I would like to thank all those who read and reviewed or put up an alert of some kind for this story or humble author, as well as those of you who added this to your favourite stories.
I must admit that I was quite surprised at the large feedback, and surely you all made me very happy. But I'd also want to say a thank you to all those "lurkers in the woods", and I hope that you enjoy my version on what seems to be a lot of people's favourite couple.
Chapter 4
"Just look, how I do it." Lothíriel busied herself with the lobster's legs, breaking them at the joints, before inserting a gadget that looked like a hairpin to Éomer into the hollow. With an adept twist and a jerk she extracted the meat from the shell. "It tastes slightly different, a bit stronger somehow."
He took the tiny piece and popped it into his mouth. The meat was more juicy than the main body of the lobster had been, tasting very similar to the crayfish he knew from the streams and tarns of the Mark.
She grinned at his approving mien and handed him the gadget. "Have a try now." When he took it with a rather doubtful look, her grin turned definitely mischievous. "Yes, it is a hairpin, but it won't bite you."
She watched him discerningly, as he managed to pick the meat of another leg. "Add a drop of lemon, but be cautious not to squeeze too much on it," she advised him, subjoining with a wry smile: "I never expected such large hands to be that deft."
"I have some experience in carving, perhaps that helps." He carefully added some lemon and was amazed at how much it highlighted the taste. Just as he was about to tell her, Erchirion's pleading voice caught her attention.
"Loth, could you please..." With a sheepish look on his face Erchirion shove the remainders of his lobster towards his sister. She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I will." Turning to Éomer she pointed a finger at the lobster legs in front of him. "As you seem to be capable, I'll leave you to fend for yourself and do a merciful job, assisting that big oaf on my right."
Erchirion took his sister's scolding with unperturbed cheerfulness, and for some time they sat in silence, extracting the tasty meat, until Amrothos served the next three lobsters that had been roasting in the meantime.
Feeling all more or less sated, they decided to share one and take the other two with them. Amrothos cut the lobster up, and having taken his fill, passed the pieces on. While Elphir was choosing a piece, Éomer noticed that Amrothos drizzled some darkish red sauce on his portion and passed the jar to Erchirion, who sat waiting, a piece of lobster in his large hand. Erchirion spread the sauce liberally on the meat and then chewed it with obvious delight. Éomer reached for the jar, and following Erchirion's example, dunked a portion of meat in the sauce. Just as he was about to stuff it into his mouth, a hand clamped down on his wrist.
Irritated Éomer looked at the princess, who was still holding his wrist. Erchirion shot the piece of lobster in Éomer's hand one short look and chuckled. "Well, Éomer, I guess our sister just saved you from suffocation."
In a tone that gave away her amusement, Lothíriel turned to Éomer."You'd better give that piece to Erchirion. He has a stomach like boiled leather and will be able to down it without suffering any serious damage."
Seeing his incomprehension, she explained: " It's chillies sauce, a speciality from Harad, very tasty if you use it sparingly, but it will certainly burn holes into your gullet, if you gobble it down like that." Without further ado, she took the meat out of Éomer's hand and popped it into Erchirion's mouth, before reaching for another piece of meat. "Let me show you, how to relish it."
He was surprised, how much he actually enjoyed to literally have things taken out of his hands.
Having spread the meat with garlic sauce she balanced it on her palm, putting a thin slice of peach she had obviously cut as some kind of dessert for herself beside it and dribbled just a few drops of the reddish sauce on it. Stacking the fruit on top of the meat she motioned Éomer to open his mouth, and gingerly shoved the morsel it. "Chew carefully."
He did as she had told him, tasting the strange mixture of tender meat, soaked with garlic and juicy fruit, when suddenly the spiciness of the chillies assailed his taste buds.
"Keep chewing, and add some bread if it is too hot." He felt slightly embarrassed under her watchful eyes, but obeyed without reply, and slowly, as the cool juiciness of the peach mixed with the heat of the sauce, he realized the taste of the spices blossoming in his mouth to a strange but exciting sensation. He finally swallowed and could not help but feeling amazed. His tongue and his lips were prickling, and when he breathed he felt the air singe his palate.
