Chapter 6
Queen Arwen's words were curiously heartening. With their aid, Lothíriel was able to join Lord Aegdir and feel untroubled once more. The only disappointment was his refusal to sing with her again – he said his throat was too sore today – but he accompanied her with a harp and his beautiful playing almost made up for it. Even so, the memory of last night's duet was not easily forgotten and she hoped his throat would be well enough soon.
She retired early that evening, but sleep was not forthcoming. So she lay in her bed, staring idly at the shadows on her chamber's walls, and thought of Aegdir and his good qualities. He was charming in his own way, yes, he knew her world and how to navigate it, and apparently he was a fine singer when his voice was not impaired. Perhaps it would not be so bad to accept his proposal. But soon her thoughts drifted off once more, and she began to wonder how King Éomer was at this very moment – if he and Faramir had already hunted down those orcs. Was he well? Was he safe and comfortable? Here in Emyn Arnen it was pleasant and sheltered, but beyond the strong walls, there was a wilderness of beasts. She shuddered and uttered in her mind a quiet prayer to the Powers that be to protect him out there, and bring him back unharmed.
Sleep took her eventually and morning came. After breakfast, Queen Arwen wished to walk by the river and she asked Lothíriel to come along. If Aegdir felt frustrated this time, he hid it well.
The Queen made no references to yesterday's talk, but she spoke much of the river and all the myriad life in it. Lothíriel was a little bit surprised to hear the extent of Arwen's knowledge, but apparently her ancestors had explored this country in ages long past, and knew much more of it than mortals ever could. She even taught her young companion a few bird calls familiar to the avian creatures which made home by Anduin. A bittersweet look came to the Queen's features when she said it was her brothers who had taught her.
Lothíriel did not talk much, but she listened to the high lady closely. She thought of all that this woman had given up, the price she had paid for the life she lived now. But when they returned to the manor house and she saw the Queen greet her husband the King Elessar, and the way they gazed at one another, she abruptly felt a fierce longing that surprised her in its force.
She averted her eyes and quickly went back inside.
Lunch was served in the garden again, and after it, her father, Elphir and Lord Aegdir went inside together to take counsel together; she did not know what about, but she guessed her father felt the need of instructing the young man in the affairs of great lords. Before they vanished inside, Aegdir cast her a bright smile over his shoulder.
The Queen's party spent their time little less seriously. They stayed in the garden and some of her ladies in waiting were trying to teach Queen Arwen and Éowyn a game called Seven Gates, in which one was supposed to hit wooden balls with a mallet through a series of hoops. Supposedly the game had something to do with the seven gates of Minas Tirith, but the connection was lost to time and memory: the hoops were meant to stand for the gates, but in the game there were a dozen of them. Queen Arwen seemed genuinely interested, probably because the mortal world and their inventions were a source of endless surprise and fascination for her, but Éowyn's face was dubious more often than not. Lothíriel was well familiar with it – as was every young Gondorian – but she enjoyed the reactions of her friends more than the actual game.
They never finished, though, because heavy dark clouds rolled over the sky and there was the sound of distant thunder. So they collected the game pieces quickly and retreated inside before the skies opened. Carrying a pile of mallets in her arms, Lothíriel thought of her cousin and the King, riding out there in the storm, and felt sorry for them. Here others were having a pleasant time while they were hunting a pack of hungry orcs! It didn't seem entirely fair, especially as far as King Éomer was concerned. She guessed he didn't often get away from his many duties, and even this little holiday had been interrupted.
The storm passed over Emyn Arnen. Seated by the window in Éowyn's solar, with the ladies conversing softly around the Queen, Lothíriel gazed out into the damp and grey garden. She felt like a spark of life had gone out of this party with King Éomer's absence. Even Amrothos seemed subdued, rather unlike his usual good cheer and vigour. Or perhaps he was just disappointed that Faramir had not invited him to come along. King Elessar had received a messenger from Minas Tirith after lunch and was probably writing letters to his council. Father was still closeted with Elphir and Aegdir, and of Erchirion there was no trace. Éowyn was understandably distracted – both her husband and her brother were out there – but she smiled whenever one spoke to her, and kept things going without a fault.
