Sorry for the long delay with this, but real life seems to intrude far more often than I would like. Thanks to all who reviewed, you've all been very kind!
Chapter 4 – The Courtship Officially Begins
The morning after the dinner dawned without much to recommend it. The air was dim and hazy from the building work going on all over the city. Minas Tirith had suffered severe damage during the war and the citizens were eager to repair their beloved home and make it as it was before. Some had tears in their eyes as they washed blood from the stone blocks of their city remembering others who would never again see the white towers shine in the sun.
Lothíriel sat at her window surveying the city as her breakfast lay untouched behind her on a table. Her sight was oddly blurred, though she saw the Minas Tirith laid out before her, it was obscured by a faint image of Éomer's face as he had looked the previous night. The uneasy hours of darkness she had spent turning and twisting in her bed had exhausted her and she felt wearier than she could ever remember feeling before. She wished she were back home where she could run to the stables and have Nimrodel saddled and waiting for her to be taken racing in the grass. Sighing she turned away from her window only to be met by her father's concerned face. Prince Imrahil had entered the chamber some moments previously and had observed his daughter consumed in her reverie.
'Good morning, Father,' she said attempting a smile.
'Oh my dear,' he answered sympathetically. Within a minute Lothíriel found herself enveloped in her father's strong arms. 'Do not fret child,' he said into her hair, 'I know you were disappointed by how last night went, but do not worry! Éomer is not just a king, he is a warrior. One bad sortie will not discourage a man of his mettle. He will not be put off, unless I have misjudged him greatly.'
'Oh but you did not, Father,' said his daughter, 'it struck me like a blow as I was with him last night. He is a man of great worth and I admit that you were right about him. I think he is someone I could love…but things went so awry last night! I couldn't stop myself! Did you hear me? I sounded like a fishwife! Why didn't you stop my mouth with your napkin?'
Imrahil smiled unseen as he held his daughter again. Her tendency to sarcasm was well known in Belfalas, she could never resist a quip if there was one for the taking. It was a trait she had inherited from her mother and for that sake alone, Imrahil treasured it and encouraged her verbal dexterity whenever the opportunity arose. They often had each other and their court in fits of giggles as they jousted with jibes of a winter's evening.
Imrahil privately doubted that a docile lady would suit the King of Rohan, Lothíriel was the perfect consort for a man of Éomer's temperament.
'Do not worry,' he repeated firmly. His daughter smiled wanly back at him and Imrahil rolled his eyes, 'and do not smile like that! It makes you look ill!'
Lothíriel grimaced at her father and fetched him a light blow on the shoulder. Laughing, Imrahil left his cheered daughter to dress and went in search of his breakfast.
Éomer woke from a sound sleep and sat up with a grin on his face. Today was the day! Leaving the bed, he splashed about with the warm water left in his chamber until he felt suitably refreshed and cleansed. A quick dragging of an ivory comb through his hair and he was ready to dress. Surveying his limited wardrobe, he dressed in a comfortable but elegant tunic and breeches and eschewed his formal armour. He smoothed his hair down once more and then set off in search of breakfast. After last night's uncomfortable dining experience he was ravenous and prepared to be open minded about the bill of fare. The cooking in Minas Tirith was much more elaborate than that of Edoras. On more than a few occasions, he had been forced to close his eyes when swallowing some delicacy or other preferring not to know what he was consuming.
To his relief, the Great Hall was redolent with the simple smells of breakfast of oat porridge and bacon. The King of Rohan sat down to a full plate and commenced filling his stomach for the day's work ahead.
With his appetite sated, Éomer set off to find Imrahil. He didn't have to go far, the Prince of Dol Amroth entered the hall and sat down to his own breakfast.
'Ah! Éomer!' he called when he spotted the young King. 'Have you had breakfast yet?'
A memory of slithery eels in a spiced grainy sauce suddenly crossed Éomer's mind. The cursed things had been impossible to keep on the fork…
Shrugging internally he replied, 'No, not yet,' and took a seat opposite Imrahil. May as well fill up while he could…. no one could tell what would be produced for dinner that night.
He watched as Imrahil spooned up heaping mounds of porridge onto his plate and sighed inwardly.
Imrahil had just taken his first bite when Éomer spoke.
'Your daughter,' he started quickly, 'Lothíriel,' he clarified, 'I would know if she is betrothed yet?'
Imrhail swallowed his mouthful and feigned a pensive air. 'Lothíriel, Lothíriel,' he murmured, 'remind me friend, is she the one I brought with me for the wedding?'
Éomer dropped his spoon with a clang and just stared at Imrahil until the older man broke down into laughter.
'No, Éomer,' he answered finally, 'my daughter is not yet betrothed. You see, I have not found a man I think she would suit.'
'I think she would suit me, if you would consider the match a fitting one,' said Éomer baldly.
'I agree,' said Imrahil simply, 'now all you have to do is convince her.'
Éomer smiled ruefully. 'Easier said than done, my friend,' he said, 'but I take it that you will not object if I court her?'
'Oh, I will not object in the slightest,' said Imrahil, 'for who am I to deny the average citizen of Minas Tirith their amusement? This should improve morale no end! People need to have some merriment in their lives, especially at times like these. You seem to have a peculiar talent for saying the wrong thing around my daughter. I shall observe your endeavours with great interest. As will everyone else, I imagine.'
Éomer smiled again but Imrahil noticed there was a slightly strained air about him. Excusing himself from the breakfast table Éomer made his exit feeling not exactly himself. Whether it was an excess of porridge or the similar feeling that he had bitten off more than he could chew, he could not say.