A/N: I am going to break with my own tradition and set up the scene first. Picture this, if you will: Darcy is the hilarious Kat Dennings reprising her role of the same name from the movie "Thor" (Middle-earth instead of Midgard). And Lothiriel here has Jane Foster's upright business-like nervousness, although I always envision her as a more athletic (ganglier? more forceful?) version of the gorgeous Liv Tyler. Eomer is of course the ridiculously hot Karl Urban and Eothain is the yummy Joel Edgerton - think Gawain from the movie "King Arthur".
Fair warning: I still think this earns a low rating, but its true title should be "The Talk… about Birds and Bees"
Princess Lothiriel sat stiff-backed at the wide wooden conference table, hands interlaced in front of her. The tall slender facilitator wore the simple grey robe and white apron of the healing houses. Equally ill at ease, Eomer King faced her with a questioning half-smile, clearly curious about the sudden request for a meeting. The well-muscled warrior was casually dressed in a long-sleeved collarless white shirt and leather breeches tucked into high riding boots. His dark-streaked blond hair was pulled back at the top in a short tail, the rest left to flow free along his broad shoulders.
Her assistant Darcy and his second Eothain were also present at this discussion, but she knew they would be useless for most of it. They both leaned as far forward over the table as they could, conspiratorial whispering an annoying background noise. Thick as thieves since first they met, she usually had to whack one or both of them to wrest their attention from each other.
The nervous healer opened the meeting pompously, "Your highness, thank you for meeting with us this morning. I am Healer Lothiriel, this is Healer Darcy whom I understand you have already met. We have been in charge of your men here in the Healing Houses of Minas Tirith."
"Yes, and I believe you have already met my second-in-command Eothain." His smile widened gratefully, "I have seen you caring for my men, but have not gotten a chance to introduce myself before now. You have always seemed so busy, I have not wanted to interrupt."
Actually, she had marked when the tall broad-shouldered god noticed her in the halls, but she had been actively avoiding him. Avoidance had been easy early on, when he was in the Healing Houses he had hovered mainly over his sister's bed. However, after his return from the Black Gates a couple days ago, the injured shieldmaiden had no longer required constant vigil and so the solemn warrior had begun to wander, continuously called to visit with both injured and healthy Rohirrim in the halls.
He was just so painfully good looking with his high cheekbones and long-lashed golden-brown eyes, she had defensively busied herself directing helpers or bent her head to her ministrations whenever she had caught a glimpse of him. Even now, Lothiriel was willing her hands and voice not to shake, trying to tamp down on her attraction to the golden king. His wavy hair curled down, soft around his strong tanned throat and… Enough! This topic was going to be embarrassing enough without mooning over him.
She forced herself to reply sedately, "We have been busy. Several of your men including your sister had very serious injuries and we were lucky to pull them back to the living. Fortunately, everyone is currently on the mend, including the more recent additions from the Black Gates. At some point we will need to discuss longer term care and physical therapy for their disabilities, but that is not the topic I wish to discuss today, your highness."
"Please, call me Eomer – I have not earned the honor."
The brunette raised her eyebrow in suprise at his self-doubt - from what she had seen of his interactions with his men, they fully saw him as their leader. However, she nodded her acquiescence and steeled herself to broach the delicate topic, while the warrior faced her in focused interest. His laser regard flamed the pit of lust in her belly, tingles of heat racing over her body despite the coolness of the room. She tried to shield herself by casting her eyes down and looking up at him through her lashes.
"Your Highness," when he involuntarily glowered at the title, she started over, "Eomer." She took a deep breath and let it out again, "the topic I would like to discuss today is sex with you."
Eomer's plush lips dropped open in shock. He attempted to talk, but all that came out was a strangled moan. Lothiriel forged ahead. "Specifically, I would like to talk about having sex with your men."
This time, Eomer squeaked, flushing beet red. Lothiriel could feel a blush-burn creeping up her neck while she fought hard to keep her face serene. She herself stuttered to a stop, unable to continue, the next words a lump in her throat. She looked at him in consternation, his own embarrassed stare returned three-fold. Beside them, Darcy and Eothain stopped their whispering and were regarding the pair interestedly.
"I have never seen Eomer that color! In your medical opinion, do you think he's having a fit, Darcy?" Eothain interrupted the silent standoff in mock concern.
"Yes, Eothain, I believe he is having a fit – a fit of embarrassment. It's probably Lothiriel's fault – she has no sense of introduction," Darcy replied drily.
Eothain interjected, "I believe the word you are looking for is foreplay, Darcy."
"Mmmph, I'm not going to dance around the subject." Lothiriel protested through stiff lips.
Eothain looked pointedly at Eomer, "Now dancing is an excellent example of foreplay, wouldn't you say, my liege?" Eomer just glared at him silently.
The brown-haired healer raised an eyebrow at the interchange, continuing without attempting to soften her words any despite her teasing comment about Lothiriel's bluntness. "Babies, O King of virile Riders, we need to figure out what to do with the babies."
