Cushions

Éomer recognised the sensation – it was simply not one he had expected to experience in his sister’s bedroom. It was the sensation you got if you were careless when sparring and received a solid blow from the flat of a sword to your head.

Things spun around, nothing was quite where you thought it was, you knew you would survive, but other than that you couldn’t think at all.

He hardly noticed Éowyn taking him by the arm and walking him down to the receiving room where she steered him into a conversation with Legolas before abandoning him. Forever after he had no idea what he had spoken to Legolas about or whether he had made any sort of sense at all.

It was not to be a grand, formal, dinner involving the whole court – that was planned for the last night before they began the slow journey home with the body of Théoden King – but there were some twenty to thirty people in the room. Éomer was vaguely aware that he recognised them. Arwen’s family, the Fellowship, Imrahil’s family, Faramir. He tried to spot Lothíriel, and tried not to catch Merry’s eye.

Whilst successful in the second endeavour he failed in the first. Lothíriel was not a tiny young woman but she was not tall enough to be easily spotted in the present company; the only dark heads he could see were those of Elves or men.

Eventually he became aware of Legolas moving, in a manner that implied he expected Éomer to follow, and realised the Elf was speaking.

“… not formal, Elbereth be thanked, although I expect there is some court official whose entire purpose in life is to work out the order of precedence of every male and female to ensure we always enter everywhere in pairs in order of rank. But, honestly, how do you decide? You would doubtless outrank me, as you are a King, but does Lord Celeborn, as the Queen’s grandfather, outrank Master Elrond, as her father? Or Imrahil as a Prince?”

Éomer realised that they must be moving towards the dining room.

Legolas continued, “And all the women would be clumped at one end of the table. You would have to spend all evening making conversation with Her Ladyship, but by the time it got down to me there would be no females left and I would always be stuck with a hobbit and a dwarf – or one of the Elrondionath.”

Mention of the sons of Elrond reminded Éomer that he may well have a rival for Lothíriel but, before he could get together a battle plan, the sudden realisation that he might have to spend all the evening of the forthcoming formal dinner conversing with the Lady Galadriel sent a chill down his spine. There again, she seemed fairly knowledgeable about horses…

………………..

Lothíriel was trying to describe the sea to Pippin. Eventually she suggested that he come to visit Dol Amroth as her father’s guest. It would, of course, have to be some time in the future as the hobbits were to begin their journey back to The Shire as part of the large group who were travelling with Théoden King’s funeral cortège.

“By the time we might come back,” Pippin said, “you’ll probably be living somewhere else with a husband.”

“Perhaps,” she answered. Just at the moment she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to marry anyone but the King of Rohan, and he didn’t seem to want to marry her.

Then there was a movement into the dining room and Lothíriel found her arm being taken by Éowyn, in a friendly manner, but by the time they sat down she found herself between Éomer and Legolas, with Éowyn on the far side of the Elf.

………………..

‘Bema,’ Éomer thought. ‘How did Éowyn manage that?’

Left to himself he would have avoided Lothíriel whilst he thought about the implications of what Éowyn had told him. He really hadn’t had time to adjust to the way his sister had made his whole world spin around. Yet here he was, sitting right beside Lothíriel, before he had had time to think.

He wasn’t even sure how you set about wooing a princess of Gondor. At home whilst he was still just the youngest Marshal, even though he was the king’s nephew, it would have been fairly straightforward. Dance with the young woman if there was dancing, take her for a walk to get some fresh air, talk to her about her family or your most recent patrol, kiss her if she seemed willing. If she seemed to enjoy that then kiss her again… If you were still interested you might ask her to go for a ride with you, some time, preferably somewhere quiet. Then, if you were courting her seriously, there would be evenings spent with her family, and with yours, and so on.

But he had no idea what was the normal procedure here; in fact he really wasn’t sure any more how, as King, he would even woo a girl of the Mark. This was without the added problem that he was due to leave Mundburg in five days’ time.

Éowyn was already deep in conversation with Legolas. This was, clearly, a ploy on her part as Faramir was to her other side but she was ignoring him. Either that or the Steward had upset her… no, Éomer didn’t think there had been time for such good fortune. She was distracting Legolas on purpose.

The princess was trying to appear interested in the floral arrangement in front of her. Was this because she was avoiding speaking to him? Perhaps, Éomer thought honestly, it might be because they had had little conversation since he had arrived and she expected he would turn to his other side instead. Beyond her he could hear Éowyn mention Ithilien in her conversation with Legolas. He grasped at the subject.

