She had no choice but to turn around and answer to him. He was a King, after all.
But she was a Princess no less, a proud daughter from the Line of Imrâzor, and she could talk with him without losing her nerves. Seeing him at court was one thing, but to have him seek her out in private once more, was a different matter altogether.
Their past would colour their words and actions, all of it laid bare between them, undeniable and abraded. And she was the one who had gotten hurt the most. She was the one risking her all once again.
Taking a deep breath in an effort to steady her nerves, Lothíriel finally turned around to face him.
"Well met, Your Majesty." Her voice did not waver and she curtsied as formally as she could. When she straightened up, she met his gaze coolly, yet she could not hold it for long.
For as he stood there alone in the garden, with Sir Angrenor duly out of earshot, away from observers and on-lookers, and alone with the woman whose love he had denied, Éomer was not able to maintain the illusion of being his usual self, a person whose heart was as unchanged and calm as a mountain.
If Lothíriel's eyes were not fooling herself - though she did not trust her body wholly simply because her heart was racing, her nerves were pulled and her hands were itching to reach for him - it had seemed that the young man from the Line of Éorl looked weathered and worn.
Yes, his armour was polished and formidable as always, and his hair was plaited and his beard was neatly groomed. But there were bags under his eyes, his lips were stretched grimly and there was a strain in his face that spoke of...
Of pain? Of sadness? Or perhaps her eyes were indeed fooling her and they were mistaking fatigue and general weariness in an attempt to feed her vanity that perhaps he was out of sorts because of her.
The same kind of thinking that led her to her own sorry state of mind.
No, Lothíriel told herself. He was simply tired because he was a King, green and eager to do right by his people. It was not for her sake, not for the naive little princess that had been imposing on him, mistaking his kindness and simple lust for something more lasting.
As she stared at him, she knew that he was studying her as well. His gaze was heavy and she felt a blush spread on her cheeks. She looked down.
No good would come of being here alone with him.
The urge to flee was strong and she racked her mind for an excuse that would not diminish her pride. Anything to get out of here, and out of her greedy little spiral desperate still for his affections.
"How... How have you been, milady?" His voice was gruff and warm - just like it had been in their moments alone together, making her stomach swoop with its sweetness.
And how treacherous was her body, still pining for his nearness!
Is that all it took for her resolve to crumble? A look at his sad face and the sound of his voice?
Despite the months of heartache, she longed to embrace him and kiss him - and tuck him in bed after a cup of sleep tea because his exhaustion was so apparent, that she was afraid he would fall ill at a moment's notice.
No, she told herself once more. It was not for her to be concerned for him. It was what had started this entire heartbreak in the first place.
And had he not been adamant despite his own actions? And in turn, had she not made clear to him and herself that she would never bestow her tenderness upon him again?
So she needed to stay strong. For the sake of her pride, her title and for the sake of her own stupid little heart, the very same that still wanted to throw itself at him.
Éomer was not for her, and she was not for Éomer.
And he did not need to know how she had been. Indeed, he had no right to speak to her so pleasantly, as if they were friends. As if she did not confess her feelings for him and he had not broken her heart. How could he forget himself so?
"Is there anything I can do for you, Your Majesty?" Lothíriel ensured the steel in her voice.
And Éomer did notice her tone, and he shook his head, resigned. Then he started to say something, but he stopped as a servant approached the Princess. The young man bowed and spoke to her.
"Your Highness, Lord Forgammon awaits you."
Lord Forgammon. Her suitor.
She had forgotten all about him and his mushrooms, but he was a good excuse to use.
A convenient way to be responsible and keep her distance from the Northern King.
"If you will excuse me, Your Majesty, my presence is required elsewhere." She curtsied once more and gestured to Sir Angrenor that they were leaving.
But then his voice rang clear in the empty herb gardens. "Lothíriel, please!"
Unable to school herself, she had turned around to look at him, her shock apparent.
"Lothíriel, I - I am sorry!"
The pain in his voice and the anguish on his face were so obvious, that her breath caught in her throat.
"I know you do not owe me a moment of your time - not how I treated you," Éomer spoke earnestly, his eyes boring into hers, willing her to hear him and perhaps understand him, "But I must tell you how ashamed I am of myself. I..."
He held out his palm to her as he searched for the right words. Lothíriel glanced at it before looking back at him, unsure of everything.
