3 May 3019 T.A., Minas Tirith
After briefly supervising her father's house and seeing that all was in order, Lothíriel was left to fill her afternoon as she wished. With Éomer and his titillating company gone (which pastime would be her first wish), she perched herself in her solar with a pile of embroidery. Lothíriel found that this was the perfect mindless task to leave her to consider what, exactly, she had agreed to, and to doubt it.
Éomer's plight she sympathized with; she had known of Lady Amdriel's ambitions for far too long to be indifferent. And as she recalled what she knew of this newly-crowned king of Rohan, her feelings for him strengthened—the man had suffered so much tragedy of late she wondered how he even tolerated Minas Tirith and its vivacious court. How could he smile at her at all?
That musing was lost as Lothíriel smiled to herself, her embroidery all but abandoned on her lap as she stared out the window to her father's gardens, barely in bloom. Oh, what a wonderful smile Éomer had! That much could endear him to her forever, and how in Arda could such a simple expression make her feel so warm from her head to her toes? If she closed her eyes, she could remember perfectly the feel of his lips on hers, and how the languid pleasure of it had muddled her mind utterly…
No! These were not the thoughts of a lady—Lothíriel's cheeks burned with embarrassment, though she was alone. The compassion she had for Éomer and her desire to help him must be her purpose. There would be no need for them to indulge in such kissing again, no matter how much she enjoyed it. Lady Amdriel would begin the gossip, and all they must do would be to confirm it by keeping each other's presence. No more. It would not do for Lothíriel to feel aught else for Éomer than mere friendship. He was seeking her help to escape starry-eyed moonlings, after all! She could not suffer the same weakness for his handsome face as the other ladies. She must control her feelings, no matter how irresistible Éomer was.
For all her determination to be indifferent, Lothíriel was all fluttering nerves as she dressed for the feast in Merethrond that night. Pretending not to think of Éomer, she donned her most fetching frock: pale-blue silk, cut to accentuate her slender waist and sweep the floor elegantly where she stepped. Would he appreciate it? Or her hair, combed to hang in silky curls down her back? Did he like the scent of jasmine, which she applied to her wrists and throat?
"Good gracious, Loth," Amrothos said to her when she joined the rest of her family in the courtyard. They, too, were formally dressed, though whether Amrothos had combed his hair was definitely debatable. "Should I fetch a cloak for you? Are you going to catch a chill?"
"Very funny," she replied coolly, all too aware of the breeze on her skin which was normally not so exposed. But her frock was no more revealing than most which would be worn in the Citadel that night, and she comforted herself thusly. Amrothos, taking her arm as Imrahil at last said that they ought to go, was not similarly soothed.
"Are you intending to break so many hearts tonight?" he teased, a glint in his eyes. "Or one in particular?"
Lothíriel had intended to tell Amrothos of hers and Éomer's charade. But irritation at his teasing now made the prospect of her brother's surprise was far more titillating…
"Do you know, Éomer and I were just speaking of you," Amrothos added cheerily.
"Really? And when was that?"
"Oh, two days ago, I think it was. He is, er, experiencing some courtly issues and I told him you may be able to help."
Lothíriel bit her lip to keep from smiling, giving her attention to the stone-flagged path to the Citadel lit prettily by torches in the early evening dim. So Amrothos had suggested her assistance to Éomer? And the king had been just desperate enough to take it. She wondered if Amrothos had suggested the method of her 'help', and rather doubted it. No, she probably did not need to inform her dear brother after all…
Her heart was beating out of her chest when they stepped into the brightly-lit feasting hall in Merethrond. The tall, white-marble columns welcomed them inward, reaching to heights that the flickering lights could not reach. Jewels glittered, men and women laughed loudly, and servants bustled back and forth with wine. But Lothíriel's eyes searched beyond this—she gazed at the front of the hall, where the tables were awaiting food. Éomer was too easy to find, especially as he stood upon their entrance. Even at this distance, she could see the merriment in his eyes.
"Take me to the front, please," Lothíriel said to her brother, unable to tear her eyes from the king. He was smiling at her, and it grew as she neared him upon Amrothos's arm. Past groups of people chattering, and absently dodging quick-footed servants. Éomer was dressed formally, in a moss-green tunic and with a black cape, trimmed with silver fastened to his already broad shoulders. What a sight he was! Lothíriel attempted to control the low swoop of heat in her belly, to little avail.