“I was sorry, my lady, that you did not accompany us on the trip to Ithilien.”

Lothíriel looked quite startled that he had spoken to her at all, but answered in quite a composed voice.

“I would have enjoyed it, had I been invited, but it was to have been purely a trip for you and Éowyn to see Ithilien in the company of Faramir and Legolas. Although, I understand, the company expanded somewhat. And once King Elessar chose to ride with them, of course, Father could not invite himself, as he then needed to stay in the city, and so I could not beg to accompany him.”

He hadn’t taken into account the need, at least at present, for Imrahil to stay in the city if King and Steward both excused themselves for a couple of nights. The Mark was certainly an easier place over which to reign.

At least he had found a subject for conversation.

“Ah. I thought perhaps you felt that you had spent enough time sleeping in a tent after your visit to the Field of Cormallen.”

She smiled. “Oh no, my lord King, I enjoyed my time there. There was such a sense of joy at our victory, despite the number of injured, and it was so good to spend time with Father and my brothers, and you…” she suddenly seemed to realise what she had said, and stumbled slightly, “…um, you others,” she corrected.

Éomer was sure she was beginning to blush. He began to feel surer of himself and smiled.

“I would have liked your company on the ride to Ithilien,” he said, “for I seem to have had so little time to talk to you since I arrived.”

He knew that the obvious answer to this would have been “And whose fault is that?” But he was pretty confident that Princess Lothíriel was too polite to say it, even should she think it, and he was right.

“I am sure you have been busy, my lord King,” she answered.

“I have, but even so...” he paused briefly and then changed the subject. “I am sure I recall that at Cormallen I asked that you use my name, as do your father and brothers.”

“You did, my lord King, but the circumstances there were somewhat informal. You seemed to become more formal when we began the journey back to Minas Tirith and so I assumed you would no longer wish me to be so familiar.”

‘Ouch!’ thought Éomer. ‘She obviously did notice that I tried to avoid her when I thought she preferred not to ride. Would it be best to be honest, I wonder?’

He had time to think on this a little longer as a servant interrupted to place plates in front of them. After a couple of forkfuls of the appetiser, which was a small pastry filled with eggs and vegetables, he came to a decision.

“I owe you an apology for my behaviour on that journey. I am not sure that over dinner is the best place for it.” He looked around, and no-one seemed to be listening to them, but Elves, he knew, had keen hearing. “But… Actually, can we talk after dinner? In the meantime, as not only am I on first name terms with your brothers, but you are likewise with my sister, may I please call you Lothíriel?”

She didn’t answer immediately and he began to feel he might have said the wrong thing.

“I would like us to talk together after dinner,” she said. “Although I don’t think there is anything to apologise for; you were busy on the journey back from Cormallen. And I would be happy for you to call me Lothíriel, Éomer King.”

“Éomer King?”

“Éomer King. We are in company and it would be rude for me to ignore your rank.”

She sounded quite certain.

“Well, I suppose at least you are using my name,” he said. “I just hope that, when I explain why I need to apologise, you do not feel you must return to calling me your lord King; if, that is, you continue to speak to me at all.”

This earned him a rather quizzical look – but also a smile.

“In the meantime, as Legolas seems to be determined to talk to Éowyn,” ‘or probably the other way around,’ he thought, “it is clear that we must converse with each other for entertainment.”

There may not be dancing, but he seemed to be doing all right.

………………..

Lothíriel found herself, within minutes of moving from the dining room to a pleasant salon, standing on a small balcony with Éomer who had suggested she might like a little fresh air. All the floor-length windows of the room were wide open, as it was a warm evening, and all had these small balconies; visible to anyone in the room, but not really big enough to encourage others to join them.

She thought it likely that Éomer was very skilled at cutting a particular horse out of the herd. Or a mare.

“Lothíriel,” he began, “I really do want to apologise to you, because… because I would like us to get to know each other better but you need to know how stupid I can sometimes be.”

She wasn’t sure quite what she ought to answer at this point – but he didn’t give her all that long to think about it before he continued anyway.

“I saw you sitting at Faramir’s bedside before we rode to the Black Gate of Mordor – and I thought you were like the princess in a story my grandmother told me about The Princess and the Pea.”