Lothíriel couldn't help feeling a bit desolate. Would yet another day pass without his presence? She knew well he was exactly where he was most needed, and it would be selfish to wish him back before his task was done. But the time they had here at Emyn Arnen was limited, and soon enough he would be heading home once more. Who knew when she would see him again?
When evening came once more and the company gathered in the drawing room, Aegdir purposefully made his way to sit next to Lothíriel. But then Amrothos came, not minding her or Aegdir, and sat down rather gracelessly between her and the young lord, forcing the two of them to move to make space for him. He also decidedly ignored Aegdir's indignation, as only he could. There was no easy way Lothíriel could dismiss her annoying brother, but she shot an apologetic look at Aegdir. No doubt Amrothos was still fascinated with his idea that she and this young man were not a good match, although she couldn't imagine what made him think he should interfere. He also kept chattering away, like some sort of a crazed magpie, not giving her a chance to tell him to get lost. So she just cast him a venomous look; Father would deal with Amrothos later.
Just before dinner, a servant announced that the King's outrider had arrived. He and Prince Faramir were about to return shortly. General clamour rose in the company and Éowyn insisted they should go and greet the returning hunters. Lothíriel very nearly jumped and raced to meet the party, but she checked herself in time, and demurely made her way outside by Aegdir's arm. But though she was careful to keep her countenance impassive, inside she was bursting with joy and relief.
Aegdir walked slowly and getting through the crowd took some time, so when they reached the courtyard, Faramir's Rangers were already there and the Rohirric Knights were also filling the space. The earlier storm had turned into a gentle drizzle. Lothíriel looked around anxiously, knowing well that if he were harmed, she would already know. And yet not seeing him immediately made her nervous up until the moment that she finally spotted him on his tall horse, coming through the gates. He looked hale and sound, but his armour was splattered with many dark stains. The sight made her feel like something cold twisted in her breast.
She couldn't help it. She ran from Aegdir's arm, her heart beating hard until she was by King Éomer's side. How tall he loomed on his great warhorse! This was not the sight you wanted to witness up close on the battlefield, if you were his enemy – and seeing his tall spear and the quiver of arrows attached to his saddle, she knew he was a menace even from afar. But as threatening as he was, she also admired the beauty and intricacy of his armour. The red-brown breast-plate was dark against the gleaming metal symbol in the centre, which reminded her of a cold sunrise. Polished chainmail covered his upper arms, but the armguards and greaves strapped to his legs echoed the design of the breast-plate. Waist down, he was protected by thick leafmail, which she wasn't sure she could even lift in her arms without toppling over. Whoever had made this armour had given thought not only to how well it guarded its bearer, but also how fine it looked.
"My lady", he said, surprised, "is something the matter?"
He was dismounting, swinging himself down with a heavy thud. He moved with ease, with no sign that the quest had been trying or wearisome. Even with all the grime upon him and his horse, he drew the eye and lost none of his charm.
"I saw blood on you, my lord. I was worried that you were hurt."
But now, standing close to him, she could tell it was orc blood. The way it had congealed revealed the truth at once upon closer inspection. And of course, had he been injured, he wouldn't have ridden in so calmly. All that blood was on him only because he had been in the thickest battle. She was foolish to have worried so.
Be that as it may, he smiled at her. It was not a condescending smile of an accomplished warrior directed at some silly admirer. There was warmth and pleased surprise in his look. It was marvellous how one like him, armoured from head to toe and stained by blood, could still look so irresistible just because of his smile.
"I am well, my lady. But your care is not unheeded", he said, his voice in that low and pleasant timbre that went under her skin.
And then she realised how close to him she was standing. She was almost as near as Éowyn was to Faramir. So she stepped back, her cheeks growing warm. It was not like her to forget herself in such an inappropriate manner.
"My lady -" he began, reaching his hand to her. But she turned her face away. What had she just done? Running to meet this man when there was another who had already declared himself to her?
"I beg your pardon, my lord", she muttered, collecting her skirts and walking swiftly back to where she had last seen Aegdir.
Queen Arwen's words may be one thing, and so were her own heart's wild inclinations. But as long as King Éomer did nothing but throw his lovely smiles at her, what could she do? He was a king and the initiative would have come from him.
She returned to Lord Aegdir, who still stood under the shelter of the doorway, gazing suspiciously out to the mild drizzle in the courtyard. She had hardly noticed it before, but now she felt water running down her neck, making her shiver against the chill.
