The Lion and his Lady

Flotsam: Chapter 1

A/N: just a bit of quick fun with my favourite couple. Enjoy!

***

Flat and shimmering, the bay stretched out before him like an enormous mirror, reflecting clouds streaked orange and pink by the rising sun. Nothing broke the smooth expanse except for a low island, its beach littered with dark boulders.

Éomer took the last few steps down the stairs to a tiny, sheltered cove, where the water lapped against the shore with a sound like a sigh. Behind him rose the castle of Dol Amroth, stark and forbidding, but this was the side turned away from the town and its harbour. There was nobody else about, not even guards.

The solitude was welcome. He had woken early, though feeling little rested. Not wanting to disturb his squire – the boy slept until midday if he let him – he had wandered off along the corridors of the castle in search of some food and had instead found the postern gate that led down to this tiny scrap of beach.

Sitting down on the bottom step, he listened to the water caress the pebbles. They had made good time across Southern Gondor and arrived early, so for a change he had no obligations to fulfil. No lengthy talks about trade, no discussing their next military venture, but above all no polite conversation to make with tongue-tied Gondorian maidens. There would be a banquet and a dance later that night, but he need not face that just yet.

Unseeing, he frowned down at his boots. Oh, he agreed with his advisers that it made sense to strengthen their ties with Gondor, but did all Gondorian women need to be so...meek? It was as if they had all attended the same school of deportment, turning them into smiling, perfect little dolls. He sighed. Still, they were very pretty dolls and there had to be greater sacrifices for the Mark than taking one of them to his bed. Sometimes he just wondered what they would talk about, once he was shackled to one for the rest of his life.

But at twenty-eight years of age, it was high time for him to get married, not least to ensure the Mark's succession. Once that had been accomplished, they could lead quite separate lives, like so many noble couples in Gondor did. The banquet would be a good opportunity to inspect the unwed maidens of Gondor – not least his host's daughter, whom he had not yet met – and make up his mind which one to choose. Nevertheless, the thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

Éomer gave himself a mental shake. He was turning maudlin! And it was a beautiful day. While he had been brooding over his situation, the sun had risen, turning the sea a vivid turquoise. Beyond the central island, a small fleet of fishing boats was making for the entrance of the bay, their white sails catching the gentle breeze.

On an impulse, he slipped out of his boots and took off his clothes, leaving them in a tidy pile on the stairs. The water looked so inviting, and he was a strong swimmer. One turn to the island and back again would drive the silly fancies from his mind and give him a good appetite for breakfast.

The day was a gift. He would accept it.

***

Lothíriel was fuming.

A whole day stolen. All because that oaf of a Rohirrim king could not be punctual. She had planned to take Carach for a long sail to the outlying islands, enjoying the last bit of peace and freedom, and instead she was reduced to taking a short turn around the bay.

Still, she told herself, it was only for a week, then he would be gone again. There had to be greater sacrifices for Gondor than organising a few banquets and dancing with a foreign king. And that was all she would do. Oh, she knew what her father had in mind, why he had invited his as yet unwed friend for a stay. But she had no intention of turning into a decorative ornament at the court of Rohan, its only purpose to provide the country with an heir.