Yours to Command

Diplomacy

The true lady will always show an amiable and pleasant countenance to the world. At no time will she allow any sign of inner turmoil to spoil her gracious manner, nor will she ever lift her voice above what is considered appropriate in polite society.

(Belecthor: The Gondorian maiden's guide to proper deportment)

***

Éomer stared down at Lothíriel, feeling as if he had been punched in the gut. In the distance, the dogs were still barking loudly and the branches of the apple tree above him moved in the slight breeze, throwing dappled shade on her face. No longer luminous with joy, but tense and angry. His fault.

"You're talking about what happened at the fireboats."

"Yes, obviously," she bit off.

He lifted a hand and then let it fall to his side again. Once again his imprudent impulses had got him into trouble. "I know I got carried away." Yet she had not objected, he was sure of it.

"Carried away? You touch me in that manner and then go and..." her voice broke and to his horror he saw tears in her eyes.

He took a step toward her. "Lothíriel, please. I'm sorry! Believe me, I never meant to cause you any unhappiness."

"Well you have."

Éomer felt even worse. If one of his riders had forced his attentions on an unwilling woman, he would have punished him most severely. To have her accuse him of taking advantage of her and to see her in such distress cut him deeply. Yet at the same time he could not believe that he had misread her so completely. Perhaps he had overwhelmed her by asking for too much too quickly? She was so young and inexperienced after all.

"You are right," he said, "I deserve some censure for what I've done."

Tentatively, he picked up her hand again. Stiff and unyielding, but at least she didn't pull away this time. "I don't know what got into me - I just acted without thinking. Will you believe me when I say I never intended for this to happen?"

Lothíriel turned her head away and nodded without a word.

He grasped her hand more tightly. "I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me?"

She sighed and seemed to soften slightly. "I know you would not intentionally set out to hurt me. Father explained to me that customs differ in Rohan."

In his heart, he knew they did not differ in that respect, but he eagerly grasped at the excuse she offered him. "Perhaps they do. I'm deeply sorry if my actions offended you."

Lothíriel gave a tiny shrug. "Let's just forget about it."

Éomer finally saw his way clear again. Like a filly made jumpy by inexpert handling, she needed to have her trust restored. He would just have to step very carefully from now on and endeavour not to startle her again.

"Can't we be friends?" he asked.

A small nod. "Yes of course. I value your friendship."

Looking at her, Éomer cursed himself for a beast. This serious-faced young woman bore no resemblance to the girl who had teased him with a mischievous grin at the fair the day before. Only now did he realize what a gift her smile last night had been and how much he wanted another one.

"Please don't look so unhappy," he exclaimed impulsively, touching her lightly on the cheek. "I know I overstepped the line, but I meant no harm. Perhaps in time we can make a fresh start."

She trembled at his caress. "What do you mean?"

The feeling of her soft skin proved intoxicating. He knew he trod a thin line, yet he could not resist letting his fingers roam to the nape of her neck. How he would have liked to undo her heavy braid.