He wrinkled his nose when she approached.
"Where did you dash off to, my lady? Look at your hair! It's quite damp", he said, his critical eyes appraising her long decorated braid.
"I apologise, my lord. I just wanted to greet my friend", said Lothíriel, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She now felt like she had acted quite foolishly.
"I hope it was worth it. Now get back inside! You need to go and dry your hair before it gets very frizzled. Dinner will be served soon", he told her in a tone that didn't approve of refusal, and so she allowed herself to be led back into the house.
There was something very strange about Imrahil's daughter. One moment she ran to him, her eyes wide as though she had dreaded his demise, greeting him with the relief that implied a much closer relationship than they had, and then hurrying away once more as if she couldn't get away from him quickly enough. Yet no matter how strange her behaviour was, Éomer couldn't deny he had been glad to see her – more glad than he had any right to feel.
In times past, women of various inclinations had awaited him and greeted him upon his return, but none had yet come to him like this southern lady... like his well-being truly meant something to her. The idea of him meaning that much to somebody, of being so important in someone's eyes... it made his throat feel tight.
He really, really needed to talk to Imrahil.
No doubt his advisers back in Rohan would love this. However, that was getting ahead of himself: he needed to be patient and careful, for there was already one young man looking to wed her. If that person realised Éomer's interest in her, things could get very difficult. He could tell just by looking that Lord Aegdir regarded her as good as his.
Which, of course, was annoying beyond reason. And perhaps not entirely true, considering the way she had run to him, Éomer, like a young bride who didn't yet know her man's capability, her eyes wide and full of worry as she came close to inspect the damage for herself. But she was young, and a day would come she wouldn't be running in that way anymore; she'd stand as proud and graceful as any great lady to welcome back her consort.
Unbidden, the vision came: her standing on the steps of Meduseld, her black hair catching in the wind... which was how he knew she may indeed be the one. For he had met many maidens of both Rohan and Gondor since kingship was thrust upon him, but she was the first he could see standing upon those hallowed steps not as his guest but as his queen.
All these thoughts came to him in between her first running to him and his slowly leading Firefoot towards the stables. His heart beat fast, though he kept his movements calm and even. How soon could he get to Imrahil? Should he speak to the lady first? Béma, it was maddening. He knew impatience and anxiety well, but this... this was different.
The other guests had already gone back inside and the rain was pouring down a little harder. Éomer had a quick talk with Aragorn and Faramir to inform the King of Gondor and Arnor of their efforts. The battle in the woods against some five and twenty poorly equipped orcs now seemed far away and the exhilaration of victory had worn off. Thankfully, Faramir did most of the talking, delivering the report with the speed and efficiency of a tried soldier. They agreed to speak more in the morning. Aragorn told his friends to hurry along, as the dinner would be served soon.
His esquire following him, Éomer quickly made his way to his rooms. Taking off the armour could not be hurried, but he could tell by the young esquire's look that the lad didn't look forward to cleaning up his lord's gear. Orc blood could be a nuisance to both sight and smell if left unheeded, and after the rain, rust would quickly settle in unless the armour was properly oiled.
Éomer washed quickly and left his hair in a single braid. He changed into fresh clothes – his usual green tunic and trousers made of soft buckskin. All this was done with great expediency, knowing he was expected downstairs. It wasn't just that, though. He was eager to see her again.
The others were already seated when he strode into the dining hall. His apologies for being late were quickly brushed off, Aragorn pulled a chair out for him, and Éomer sat down at the centre of the table. In the warm glow of lamps and candles, and rich red wine, the chill of rainy evening was quickly forgotten.
He barely got a chance to eat, because there were so many questions about the hunt, how many orcs had there been, and how his and Faramir's company had been able to take them down. The Steward was busy whispering to Éowyn and so left much of the talking to the young king, who did his best to answer all inquiries – although he didn't mention any of the more gruesome details. A few times, his eyes met her gaze. She watched him silently, her bright eyes shining. It was not the infatuated, worshipful admiration which had little to do with real regard and appreciation. Rather, her look reminded him of that conversation by the river, how closely she paid attention to his words and the meanings behind them, and that easy manner which made her presence so pleasing. It took real focus not to look at her more often than he did, or to forget what he was supposed to be saying.
