Black Eyes

First passage at arms

In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle,
but indirect methods will be needed in order to secure victory.

(Mardil Voronwë: Tactics of Gondorian Warfare)

***

Lothiriel had to admit the King of Rohan was living up to his reputation as a hardy and tough warrior. This was the third time she had deliberately trod on his feet and apart from a slight wince he showed no other reaction. Still, that was to be expected. Compared to facing down all those orcs during the war, enduring a dance with a clumsy and bumbling girl would not tax him much. Somehow she did not think she quite measured up to a nazgûl or mûmak.

He had turned out to be a better dancer than she had expected, but not quite as accomplished as herself. Lothiriel fixed her eyes on the front of his tunic, as if hoping to find inspiration there what to do next. To her surprise he had chosen to wear blue tonight, instead of the traditional green of the Rohirrim. Not that it mattered, for the pink still clashed horribly with it, but she wondered if it was meant as a compliment to Dol Amroth. Probably just a coincidence, she decided in the end.

If the situation had been less grim she would have laughed at the picture they surely presented. He had dressed almost austerely, his tunic only sporting very modest embroidery along the hem and collar, whereas she could have supplied a whole village with fripperies. There was no doubt, however, who looked more regal. The question was if he noticed the fact.

Lothiriel had had several months to come up with a plan and had spent considerable thought on her strategy for tonight, in the end deciding on the traditional two-pronged attack. On one hand she wanted to make him see her as completely unsuitable for the role of his queen while at the same time presenting him with the most beautiful women of Gondor. The second part had met with success anyway. It was amazing what the prospect of a crown effected.

The dance had come to an end and she started fanning herself with one hand, as if that little exercise had exhausted her already. He took the hint.

"Would you care for a break?" he asked her solicitously. Was there a hint of relief in his voice?

"That would be nice," she replied, glad to have the dancing done with. Stepping on his feet was a bit like kicking an opponent that was down already and could not defend himself.

"We could go for a turn in the garden," she suggested, "but you would have to ask my aunt for permission first."

Of course just meeting Princess Ivriniel had put many a potential suitor off completely and she would never allow her niece to walk in the garden with a man she had only just met and who was a barbarian to boot. So it was with considerable hidden glee that Lothiriel introduced King Éomer to her aunt.

"My favourite aunt," she added in an aside to him, not thinking it necessary to point out that she was also the only living one.

He took one startled look at the figure facing him in her gown encrusted with silver and gold, her ample chest covered in necklaces of every precious stone imaginable, and gave a deep bow.

Ivriniel ignored him, looking over her niece in satisfaction instead. "I see you're finally wearing that gown I gave you," she said.

"I was keeping it for a special occasion," Lothiriel replied and her aunt gave her a surprised look, not used to such meekness.

"Well, niece, it's nice seeing you finally wear something so maidenly and becoming," she pronounced, causing King Éomer to suffer from a sudden coughing fit.

Ivriniel fixed him with a haughty stare. "And you are the King of Rohan?" she asked, "Aren't you rather young?"

If he was taken aback at the accusatory tone he did not show it. "I am twenty-eight years old my lady," he replied evenly, "in my country that is considered a good age."