A/N: What can I say? This story has started to live a life of its own and I can't do anything about it except write. I have no control over my life anymore.
Still, as before, I won't promise quick updates like I've delivered so far. I'm not sure for how much longer this burst of energy and inspiration will last. But I guess I'll try to finish what I've started.
The rest of the breakfast went in a slightly more peaceful manner, as the bold princess focused on talking with Amrothos. Still, when she thought he wasn't watching, Éomer could still catch her glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Obviously things were everything but settled between them. He didn't know if that should have unnerved him.
At least the matter of his marital status or the banquet was not discussed... until suddenly Erchirion looked at his father, wearing a face that was so identical to the one Lothíriel had worn before that it was almost ridiculous.
"So, Father, were you thinking there might be dancing in that banquet that you were planning?" he asked innocently, and silently Éomer hoped he could have flogged the prince. Banquet was stressful enough, but if he was expected to dance...!
"I'm sure Éomer would prefer a bit more formal-" Imrahil began and the young king felt instant gratitude, but unfortunately the princess was not quite done with the poor Lord of the Mark yet, for she interrupted her father: "Nonsense, everyone would love a proper ball with dancing. It's been such a long time since we had any. I think it would be a nice and light-hearted way to introduce His Majesty to our local nobility, and I think everyone could use a bit of festivities in the middle of all the concerns about rebuilding the kingdom."
"Hmm, yes. You are quite correct", the Prince agreed. He looked at Éomer, "Would that suit you, my friend? Or do you even know our dances?"
Éomer was about to answer positively; as much as it had embarrassed him at the time, his uncle had demanded he and Éowyn learn Gondorian court dances too, in case they'd have to represent their country in some state occasions. However, Erchirion was faster than him.
"I'm sure that's not a problem. Maybe Lothíriel could help out? Everyone says she's one of the best dancers in Dol Amroth, after all", the prince said, smiling jovially at his sister. She didn't look so self-satisfied anymore and Éomer made a mental note of having to ask Erchirion how did one beat her so effortlessly.
"Excellent idea, Erchirion", Imrahil said and smiled. He looked at his daughter, "I trust you will be at the service of Éomer King?"
"Of course, Father", she said somewhat demurely. Then she looked at the young king and her eyes became stark once again. "After lunch, Sire, in the gallery?"
"As you wish, my lady", he said lightly, already looking forward to a dancing lesson with the princess. Perhaps Erchirion's suggestion was not bad at all.
Like promised, Éomer went to meet her in the gallery after lunch. His conversations with Imrahil had taken so long that the Prince had proposed they eat in his study, and a light cold lunch had been brought for them. When they had finished, Imrahil had given him the directions to the gallery, and now he was stepping to the large, quiet space. Tall windows with stained glass painted the white floors of stone with numerous colours and on the other side of the room, there was a long line of statues – images deceased princes of Dol Amroth, no doubt.
Aside for him there was no other soul in the gallery, and so he walked slowly by the statues, regarding the faces of long dead princes. They said that the Prince's family had Númenorean and Elvish blood, and looking at those noble faces, it was easy to believe that. Strangely enough, it made him feel slightly intimidated. Such things did not seem to belong to this age at all.
A sound of someone clearing their throat distracted him from his thoughts and he turned around. The princess was standing there, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing again that expression he couldn't quite read, but he got the sense that she wasn't too delighted about this whole thing.
"I'm glad to see that at least you understand the importance of punctuality", she commented. Gone were the "my lords" and "Sires", along with the attempts of politeness. To be honest, he rather appreciated her talking to him so bluntly. It was refreshing at least.
"Of course I do. It's not a hard concept to grasp", he said, approaching her slowly, as if too quick movements could somehow provoke her (they probably did).
She scoffed and placed her hands on her hips, looking at him with an evaluating look in her eyes.
"Can you dance at all? Or should I expect much toe-crushing and you stumbling on your feet?" she inquired.