The young man next to her was not quite as appreciative. Lord Aegdir kept his eyes on his plate, taking no part in the conversation and asking no questions. Éomer didn't mind, although he supposed this meant that Aegdir had rightly recognised him as an opponent.
This was confirmed by how, as soon as the dinner ended, the young nobleman linked his arm with Lady Lothíriel, herding her quickly to the drawing room. She cast a helpless look over her shoulder, but nevertheless allowed herself to be walked away.
Clearly, it was a time to use some of the deadlier weapons in his arsenal.
As the company slowly moved away from the table, talking and jesting, Éomer discreetly fell to Aragorn's side.
"Can I ask you a favour?"
"Of course, my friend."
"Do you think it would be below your dignity to distract the Lord of Lossarnarch for a bit?"
Aragorn's face was perfectly sombre, but his eyes glinted.
"For you, not at all", he uttered back. He glanced about and added, "The rain has stopped. I think it will be lovely in the garden."
"Excellent idea", Éomer said, keeping his face level.
He would talk to the lady first and make his intentions known. Then, once Imrahil was available and in a mellow mood, perhaps later on when they were retiring, he would ask for the permission to court her.
It seemed so easy. He should have known it wasn't going to be that simple.
Although Lothíriel had spent past few days hoping that King Éomer would make his intentions known, she hadn't much thought of what would happen if he did. Certainly, she hadn't expected that Aegdir would be so quick to spot a potential challenger, or that he would be so jealous of her.
The young king and her cousin had returned from the hunt as victors and at the dinner, they were in the centre of attention. Her brothers in particular were eager to hear everything and made many questions. King Éomer was one to describe how his and Faramir's men had stalked through the woods, ambushed the company of orcs, and brought them down. Like his sister, the Lord of Rohan was a lively storyteller, choosing just the right words and using his deep, rich voice like a fine instrument. She could hardly keep her eyes off of him.
Lord Aegdir was not as enthralled. Seated next to her, he focused solely on his food and his glass of wine, which he slowly nursed through the dinner. Once or twice he tried to engage her in a conversation, but both times her attention was quick to drift back to King Éomer and Faramir's tale. She felt guilty for how she was effectively ignoring the young lord, but she couldn't help it.
As such, it didn't surprise her when after the dinner, he swiftly claimed her attention again and walked her to the drawing room. She didn't try to refuse when he sat her down on the couch and began to ask about her favourite books. Hoping to make up for her earlier distraction, Lothíriel focused on the conversation the best she could; only once she glanced at the door when King Éomer came, tall and bright and golden, but she didn't allow him to catch her eyes.
The evening might have passed in this slightly awkward manner, but it was not to be. Aegdir was eagerly talking about his favourite novel, an old classic from the time of early ruling Stewards which told the story of the rise and fall of a noble family dynasty, when the conversation was interrupted by no one else than King Elessar himself. The sovereign had strolled to stand before them, beaming at the two with a pleasant smile. The young lord next to her fell silent and froze, but when she rose up on her feet, he was fairly quick to follow the example.
"My lord!" he greeted the King, flushing deeply. It was rather endearing, she had to admit. But he was young and still unused to his position, and she guessed that even as the lord of a great fiefdom, Aegdir had never actually got to talk to King Elessar alone, at least not beyond the usual courtly platitudes.
"Lord Aegdir", Elessar said pleasantly, "I do not believe we have yet had a chance to talk properly."
And with that, the young man forgot her completely. Discreetly she moved aside to make space for the great king. As she did, she abruptly met the keen, anxious eyes of the King of Rohan. He had been watching this little moment. And when her gaze locked with his, he smiled slightly, almost slyly, and nodded with his head to the open doors that lead out into the garden.
Lothíriel nearly snorted out loud. So the Lord of Rohan could play a dirty trick! She didn't mind, though – she had wanted to speak to him and did not know how she would have got rid of Aegdir without offending the young man.
King Éomer stole outside quietly, but Lothíriel wandered through the room without haste, so that it would not be too obvious that she was following him. She even shared a couple of words with Éowyn and Amrothos, who were in the middle of a word game. Judging by their looks, and how neither seemed able to stop laughing, it was less a game and rather them teaching each other all the dirty words of their native tongues. Lothíriel quickly noted her company was not needed and she moved along.
