The new king of the Riddermark could hear the woman's ranting from the first landing. Waving away the cringing maid accompanying him, he continued up the stairs and down the hall. The door had been left a scant few inches ajar, leaving him an adequate gap to catch glimpses of the lovely young woman pacing back and forth. As she swept along, she emphatically pounded one long-fingered fist into her other palm and held forth. Tall and slender, her pale fine-boned face reminded him of the elf Legolas in bearing and the shape of her forehead and eyebrows. Her long, blue-sheened black hair cast a smooth cloak about her shoulders. Occasionally she would tug it all over one shoulder, grip it in both hands as if to rip it from her scalp, and then toss it back to resume her pacing. From a few glimpses, her eyes shone intensely silver reminding him of his friend Amrothos. Actually, she looked a lot like most of Imrahil's boys, but then those of Numenorean stock all looked fairly similar to his eyes, accustomed as he was to the bronze-blond coloring of the Rohirrim.
Eomer leaned a shoulder against the door-jamb, crossing his arms across his chest and his legs at the ankle, content to let the woman's antics entertain him as he gathered the courage to introduce himself to his grandmother, Morwen of Lossarnach. He should have been mentally ready to meet her days ago, having travelled from Edoras towards Eowyn's wedding not far from here for the past two and a half weeks. But he had grown up on tales of her icily cutting tongue and to a man who had only recently been jailed by Grima, another black-haired wit, he found himself cautious about his possible reception.
At least he had not arrived on her doorstep late last night in all of his travel dirt, reeking of horse and man sweat. The town inn had been adequate enough to supply him with a full bath and he wore his second best tunic, saving the best for Eowyn's wedding. He tortured himself for a minute, imagining all of the insults that could have been flung his way if he had shown up uncouth. While he had been able to ignore the pacing woman's strident tones, her suddenly lowered hissing plaints cut through his thoughts. It was her – the woman from last night!
He had dawdled over Firefoot's grooming last night, sending Eothain and the rest of his entourage off to bed, while he curried his horse and checked and re-checked hooves and hocks. Finally assuring himself of his equine companion's health, Eomer had taken a turn about the town to scout his path for the morrow's visit and stretch his legs. The extravagant use of torches on the main cobblestone roads allowed him to identify his grandmother's house fairly easily from Eowyn's description. Heading back to the inn, he turned down a darker lane to see a cloak-enshrouded woman hurrying towards him.
"Quickly, my lord! Hide me!" Without allowing him to answer, she grasped his arms and maneuvered him in front of her, her back to the ivy covered stone wall. She gasped as three rowdy men rounded the corner at the far end of the lane. Still too bemused by this turn of events to venture any ideas, Eomer felt her hands at the back of her neck tugging his face down to hers.
"Kiss me!" She hissed at him.
Never one to turn down an offer from a pretty lady, or at least from her confident manner a pretty enough lady that she expected his acquiescence, Eomer complied. It had been a while since he had wrestled with the fairer sex, the logistics of returning his men to Rohan after the Black Gates and taking up the mantle of kingship not allowing much time for anything but work and the barest snatches of sleep, despite all the willing women around him.
Not that his lack in any way lessened his appreciation for the superiority of her kisses. Soft and mobile, her lips tasted deliciously like the local fruit wine she had imbibed and the essence of her. Her arms wound about this neck, hands combing and rubbing through his long hair. As his arms pressed her to his chest, her tongue darted out to stroke his, every probe sending bolts of lust down his body. He could not get enough of this mysterious woman, exploring the hot wet depths of her mouth only made him want to know everything about her. That and go on kissing her until he turned old and grey.
After long minutes, he felt a poke at his shoulder. Dimly thinking that she might be getting a crick in her neck and of course not wanting to stop, he gripped her hips in his large hands and hoisted her up tighter against him. He interpreted the groan she made as compliance, as she immediately wrapped her legs around his waist. A little while later his hormone-fogged brain realized that the poke must have been one of the men she wanted to avoid. The thought of possible danger to his woman had him turning, pushing her down and behind him as he scanned the area. He and she were now alone in the alley, but his sudden defense had broken the spell.
When he turned back to her, she shoved back from his embrace. Not one to force a woman into something she did not want, he took a step back to allow her some space to stand. But when she looked around his broad shoulders furtively and realized the men had moved on, she shoved him farther away. With a murmured curse in Westron he did not recognize and an informal thanks which he did understand, she sprinted off and around the corner in the direction he had just come from. By the time Eomer came out of his daze and followed her, she was nowhere to be seen, not even any echoing steps to give him a clue to her direction.
Hours of searching last night for naught, and here she had been, waiting for him at his grandmother's house. Quickly recovering from his shock, he focused on what she was saying.
"...cannot believe he is considered a leader at all. Why would King Elessar profess any sort of reciprocal fealty to a man so oafish? I don't care what he has done on the battlefields, he should not be allowed in polite society!"
