my three weeks here," she said. He groaned again and closed his eye momentarily.
"Well then do try and teach that vixen some sense of propriety," he said. Imrahil and Lothíriel exchanged looks.
"What vixen?" Imrahil asked.
"That vixen! Helen… Holly…" he began.
"Helena, the Chief Marshal's daughter," corrected Lothíriel. Elphir nodded.
"Yes, her. Doesn't she know that it is improper to drag a man onto the dance floor? It's the men who should do the asking," he grumbled and an image of a stunned Elphir being pulled by a lady half his size came into mind, that caused his father and sister to laugh.
"Oh, Eli. I don't think she meant any harm. I think she likes you," Lothíriel said suggestively. Elphir shot her a murderous look.
"My wife will be a lady of decorum and gentility, not a half-wild she-devil," he said, his eyes narrowing further when his words were met with laughter.
"Alright Eli, if you say so. Come on, son; let me take you back to your chambers. You will have a horrific head ache as it is tomorrow morning," said Imrahil and got to his feet. Any attempts from Elphir to get up were met with failure until Imrahil had to grab hold of him and haul him to his feet. Then placing a supportive arm under his son, Imrahil helped his son walk. They both managed a good night to Lothíriel and then were gone. Although a muffled thud and cursing from her father just outside her door told her they hadn't gone far.
But sleep was catching up with her and she moved to snuggle between her comforters, moving a little till she was comfortable. Seconds later, she was fast asleep.
Morning came quickly and in a daze Lothíriel found herself at the steps of Meduseld saying her goodbyes to her family. She was unable to stop the tears from pricking her eyes or the choke in her throat from surfacing as she held her brothers tight.
"Take care Eli, don't work yourself so hard that you forget to eat or sleep," she said tearfully. Elphir gave her a lopsided grin despite the throbbing in his head.
"I won't, and you try not to become too barbaric okay?" he added, quietly though, so no one else heard. She laughed and lightly smacked his arm. She turned to Erchirion.
"And you, lets try and keep those pants belted up a little longer than one hour a day okay?" she said and Erchirion laughed out loud. He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her head.
"Yes ma'am," he replied. Amrothos was next and his hug was fiercer that the other two.
"I'll miss you, Riel," he said passionately and once again tears choked her.
"I'll miss you too, and promise you won't shut yourself up with those books of yours all the time," she said. He nodded with a smile.
"I promise," was his reply. Then he moved away and this time Lothíriel couldn't stop her tears from falling. Biting her lips she looked at her father standing before her. He opened his arms and she nearly leapt into them, sobbing against his chest.
"Shh, swan, it isn't as if you are staying here for good," he said and no one realized the conspirational look that passed between Éowyn and Amrothos.
"I know, but I'll miss you so much," she whispered. Imrahil hugged her tighter.
"And I will miss you, but three weeks will pass so quickly, that you'll be back to being a boring princess before you even know it," he replied and she laughed through her tears. They pulled away and he wiped her tear stained face. Her cousin wished to say his goodbye next so Imrahil turned to the King of Rohan. They clasped hands, and Imrahil bent down a little to Éomer.
"If one strand of her hair is harmed, I will break you with my own bare hands," he said softly, a smile still on his face. Éomer returned the smile albeit somewhat wobbly for he knew the authenticity behind Imrahil's words.
"I will guard her with my life," he replied.
"Make sure you do," Imrahil responded then released Éomer's hand with a wink. Éomer released a relieved sigh.
"Have a safe trip home, friend, and I look forward to seeing you again in the white city," he said.
"As well as I, old friend," Imrahil replied then moved away to say good bye to Éowyn then mounted his horse. His sons and men were already mounted. Only Aearon remained grounded and he did not look forward to the ride at all.
"Come on, Aearon. The faster you ride, the faster you may return to your beloved ships," cried Elphir. Aearon gave him a withering look the turned to Lothíriel.
"Well, princess, we part ways here. Do take care of yourself, and if you ever wish to come home, I will ride out to get you myself," he said. Lothíriel smiled widely at him. For him to say that was already a huge thing.
"Thank you, Aearon. I shall be fine, so there is no need for such a sacrifice on your behalf," she responded. Then Aearon reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a vial. Inside it was water, sand and white shells stuck together in the shape of a swan.
"Just in case, I made this for you. It is the water from our ocean and the sand from our beach. Even the shells, I had collected from our shores," he said. Lothíriel took the gift and with great delight flung her arms around him.
"Oh thank you, Aearon. This is so wonderful, thank you so much!" she gushed and held the vial gently in her hands. Aearon gave her a grin.
"Glad you like it. Oh well, it is time to ride. Wish me luck, princess," he said and had on such a forlorn face that Lothíriel laughed again.
"You will do well, Lord Aearon, and my blessings go with you," she answered.
"Then it is worth the pain, if the blessings of such a beautiful lady accompany me," he said and Lothíriel couldn't help but blush. Giving him a shove, she pushed him towards his horse. Naturally of course, neither realized the death like looks of a seething king nearby, with his hand already on the hilt of his sword.
Éomer was never a petty man, but this admiral brought out the worst in him. Never had Éomer felt the need to insult a man as he did towards Aearon. So with anger bubbling inside him, he waited till the man had mounted his horse, and then with a huge smile on his face he called out to Aearon.
"Lord Aearon, a gift to ease your sufferings," he called out and threw something to the other man. Aearon caught it easily and held it before him. It was a cushion. There was silence as the people looked between the two. But as he had done before, Aearon broke into a grin and saluted Éomer with the cushion. Then he lifted himself slightly and placed the cushion into his seat.
"Thank you your majesty, I feel better already," he replied, his tone jovial that everyone around him dissolved into small laughter but Éomer did not miss the glint in Aearon's eyes. But he was not worried. Lothíriel will be in his city for the next three weeks, far, far away from the pesky admiral.
The Gondor entourage left shortly later and only once they were out of sight did Éomer, Éowyn and Lothíriel move to return back to the Golden Hall. Lothíriel walked a little in front of them, her shoulders slumped in sadness. Éowyn took this opportunity to speak to her brother.
"That was spiteful of you brother," she hissed to him in Rohirric, low enough so only they could hear it.
"All's fair in love and war, sister," he replied back. Éowyn bristled.
"But you do not love her nor will you promise her marriage. So let her be, so that one day she may marry Aearon," she answered back. Éomer shot her a dagger look and quickened his steps to join Lothíriel, leaving Éowyn behind. Éowyn grinned evilly. So he does not like the thought of Lothíriel marrying anyone, eh? That suited her just well.
End of Chapter 9
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