"I took advantage of your good, caring nature for my own comfort, without paying any mind to how it would affect you. You looked after me so well and I repaid you most unkindly. My actions, my words, everything I did was so disrespectful to you - "
Though she was hearing him speak, it was as if the meaning of his words was processed very slowly by her head. With a light frown, she stared at him, desperately trying to make sense of his speech - make sense of him. There was a weird buzzing feeling in her abdomen as if the void there was trying to shapeshift into something solid and stinging.
" - and now I do understand if you wish to forget about everything and ignore me as well, and you would have all right to, all right to - of course. But I must tell you that I am so grateful for all that you have done for me. The things I was going through, I was drowning and those times with you were the moments I was able to gasp for air. I was able to catch my breath - "
He was rambling, Lothíriel noted absently as she tried to understand him. Éomer never rambled.
"But I hurt you. I still hurt you and I cannot forgive myself for it, though I selfishly hope that one day you shall - forgive me, that is. Not that I deserve it, naturally! That is not -"
An ounce of vindication welled up in her from that void, her mind finally able to process his words. At least she was not the only one left broken by what had happened between them. He too had been affected by the fallout of their separation, if one could even call it that. He too had been suffering. His body belied his exhaustion and even his speech was affected. Éomer had always a very decided way of communicating. Concise and clear.
This was, by his own standards, anything but.
But what was he trying to do? Was he trying to apologize? Was he trying to befriend her once more?
A bubble of unease rose in her chest.
Not friendship. She could not handle that.
She could let go of her anger. Indeed, she had already done so, because holding onto her soreness had been a burden to her soul. Knowing how gentle he used to be with her, and the sheer mountains of the burdens he had to carry, she had forgiven him the moment she saw the tiredness etched into his skin.
He might not love her, but she wished him no harm, ever. Not even the mildest discomfort did she wish for him, especially now that he had acknowledged how had behaved with her.
It was laughable how easy it was for her to forgive him, but that came as no surprise. Seeing the mighty King of the Rohirrim struggling to express himself, was something that did not leave her heart unmoved.
And that, realized Lothíriel, as she stared at his tall yet obviously agitated shape, was dangerous.
Her foolish little heart was about to foster hope, reading into his words certain meanings that he did not intend.
"That is not what I am trying to say here. What I mean is that I appreciate - "
Lothíriel then cut him short, because regardless of how big a breach of etiquette it was, she simply could not allow this precious and precarious rambling any further. "Thank you, milord!"
Éomer immediately fell silent, his hazel-green eyes widened in surprise as he studied her from under his brow.
A flush crawled up her cheeks and she raised her hand in a placating gesture. "I mean to say that I forgive you."
He did not reply, but instead continued to stare at her.
"Thank you for..." Lothíriel swallowed thickly and cleared her throat. "I need to go. Now. Lord Forgammon is waiting for me."
And a moment later, Éomer gave his gruff acknowledgement of her words.
"If you would excuse me, milord." She had been anxious to leave, but now that she was actually about to leave, she did not wish to.
Still, he inclined his head and then moved aside to give her passage.
With brisk steps and a stinging heart, the young woman curtsied and left him behind in the herb garden.
In an odd parallel to her journey back to her room that fated night five months ago, so too did she hurry back to her room, her heart and mind overwhelmed because of the blonde horse-lord. Sir Angrenor followed her closely, silent but obviously concerned for his protegée.
No doubt this too would be reported by him to her father and her eldest brother. And Lothíriel did not mind it. At least she was allowed to make her mistakes, which was a freedom that very few noblewomen could afford.
"Your Highness," the Swan Knight finally spoke up, having arrived at the entrance of her rooms, "Shall I have someone bring you luncheon? I shall inform Lord Forgammon of your delay."
Lothíriel shot him a grateful look. She had forgotten about luncheon and Lord Forgammon again, very quickly too, but at least she had the loyal Knight looking out for her.
Though he was no Sir Feruion, he understood that his duties to her - actually to her father - went beyond being a personal guard, and she appreciated it.
"Thank you, Sir Angrenor," she said and they shared a smile before she allowed him to close the door to her rooms.
Lothíriel entered her bedroom and refreshed herself before she sank down on her bed and thought of what just had happened.
Éomer had acknowledged his wrongdoings and he had apologized to her regarding his treatment of her. Like her, he had suffered. And she had forgiven him, instantly.