"Good evening, my lady," Éomer said at their approach, bowing low. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his lovely green eyes sparkling at her, challenging her.
"My lord," she murmured. She was sure her cheeks were pink. All the better for their pretense, she supposed.
"And what am I?" Amrothos said loudly beside her, startling Lothíriel. She had forgotten him so quickly!
"Hullo, Amrothos," Éomer recovered his wits faster than she did, though he kept her hand in his. "Thank you for bringing your sister to me."
"To you?" he asked in surprise. "But why—"
"I took your advice," the king said with a laugh, "Now shoo! Leave us in peace."
"Shoo?"
But Amrothos's indignant reply was ignored. Éomer pulled out Lothíriel's chair for her, and aware of his admiring gaze, she took it as elegantly as she could. He scooted his own chair closer to hers, causing tingles of nerves and attraction to spread across her skin. She could not quite meet his eyes; what would she betray of her own feelings?
"Goodbye then! I will search out someone else to keep my company," Amrothos said, the huff audible in his voice. Lothíriel suppressed a laugh as she farewelled him in turn, and he stalked away back into the crowd, grateful for the momentary distraction. She must keep her head. She must!
"That takes care of that!" Éomer said cheerily, and he took her hand again. "Now, if we are to convince anybody that we are completely infatuated with one another, I am afraid you are going to have to blush far more than you are, miting."
"I did ask you not to call me miting, my lord, if you recall."
"Éomer," he corrected. "We must be on…intimate terms, if you will. Aha! A very fetching blush. Excellent work, my dear."
Lothíriel began to doubt whether she would up to the task at all. His eyes drew her in too deeply for comfort, and they crinkled at the corners as he smiled broadly down at her.
"There," he said softly. "Keep looking at me that way, miting. We must be too involved with one another to invite questions."
"Must we?" she managed to ask.
"Oh, yes indeed. You see, if we are so nauseatingly smitten with each other, no one will even wish to speak to us."
"I…I see."
"Yes. Do not look, but there is a lord approaching us from the southeast," Éomer whispered. "To speak to us, do you not think? Perhaps send by his womenfolk to make inquiries."
"Perhaps he wants to know how we came to know each other," Lothíriel said, catching onto his vein.
"Indeed! Now, are you wanting to be interrogated? I, personally, am not. Too many awkward questions!"
"Oh, I do agree!"
"Good. Keep your eyes on me," he said again, and his eyes darkened. "Lothíriel…" The way Éomer said her name made her stomach flutter, and the barest trace of a sigh escaped her lips. How did he do that, anyway? His face was nearing hers, and she felt his free hand trace along the edge of her jaw, and his thumb brushed against her lips. She could hear footsteps now, likely the man Éomer had mentioned, which stopped in front of them.
Éomer's lips pressed to hers, and the entire hall with its every inhabitant disappeared entirely. There was a rushing in her ears, and Lothíriel sighed again at the sheer pleasure of being kissed in such a way. Eventually he released her, perhaps a mere moment or an hour later, and Lothíriel quickly lowered her eyes. Indifferent, indeed! She was a fool to think she had the barest chance of not falling utterly in love with this man.
"Very good." His words were the merest of breaths, and she felt Éomer kiss her forehead lightly. "It seems our friend has departed. And looking a bit green, too, if I may say."
"And likely everyone else is looking our way, too," Lothíriel murmured. "That kiss may have been too much."
"I do doubt that. We are being left alone, are we not?"
A quick glance at the hall around them confirmed Éomer's words, though many eyes were gazing back at them. Some curious, some astonished, and some bitter. Her father was not facing them, to her relief. Lady Amdriel was especially open about her thoughts regarding them; she was simmering with resentment, positively glaring at everyone around her. Her daughter was nowhere to be seen, with surprised Lothíriel. Lady Madriel usually did not leave her mother's side.
"You cannot let your attention wander away from me too often."
Lothíriel turned back to Éomer. He was leaning lazily in his chair, his eyes fastened on her with some unknowable emotion in them. She forced a smile.
"You are enjoying this charade far too much!" Lothíriel said severely, feeling warm at his attention.
"Oh, I do not deny it!" he laughed. "Not only can I enjoy shocking the Gondorian court, but I have an excuse to monopolize the attentions of the most beautiful woman in the city. I have no complaints!"
"Except those that drove you to these measures."
Éomer's laughter ceased, though he still smiled. "Fair enough, miting. Perhaps I should revise my words: I have no complaints any longer. Fate has appeased me."