Eomer let out yet another strangled questioning sound, so Eothain took over the discourse. "When a man and a woman love each other very much, or even if they don't love each other, but they looove each other, they can make a baby. Didn't your parents ever tell you where you came from, Eomer?"
Eomer responded with a withering glare, his hands clenched in big white-knuckled fists on the table. There was a tic pulsing in the back of his right hand and underneath his left eye. "A cabbage patch. Shut up, Eothain!"
Eothain mimed sewing his lips together, so Darcy piped up again before Lothiriel had a chance. "In about eight to nine months, there are going to be at least a hundred light-haired babies born - more if the trend continues."
"She is correct, Eomer," Lothiriel confirmed gently, now nominally back in control of her composure and wresting control of the discussion back to herself. "So let's talk about further prevention first. It would be helpful if you could talk with your men about methods of prevention such as withdrawal. However, this is not a good method of prevention for younger, less experienced men or anyone who may have imbibed too much."
At the king's encouraging nod, the healer continued describing options, "We also have a limited supply of sheep's gut condoms that we can offer. These are reusable, but require special care. Anyone who took one would be expected to discuss usage and maintenance with a healer first."
"Another option is green elm. We have an extensive supply here and can make more, but this method depends mostly upon the woman's cooperation as the plug must be inserted into the vagina several hours before intercourse to allow the wood to swell for a tight fit."
Eomer raised an eyebrow questioningly so Lothiriel answered his implied question. "None of the women we have talked to have been unwilling and most women in Gondor are familiar with these methods of prevention, but it is important for both parties to be cognizant of the options."
Lothiriel droned on about the details of inserting the plug and of administering pennyroyal, vervain, and rue tea. Then she went on to discuss the non-penetrative ways to provide sexual relief. Many of the suggestions were known to Eomer already, so he interrupted only a few times with questions.
When she finally finished her litany, she moved on without pause to discussing the options for raising the babies –moving to the Riddermark required some capital and caravan support while staying on Minas Tirith's refugee welfare was a short term solution at best. The king pledged to allow any women who so desired to accompany him home to their sweethearts after the coronation and pay for their passage. Lothiriel breathed a sigh of relief as the king confirmed Eothain's original plan – dealing with the effects of giddy post-battle sexual congress had been taking away from her daily chores of administering to the ill and injured. And after the recent conflicts, there were enough cases to drive all the healers to long hours.
As the healer-administrator began to outline how she and Darcy could present all of this information as well as ration out supplies, the listening king interrupted. "It sounds like this could take at least a week to talk with all of my men. You should know that I am beginning to send eored sections back to the Riddermark already. By next week, there will only be a few of us left in Minas Tirith."
Lothiriel wanted to put her head down and bang it against the table in frustration and embarrassment. Apparently this whole discussion which she had agonized over organizing and steeled herself to perform should have happened at the beginning of the Rohirrim's time in Minas Tirith. Now that the Riders were in the process of leaving, any plans for education had increasingly diminishing returns.
"So this meeting has been mostly pointless," she gritted out, annoyed with her own lack of foresight.
Eomer tilted his head to one side, "I wouldn't say that – we figured out what to do with the babies to be born. And we still have to discuss prevention with the men I will keep here for another month until Aragorn's coronation - at least fifty or so Riders." He paused and then smiled sweetly at her. "And I finally met you."
The smitten maiden smiled helplessly back at him, uncertain if she could infer an admiration equal to her own from his words and tone. To her left, Darcy and Eothain had long turned back to each other, satisfied with their earlier performance as the Greek chorus. They were now giggling over some game with their thumbs dancing above clasped hands and she had no doubt that they were also playing footsies under the table.
Suddenly, Eomer sucked in a sharp breath, face a rictus of pain. He pinched his right hand with the long fingers of his left, digging his thumb into the palm. Lothiriel hurriedly skirted the table to the chair next to him. "Give me your hand," she demanded.
When he did so, she pulled his right hand into her lap, laying it face up on her left knee. She dug her own fingers into the pressure point at the base of his thumb. He gave a high keen of pain, but his shoulders and face eased their tense stance slightly.
"Where exactly does it hurt?" She interrogated the big blond warrior.
"Right now, exactly where you are torturing me," he gasped out. The man paused, panting against the pain, then continued, lips pale, "It has been a continuous ache for the last few days from the middle knuckle to elbow. This is the first time my hand has seized like this though."
The healer held his hand for a minute in silence then turned his hand over so his palm cupped her knee. She pushed up his sleeve to his elbow and began stroking down his muscled forearm, alternating hands. Then the healer picked his hand back up and began pinching gently between each finger joint, then squeezing and stroking each finger in her slender fist. The warrior was making slight gasping noises with each stroke, before he finally stopped her with a warm calloused hand on the back of her wrist. The extra contact sent a warm flush arrowing down through her torso.
