A/N: okies, fifty points to lariren, balrogthane, and aerin-sol for correctly naming the song "brandy (you're a fine girl)." it's not a sea-chanty, lotr-nutcase, it's a song from the 70s. btw, if you are of the weak stomach, you may wish to skip the first five paragraphs. we have a nauseating beginning.
::disclaimer:: i own nothing. not even the song. it's actually a poem from the adventures of tom bombadil called "shadow-bride."
Chapter VI
The two companions returned to the palace later that afternoon. Perhaps they would have stayed out longer, but Éomer had begun to feel nauseated and Lothíriel thought it would be best if they returned for the evening. Éomer retired to his room, complaining of an upset stomach. Lothíriel offered to bring him some food, but he refused, saying that he would rest. Lothíriel said nothing.
And so he slept, tossing and turning. At one point, he awoke and ran immediately to the bath room, where he promptly vomited into the toilet. It was at this time that Lothíriel chose to bring him food. She quietly opened the door and, seeing that he was not in bed, walked in. She set the bread and cheese she had brought on a table. A dim candle sat on the bedside table. Lothíriel lit another and glanced around.
"Éomer?" she called quietly. A groan from the bath was his only reply. Lothíriel walked over and pushed the door slightly open. Éomer was hunched over the toilet, retching. "Milord, are you alright?"
He shook his head. "I-I--" he retched again.
"Give me but a moment, I will fetch you some water." He may have nodded, but Lothíriel was not certain. She went back into the hall and called for a servant. "I need a pitcher of cold water and a mug of chamomile tea. It would seem Lord Éomer has come down with a stomach condition." The servant nodded and left to do as the princess bid. Lothíriel returned to the room. "A servant is bringing some cold water and some tea to soothe your stomach. Can you stand?"
"Maybe...." He stood shakily, taking the princess's hand to steady himself. Lothíriel led him back to his bed. The servant reappeared with a tray of water, tea, and broth.
"The cook sent some chicken stock as well," he said, placing the tray next to the other food Lothíriel had brought.
"Thank you."
"Anything else, milady?"
"No, that is all." She turned to the tray and poured a glass of water for Éomer. "Here, drink this," she ordered.
"What is it?"
"Water. Now, drink up." She thrust it into his hands. "You really should have told me you were allergic to crab. I wouldn't have made you eat it."
"Haha. You are not funny, princess."
"I wasn't trying to be. Can you eat something and hold it down? I won't have you vomiting on my nightgown." For the first time, Éomer realized that she was indeed dressed only in her nightgown.
"What time is it?"
"Nearly midnight, I think."
"Why are you in here?"
"I wanted to make sure you were all right. It wouldn't do if the emissary from Rohan fell ill."
"Thank you."
"Now, can you eat anything? You really should get something in your stomach if at all possible."
"I think I'll be all right now."
"Good. Have some bread." She handed him the small loaf and then the chicken broth as an afterthought. He ate, and she watched in silence, brushing his hair out of his face. Quietly, she began to croon:
"There was a man who dwelt alone,
as day and night went past
he sat as still as carven stone,
and yet no shadow cast.
The white owls perched upon his head
beneath the winter moon;
they wiped their beaks and thought him dead
under the stars of June.
There came a lady clad in grey
in the twilight shining:
one moment she would stand and stay,
her hair with flowers entwining.
He woke, as had he sprung of stone,
and broke the spell that bound him;
he clasped her fast, both flesh and bone,
and wrapped her shadow round him.
There never more she walks her ways
by sun or moon or star;
she dwells below where neither days
nor any nights there are.
But once a year when caverns yawn
and hidden things awake,
they dance together then till dawn
and a single shadow make."
As she drew the song to a close, Lothíriel realized she could not leave. Éomer snored gently, his arm flung around her waist. She tried to move, but he wrapped his arm more securely around her. She sighed heavily and sank lower into the warm bed. Lothíriel's last fleeting thought as she drifted off was that she would need to wake early to avoid scandal.
A/N (again): sorry this is so short. the next chapter will be longer, i promise!