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He had been sitting at the edge of the bed, bouncing his leg incessantly, when he heard the door open at last.
Seeing her approach, he rose to his feet and took a step towards her.
She was lovely, wearing layers of shimmering white and soft green, with long dark hair framing her face and her eyes bright in the light of the lanterns.
Éomer was in awe. He watched her as Lothíriel came to stand before him, her body stiff and her expression tense, and when she lowered herself in a curtsy, he quickly bowed as well.
“Er…” He faltered as she met his gaze expectantly, unsure of what to say.
They continued to look at one another before he finally managed to say, “Forgive me, milady, my words seem to fail me.”
“It seems,” she replied with the hint of a smile, “that we are both out of our depth.”
“Aye, it is an unfortunate consequence of marriages like ours.”
Her smile faded. “Do you regret it?”
“Nay!” For a moment, he held out his hand, but then brought it to his chin to rub his beard. Sheepishly he smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Nay, though it would have been easier if we had had more than a few letters to get to know each other.”
Gently she pushed aside an errant lock of hair. “I - I feel the same way.”
Another silence stretched out between them while they looked at one another. She truly was a vision of charm and grace, and he was a fortunate man.
“Would you, er, would you like to sit?” Éomer offered. He was getting weary of standing around.
“On the bed or – “
Hastily he interjected, gesturing at the two seats near the fireplace. “How about we sit over there? Would you like a drink?”
Lothíriel seemed to be taken aback by his offer, but more than that, he could sense that she was relieved. “I shall have some water. Thank you, milord.”
She sat down at his insistence, and she watched him fill the cups before he too sat down. Again, they were quiet, glad to be occupied.
Her eyes rested briefly on the bed, and he could not help but speak up.
“Milady, er… Lothíriel. We shall not do anything tonight.”
Though his words had been vague, the blush on her cheeks told him that she understood what was implied.
“But milord – “
“Éomer.”
“Milord Éomer, it is expected of us.”
Granted, it was quite dutiful of her, but he preferred to grow their intimacy with patience and care. And no council, lord or kin could convince him of doing so otherwise.
Drawing closer to her, he gently touched her arm before releasing it once more. “I am the King. And you are now my wife. Do you think anyone would dare bother us with such trifles?”
“I hope not.” The young woman smiled, evidently more at ease around him.
Pleased, he smiled and raised his glass. “To my wife, the Queen. May Rohan blossom during her reign.”