The air outside was cool and fresh after the rain. The skies had cleared and the first stars were just igniting in the dark blue dome of heaven. The heaviness before the storm was utterly gone, leaving behind a sweet, fragrant lightness. King Éomer was gazing into the garden, his back to her, and the light streaming from the house made his long hair glow in a rich burnished shade. He stood with his feet apart, hands folded behind his straight back – a warrior's stance. She allowed herself a brief moment of admiring his confident bearing and wondered how many years one must train in order to stand like he did.
The man apparently had eyes on his back, because he turned before she had reached his side; she had moved quietly and even though the stone pavement under her feet was damp from the rain, her slippers made no sound.
He looked glad now that she had joined him. Had he expected her not to come? Perhaps that was why he had sent King Elessar and nothing less.
"My lord", she greeted him, bowing her head, "good evening. I am glad you have returned safely."
"As am I. Those woods are not where I currently wish to be", he replied, smiling without any real mirth on his face. "But one does what is necessary, and family must be helped. I hoped... my lady, I did wish to let you know I was going, but the summons came so abruptly, and it was very late at the time."
Her heart beat just a little faster when he said that. So he had thought of her on the hour of his departure – he just couldn't come to her when she had already retired.
"It's all right. I guessed as much. And I would expect you to go, if your aid was needed elsewhere", she said, smiling up at him.
He smiled back. It made her rather weak in the knees, and a little bit scandalised at herself. What would Aunt Ivriniel think if she knew how her well-bred, sensible niece was on the verge of being swept off her feet by a big, hairy Northman? At least she was not here to witness it – thank Elbereth for small graces.
"I thought that you would understand, even though I had no chance to explain. You had already shown yourself to be a woman of apt sense", he said, looking almost relieved. Was it because he too had worried that she didn't understand his position and intentions? Just like she had felt nervous about his going so suddenly?
"Your words are too kind, my lord. Whether it's a matter of my good sense or your impeachable reputation, I leave to your discretion. Still... if I may be so bold, I would also hope that we have an understanding", she said, feeling warmth across her cheeks. It felt silly to be saying this. Not to mention presumptive. He was a great lord among Men, a warrior who had been riding to battles while she was still a girl. What understanding could she have with someone who had walked through fire and death for so many times?
But he didn't seem to think she was silly. His expression was serious, almost reverent.
"You're not too bold to hope so, my lady. I had a similar thought, myself", he said, his voice so low that it was little more than a whisper. She felt relieved to know that they were in agreement – that even if nothing had been said frankly yet, it was there between the lines, and they both wished for the same thing.
He cleared his throat then and glanced quickly about himself, as if reminding himself of his surroundings.
"I know it's not my business, and I apologise beforehand... but I must ask this. My lady, do you also have a similar understanding with the Lord of Lossarnarch?" he asked her.
Her heart jumped. She knew what the meaning behind his words was – what he was really asking her. His eyes were fixed on her, as if all the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
"No", she replied without hesitation. "I try to be friendly with him for my father's sake, but that is all. He's eager for my company, though."
"So I noticed. I cannot say I blame him for that", said King Éomer softly, and as if without thinking, he picked up her hand in his own. Warm, hard fingers gently clasped hers, sending delightful shivers up her arm and all the way into the pit of her stomach. Spell-bound by his gaze, she felt a little light-headed when she noticed that his eyes had golden flecks in them, almost glowing from within. Something hungry shifted deep inside of her, startling awake, and she wasn't sure it was ever going to be still again.
He brought her hand to his lips, as much to kiss as to caress. The intimacy of this gesture was on a completely different level than any other before it. The tip of his nose brushed against the back of her fingers and he breathed deeply, as if to savour the scent of her skin. She nearly whimpered out loud at the contact – his breath, the softness of his mouth, the tenderness that belied his fierce appearance – and Elbereth only knew where it might have gone, hadn't Faramir arrived to interrupt them just then.
"Éomer, there you are! I wanted to -" he started to speak as he stepped outside.
She might have screamed in frustration and thrown one of Éowyn's potted plants at her cousin's head.
Faramir watched them with a raised eyebrow, seemingly forgetting what he had meant to say. King Éomer let go of her hand and turned to face his brother-in-law.
"Yes, Faramir?" he asked, sounding much steadier and calmer than she felt.