She hadn’t realised that Éomer had even noticed her; he had seemed so worried about Éowyn. But if he had seen her, in an evening gown, perched on a tower of cushions… she couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing.

“Oh my goodness,” she said once she got her breath, “I know the story – and you are quite right! But that really isn’t anything to apologise for.”

“Um, no, that isn’t what I need to apologise for… rather that I was intrigued when I realised, at Cormallen, that the sister my new friends had spoken about, who would enjoy spending time in a tent, was the same person.

“After a few days I decided that their description fitted you better than my first impression in the Houses of Healing. I thought that I would like to get to know you better, but I was still trying to cope with being the king. I sometimes felt dizzy with everything that I needed to know, all the things, and people, I was responsible for. But, even so, I should have found more time…”

He broke off and put a hand onto her arm. His hand was warm, and the contact sent a little shiver of pleasure down her spine.

“Lothíriel,” he said, and this time his voice was a little lower and sent a shiver all of its own down her spine chasing the previous one.

“Lothíriel, I didn’t only want to get to know you because I had become friendly with your father and brothers but because, under other circumstances, I would have wanted to court you.”

Oh!

She knew she should remain ladylike and just nod gently, or something along those lines, but “So why didn’t you?” just burst out.

Éomer looked slightly taken aback but then he smiled. He did have a lovely smile. And very nice teeth.

“That’s what I need to apologise for,” he answered. “Partly it was because I was frightened by the weight of the kingship. When it seemed all I had to do was lead the éoreds to certain death it was pretty simple. But having to rule a whole country? I tossed and turned at night fretting over it and wishing Bema had better guarded my uncle and my cousin.

“But there would have been plenty of time to talk to you, to find out what you thought of me, and whether there was a chance of us being suited to each other, on the ride back to Mundburg – if I had not been so stupid and tried to put all such thoughts from my mind by keeping away from you.

“And,” he went on, “from something you said earlier I know you were aware of this, and that it was hurtful of me. This was then, in part, the stupid thing I did for which I need to apologise.”

“In part?”

Truth to tell she wanted just to say that his apology was accepted, and ask was he still interested in the courting he mentioned, but appearing too eager was unladylike – and she was intrigued to know what the other part was.

“In part. This is where I embarrass myself even more by admitting that I jumped too quickly to a conclusion.”

“Quick decision making is good for a warrior,” Lothíriel said.

“Only if it is based properly on the evidence…. You see, I accidentally overheard you say you would prefer to travel in a wagon and, when I saw you doing just that, I decided you must not enjoy riding and therefore you would be totally unsuited to life in the Riddermark. So I tried to ignore you. I was most surprised when I finally did see you riding.”

She remembered. That day, as the Rohirrim left to return home, he had spoken to her by choice for the first time in ages, and there had been that kiss to her hand that she had dreamed about since.

He was still speaking. “You see how stupid I was? It had simply never occurred to me that you were in the wagon because of the… injury… that had led to you being in the Houses of Healing. So I owe you an apology for ignoring you – for being ignorant in fact…”

She found herself smiling at the slight play on words.

“… and also for doubting that you could ride, when you have a beautiful seat.”

She wondered if that play on words was also intentional. But didn’t need to wonder for long, as he pointedly glanced over her shoulder towards her derriere and then added, “Both on and off a horse!”

“You didn’t have to apologise, Éomer,” Lothíriel said, purposefully using only his given name, “but your apology is accepted.”

“Thank you,” he replied, and the hand on her arm slid down to her hand, which he lifted to his mouth and kissed just as she remembered – but this time his lips lingered a little longer, and he kept hold of her hand.

“I should have written,” he said. “Éowyn found time to write, and I should have done, too. But a written apology would have been cowardly, and writing without apologising for being so rude would not have been right either. And I have been so busy that I was easily able to brush thoughts of you from my mind… most of the time.”

He looked a little embarrassed for a moment and Lothíriel found herself considering what the circumstances might be under which he wasn’t able to easily forget her. She was afraid she might be blushing. A good thing it was dusk, she thought.

“And now,” Éomer said, “I have wasted the time since we arrived back in Mundburg with meetings, and official engagements, and it only really occurred to me how quickly the time was flying, and how very much I wished I had spent more of it with you, when we were in Ithilien.

“There is too little time left for courtship, but I wonder if you would write to me over the next few months, as well as to Éowyn? And in the few days we have left would you do me the honour of riding out with me? And possibly dancing with me if we get the chance?”



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