Bema, how could Erchirion scoff that without flames blazing out of his ears?
He reached for his cup, but again Lothíriel halted his hand. "Wait a moment till you drink. Any liquid will amplify the burning." She handed him a bite of bread, and obediently he munched the soft white morsel till the itching in his mouth somehow abated.
"You are such a spoil sport, Loth! Why didn't you let our Horseking do the fire-breather if he wanted to." Amrothos' voice sounded peeved, and Éomer saw Lothíriel press her lips together.
"Watch it, Roth, or she'll skin you alive." Elphir's voice sounded even as always, but obviously his younger brother caught the warning.
With a shrug he reached for a second help of lobster, when Erchirion remarked: "By the way, what do you make of our dear brother Amrothos' avoiding this delicious garlic sauce?"
Elphir shot him a warning glance, but Lothíriel, her face all mock innocence, chipped in in a nonchalant tone: "But Erchirion, don't you know how much the Lady Aimenel despises garlic? And her husband not less. How unbefitting it would be, if he found a certain whiff on his honourable spouse after her encounter with our dear brother."
"Bull's eye!" Erchirion commented, and if Elphir had wanted to say anything it went under in the general mirth.
Éomer bowed slightly to Lothíriel. "I for one have to admit that I'm exceedingly thankful that you stopped me from incinerating myself, and it is surely beyond my comprehension, how your brothers devour these liquid embers like that."
"Was it that terrible?" Tilting her head she looked at him with an exploratory mien.
"No, not at all," he assured her, "Quite on the contrary it was rather nice, especially with the peach in between."
"Oh, do you like peaches?" Her voice sounded ingenuously surprised. "I always thought warriors were all for meat and booze."
"No, Lady. To tell you the truth, I highly enjoy any kind of fruit and prefer a good cheese to most kinds of meat. We don't have peaches in Rohan but I certainly could get used to them."
"Well, if you don't have them in your own country you should grasp the opportunity to have them while you can." With that she bent forwards, swept up one of the peaches from the mat and started to peel it. Cutting the fruit into halves, she turned to Éomer to hand him the juicy pieces, but halfway they slipped from her fingers and she jerked forward to catch them before they touched the ground.
All of a sudden Éomer found her lithe body more or less in his lap, as she bent in an awkward angle, holding half a peach in each hand. Her headscarf had become askew, exposing the creamy skin of a slender neck and for a split second he found his senses assailed with the temptingly mingled scents of ripe luscious peaches and sun-warmed female skin. He gasped, as desire surged through his body, leaving his throat dry and causing his groin to tighten. Kicking himself mentally, he slowly pulled up his right knee to prevent further embarrassment.
What in Bema's name had got into him?
Blissfully ignorant of his precarious position, Lotíriel propped herself up and offered the fruit to him with a giggle: "Here you are, my lord. Watch it, that dratted thing seems to be alive."
Éomer groaned inwardly. Woman, if you knew how much alive that dratted thing was!
He had better asked Erchirion to accompany him on a trip down to that tavern in the harbour quarters tonight, the Swan Knights had been bragging about at Cormallen. He gingerly took one half and motioned her to eat the second half, not yet trusting his voice. The fruit was that mellow, it nearly melted under the mere pressure of his touch. He took a careful bite and instinctively bent forward to keep the juice from dripping on his tunic.
"See what I mean?"Grinning happily, the princess took a healthy bite of her own half. Fortunately nobody else seemed to pay much attention, as her brothers also busied themselves with the remaining peaches, so Éomer slowly started to eat his piece of fruit, carefully avoiding to look at her and concentrating to regain his composure.
The peach truly was delicious, and being left on his own, he found himself having calmed down when finally he was savouring the last bite. His fingers were sticky with the sweet juice and he wondered, what Imrahil's offspring would say, if he licked it off, but he dismissed it at once as not being appropriate in a lady's presence and instead stealthily wiped his hand on his trousers.
