Cushions

Chapter Four

There was, Éomer thought, a sense of being outside time here. A pause, before Aragorn took up his burden of kingship – and Éomer would have to do likewise. Granted he had been recognized as Éomer King from the very day Théoden King had fallen, but so far he had only had to lead an army; once he returned to the Riddermark he would have to lead a whole people.

The enormity of the task was only now beginning to dawn on him.

The Rohirrim had left their own large tents and pavilions behind at the great muster, for speed had been of the essence, and survival to use them after battle had seemed unlikely. By now, however, Éothain and his lieutenants had procured a very suitable substitute over which flew the white horse banner of the House of Éorl.

Grateful as Éomer was, for their determination that his position be acknowledged, there was still the odd night when he took his bedroll from the camp-bed and ‘sneaked’ out amongst the men because, alone in that tent, he found his responsibilities weighed too heavy on him for sleep. On a couple of nights he had moved within earshot of one or another of the elves, as they sang quietly by a fire, until his mind was calm enough to let him finally drowse.

But tonight he had a new puzzle to occupy him. As he tried to make sense of all the disparate facts he now had about the Princess of Dol Amroth he drifted off to sleep more easily than he would have expected. Next morning all he could remember of his dreams were that they had involved a lot of cushions.

In fact it was a couple of days later when next he saw the young lady in question, at a meeting where a banquet in honour of the hobbits was being planned, which she attended accompanying her father. She was quite quiet during the meeting although her father spoke quietly with her a couple of times, presumably seeking her opinion on various issues, before adding to the discussion.

This banquet was to be a surprise for the guests of honour but, as Éomer left Aragorn’s ‘command post’ in the company of Prince Imrahil and the princess, Merry fell into step just behind him as befitted an esquire. Imrahil engaged Éomer in conversation but his attention was elsewhere. He realised that the princess was clearly well acquainted with the hobbit and, shamelessly, he listened in to their conversation.

“How are you? Are you able to sleep more comfortably than you could in the wagon?” asked Merry.

“I’m well, thank you,” Lothíriel replied. “I have a bed and my maid and I have a tent to ourselves just as I predicted. Amrothos and Erchirion did not really mind – they have just moved into another tent. And it is really good to see Father. How are your friends?”

Ah. Although they had both travelled in the train of wagons from Minas Tirith Éomer hadn’t realised, until now, that the princess and the hobbit clearly had spent time together on the journey.

Imrahil pointed out to Éomer someone of whom he had spoken earlier, distracting him for a little while, and it was a few minutes before the King of Rohan could resume his eavesdropping on the conversation behind him.

“We were discussing cooking, and rations and such like…” Lothíriel was saying. “But, to be honest, I am no expert on cooking at camp. On the occasions when my brothers and I did any camp-fire cooking, I was hardly ever allowed to do anything more interesting than gather fire-wood, because I was the youngest. Although Elphir did show me how to gut fish… ”

Merry answered that he’d had the same role when he was with older cousins and also that he wondered why, if there were discussions involving food, none of the hobbits had been asked to attend. Lothíriel deflected the question quite skilfully and their conversation turned to other matters.

Éomer thought of those stories of young Lothíriel wanting to do whatever her brothers did. Clearly there had been some truth to them, which he had doubted since he had recalled his first brief encounter with her, and yet… her maid had been waiting, a cushion in her arms, outside the meeting tent.

That night, as he settled to sleep, Éomer considered whether there might be a hint of truth in the children’s tale of the princess and the pea. After all, many other children’s stories had begun as retellings of real events. Perhaps Gondorian princesses always sat on thick cushions, and slept on piles of downy mattresses, as a sign of their rank.

His last thought, as his eyes closed, was that perhaps that was why Éowyn had chosen to stay in the city; she had developed a liking for cushions!

Next morning the subject of the cushions still kept drifting into his mind, when it should have been on more immediate concerns, and he decided to ask someone. But who? He didn’t feel he could ask Imrahil, or his sons, nor Aragorn even though he might well know the answer; if it really was simply something to do with Gondorian custom he didn’t want to appear stupid by not knowing.

No point in mentioning it to Éothain and asking him to make enquiries; not only was he busy enough already but he would surely make a joke out of it.

Pippin? He held some sort of rank within Gondor. Except that he had held it for hardly any time, and may not have met any princesses at all. Were there any other princesses of Gondor, these days, besides Lothíriel? Éomer wasn’t certain but suspected the answer was no. Perhaps there would be little point in turning to Pippin.

Merry! Merry was an esquire of Rohan and so it was certainly Éomer’s right to ask him questions – and the hobbit knew the princess remarkably well. And if he didn’t know the answer it was the sort of thing he would certainly be able to find out; hobbits were very good at engaging people in conversation and finding out much that the other person didn’t even realise they had been asked. Éomer decided to ask Merry.

When he did broach the subject with the hobbit he almost wished he hadn’t. The question made Merry blush so deeply that Éomer was tempted to glance down to see if it really did spread from his toenails to the top of his scalp.

Finally Merry blurted out that Princess Lothíriel’s need for soft cushions to sit on was “to do with the um… the err… the… the indisposition that had caused her to be under the care of the healers, and it was why she wasn’t evacuated from Minas Tirith with most of the other women.”

Éomer nodded and allowed the embarrassed hobbit to escape.

‘Must be women’s troubles, then,’ he thought. ‘But at least it means we won’t have to have any new mattresses made for Éowyn.’