"And I cannot believe Lady Winweld would allow any such behavior at one of her soirees, my dear." Eomer wondered who the woman was ranting about. Hopefully not him, as Aragorn had professed their everlasting alliance. But Great Bema! Grandmother Morwen's papery thin yet regal voice sounded just like the voice his uncle's bard had parroted. He could not see her through the door gap, but he wondered if she wore purple like the bard's marionette.
"Ah! But Lady Serenel told me that he rode his horse right into the middle of her ball! And trampled the buffet while he was at it and she is also a stickler for the proprieties."
Eomer remembered the event only hazily, still torn between a twinge of guilt at the damage the horses had wrought and a sense of overwhelming hilarity at the stupefied faces of the guests. His breaking point after the battles of Pelennor Fields and Morannon had not befitted the dignity of a king, even a king the Gondorians generally referred to as their barbarian savior. He was definitely blaming Amrothos and his gang of entertainment-seeking lords for dragging him along on that unfortunate escapade.
Her sentiment slowly pierced his reverie, she was complaining about him! Defensive anger crept into his thoughts - she knew nothing about him. She had no right to complain about any of his actions, when they had not even exchanged a word as yet. It really was not fair that a woman whose kiss had so affected him, should hold him in such low esteem sight unseen.
"My dear, calm down. I am sure there is much of his value that you do not see. I know you are a good judge of character, but not all of a person's value is in face to face interactions," his grandmother attempted to sooth the young person pacing.
"Face to face interactions! Speaking of which - ha! You would not believe how Lord Hetherington treated me last night! Like a common trollop – he was disgusting. No respect for my personal space whatsoever!"
Eomer lost track of the conversation for a while, so downcast was he by her last emphatic statement. First, she thought she had been kissing someone else. Second, all of last night he had been hoarding away every detail of their encounter in hopes that he might discover the damsel's identity, and she had hated every second of it. He was crushed. He might as well get on with introducing himself, because this situation could not get any worse.
Unfolding himself and throwing the door wide, the warrior king strode in boldly. "Milady, believe me, I deeply regret any and all of my oafish actions. I pray you forgive me."
The black-haired lady paused her diatribe, startled at his aggressive entrance. After a long stare, she swept him a grand curtsy, bowing almost to the floor as she kept her eyes on his. "Your highness. I would forgive you a thousand oafish transgressions, since your introduction to Gondor was to save us all from the dark forces of Mordor."
Eomer watched her graceful rise, marveling at the strength and dexterity shown in such a simple move. He reminded himself that despite her earlier professed disgust, she had participated willingly in the kiss last night and she seemed to be looking upon him favorably now. The determined king mentally squared his shoulders – if she did not like overtly forceful maneuvers, he would woo her gently instead. And he would just have to patiently change her mind about all of the other qualities she had complained about as well.
"So you must be my grandson Eomer. Come here, young man, where I can see you better." Morwen's papery voice called him. The tall warrior blushed - it was one thing to get caught up in thoughts of his obsession when unobserved, quite another to do so in company. He hurried to bow over his grandmother's imperiously outstretched hand. The young king pressed a kiss to the back of the older lady's still slender fingers noting that the only other living Rohirric royal did not wear purple, but was dressed elegantly in a velvet dress so deep blue it was almost black. She sat bolt upright in her chair, wearing her extensive years well.
"You have the look of my husband Thengel - so blond and such solemn eyes." A brief pause, "And this is my cousin three times removed Lothiriel, Princess of Dol Amroth." She twinkled up at him, archly acknowledging his attraction to her cousin. Her silvery white hair framing almost elfin looks - the former queen was an older version of her young cousin. He fleetingly wondered if his grandfather had been similarly lovestruck by his grandmother on first meeting.
Eomer looked back at the woman, Lothiriel, he corrected himself. "Your father is Prince Imrahil?" he asked in surprise.
Lothiriel nodded, "Yes, Ada has spoken highly of you. He said that it was your charge of the Haradrim that turned the battle at Pelennor Fields." She moved on quickly as she saw his face freeze into a polite mask at the mention of war. "But let us not talk of that, are you looking forward to your sister's wedding, your highness?"
"Please, milady, call me Eomer. And I am. Very much."
She smiled happily at him, relieved that he had relaxed again, "Then you must call me Lothiriel."
He smiled teasingly in return, "Lothiriel. It is a pretty name, but surely milady is more efficient."
He was gratified when she laughed at his weak joke, but then she abruptly stopped, embarrased when she caught Morwen's eyebrow hoist. The regal elderly woman shook her head in amusement and shooed them out of the room. "Lothiriel, go show Eomer the blooms on my new bicolor rose. Grandson, the scent is divine - you will not have anything like it in Rohan, although I do believe there is nothing like it anywhere else in Gondor either. By the time you get back, tea should be ready, and then you can properly prepare me for whom I shall meet at Eowyn and Faramir's wedding next week."
Eomer waited until they were in the gardens strolling side by side, the princess' arm decorously resting on his, before he brought up the topic he had interrupted earlier. "Lothiriel, I must confess something that I hope will not jeopardize our further friendship. Last night in the lane, that was I, not the other lord you named. I am sorry if I took liberties I should not have, even if the initial kiss was at your behest and for your safety."