"I wanted to talk to you about the hunt, but if you are busy..." said her cousin, his brow still raised.
She and the King shared a glance, but even without it, they both knew the moment had passed. Damned Faramir and his abysmal timing! On the other hand, they were barely fifty feet away from her father, and just now, she had come terribly close to losing all her caution. Frustrating as it was, perhaps her cousin had done them a favour. If this was what King Éomer was able to do with just a hand kiss... Elbereth, the man was a menace!
"Not at all", King Éomer said smoothly before turning to her again. Though his voice was completely normal, his eyes were blazing with untold things. "Please excuse me, my lady. Shall we talk more tomorrow?"
"With pleasure", she replied and was surprised at how evenly her voice came out.
He's going to talk to my father. He will ask to marry me.
And I will say yes.
The two men returned inside, but she took a few moments to collect herself once more. She raised her face and breathed in the cool air of the rain-washed garden. Slowly, her heartbeat eased back to its usual pace. The heat on her skin subsided. But even then, she still felt fiercely, joyfully alive. It was so overpowering, she nearly laughed out loud. In a matter of one conversation, something had profoundly changed and she would never look at him the same way again.
Evening grew late and one by one, other members of the party began to retire. For Éomer, time had gone by in a sweet, soft glow and he was vaguely aware that most of the time, there was a stupid little grin on his face. It took conscious effort not to keep looking at the lady; the couple of times he risked it, she was quick to meet his glance and smile brightly at him. Oh, Béma. What a wonderful, wonderful thing.
Faramir had quickly noticed it was a fool's errand to try to get a sensible word out of him, and though he probably guessed why that was, he did not ask questions. The Steward rightly realised that it was too early to talk about it and was tactful enough to hold his silence for the time being. As for Aragorn, he still kept the young lord happily occupied. His friend was even more effective than Éomer had hoped.
The Queen and her ladies – she among them – had already retired when Imrahil too rose from his seat and bid good night to those still lingering with their glasses and enjoying the mellow quiet of the late hour. Éomer followed him out with much hastier words, trusting that those who knew understood why he took his leave so abruptly, and those who didn't simply thought it was his Rohirric lack of finesse.
The entrance hall was lowly lit at this hour as the house was starting to settle down for the night. Fortunately, Imrahil was still there, talking quietly to his captain. They finished their conversation when Éomer approached and the Prince of Dol Amroth turned to face him with a smile.
"Imrahil, I know it's getting late and you were meaning to retire, but might I have a word?" he asked, attempting to mask his anxiety.
"Of course. That is all, captain", said Imrahil to his man, who quickly made himself sparse. Now the mighty lord of Belfalas turned his bright grey eyes at the King of Rohan. Éomer hadn't noticed before how similar those eyes were to hers.
"What is it, my friend?" Imrahil asked jovially, clasping his hands behind his back.
The young king took a deep breath. On the way back, he had thought of this moment, and what he should say to her father. He had even tried to come up with a speech, but everything sounded forced and unnatural, and he knew that was because that was not how he spoke to his friends. They expected him to be frank and straightforward, and anything less would be dishonest.
"I am well aware this is very sudden, and it may surprise you. But I know I must speak now and not wait any longer. Imrahil, I would like to ask for your permission to court your daughter", he stated, watching the Prince closely. And indeed, there was surprise – Imrahil's eyes widened, his mouth fell slightly open, and for a moment, this usually well-spoken man was utterly speechless.
However, he was still quick to recover and control his expression once more. Surprise made way to a keen, focused look.
"I didn't think you meant to take a bride outside of Rohan", he stated at last, his voice calm and even.
"I didn't, but then I came here and met Lady Lothíriel", Éomer replied.
Again Imrahil fell silent for a moment, just regarding him. The Rohir could almost see the wheels of his mind turning. And something else, too. Up until this moment, they had been just friends and comrades in arms, who had fought and bled together. Bonds of loyalty were a fact given between them. It was an easy relationship to have. But now Éomer suddenly became a man – young, unmarried and untethered. Perhaps even a little bit suspicious in his wish for her, Imrahil's only prized daughter. He was certainly worth the trust of a warrior on battlefield, but what about the trust of a father? Was he worthy of her? Even without a single word, Éomer knew that their relationship would never be quite the same again.
Finally, Imrahil spoke again.
