::disclaimer:: you know i don't own this. i'd love to have eomer over for dinner, though.
Chapter XXII
The ride back to the city was quiet. Lothíriel hardly spoke to Éomer, and he got the distinct impression that she was deep in thought. When they reached the gates, she looked at him. "I do not want to go to the festival tonight. I know you were going to escort me, but I do not feel well. I shall tell Adar not to expect me this evening."
Éomer nodded, wondering if perhaps she meant for him to leave the festival early and visit her. She had not complained of feeling ill before, but with her silence on the ride back, he was not sure that it was an act. They departed ways at the stables, Lothíriel going to her rooms and Éomer opting to visit Saberman's for a while.
Though it was just past noon, the pub was nearly empty. Éomer slid into a seat at the bar, and Erulehton came to take his order. "Ale, please," he said.
"What's wrong, Éomer?" the other man asked as he set the drink down. "You seem distracted." The Rohirrim gave him a glance, and Erulehton nodded slowly in recognition. "Lothíriel."
"Aye, Lothíriel." He took a long draught of his drink. "I've made her promises, Erulehton, and I don't know if I can keep them."
"What sort of promises?"
"I promised her that, when the time is right…." Éomer buried his head in his hands. "Why did I say it? She and I both know that it is an empty promise. Even if I had her father's blessing, I could not take her back to Rohan. I am not even supposed to be here." He swore in Rohirric. "Théodred should have sent someone else. I have only made a mess of things."
"Nonsense," said a voice from behind. Éomer jumped and turned on his barstool. It was—surprisingly—Erchirion. The older man sat down next to Éomer.
"What are you doing here?" he asked stiffly, noticing that Lothíriel's brother still looked like he was recovering from a hangover.
"I was looking for you. I saw Lothíriel in the palace—she was complaining of an upset stomach, but I didn't believe her—she said that you had come here. So," he continued, "I came here as well." He turned to Erulehton, who had busied himself with wiping the bar. "Erulehton, could you bring me an ale?" The bartender nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. The prince turned back to Éomer. "I am not stupid, and I have not forgotten that I found you and Lothíriel together in her room. While I did have a headache, I know it was not from too much wine." He looked evenly at Éomer. "Now, I want you to be honest with me, Master Horse-lord. What have you and my sister been doing for the past week? And start at the beginning, we have plenty of time before the feast."
Quite certain that he would not be able to lie to the prince, Éomer began to relate all of the events of his brief yet bizarre relationship with the princess. He told of his initial meeting with her, of his allergy to crab, of falling asleep in her arms numerous times, he even admitted to the real reason he had come to Dol Amroth, which was received with more surprise than anger from Erchirion.
"Have you told Adar of this?" he asked.
Éomer shook his head. "I do not know how to face him now. I was not expecting to be—how should I say it?—ensnared by your sister."
Erchirion laughed, and Éomer thought of Lothíriel's laugh, light and fluid. "That would be a good way of putting it." He sighed. "Perhaps it would be best if you did not tell Adar of your original intentions immediately. You should continue with the premise of making trade agreements and then include the possibility of a military alliance as an addition to your contract. And then you should return to Rohan, tell Lord Théodred the deal is set, and bring horses back to Dol Amroth."
"But what happens when your father sends things to us?"
Erchirion scratched his beard. "Say that you or whomever brings the horses will take the goods back to Rohan with them. That way, it saves Adar's merchants a journey and you your secrecy."
"That may work," replied Éomer. "But why are you helping me? As far as I can see it, you've no reason to do so."
"Many in my country do not trust your people. They see you as barbarians, little better than the Haradrim or even the Dunlendings that your people constantly fight. My uncle and my older brother are among these." He bit his lip. "I do not see it that way. Your people are different, yes, but it does not make you barbaric. You have light hair and lighter eyes, but so do the Wood-Elves, or so the tales say, though they are supposed to be of a leaner build. Your people are reputedly great warriors and even greater horse-men." He grinned. "Besides, they say your king's father married a Gondorian. You can't be all bad."
