Black Eyes

First passage at arms

She looked dubious. "I dare say it's different amongst barbarians, but here in Gondor a stripling like you would hardly be considered old enough to rule."

Lothiriel had watched the exchange attentively and had noticed the tension in the King of Rohan at being called a barbarian. His eyes had gone hard again and she was suddenly glad she wasn't at the receiving end of that steely glare.

"I came to my kingship on the battlefield," he bit off, "I had no choice in the matter."

Ivriniel nodded. "I suppose that's not your fault," she conceded grudgingly, somehow still managing to make it sound like carelessness on his part, "At least you speak our language well."

King Éomer had recovered his temper and gave another bow. "You flatter me," he echoed Lothiriel's own earlier words, "My grandmother hailed from Lossarnach and the language of Gondor was spoken at my uncle's court."

"I knew Lady Morwen of Lossarnach, you know," Ivriniel answered.

"You have the advantage of me then, my lady," he said, "I never met her. She moved back to Gondor after her husband's death, leaving her son behind to rule the Mark."

Aunt Ivriniel seemed to hear some hidden disapproval in his voice for she gave him that look of hers that could have withered a nazgûl on the spot. "It seems only reasonable to me that she wanted to spend her last years in her native country."

"Of course," he agreed blandly.

Lothiriel had to admit King Éomer was bearing up better than she had expected. Most men would have wilted under the icy glare Aunt Ivriniel now threw him. But then she had always known he was tough, he had to be, to survive the war unscathed.

"Éomer, my friend, I see you've made my sister's acquaintance," it was her father who had come up behind them unnoticed.

If the King of Rohan was relieved at this rescue, he did not show it. "I've just had the pleasure," he confirmed, "I was going to ask if it would be all right to take Princess Lothiriel for a walk in the garden."

"Certainly not!" Ivriniel exclaimed, but Prince Imrahil cut right across her. "Of course you may."

When his sister looked thoroughly scandalized and started to remonstrate with him, he took her by the arm and firmly led her away. Lothiriel had no doubt her father knew perfectly well what she'd had in mind when introducing the King of Rohan to this most formidable member of their family. Apparently he wasn't put off so easily, though, for before she knew it she found herself bundled through a side door and in the gardens.

This part of them was very formal, with carefully laid out flowerbeds lined with low hedges. They were not the only couple having chosen to go for a stroll and torches were set at intervals all along the gravel paths to light their way. Also the full moon had risen by now, casting its silvery light over them.

Lothiriel made no attempt to break the uncomfortable silence that had descended between her and the King of Rohan, valiantly suppressing the urge to be a good hostess. She stole a quick look at him and marked with satisfaction that he seemed ill at ease. Finally he cleared his throat.

"We do not have anything like these gardens in the Mark," he said, "they're very pretty."

"Yes," Lothiriel contented herself with saying.

He searched for another thing to say. "Do you often walk here?"

"Yes." She almost began to feel sorry for him.

"I suppose it must take a lot of gardeners to look after them?"

"Yes."

Another silence descended, even more strained than the one before, and only broken by the gravel crunching under their steps. They had reached a small pool glinting serenely in the moonlight and he settled her on one of the stone benches overlooking it. In the summer the water would be covered in water lilies, but now the plants were half dormant already, their leaves brown and sere in anticipation of the coming winter. There was a light breeze and Lothiriel wondered what it would be like to live in a country so far removed from the seashore that she would never again smell the tang of the ocean.