Black Eyes

Parley

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.

(Ecthelion: On War)

***

Lothiriel judged that the high tide mark had been reached by now, but it would still be a long time until the water was low enough for them to make it back safely to the shore. She had settled down where she had a good view of the cliffs, just in case their rescuers arrived. Now she leant back against the big sun-warmed boulder at her back, hoping that some of its heat would transfer itself to her. While her teeth had stopped chattering she was still chilled to the bone and only warming up slowly. The October sun was weak and it didn't help either that the wind had started to pick up.

Éomer was staring at the sea as if he could force it to recede by willpower alone. After a moment he took off his tunic and wrung it out before hanging it up on one of the bushes to dry. Lothiriel quickly dropped her gaze at the sight of his bare chest, but not before noticing his well-defined muscles and the tracery of long healed scars criss-crossing them. A warrior indeed.

"You should do the same, you know," he remarked conversationally, "it dries much quicker this way."

Lothiriel stared at him. Was he serious? It was true that her clothes were cold and clammy against her skin, but to take them off when she was all alone with him? On the other hand she somehow knew without question that he was an honourable man, even if he had threatened her with violence earlier on. It came as a bit of a surprise to discover that she felt absolutely safe with him. She still hesitated, however.

"I can't," she explained, "it wouldn't be suitable."

"Why not?" he asked, "You're still shivering and your lips have started to turn blue. You'll end up catching your death, you know."

In a way it made sense and anyway, his cloak covered her completely, being much too large for her, but at the same time she knew what her aunt would have to say on this idea. However, Aunt Ivriniel wasn't here.

"Turn your back," she ordered him imperiously and he complied with an ironic grin.

As quickly as she could manage, she stripped off her trousers and tunic and hung them up to dry, after a brief hesitation adding her silken chemise as well. It felt strange to have nothing but the rough cloth of his cloak against her skin and she had the feeling she was blushing furiously by the time she was finished. Making sure even her bare toes were covered she sat down on the ground again.

"You may turn around now."

He sat down cross-legged on the grass a good distance away from her, quite ignoring the curiously festooned bushes, and took out another of the dried meat sticks to chew on it. No doubt he was quite used to having half naked women about and thought nothing of it. Anca, that traitor, crept over to him and put her head in his lap looking up at him beseechingly.

He laughed. "It looks like I've finally found the one being in Middle Earth that actually likes these things."

"I fed her mine," Lothiriel admitted.

"So I noticed," he grinned, "not that I blame you. During the war we subsisted on these the whole way to Minas Tirith and my riders were grumbling all the time."

"On these?"

Éomer nodded. "For six days! We didn't have time to prepare anything else and this was all we had left in our stores. No doubt deliberately," he added grimly.