"I am considered a very delightful dance partner in the Mark – which is not a reputation you easily earn in my land", he told her with lifted eyebrows, "but if you insist, I can violate your toes as much as you like."
"Hmph. That better be true or I'm going to flay first you, and then Erchirion for this insane idea", she muttered. "Pay attention. These would be the steps for the most popular dance at the moment – one that you will doubtlessly be asked to dance many times during the ball."
He fixed his eyes her feet and followed her lead. It wasn't hard at all, and as a matter of fact, he thought it resembled some of the dances his uncle had made him and his sister learn.
"If I remember correctly, you did nothing to suggest your father that a ball would be a bad idea. In fact, to me it looked a lt like you encouraged it", he pointed out as he took her offered hand and they stepped forward, as if in a line of dancers, "And for your information, no one asks me to dance. As the King of the Mark, I happen to have the privilege of choosing my dance partners myself."
"That must be so nice for you", she muttered. "This part, you stand behind me, but try not to rub yourself too much against me, that would be improper on the front of my father – I lift my hands like this, and you grab them... no! Not like that, or are you trying to crush my hands when you can't crush my toes? Gently, Your Majesty, gently."
"Forgive me. How barbaric of me", he said with pointed politeness. She harrumphed but did not say anything.
It wasn't too difficult, really. He quickly got the hang of it, and it was very easy when following her lead anyway. He hadn't been lying when he had said ladies considered him a delightful dance partner in Rohan. And somehow with the princess it was easy to glide back and forth even when there was no tune to guide them.
"Are all Gondorian dances this boring? Perhaps I should teach you how the Rohirrim dance", he suggested after a moment. His words, however, made her snort.
"If I want dance lessons, I will ask someone who is... who is..." she began, but suddenly fell silent.
"Who is what? Less irresistible?" he asked. After all, he still owed her for the conversation during the breakfast.
"You flatter yourself, Éomer King", she said and sounded unimpressed. Then she stopped and looked up at him with narrowed eyes. "I thought you said you couldn't dance."
He smiled and shrugged.
"I never did, if I may remind you", he answered and bowed at her, as was proper after a dance. Her brow furrowed.
"Why didn't you say anything then? I thought you actually needed to be taught", she wondered and looked rather displeased. Éomer couldn't hold back a grin.
"How could I, when I was presented with a chance not only to catch you alone, but also dance with you?" he inquired jovially.
"You insufferable man!" Lothíriel scoffed and looked very frustrated. "I should have known."
"I am insufferable? That is rich, coming from you", he said and gave her his most charming smile, and she made a face at him.
"You can consider that the only dance you'll ever get from me. But fortunately for you, I don't think you'll be short on dance partners in the ball", she said and lifted her chin. She looked like she was about to stride away like only a princess could, but he quickly stepped in the front of her and blocked her way.
"So you're not even going to grant me one dance?" he asked; he was reluctant to let her go yet.
"No, Your Majesty", she said and her voice was hard, but he was almost sure he saw the familiar spark in her eyes and there was nothing hostile about it.
"Just one dance?" Éomer pleaded and looked at her with wide, appealing eyes. He had long since learned how effective that look could be. However, he couldn't tell if it had the desired impact on her. She was searching his face, as if she were looking for something. He met her gaze silently and felt curiously open... like he was inviting her to look inside him. Perhaps she did.
"On one condition", she finally said and her face became softer. And Béma, she could be beautiful when she looked like that! He'd probably get himself into trouble, but he was starting to feel like he'd do whatever she asked.
Just for one dance with her.
"And what is that?" he asked. Now was Lothíriel's turn to smile.
"I'll dance with you... but only if you wear flowers in your hair in the ball", she said sweetly, pushed past him, and was gone. He looked after her for a long while, and should anyone have come across him then, they would no doubt have found him looking very abashed.
Damn. This princess would be the end of him.
