PROMPT: Daemon AU
The room is tense. Between the low, angry murmurs of Eomer's riders and their daemons' accompanying agitated noises, it is a cacophony of sound. Lothiriel cannot blame them-the reports of coordinated Orc attacks on the towns at the Gondor-Rohan border is a dire one, especially with winter rapidly approaching.
"We should send to Aragorn for aid," says Eothain, his red setter quivering at his feet. "We do not know how many of them there are, or who or what is leading them-"
"Must we turn to Gondor for every skirmish now? We eorlingas have defended ourselves perfectly well for generations. These are Orcs-mindless creatures. Likely starving. Why else would they attack the grainarys first?" Argues Ordlac. "Let us send the Third Marshall and his eored."
Round and round the arguments go and from where she sits, Lothiriel can see that Eomer's back is ramrod straight.
It is not her place, but oh, how she wishes she could go to him, put a hand between his shoulder blades and remind him that he is not alone in this, that there is more to life than fighting enemies and guarding the innocent, more to life than constant battle and strife-
An agitated clack behind her makes her flinch. A peregrine's beak is no gentle thing, after all.
"I am sorry," she whispers. "Am I being too obvious?"
"Just to me, I think," Astor murmurs back.
Her daemon is a familiar and comforting presence at her back and she is glad of him-one piece of home and family amongst so much uncertainty. She tries to turn her attention back to her letter from Faramir. Gondor has born witness to no such attacks, that much is clear, and most of her cousin's writing is focused on his newly-married life. She is glad for him, and for Eowyn, though she cannot help but wish that they and Himmeth and Baldmund were here.
-you must come to Ithillien when you return home, Loth. Eowyn would love to see you again, and soon, for I suspect we may have happy news to share with you.
Lothiriel blinks in surprise at Faramir's thinly veiled message. Eowyn and Faramir, parents! Oh, but that is such wonderful news. Part of her wants to shoot to her feet, stride across the floor, and interrupt the tedious discussion of battle preparation to tell Eomer, if only to see his happiness and surprise. Things she likes much better on his face than care and worry.
There is another ruffle of feathers from behind her and Lothiriel sighs. She is so tired of having to hide how she feels. Valar knows Astor is even more tired of having to remind her to do so. He has always been the more sensible, the more cautious, of the two of them, and usually she is grateful for it.
"I am sorry," she says again, reaching behind her with her face still turned towards the letter. "I know you tire of it, Astor-"
His feathers are as soft as ever under the tips of her fingers, but there is something off about the sensation.
A sudden sharp intake of breath from across the room has her looking up, only to find-
Everyone, human and daemon alike, staring at her.
She blinks in confusion. "My lords?"
"Lothiriel," comes Astor's voice, tinged with urgency, "lift your hand-"
"What?"
And she turns to face him, her fingers curling into his feathers of their own accord-
No. Not his feathers. Aethel's feathers.
It is her turn to gasp. Oh, Valar, she cannot have done this! To touch another's daemon breaks every code of decency, every ounce of propriety. And that it is Eomer's daemon is even worse-
Eomer's great golden eagle blinks her bright yellow eyes and then pushes her head further into Lothiriel's palm.
There is another sharp intake of breath from behind her, but Lothiriel dare not turn to look and see the source.
"Out!" Comes Eothain's voice. "Out, everyone out, stop your gawping!"
There is a shuffle of feet, wings, and paws, but mercifully, no one protests.
Gently as she can, she lifts her hand from Aethel's head. The eagle makes a planitive noise as she does so and Lothiriel feels as if her heart might crack open; what if she has hurt her? Hurt Eomer?
"I am sorry," she says, feeling foolish, unhelpful tears rapidly rising, "I-I thought she was Astor, I did not know she was there-"
"It's alright," Eomer answers, sounding much closer-Lothiriel cannot tell in truth, for she dares not lift her eyes from the floor. "There's-there's no harm done."
That does make her look at him in shock. Eomer is known for his honesty. To lie so blatantly, and to her, about so important a thing, stings.
"You need not soften it," she fires back, comforted slightly by the familiar sensation of Astor's claws coming to rest on her shoulder. "I have done wrong, unintentionally or not. If I hurt you-either of you-I would know it."
Eomer's eyes are dark, darker than usual, in his handsome face and he swallows thickly, once, twice, before answering. "You did not," he says, holding out his arm so that Aethel might come and perch on it, "hurt us."
"I-I don't understand-"
Aethel turns her bright, piercing eyes towards her once more. Calmly, she says, "You could never hurt us," as if it is the most simple thing in the world.
Astor gives a startled screech right next to Lothiriel's ear, but she barely hears it over the sudden thud of her own pulse.
You did not hurt us, you could never hurt us, you did not-
"Oh," she whispers, reaching up to grasp desperately at Astor's talons. "Why-why on earth didn't you say anything?"
Eomer swallows again, running a hand over Aethel's side. "You are here on a diplomatic mission. It hardly felt right to...mention such a thing."
She cannot fault him-that had been a portion of the reason she had worked so hard to conceal her own feelings. But it was not the whole reason, for her, and she suspects it is not for him either.
"And if I told you it did not matter?"
At once, Lothiriel can see he has misunderstood, for Aethel shuffles closer on his forearm to tuck her head into the curve of his neck and Eomer-well, he nearly folds in on himself, unsure in a way she has never seen before, and certainly doesn't like.
"I would understand. I am not so foolish to assume that you would return my-our-affection-"
Astor interrupts him with another pointed screech, one that has Lothiriel shooting to her feet. "You would be foolish to do anything than assume otherwise!"
Now it is Eomer's turn to gawk at her, with Aethel looking as gobsmacked as possible for a gold eagle to be. "What?"
Brave, I must be brave if I am to be happy, she thinks before stepping forward to take one of her hands between hers. "Eomer. I cannot tell you how many times I have wished that I were here on a betrothal tour rather than a diplomatic one."
He swallows again, fingers nearly crushing hers. "Lothiriel, please, speak plainly-"
"I love you. I have loved you for weeks, now-"
He kisses her into silence before she can finish her confession. Both of their daemons screech in half-hearted protest when their arms come around one another, but Lothiriel cannot bring herself to care-how can she care for anything else than Eomer and the feel of him, warm and alive and hers, under her hands?
"I told you," comes Aethel's voice, wry with amusement, "worth the risk."
"I knew you'd be smug," answers Astor, fondly.
"Oh, aye, but you also knew I'd be right. Just like I knew Lothiriel's nails would feel much nicer than Eomer's-"
Lothiriel starts to giggle into the kiss and Eomer pulls back to glare at his daemon. "You two planned this?"
"Well, Bema knows you two weren't going to get there on your own-"
Lothiriel is too content to care, and nestles further into Eomer's chest as he bickers with Aethel. Astor nips at her ear, and then Eomer's too for good measure, which stuns him into silence.
"See," she says, "it seems you cannot hurt us either."
Eomer's expression softens back into joy and Lothiriel thinks it reason enough to kiss him again. It proves just as pleasant the second time as it had been the first.
Author's Note: This will eventually wind up as its own fic, but for now all you need to know is that it's eventually happening. Oh and that Lothiriel's daemon, Astor, is a peregrine falcon and Eomer's daemon, Aethel, is a golden eagle.