And perhaps she had been too hasty to give him his forgiveness and to cut short his rambling to save him from discomfort.
Had he acknowledged her feelings for him? Had he acknowledged his own?
Indeed, he had said nothing about why he had kissed her. About why he was able to find comfort and peace with her. And why did he seek her out today to apologize?
With any other man, she would be able to firmly ascertain that he had feelings for her. But with Éomer?
Even thinking of it was plainly perilous for her poor heart. No good would come of it. He was not for her, and she was not for him.
If she would keep repeating that to herself, perhaps the vision of his sorrowful countenance would not have a lasting effect on her.
Lothíriel spent luncheon trying to ignore the aching of her heart as she attempted to eat at least part of her meal. The afternoon was passed pouring over the singular tome Lord Forgammon had found in the Old Archives.
The fact that he even found a single one was a miracle, as Lothíriel had surmised that the kind of people who would forage and cultivate mushrooms, would not be the ones to fill books with their knowledge. The one record found was written by a lesser noble who had made a hobby out of mycology, and he had been diligent and meticulous in his records. Even in one single mushroom journal, there was an overwhelming amount of information that Lothíriel needed the whole afternoon parsing and processing.
Lord Forgammon stayed with her until it was time for a pressing Gondorian council meeting. She did not mind his absence. He asked too many questions about production value and finding the easiest way to get the most medicinal worth out of the fungi. It was tedious.
Amrothos stayed with her until the end, though he took little interest in the source material. Instead, he wrote his own correspondence, balanced a pen on his nose or stared at the wall, thinking hard about a topic he refused to share with her.
Dinner time was nigh and Amrothos called out to his sister. "Hey there, Lady Toadstool! You should go and get ready for dinner, you have been in your stained Healer garbs since morning."
She stood up and looked down her gown, panicked.
Had she been wearing dirty clothing in front of Éomer King?
Then she corrected herself.
In front of Lord Forgammon, the one who was actually courting her.
Yet as she inspected her clothes for spots, she found none. When she glanced back at her brother, he was grinning broadly. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and finished her last sentence. Then she retreated to her room and was made ready by her chambermaids for the evening meal.
Her hair was loose in curls, cascading down her shoulders and back. Her evening gown was midnight blue with silver embroidery at the bodice and hems. The delicate silver and sapphire jewellery she wore elevated her appearance from noble to regal, and she sighed softly as she studied herself in the mirror. It was her favourite gown, usually able to give her morale a boost, but today its magic fizzled and died after the first minute.
How could she enjoy her finest raiment though? All she could think of was Éomer. She was pathetic. He might have apologized to her and she might have forgiven him - too easily - but he had still rejected her feelings.
Twice!
No, all her pining was wasted on him. She was a Princess and she had her duties, none of which concerned him directly.
The only way to move on from him was to keep moving.
Her fingers found an embroidered spiral seashell on her dress and she traced it a few times, willing herself to calm down and focus on what truly mattered.
Keep your head up, Lothíriel. You can do this.
Motivated once more by the Ramshorn squid, the Dol Amrothian maiden stood up and made for the door full of resolve.
When she came out, only Amrothos was waiting for her. Erchirion had been spending all his time with his betrothed and thus had been notably absent. Prince Imrahil had been occupied with the Gondorian council that her suitor was also a part of. Soon, the siblings arrived at the dining hall where once more their table ran parallel to the dais. Before she was able to navigate to a seat where she would not be able to see the King of the Riddermark, Amrothos led her to a seat facing the dais and sat down.
She did not. Instead, she glanced around nervously, especially at the dais, which was currently crowded with servants setting up the table for the rulers.
"Sit down, Lothíriel," said her brother in a hushed voice, "we can see Erchirion easily from here."
Simultaneously, they looked at their elder brother, who was currently in deep conversation with the elder sister of Lord Boridhren of Lebennin, Lady Minieth.
"He seems happy. Did he keep it from you, too?" asked Lothíriel, her eyes still fixed upon the pair.
Though privately she wondered how drunk Erchirion was right now. He was currently holding a goblet of wine in his hand, but his attention was entirely on the woman sitting beside him. Lady Minieth was an... Interesting choice for her brother, to be sure, but Lothíriel would not say that they were ill-matched.