"Why do you wish to court her?"
The answer was easy and Éomer supplied it readily.
"Because she is capable and strong and wise. She's gentle, compassionate and caring. And she is lovely, both inside and outside."
"Is she not a little young for you?" asked Imrahil cautiously.
"The difference is less than between my sister and your nephew, and they get along famously. I don't think it would be a problem for myself and your daughter. I've spoken to her and it seemed to me that her words and mood are wise beyond her years. At her age I was much more foolish."
The Prince frowned slightly, seemingly a little bit aggravated he couldn't contradict the young man before him. Then he let out a sigh.
"Perhaps that is true. However, I'm sorry to say I cannot give you my permission, at least not right away. Please don't think it's because I think ill of you", he said in a low voice, and at once, Éomer felt like his heart turned into lead in his chest. True enough, he'd be surprised had Imrahil happily given his blessing. But outright rejection? That was not what he had expected.
It took him a moment to get a grip of his wildly racing thoughts and the bitter disappointment that rose like a wave. He could not yell at Imrahil, no matter how much he wanted to; it would only convince the man that he had done well to refuse such a hot-headed suitor.
"It's because of Lord Aegdir, is it not?" the Rohir asked at last, when he was sure his voice wouldn't crack with anger or resentment or disappointment.
Imrahil's look was apologetic.
"Your guess is correct. Understand, I have hoped to unite my House with his for much longer than I've known you. I gave my word to Aegdir's father to help him, and this I will do. When he asked for my daughter's hand, I promised to give him a chance to court her before anyone else did. I cannot break my promise or my blessing, not even for you, my friend."
"And if she refuses him?"
Imrahil frowned.
"Then that is her choice and I will honour it. But I would have her make it freely, and I fear that she might not be able to, if she is... infatuated with somebody else", Imrahil said delicately, and seeing how Éomer bristled at the choice of word, he hurried to continue, "I don't mean to insult you. But you must see how a young and inexperienced girl might lose her wits around a man like you – especially if you encourage it."
Éomer was having a hard time not scowling at his friend. He couldn't believe she was like that - she was not some airheaded little fool. The way she had spoken to him... how open and sincere she had been with him was not at all what he was used to seeing in infatuated women. Certainly, there was mutual attraction which some may judge as shallow, he was not unaware of that, but this went far beyond superficial interest. Or, at least it had a stronger chance of growing into something much deeper and lasting: a true partnership. That was why he wanted her so much.
But of course, Imrahil had not witnessed the interactions which had convinced the young king himself.
"You know that I would never toy with her like that."
"Indeed I do", Imrahil conceded and let out a sigh. "I am terribly sorry. Your interest in my daughter is an honour to our House, I do comprehend that. Even so, young Aegdir needs Lothíriel's aid and guidance much more than you do. He is not like you, Éomer. He doesn't have your strength or confidence. Whereas you could have almost any woman you desire in either Rohan or Gondor. As your friend, I ask you to at least give him a chance to win her. If he does not... if her heart turns to you, then I would be glad to allow you to court her."
And Éomer knew he was going to have to be satisfied with that. The plan for Lady Lothíriel's union with Aegdir was not just a matter of Imrahil securing her the most advantageous marriage. It was also an issue of honour, of keeping his word to his dead friend and comrade. Éomer understood that sentiment all too well.
Imrahil gave his shoulder a clumsy pat.
"I hope you're not too angry and disappointed with me, my friend."
There were twenty different things he wanted to say, but each of them were inappropriate and also insulting. And to insult Imrahil was the last thing he could afford to do, if he meant to have even the smallest hope in this situation.
"I'll be fine", he was able to say at last, and only because he hoped it would be true... eventually. Imrahil seemed to know his Rohirric friend was not quite consoled, and his smile was strained when he said they should both retire, for it had been a long day.
"You go ahead. I just need a moment", said the young king, gesturing vaguely towards the staircase leading upstairs.
The Prince nodded and took his leave, but Éomer faced the wall, fighting to regain some control over his still overwrought emotions.
Well, that was that, then. Imrahil's request to give Aegdir a chance effectively meant Éomer would have to stay away from Lady Lothíriel. For he knew well now that he was defenceless in her proximity. He wanted her too much. He would want to speak to her, delve into her thoughts, see her smile. He'd want to touch her and taste the sweetness of her lips. He was now sure she would let him. And that was precisely what Imrahil had so unfortunately called "encouraging her infatuation". The only way he could do as he was asked was if he kept his distance completely.