"Fate is kind to oblige."
"More than you know." There was a weight of insinuation in his voice that she did not know, and she looked away. Lothíriel took a sip of wine with trembling fingers, chiding herself sternly, do not let his charm overwhelm you!
"Have you told others of our plan?" she decided to ask, keeping her voice light.
Éomer's response was delayed, and Lothíriel could not help looking his way in surprise. He normally responded so quickly, she wondered if she spoke wrongly. But no—he offered an easy smile and said, "No."
"No?"
"Not a soul! The more people we let in on our secret, the more likely it will be revealed. Especially if one of those people is my sister, or my captain." His joke was so dry that Lothíriel gave a very unladylike snort, and promptly blushed with embarrassment.
"I was going to tell my brothers," she said. "But Amrothos was being irritable, and I decided I wanted to put his nose out of place. I think your shooing him away achieved that, and so I thank you!"
Éomer laughed. "I have had more practice shooing, of late!" he said. "But whatever did he do to irritate you? Ought we to call him back so I can shoo him again? For the sake of petty revenge."
"Oh! Do not tempt me." Lothíriel was smiling to herself, considering taking his offer before he leaned back towards her, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair and patiently interrupting,
"What did Amrothos do? I confess I am positively perishing with curiosity."
She gave him a very unimpressed look, raised brows and all. "Melodrama does not become you, my lord."
"Éomer."
"Éomer, then! If you must know, Amrothos—well, he teased me about my dress this evening." Mortifying as it was to admit to him, Lothíriel flushed. Éomer would have to be pleased about her excessive blushing, she was sure of it.
"Your dress?" he asked in surprise. "But whatever is wrong with it? I quite like it."
Her flush deepened. Was it especially warm in the hall tonight? Lothíriel felt hot prickles across her skin, trying not to notice Éomer's eyes lingering on her. Perhaps the gown was a bit revealing. Then again, beneath the initial embarrassment of Éomer's frank admiration, she felt a stirring of, well, pleasure. He was not merely pretending to like the look of her, she hoped.
"I am lucky you are so beautiful," he said after a pause. "It will not be such a surprise to the others that I have lost my heart to you, then."
Lothíriel determined to break the spell before she lost herself anymore. She lifted her chin and said flippantly, "You have already told me I am beautiful once tonight. If you persist, I may begin to believe you!"
But Éomer only grinned. "As you should—I have an eye for beauty, and an appreciation of it."
Oh, good heavens! He was impossible.
Presently supper was served, and to her it hardly came soon enough. With everyone involved with the meal, she relaxed—it was a welcome relief from their heady flirting. However, Éomer evidently had no intentions of falling silent. He engaged her by asking of her upbringing by the sea, and Lothíriel could not help herself—she chattered on happily about her father's palace, sailing in the Bay of Belfalas, and riding horses along the white sand beaches and cliffs laden with blooms in the summertime. She missed her home more than she realized; why else would she have taken such a chance to fill the king's ear with nonsense?
Though whether he thought it was nonsense was unclear. Éomer's attention never wavered, and he rarely looked away from her. Lothíriel forced herself to dismiss this; he had asked of her home, after all.
"May I beg your company tomorrow?" Éomer interrupted, while the final course was being cleared away. It was late already; the sky outside the hall was dark, and the guests were yawning. Lothíriel, having spoken to her cousin the steward just that morning, knew that there would be no dancing that night—it would be saved until the final feast, before the men of Rohan would depart to return home. The thought gave her a strange feeling of loss, though she did not know why.
"Oh—certainly, I suppose," she said. "Are you not busy elsewhere?"
He grinned. "I have had enough of business. I would enjoy my last days in the city, with my, ah—lover upon my arm."
"You would spend your last days breaking the heart of every lady in the city, you mean," Lothíriel corrected with a laugh.
"We see things differently, you and I!" Éomer said. "I will come for you in the morning, if it pleases you."
It did please her; more than she wished. She could not resist him, even if she tired. All pretense of remaining indifferent to Éomer vanished in a thrilling haze. Lothíriel smiled at the man next to her, again the flutters in her stomach spreading a warm thrill to her limbs.
"I shall be waiting."
Thank you everyone for your kind comments on this story so far! They make me so, so happy. I hope ya'll continue to enjoy the story (yes, there will be tension in the future)(also it's six chapters total). Hugs and kisses to you all! :3