"Aye, but that is merely because Ada told him to keep mum until the suit was accepted, of course. Ada said that the wedding shall take place once the negotiations with the Haradlands have a solid foundation. Then Erchirion can stay with her at Pelargir to oversee it in his place."
"My, such convenience." Imrahil was a good father, but he was an even better politician, and that one aspect of him tended to bleed into the other.
"As expected of our dear Ada." Amrothos turned to sit more comfortably in his chair. "Hark, here comes another one of our father's machinations."
The King's council had ended and its attendants streamed in to take part in the meal. Lord Forgammon appeared on the other side of the table alongside his mother, Lady Vanyalos, and greeted them cordially.
As cordially as he could, which was not a generous amount, thought Lothíriel to herself as she inclined her head in greeting.
The presence of the High King and Queen was announced, as well as Éomer King and Prince Imrahil, after which all sat down and the first course of the dinner was served.
Lord Forgammon took a seat opposite Lothíriel. Much to her dismay, though, behind him at a short distance sat Éomer King, directly in her line of sight.
It was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. Their meeting in the herb garden had been a grand attack on her resolve and she had needed to muster all her willpower to stay on the path that she had decided. The path that led away from him.
Yet here she was, veering close to him, tempted by the convenient opportunity to gaze upon him and worry about him.
It was a queer addiction, her need to care for him. Her need to be concerned for his well-being.
Even Orcs were clever enough not to fall into the same pit twice. And here she was, noble Princess of Dol Amroth, teetering on the edge once more, wishing to ignore all warning signs and just jump in.
Her heart squeezed painfully. She did not wish to be in this maddening situation and she wondered if she should excuse herself, begging weariness. As he was about to beckon to a servant to move her chair back, Lord Forgammon spoke up.
"Milady, I have some news regarding Captain Baranor."
Lothíriel's torrent of self-pity seemed to lie down, and she turned to him with interest and encouraged him to speak.
Captain Baranor, who was no longer a captain factually, was currently residing in Osgilliath. During and after the Ring War, he and his companions had taken down fortresses and watch points within enemy borders. Their intention had been to fight Mordor until death, taking with them as many Orcs and other evil creatures as possible. Their attacks had been covert, especially due to the events that took place in parallel. After the defeat of Sauron, they had continued their efforts inland, but once they had heard the news that there was a King in Gondor, they had ceased their battles and returned to Osgilliath. As there were only soldiers stationed in the ruins of Osgilliath, their presence had been known only by those who halted them at the security posts. The soldiers had lost track of them soon after they had given the party their leave.
"I am not surprised that the soldiers let them go," said Lothíriel after Forgammon told his part, "apparently he was a beloved Captain of the Gondorian Guard, and I am sure at least one of the watchmen knew him personally."
As she spoke, she felt a familiar weight settle onto her. Unable to school herself, she automatically gazed beyond the lord of Lossarnach, instantly meeting his eyes.
Éomer was staring at her, quite intently, while resting his elbow on the arm of his chair, his chin supported by his hand. When he noticed her looking back at him, he inclined his head to her and then looked away.
She too turned her attention back to her food, while her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
Why was he watching him? No, once more she corrected herself. There was no need to fall into that spiral of longing by thinking of an answer to that question.
Stubbornly, a small part of her relished his gaze. Dressed very differently from this morning, Lothíriel was no stranger to men staring at her, and she could not help but be vainly pleased about the King of Rohan being unable to resist her allure.
Yet, physical attraction was not enough. Even after everything, she wanted all of him and he did not want all of her. That imbalance was dangerous for her.
She felt his stare again, and her vanity gave way to a roiling swoop of helplessness in her chest.
He had told her to move on. Why was he not letting them move on then?
Lothíriel met his eye once more, and very lightly she shook her head, warning him of his indiscretion.
Do not stare at me, Éomer King.
Éomer then sat up straight, the frown on his brow deepening, and he finally cast his eyes to the ground.
She let out a measured, inconspicuous sigh before she turned her attention back to Forgammon.
To her pleasant surprise, Amrothos and he were having an earnest conversation about Captain Baranor. For a few minutes, she observed how Amrothos was taking a genuine interest in the topic, making remarks and asking for elaborations from Lord Forgammon. Perhaps there was hope for a pleasant acquaintanceship between her brothers and her suitor. It would certainly simplify matters for her.
Lothíriel took a few bites of her meal before she interjected with a question about compensation for the crew of Captain Baranor, which led to another fascinating turn in their conversation.