And she wouldn't understand it. She had felt it too, whatever this thing between them was; she herself had come to find him so that she could explain her position. She had watched him with those bright, inviting eyes only tonight, sending him every wordless message known to man that she would have him if he just offered himself to her. That he suddenly avoided her would convince her that she had done something to drive him away. He couldn't even explain, because that too would damage Aegdir's chances with her. After that, there was nothing left than her duty... and after their conversation, he knew that she would try to fulfil it. She would marry Aegdir in an attempt to heal her disappointment and be lost to him forever. This one sweet, precious woman, the first one to have stirred him to life, was already as good as gone.
And the most bitter part? He had not even got a chance to fight for her when he had already lost.
To be continued.
A/N: Uh oh, things aren't going well for our lovebirds... well, I've got to make it a little bit hard, don't I? ;)
I believe Imrahil is not unaware that his daughter's marriage to the King of Rohan would be even a finer union than what he hoped for with Aegdir, but the issue is emotionally loaded for him - which leads to him refusing Éomer's request. And Éomer himself is right to note that Imrahil hasn't actually seen him with Lothíriel that much and thus isn't aware that there is already much more chemistry there than between her and Aegdir. Imrahil does put him in a very difficult position, because he can see no way to truthfully tell her what's going on. If he did, it would invariably damage Aegdir's chances with her.
But whether or not Lothíriel will meekly accept this - we'll see!
The game Lothíriel's company is playing in this chapter (called "Seven Gates") is, I believe, something like croquet.
Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments are always much appreciated.
Hristonostore Onnediel - Yeah, things may get very difficult very soon, if she finds out he lied to her!
Cricket22 - Thank you! I usually want to give out more than just the dialogue, because I think that people aren't usually saying everything that goes through their mind - there are always inner reflections and hidden meanings behind what they say to others.
Their walk and talk was very much needed for the reason you said. We all root for Éomer, but I think it's necessary to show what he's up against - and also how differently these two men get along with Lothíriel.
No injuires or caretaking, I'm afraid! Though I admit it's nice to imagine her tending to him. ;)
silverswath - I have to admit, I can't help but feel a little pleased at how annoyed my readers have been over Aegdir's lie! :D
EStrunk - That is the reason I pondered whether or not to include that moment, but in the end, I did decide to go for it. Like you noted, Rohirrim are a people with great love of songs, and I imagine he's no different in that regard. Also it was a nice way to let them share a moment together in a chapter mostly devoid of interactions betweent them.
I believe Aegdir realises very well that he can't let her hear him sing, but I'd say he counts on securing the union very soon. After that, it wouldn't matter if he had lied a bit.
I have to put some obstacles on the way, don't I? ;)
Hobbitpony1 - He saw an opportunity and took it. :D I think Lothíriel is very much in for going to get her man, but the man himself may not be so easy to get now...
Tibblets - Thank you! Glad you are enjoying the story. :)
JennyVDM - Indeed! He probably knows he needs to use all the time he can get... and unfortunately, Imrahil is giving it to him!
Cathael - I'm glad you took time to review this one! :) Also it's great to hear you like my stories so much.
sailor68 - I believe she would be quick to notice the difference, if he gave her the opportunity. But Aegdir may not be so helpful in that regard!
Simplegurl4u - Things aren't going that great for Éomer, indeed.
That conversation between Lothíriel and Aegdir was very necessary for both her and the reader to see what kind of a man he is in comparison to Éomer.
Wondereye - Glad to hear it! I think a confrontation between the two men may not be coming soon, at least not while Éomer is committed to honouring Imrahil's wishes.
LH Wordsmith - Who knows what I might do with those ideas? ;) No kiss yet, at least not a proper one - although Lothíriel is right to note Éomer can manage a lot with just a hand kiss. :D I do love the idea of them pranking Amrothos together!
Also I'm really enjoying this outrage over Aegdir's lie! :D
coecoe11 - Thank you!
Jo - Yes, it was Éomer, indeed! It won't be pretty for Aegdir if he ever hears about the lie...
mystarlight - Thanks! Don't we all. :)