Imrahil's Daughters

Chapter 7

The silence was oppressive. Éomer sighed as he leant on the battlements and looked out at a landscape wreathed in morning mist. Except for the lookouts in the towers either end of the walkway nobody was about yet. Just him and Éothain - who had said no word beyond greeting his king as he fell into step behind him.

A chilly breeze tugged at his cloak. "Yes, I know," Éomer finally snapped, pushed beyond his endurance. "I shouldn't have bought her that belt."

More silence. It was the bees of course. He might as well have shared his cup of mead with her. And since Beocca had witnessed it, the tale would probably be known to all his riders by now. He groaned. "She's Gondorian. It's just a simple gift to her, she doesn't know."

"You know."

Yes, he did - and had at the time. Yet he hadn't been able to resist. That belt had been made for her! And he had wanted to be the one who put it round her. He still remembered the primitive satisfaction he'd felt when the clasp had clicked close. And Gliwen, blissfully unaware that she had just accepted a courting gift, had thanked him!

He rubbed his temples, wondering if he could blame the wine for his conduct. Yet the intoxication had originated from a very different source - an evening enjoyed far more than was reasonable. For a short while he had merely been a simple rider strolling through the fair in the company of a pretty woman and his best friend.

He didn't even know what it was about Gliwen that attracted him. True, she was pretty enough, but so were many other women in Gondor's court. And Queen Arwen's unearthly beauty put all of them in the shade anyway. Perhaps the way Gliwen seemed completely oblivious to his station as a king? She certainly didn't hesitate to make her displeasure known if she considered him overstepping his authority. He grinned reminiscently, remembering their sparring.

Éothain cleared his throat. "So what will you do now?"

"I'm not sure," Éomer admitted.

"Lady Gliwen deserves better than being gossipped about," his friend declared.

"I know!"

In his experience, Éothain only distinguished between two categories of women - those he could introduce to his aged mother and those he couldn't. His captain had been a bit doubtful about Gliwen at first, but apparently by saving his king from what he perceived as a watery death, she had firmly placed herself in the former category. Unfortunately, to Éomer the world wasn't as simple as that.

"They won't gossip about Gliwen, they'll gossip about Princess Lothíriel," he pointed out.

"Oh!" Éothain scratched his chin. "I hadn't considered that. That's quite a pickle you've landed yourself in."

Truer words were never spoken! Éomer stared out over the marshes stretching to the north of the castle. A rising wind from the sea tore the mist apart so the ghostly forms of trees emerged. Amrothos had promised to take them riding there in the afternoon, but Éomer wondered if he would be up to it. The prince had looked like something dragged out of the gutters, wet and none too clean, when they had met him on the way back.

He drummed his fingers on the cold stone of the battlements. It had been wrong to talk Gliwen into posing as her sister and twice wrong to gift her with that belt for all to see. Neither of the two sisters deserved the gossip that would accrue from his actions. But then deception rarely paid off, so it was hardly surprising this one had already come back to haunt him.

However, he would be leaving tomorrow and surely with time the whole affair would be forgotten. By the participants as well, Éomer told himself firmly. He thought of returning to Meduseld, to the royal chambers behind the great hall, which he inhabited on his own now that Éowyn was gone. They still felt like that of a stranger to him with the richly carved, enormous bed and the faded tapestries. Luckily he could spend most of his time on the practice grounds and in the stables. As for the Queen's Room and the nursery, frozen in time decades ago, he had only taken one look before ordering them closed until needed.