On the Wings of the Storm

Chapter 10

I stumbled along in Éomer's wake, my mind spinning wildly. Thirst quencher? He thirsted for me? Surely there could be no other explanation for his words, not the way he had said them. This was no Gondorian courtier offering polite words of admiration to his prince's daughter; this was a man who knew what he wanted. And intended to have it. Alarm mixed with excitement ran through me as he pulled me into a dance.

To be abruptly replaced by worry of a different kind. "Éomer, I don't know the steps to this dance!"

Slipping an arm around my waist, he laughed. "It's easy. Trust me, I won't let you trip."

As if I weighed no more than thistle down, he spun me round and into the midst of the other dancers. The fiddlers' fingers chased across the strings of their instruments and drums beat a rhythm like a racing heart. I was used to Gondor's stately court dances, their every step prescribed, and faltered at what looked like wild confusion to me. But Éomer guided me along with a firm hand on my back, and I found it was not so difficult after all.

"See," he said, "I knew you would do fine. So, are you enjoying your first Yule here?"

Breathless, I smiled up at him. It was rather disconcerting how close he held me while we whirled round. "It's very different from home."

"I imagine so." He grimaced. "I'm afraid you had rather a rough introduction to the Mark, but I hope you like it here nevertheless."

I knew he meant the troubles encountered in Aldburg and Edoras, but I could not help remembering our first meeting. "Yes, it was rough," I agreed. "A certain Third Marshal nearly made me turn back on the spot."

That elicited a chuckle from him. "I'm glad you didn't!"

The dance came to an end just then, but he gave nobody else the chance to claim my hand, glaring at any riders daring to approach me. The musicians downed a quick round of ale and started playing again – a slower tune, similar steps. But I nearly exclaimed in surprise when, after about ten strokes of the music, Éomer took me by the waist and lifted me high in the air. However, all around us the other couples did the same, and I realized it was part of the dance. There was a definite twinkle in his eyes as he set me down on my feet. He had felt my surprise and was enjoying himself!

"After all," he took up the conversation again, "you've saved my skin several times already."

Abruptly recalling my earlier misgivings, I clutched his arm. "Éomer, I have to talk to you!"

He tensed at my tone. "Why? Has something happened?"

"It's Gríma–"

"Wormtongue!" he exclaimed and came to a halt. "What did he do? Let me tell you, I do not like it one bit the way he watches you and Éowyn. If he dared to touch–"

"No, no!" I tried to calm him. "Nothing of the sort." People were staring at us, and I tugged at him to start dancing again.

Reluctantly he complied, but his face betrayed his murderous thoughts. "One of these days I will..."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," I broke in. "Éomer, he hates you! Please be more careful around him."

His face cleared. "You're worried about me?" For some reason the thought seemed to please him. "Don't be, I can take care of myself."

"You did not see the look in his eyes when you put him down just now. The man is dangerous!"

He shrugged carelessly. "As you said, he hates me anyway. It won't make any difference if I let him know what I think of him."