He steeled himself against her shocked gasp, but when she swung around to face him and laughed wonderingly up into his face, he was confused. "Thank the Valar! I thought I was losing my mind when kissing Lord Heth… um... you was so enjoyable last night."
Eomer blushed hard, feeling a dawning hope for his suit. "Oh I assure you, I enjoyed it every bit as much as you if not more. As any man must, when presented with your kisses. Although I would not mind if you kept them for me alone."
With a coy glance, she replied, "Well then, Eomer, I am certain to bestow my kisses upon you well in priority of any I might even think to bestow upon others in the future."
"Please, Lothiriel, anytime." He tried to match her teasing tone, but the offer came out as seriously as he felt.
The princess laughed delightedly. "I am going to take you up on that." She whisked him behind a large rhododendron, bounced up on her toes, threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him square on the mouth. Eomer snagged her around the waist before she could swirl away again and proceeded to lose himself in her lips once more. After what felt like a lazy week later, Lothiriel pulled back, tilting her face up to his. "I could do that forever."
With his arms banding her to him chest to breast, the king breathed deep, excited at the prospect. "Well you know, ever since your father found out who I am, he has been propositioning me to meet you and not in the way of say, completing the set, after meeting your brothers."
"I do know. Ada came back from Minas Tirith singing your praises ad nauseum." She wrinkled her nose at her own words. "Not that your charms are nauseating, but his behavior certainly is. He would love for us to marry and give him many horse-mad grandbabies."
"Would you love to?"
Eying him speculatively, but not unfavorably she tried to explain her feelings. "I don't know. Certainly you are extremely heroic in all of my father's stories. And I would not have believed in love at first sight earlier this morning, but now… And kissing you…"
He interrupted her eagerly, "I would love to. I thought so last night. I wandered around for hours trying to find you again after you ran away."
She did not dispute his description of her actions, regarding him solemnly for a moment before smiling again and outlining a plan. "Well how about this. We continue as we are now," she tightened her hands in his hair, pulling his lips down for a quick kiss to make her intent clear, "and if you are still of the same mind at the end of next week after the wedding and I am convinced of your lasting regard, we can discuss a betrothal agreement."
He nodded and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips to seal their pact. But then pulling away seemed idiotic, so he fell back to exploring her mouth, a pastime which she joined in enthusiastically. Finally, she gave him a gentle push on the shoulder and he let her go reluctantly. "I should show you the roses or Cousin Morwen will lecture me about propriety."
"All right. Lead on." He offered her his arm once again, gratified when she snuggled into it instead of assuming the polite form she had used earlier when they first entered the garden. "So does this mean that it was not me you were complaining about when you mentioned King Elessar's fealty and Lady Serenel's ball?"
"Oh no! Of course not. That was all about Lord Hetherington. He is a complete oaf! I don't care if he is my brother Amrothos' friend, he is constantly doing thoughtlessly destructive things."
Eomer was slowly starting to recreate a picture in his mind of a young, blond, fairly soft Gondorian lord he had met while with the Dol Amrothian prince. As the battle-hardened warrior remembered him, the man was only a decent rider and not very good with a sword. However, he had been fairly generous with his supplies and his men had been an asset on the battlefield, so Eomer could not totally write the man off, but he was still slightly perturbed that Lothiriel had confused the two of them.
"Why did you think me he last night?"
"Well, he's about your height, although I should say your breadth is much greater than his and your stance more powerful which I thought was simply a trick of the light and your cloak. Second, he has long fair hair. And third, my plan required cooperation by my companion, and as I mentioned, he had attempted liberties earlier in the evening, so I knew he was not averse. Despite your protestation that any man would enjoy my kisses, some have had enough of my tongue's bite to fear having it in too close proximity."
Eomer chuckled at her apt summation, esteem smoothed by her description and continued admiring glances. The couple strolled out to the rose arbor and back, playfully interrogating each other on likes and dislikes. Before they re-entered the house, Eomer finally asked Lothiriel, "So who were those men you needed hiding from?"
She regarded him with wide, serious eyes. "I have already written my cousin Faramir, but I overheard them plot to kill King Elessar at his wedding next week. At your sister's wedding."
Eomer's visage hardened to a grim mask, reminding Lothiriel that this was a man who had led soldiers to war. "Describe them to me."
A/N: I suddenly understand what people mean by writer's block. Before I had just never even tried to write and now that I am, it seems to either flow or it doesn't. I started this back in November when I was on a roll, and I've been having a really hard time finishing it. Even after numerous re-writes it still doesn't feel like it flows properly - my characters seem to want to jump from emotion to emotion. Although maybe I can just blame that on the heightened awareness from new love. :)
Plus my ending killed me, because I just can't see how that mystery will unfold – and I want to know! Oh well, fodder for a cozy Sunday afternoon this winter perhaps.