"Any idea what might have caused it?" she asked him, twisting his hand over again and stroking down the inside of his forearm. If she might have overreached and brushed the backs of her hands against his large hard bicep, well she was just going to blame her over-enthusiasm for the treatment.
"Too much goddamn self-relief without help." He muttered to himself under his breath. She fought another blush and pretended not to hear until he continued in a more normal tone of voice. "I am more used to riding than writing, and I have not found these treaty negotiations easy."
"Are not the scribes writing the treaties?"
"They are, but they are not mine."
"Faramir will give you copies." Lothiriel admonished lightly.
"How do you know?" Eomer asked skeptically.
"How do you not know? Have you asked him? And besides he's my cousin – I know how particular he is about paperwork and copies in triplicate. He has the soul of an accountant despite all of his time as a Ranger in the wild."
"Oh. I actually had not thought to ask. He did give me a funny look when I first asked for my own pen and paper, but I did not think anything of it at the time, and he gave them willingly enough." Eomer bowed his head looking sad and overwhelmed. "All I know is how to be a Rider. Even as Marshall, my eored's logistics were mostly taken care of by Aldburg's seneschal."
"Eomer, you will figure it out." Lothiriel leaned forward and peered up into his face, pulling his hand deeper into her lap to underline her sincerity. She was suddenly angry at Eothain for not helping this man more with his responsibilities, angry at Faramir for not having offered more guidance, and also annoyed with herself for not having learned more about his needs earlier, embarrassed by her own reaction to him. Just because he seemed healthy did not mean he had no claim on her time and aid. "And you don't have to do it alone."
He tried to smile at her and said, "You know your father said the same thing. He thought perhaps you could help me."
The princess stared, mind whirling with sweaty ways she could help him. But then she frowned. Her father, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, probably wanted to bloodlessly trade her hand in a marriage contract. "Of course I'll help you. You have only to ask."
He looked down at her for a moment in silence. And then his eyes slid lower and went cross-eyed and she realized that he could see down the front of her robes to her breasts. She jerked upright in embarrassment, dropping his hand and pressing her own to the neck of her gown. Dazedly pulling his eyes from her chest to her face, he blurted out, "I wonder what our babies would look like."
She goggled at him, "That's what my father said to help with?"
He paused, unsure of his answer, but then sallied a shy smile and retrieved her hand. "Sort of, although what he said was that he thought you could help me with my organizational needs and that we should consider a betrothal."
The princess rolled her eyes as her fear was confirmed. She corrected her internal dialog, it was not a fear exactly, more like an impossible daydream that was painful to contemplate because of her rampant hormones. But somehow the warmth from his long fingers and broad palms enfolding her slender hand soothed the nervous adrenaline his proximity engendered.
"Eomer! Now who has a problem with putting the sex before the courtship?" Lothiriel half-heartedly tried to inject shock and horror into her voice, but it came out sounding more throaty and flirtatious as her mind spiraled back to all the times she had idly contemplated the same.
The powerful warrior looked hopeful at that and cast around for options. "Um, okay. Courting. A drink? A ride? Or is there a ball tonight? Would you like to go?"
"That sounds nice." The ball really had not sounded at all pleasant earlier when Aunt Ivriniel had been lecturing her to go, but now it seemed like a fantastic idea. If his recent interest was any indication, the low-cut dress she could wear tonight would be the perfect thing.
Having some internal alert for self-profit, Darcy and Eothain immediately refocused their attention on the royal pair at the comment. "Does this mean no inventory tonight? We can go to the ball?" Darcy bounced in her chair, hands clasped under her chin, eyes shining in anticipation.
Lothiriel rolled her eyes, finally feeling more comfortable in the Rider King's presence, her lust for him an ever-present but now anticipatory ache low in her belly. "Fine. No inventory tonight. And yes, we can go to the ball. But I expect at least a hundred bottles of salve on the morrow in addition to the inventory."
Darcy nodded wildly in confirmation, before turning to Eothain in delight. Eothain grinned back at her, "Now you have to pay up on those dances, Darcy! I told you Eomer would convince her." He turned to a suddenly squirming Eomer, "And now you can dance with your princess!"
Darcy looked skeptical, "I'm not sure the way to Lothiriel's heart is really through dancing…" She tailed off as she caught Lothiriel rolling her eyes and shooting a secretive smile at Eomer. "Color me impressed! Apparently Eomer knows the way to woo Lothiriel! Dancing! Who would have thought she would consider that foreplay!"
Deadpan, Eomer drawled to Darcy with a flirtatious smirk at Lothiriel. "Do tell. We certainly have some process to review. After all, Lothiriel presented me with over a hundred babies as soon as we met, before we even discussed marriage."
A/N2: I thought I got the idea of blond babies from Maddy051280's wonderful Eomer/Lothiriel-as-healer story series, but upon rereading those stories I cannot find the idea mentioned (so if anyone know where I might have gotten the idea, please let me know so I can cite it properly). Still, I rediscovered where I must have gotten my general trope for Lothiriel to expect Eomer to ask for aid from Gondor.