Ailith balanced on her stool, one leg outstretched for balance, and flung another length of lavender at her drying rack. It completely missed, instead choosing to sail merrily to the floor. She gritted her teeth and threw the last bit. It landed square on the rack but was blown off by the gust of wind that accompanied the opening of the door.
"Éomer!" she scolded, jumping down and scooping up the errant wisps.
"My, my, we are irritable today!" Éomer said drily, picking up a piece she had missed. He held out and she snatched it off him. She climbed back onto the stool and recommenced in the task of throwing the plant at the drying rack. He watched her with amusement. "Would it not be easier to move the stool closer to the rack?" he asked eventually. The corners of her mouth tightened. Yes, it would be easier but she was not going to admit it now. One particular toss was slightly too enthusiastic and her stool wobbled. "Be careful," Éomer warned her. She stopped and glared at him.
"Do you have a problem or are you merely going to breath down my neck all day?" she snapped.
"What is wrong with you and Théodred? You have been avoiding each other for days now! Do you not want to spend time with each other?" he asked. She paused. She had been avoiding him, that was true. First the violets, now a kiss. What would be next?
"We both have commitments," she said stiffly. She threw another strand angrily. The jarred movement made the stool wobble again. She spun her arms wildly to avoid overbalancing but the seat gave a horrible crack and she keeled over sideways. Éomer jumped forwards quickly and the two went down in a tangle of clothes and lavender.
"I told you to be careful," he groaned from under her.
"I was fine without you!" she hissed, propping herself on her elbows. He winced and she quickly moved the elbow to a different part of his chest; a part that was not covered by his bruise.
"Women! Why are you so stubborn?" he groaned. She frowned and deliberately dug her elbow back into the tender area. He responded by wrapping an arm around her neck and before long they were tussling on the floor like a pair of wolf cubs.
Out of the four noble children who had once run through the halls of Meduseld, it had always been the two of them who scrapped the most. Éomer kept the verbal peace between the four of them but Ailith and he would happily lay into each other with enough provocation. The first time had been shortly after her arrival at Edoras. She had quickly bonded with Éowyn and was cautiously polite to Théodred but Éomer had joked and teased her mercilessly. The final blow had come when he had asked her if she lived in a shepherding hut. Nobody spoke like that about the Fortress! When the servants had finally separated the brawling children, he had grinned at her and told anyone who listened about the origins of the fantastic black eye she had managed to give him. As they grew, the fights had grow less and less as he started his training and she took on more duties around the Golden Hall.
This was their first fight in nearly fourteen years. When they were younger, Ailith could win most of the fights through the use of long nails and skirts that could easily be tangled around the enemy's feet. Now however, Éomer had the distinct advantage. They had had the same training but he was taller, heavier and stronger than her.
It didn't take him long to restrain her; his hands around her wrists and his knees pinning her dress and therefore her legs to the floor.
"Yield?" he asked jokingly, his face inches from hers.
"Oh, get Gamling's horse to finish you off, you complete pig!" she retorted, squirming in his grasp. She stopped and glared up at him. Slowly, she began to feel uncomfortable as he neither moved nor let go, his weight pressing down on top of her. He did let go of one of her arms but only to pull some of the lavender out of her hair. His eyes trailed slowly across her face and he tickled her cheek with the lavender. She smiled and batted it away with her free hand. "Get off me, you idiot, before someone comes in and thinks we are up to no good," she murmured.
"I think that sounds like an invitation," he said, leaning in closer to her. She lifted her hand and stopped him.
He sighed and sat back, pulling her up with him.
"Your hands are rougher than Éowyn's," he said, turning her hand over and running a finger over her palm.
"I work with my hands more than she does," she said. She smiled as she thought about the training Éowyn was working her way through. Next time Éomer held his sister's hand, it might be rougher than he remembered.
He was looking around the room with curiosity, as even the most regular patient did, and his gaze fell upon the now broken stool.
"I'll find someone to fix this for you," he said and left her, sitting alone on the floor surrounded by lavender. She gathered together a small bunch and inhaled the sweet scent. Her cheek and palm still tingled from his touch. A small smile curved around her mouth but faded just as quickly when she remembered Théodred.
Now she knew how it felt; to be loved by one when her own love belonged to someone else.