The rest of dinner passed uneventfully and when it was over, Éomer was one of the first to leave.
It was the day before the Anniversary, and the Dol Amrothian Princes awaited their cousin Prince Faramir's return from Ithilien. Aside from the love they shared, he would also be coming bearing details about the meetings planned with Captain Baranor. Éomer King also awaited the arrival of his future brother-in-law at the fully restored City Gate. He stood a little aside, speaking with his direct command, dressed in a regal outfit of gold, maroon and brown. On his brow was his crown, gleaming in the sunlight.
Lothíriel observed him and his men from a distance as she stood beside her brothers. He looked every bit of a king her father considered him to be.
Did he feel like a king yet? During their rendezvous, he would often express his insecurities; fragile intimations of which he had said that he could only share with her. Still, as she looked upon him, his posture was regal, proud and inspiring awe. Not a hint of the sorrowful man clumsily apologizing to her.
Perhaps her forgiveness of him had been enough. Perhaps her warning to him had finally made him realize his own boundaries and his own capabilities as well. Perhaps during their five months apart, he had grown to be more comfortable in his role. Perhaps he had received assurance and encouragement from his people enough to have more confidence in his rule. Perhaps he had found someone who could give him the comfort he needed without it being a burden. Perhaps he did not need her, after all.
She looked down at her hands, hurt by her own foolish thoughts.
It was difficult to move on when he was near, and she felt like she had made very little progress in forgetting about him. It did not help that he was only a few feet away and her whole body was hyperaware of him. It did not help either that she was close to the place where he had dismounted Firefoot one early morning and discovered her browsing for apples, triggering the first of their many supper tête a têtes. Where they stood now was also the place where she bid him farewell when he left with the funeral procession. The barrage of memories did nothing good for her nerves and she felt like any effort, made to distance her heart in the past five months, was wasted in not even four days.
She did not even have the luxury to admit defeat. Not after how he had looked and talked.
Unbidden, her eyes strayed to him once more, where they met his. He looked troubled. He held her gaze for a moment, before inclining his head and looking away.
Lothíriel released a shaky breath and sought for something else to pay attention to.
In such luck, the party from Ithilien was approaching, and soon her dear Cousin Faramir dismounted his horse and greeted Éomer warmly. Moments later, he approached the Dol Amroth family and he kissed and embraced each of them, starting with her and ending with Prince Imrahil.
"What news I hear, Uncle. Is there to be a betrothal announcement to be made from Dol Amroth?" asked Faramir, referring to Erchirion.
Her father smiled broadly. "Aye, many months have I laboured to secure this match, as you are aware, and I am pleased to say I have succeeded."
As one, everyone who had come to receive the Steward of Gondor mounted their horses and made the journey up to the Citadel, where King Elessar and Queen Arwen awaited their arrival. Lothíriel was on her Gondorian side-saddle and she followed behind her brothers, accompanied by her Swan Knight.
Distance, she reminded herself. Distance from Éomer King is what she needed.
Distance was not something she had. In fact, the Princes of Dol Amroth sat very close to the Kings and Queen in the High King's Hall. All influential nobles had gathered to partake in the Concluding Debate. Lord Forgammon too was present, and he sat next to Lothíriel. It was a convenience if only because his stern expression reminded her not to let her mind - or her eyes - wander.
The discussions began. First was the topic of the covert attacks of the Orcs the past year. It was agreed upon that the traps designed by Dol Amroth were effective, but that Gondor would look at alternative designs made by the Dwarves, the Elves and the Haradrim because the Orcs would soon enough wisen up on the traps and learn how to avoid them. A delegation of each kind would come together in Minas Tirith by the end of summer to exchange knowledge and skills.
The second topic was the trade routes that would be solidified and expanded upon throughout the Unified Kingdom of Gondor, Eriador and Arnor. It was agreed upon that dedicated ambassadors would continue to work on their parts of the routes and they would meet at the end of the harvest season to align with one another. Lothíriel listened attentively to the discussions, taking some notes so as to ask Imrahil follow-up questions in private, later on.
"What are you scribbling, milady?" whispered Lord Forgammon near her ear, looking over her shoulder, during a short break.
"I have some questions for Ada, so I am writing them down."
"May I have a look?" He held out his hand expectantly, leaving her with no choice.
She passed him her booklet and watched as he read through the pages.