Looking up, he found the lady in question, licking the side of her hand with the content look of the cat that caught the canary.
Feeling his gaze on her she startled and blushed. "Not very ladylike, I know, but I do love fruit."
"So do I," he assured her, adding with a slightly sheepish smile:" I'm afraid as far as fruit is concerned, I'm worse than Erchirion with lobsters."
"Yep! You should have seen him at Cormallen, sister," Erchirion joined in their talk. "He was always irresolute, whether to feed the last apple to his mount or to gobble it down himself."
"You do the horselord wrong, he certainly would have shared with that big, ugly nag of his," Amrothos added, and Lothíriel turned to Éomer, cocking her head.
"Is that so, my lord?"
"No, certainly not," Éomer replied, "If there had been only one apple left, it would doubtlessly have gone to my charger."
"And most likely he would have deserved it," Amrothos admitted to Éomer's utter surprise. "One of those horses saved my life, when I went down in that melee on the Pelennor."
"How?" Éomer asked, now truly intrigued.
"Well, when you launched that mad charge towards the Harlond, I had been only short behind with a group of the Swan Knights, and being fresh, our horses carried us forwards into your rearguard. When my mount was hacked down below me, I just managed to keep free of the carcass but was not able to stand, as the slash that had ripped the gelding's flank had caught my thigh as well, right above the knee.
I just expected to be trampled to death, if not been hacked to pieces first by those Southrons, but suddenly one of the Rohirrim nudged his horse to stand over me, and there it stood, motionless like a statue, protecting my shattered frame from the onslaught of the battle around us, while its rider hewed left and right like a demented blacksmith. Never before have I seen such absolute reliance and collaboration between horse and rider.
Some of my own knights collected me soon afterwards, when there was a lull in the battle and I was carried to the Houses. I haven't seen neither horse nor rider again, as it took me weeks till I was back on my feet again." Finishing his tale, Amrothos gave one of his characteristic shrugs and reached for his cup.
Éomer was baffled. Was that Amrothos the nuisance, Amrothos the jester? He had known that Imrahil's youngest son had been wounded on the Pelennor but never heeded it overmuch. So many men had suffered likewise that day, so much danger had still lain before them, but now it felt strange to come to know he had participated in that frenzied charge.
Death! He still heard the sound of his own desperate voice in his head, felt the bitterness of certain destruction in his mouth. Death! He had all but led Rohan's army into its fangs, and as it seemed Imrahil's reckless son, too.
"You're just a lucky beggar, Roth." Lothíriel's teasing voice pulled Éomer out of his brooding. "Mind you, if that horse had known, what a nuisance you can be, it would probably have stomped you to pulp."
"Thank you for your kind words, sister. I love you, too." Laughing Amrothos raised his cup to her.
Grinning back she rose and went over to rummage in her spacious bag. Finally she produced a pair of canvas shoes with soles of plaited straw and knelt on one knee to tie the long laces around her ankles.
Nicely cut ankles, clearly accentuated sinews, the dry muscles of a runner; Éomer definitely estimated what he saw. "You don't seem to take your own advice concerning wearing shoes too serious", he teased her, but she did not take the bait.
"I'm climbing up to the copse," she said, pointing up to the right side of the cliff. "I would not advise anyone to cross the sand up there barefoot at noon. It's burning hot."
Refilling his cup, Amrothos smirked at him. "Perhaps you should try it, Horseking. Would probably singe off even your callouses."
The scowl she shot her brother was quite impressive and Éomer fought to keep a straight face.
Squaring her shoulders, she turned her back on them. Éomer just sat and watched the slender, dark-clad figure stride across the beach. Her dark blue tabard hung almost to her knees, but as it was split at the sides up to just below her hips, it was blown aside when a sudden gust caught it, exposing a long and well-built thigh.
Obviously a horsewoman. Unabashed he gloried in her sight, at the same time feeling relieved about the distance between them, as he could not subdue the familiar throbbing in his loins.