"Morwen of Lossarnach," whispered Éomer, "Shieldmaiden of Rohan. My grandmother."
Erchirion raised his eyebrows. "You are that close in line to the throne?"
Éomer nodded. "If my cousin never marries, I will be his heir. Of course, my becoming king is highly unlikely; Théodred is well sought-after in Edoras, even if he is forty."
"I see." They lapsed into silence. Erchirion shook his head and then turned to glance out the window. "Blast, it's raining." Éomer turned to see that the prince was right, though he had not noticed it begin. "Well, I suppose we should go," the older man said. "We wouldn't want to be late for the evening's festivities, even if they are held inside."
The festivities that night were subdued. The rain had gone from a light sprinkle to a full downpour as Éomer and Erchirion hurried back to the palace, and more than one of the guests were a bit soggy when they arrived.
Éomer sat with Erchirion and Amrothos at the lower end of the table. They filled Amrothos in on the events of the day. He agreed with Erchirion on the best way to handle the trade agreements. "It would have been better if you had come out with the truth in the beginning, though."
"I know," said Éomer, "but Théodred did not think it was wise."
"Where is Lothíriel?" said a voice from behind them. The three men turned as one. The man who had spoken was tall, with reddish-brown hair already tinged with grey.
"Lord Aermaethor," Erchirion said evenly.
"Prince Erchirion." The man—Lord Aermaethor—inclined his head. "Your sister is absent this evening, I see."
"She did not feel well," the prince ground out.
"Perhaps she has been poisoned by the rochir's deadly fumes." He sneered at Éomer.
"Or perhaps she did not want to be poisoned by the lies that follow you, Aermaethor," muttered Amrothos.
"What did you say, princeling?" he snapped.
"He didn't say anything," cut in Erchirion. "Did you, Amrothos?" He looked pointedly at his brother.
"Nothing at all," Amrothos said lightly.
Aermaethor grunted. "I have better things to do than talk with second and third sons." He turned to Éomer. "I'll be seeing you, rochir." He walked away and disappeared into the crowd.
Erchirion turned to Éomer. "Éomer, have you met Lord Aermaethor? He entertains the idea that Lothíriel is in love with him which causes him to be oblivious to the fact that she cannot stand the man."
"I wonder why she does not like him," said Éomer. "Is he always like that?"
"Only when he thinks that Lothíriel is going to leave him."
"I see. And he has never thought that maybe Lothíriel was never with him to begin with?"
Amrothos snorted. "Lord Aermaethor? See reality? That is more unlikely than Lothíriel's consenting to marry him."
"What is this?" asked Faramir, coming toward the three men. "Are you three having fun without me?"
"Always," said Amrothos.
"That is too bad. I have a message for Éomer." The ranger looked at the horse-lord. "Lothíriel sends her greetings and asks that you meet her below your window."
Éomer looked at Erchirion, who nodded. "Go on. I won't tell a soul."
A/N: well there you have it. some recon work. and i hope it wasn't too sudden, because i was a little nervous about that. oh yes! i'm starting up a xanga/blogring/thing dedicated to e/l fics. anyone interested, visit my profile, click on the link that says xanga, and join us!
Replies:
blue eyes at night: lol..now that you've met lord aermaethor, are you sure that eomer'd be worth the marriage? wait a second, what am i saying? of course he would be!
lariren-shadow: oh yes, a seductress she is. glad you liked the chappie!
lometari: hehe…someone actually caught the joke about denethor playing ar-pharazon! hooray! i'm glad somebody liked that part!
lirima tindomiel: wouldn't we all? lol..i enjoyed coming up with the embarrassing stories (they were so easy, too!).
quizabella: i think you tried to e-mail me again, and it still didn't work. i don't know what's up with the blasted thing.
dancin' over the edge: i was a little worried about that transition…sometimes they can be more abrupt than you realize. thanks for allaying my fears (ooh, big word!).
hotdogfish: as always, thankies very muchly for the reviews!