Eventually, he closed it and handed it back to her. "Princess Lothíriel, I have to say, those are some very insightful questions."
She met his gaze challengingly. "Lord Forgammon, what a tone of surprise!"
He then smiled, a sight that had become less rare to her. "Forgive me, it was not my intention to offend you."
A look of playful disbelief crossed her face, but then she smiled, too. Some habits were hard to break, but she appreciated the ease with which he apologized for his words and behaviour. Would he one day be willing to apologize to Amrothos or Erchirion in a similar manner, if she did decide to marry him?
He leaned even closer and said, "I could maybe answer some of those questions for you, milady. If you would allow me to do so."
He was making an effort, and while she would rather have her father be the one to give her elaborate answers, she supposed that Lord Forgammon should be given a chance to do some courting.
"How about this evening, after dinner?"
Lothíriel nodded.
Satisfied, he sat back in his seat. "Then we shall have a turn about the Royal Gardens and have your questions answered."
"That sounds lovely." Lothíriel opened her booklet and after another smile directed towards him, she turned her attention towards the High King, who had resumed the meeting.
Inevitably, her eyes strayed to Éomer.
He met her gaze with such ferocity that for a moment she forgot to breathe. He had a deep frown and his lips were pulled into a scowl. No wonder enemies on the battlefield would run in the opposite directions seeing his face.
Lothíriel shifted in her seat, uncomfortable and hot under his heavy glare. She looked down, her heart thrumming loudly in her ears, wondering what had upset him.
She chanced another look at him and saw that he was no longer looking at her, but he still looked troubled.
Concern welled up in her heart, even though she knew she could not help him.
The discussions continued, first about the relations with the Haradlands, then it was about the Druidan Forest and its safekeeping. The following topic was the progress of establishing Gondor's reign in Eriador and Arnor, which included reports, charts and maps to highlight the crucial developments. Finally, the King spoke his closing remarks.
"As the final hours of the first year of Sauron's defeat draw to their end, I commend each and every one of you for your contributions to the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor. Your labours eased and improved the circumstances of our people, making for a tomorrow that is bright and welcoming. Queen Arwen and I, King Elessar Telcontar, shall continue to serve you and count on your support. This ends our Concluding Debate for this year. I invite you all to join the celebrations tomorrow, where we shall commemorate those who gave their lives for us and celebrate their legacies."
The court was adjourned. Lothíriel stood up and took her leave from Lord Forgammon. Already falling into old habits, she turned to look at the Northern King. He was still sitting on his throne, staring at the ground, seeming lost in thought.
"I wonder what troubles him." She heard Amrothos say, and she approached her brother, who was also observing Éomer. "He has been out of sorts since Faramir's arrival."
"News about his sister?" suggested she, considering that he loved his sister the most.
"That may be, but I doubt it. He would have been halfway to Edoras if there was something amiss with Lady Éowyn."
They watched as Éomer broke from his reverie and stood up. He noticed their gazes and approached them, making an effort to have a friendly expression. "Well met, Prince Amrothos, Princess Lothíriel."
"You have been out of sorts since this morning, Éomer." Amrothos chose to forgo both formality and subtlety, something that the Northern King seemed to appreciate because the forced smile on his face became genuine.
"It is nothing, I just received some disconcerting news a while ago." Éomer cleared his throat and he met her eyes for a split-second before his attention was caught by one of the Steward's men.
"Your Majesty, Prince Steward Faramir awaits your presence in his office."
"Certainly, I shall be along momentarily."
"You must speak to me about your worries sometime later, my friend. I may not be my father, but you can count on me nonetheless." Amrothos gave one of his encouraging smiles which was gladly received by him.
"Come now, you are a good friend to me in your own right, Amrothos." Éomer clapped the Prince's shoulder, amicably. "Feel free to share your own burdens with me, as I would like to bestow upon you the same kindness."
Lothíriel quietly watched on, endeared by their easy manners.
"Oh, are you sure? Well, I shall gladly take you for your word, even if you beg me to stop halfway." Their joint laughter rang through the almost empty hall, and the Princess smiled indulgently. Amrothos had the ability to change a person's mood with just a few sentences. He had shared that trait with their mother.
Éomer cleared his throat once more and he said, "I beg your pardon, milord, milady."
His eyes lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary before he turned around and walked off.
The two siblings watched him go, silently, before they too left.