Without any doubt it had to be the tavern tonight.
Above the tideline the sand was rather coarse-grained and loose, with stony spaces in between, as the whole bay was gradually rising up to the black cliffs in the south of the island, displaying terraces of dark rock in regular intervals. While the lower parts near the water held no vegetation except some large clusters of knee-high sturdy plants, abundantly covered in blue and white blossoms, along some crags near the black columns of the cliff a quite dense grove of shrubs and gnarled trees, stunted by the persistent wind from the sea, covered the western part of the slope.
Moving with fast and graceful steps, the princess had reached the tideline and the loose ground made walking visibly difficult. Her steps were hampered by the sand that made her sink in ankle-deep with each step. Nevertheless she trudged on, not graceful now, but with obvious strength and determination that delighted Éomer even more than her smooth movements before. Reaching the first rocky step, she climbed it with impressive energy. She was splendid, her gait reminding him of a promising filly's.
Bema's balls! With a sudden jolt he realized what he was doing: Ogling Imrahil's daughter. Where had his self-command gone? Overcome by embarrassment he averted his eyes and found his gaze caught by Amrothos, who was sitting at the other end of the mat, watching him intensely with those all knowing jackdaw eyes of his.
He mentally cursed himself. Any retreat would be useless now, so Éomer met the younger man's gaze with challenging stubbornness. Only now he perceived that the others had disappeared. When had that happened? How could it be that he had not noticed?
Éomer's mind raced, while he stared unblinking into Amrothos' pale eyes. And slowly a subtle smile crept into them, while the corners of Amrothos' mouth curled.
Éomer was flabbergasted. He blinked in disbelief. No, it doubtless was a smile, not one of Amrothos' usual smirks. "You seem to be quite mesmerised by the view, Éomer." Amrothos voice was absolutely uncommitted.
"You're quite an attentive observer." Éomer managed to keep his voice even and carefully casual. There was no use denying obvious facts.
Amrothos' smile deepened, his eyes sparkling with mischief now: "As long as it stays at watching, no harm is done, don't you agree?"
For a fleeting moment Éomer thought, what the handsome face of Imrahil's youngest son would look like with a multiple fractured nose, but then reason kicked in, and he unclenched his fist. What would he have done, finding some man staring at Éowyn like that? Things could have developed far worse. Utterly sobered he nodded his acknowledgement of Amrothos' proposition.
That settled, Amrothos started to collect the scattered jars and platters in front of him. "Elphir and Erchirion went to check on the boats. The tide has advanced already, and as the wind is getting stronger, we'd better get going within the hour. Let's tidy up a bit, so we can start as soon as Lothíriel comes back."
Éomer bent forward to reach the jars in front of him, and strange enough he suddenly felt the throbbing pain in his toe, he had not felt during their meal and therefore simply forgotten in the meantime.
The two men busied themselves collecting the dinnerware, carefully piling the crockery and packing everything away in the various provision bags they had brought with them. They were just about shaking out the mat before rolling it up, when Elphir reappeared.
"We'll have quite a nice breeze on our trip back to Dol Amroth," he announced,. "We'd better head east first. That will provide some rather interesting sailing, what with broad reach. Though it might get a bit choppy when we veer south for Dol Amroth following the Ringló channel once we reach Aeglir Caragon, as we will be sailing against the incoming tide for at least some time, but then the tide will be turning soon, and that will warrant good speed, even if we'll have to beat about."
Aeglir Caragon was not really a name after Éomer's taste and the rest of Elphir's talk was nearly totally incomprehensible to him, but as Amrothos nodded his agreement, he decided to let it pass. There would be time enough to ask for explanations on the way back.
Annotations:
broad reach: (nautical term) sailing away from the wind but not straight down-wind
beat about: (nautical term) sailing a zig-zagging course to get to an up-wind destination
Aeglir Caragon: Ridge of the Rocky Spikes (Sindarin), at least according to my Sindarin dictionary and Grammar. If you happen to know better, please feel free to tell me.