Lord Elmer. Éowyn, who has begrudgingly become used to the difficulty that her husband's tongue finds on her own name, is all at once embarrassingly aware of its failings on her brother's; finds herself uncertain whether to smile fondly or to apologise. She elects, in the end, to say nothing of it at all, though for a moment her eyes slide sidelong to Éomer's in silent embarrassment, a quiet plea to him not to be insulted.
She need not be concerned, it seems. Éomer's mouth twitches a little, in what could equally be amusement or distaste, but is in any case not greatly consequential; and he inclines his own head in turn, and smiles politely at the question.
"Should a man not weep, when his dearest kin is returned?" There is only a small sting of challenge in his words, and it is easily lost - at least, knowing her husband and brother both, Éowyn can hope it is easily lost - beneath an accent thicker than her own. "We did not gladly part with our Lady of the Shield-Arm, my lord Jaime, nor without worry. You took from us our dearest treasure. Shall I not be relieved, then, to know you have brought her back to the Mark hale and whole, and no mischief has befallen her?"
Éowyn shifts a little at that, clearly discomfited, her eyes flickering between Jaime and Éomer. "Ne áhisce, Éomer," she mutters, and wipes at her cheeks, finding that under Jaime's eyes her tears do feel a great deal more like weakness. "Ic béo selvgeborgen."
At that, Éomer laughs, a clear and carrying sound, and shakes his head. "Hvaet áhiscende? I have missed my sister, and the Mark its highest lady. And I have missed, too, any chance to meet my brother of these two years." He moves at last away from Éowyn, reaches out to clap Jaime on one armoured shoulder. "You are most welcome here, my friend. Set aside lordship and honour; may we be brothers indeed, bound as we are by love of the White Lady. Come, let us see your horses stabled, and wine poured, for you must be weary."
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sforzinda
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Date: 2021-09-18 09:46 pm (UTC)She need not be concerned, it seems. Éomer's mouth twitches a little, in what could equally be amusement or distaste, but is in any case not greatly consequential; and he inclines his own head in turn, and smiles politely at the question.
"Should a man not weep, when his dearest kin is returned?" There is only a small sting of challenge in his words, and it is easily lost - at least, knowing her husband and brother both, Éowyn can hope it is easily lost - beneath an accent thicker than her own. "We did not gladly part with our Lady of the Shield-Arm, my lord Jaime, nor without worry. You took from us our dearest treasure. Shall I not be relieved, then, to know you have brought her back to the Mark hale and whole, and no mischief has befallen her?"
Éowyn shifts a little at that, clearly discomfited, her eyes flickering between Jaime and Éomer. "Ne áhisce, Éomer," she mutters, and wipes at her cheeks, finding that under Jaime's eyes her tears do feel a great deal more like weakness. "Ic béo selvgeborgen."
At that, Éomer laughs, a clear and carrying sound, and shakes his head. "Hvaet áhiscende? I have missed my sister, and the Mark its highest lady. And I have missed, too, any chance to meet my brother of these two years." He moves at last away from Éowyn, reaches out to clap Jaime on one armoured shoulder. "You are most welcome here, my friend. Set aside lordship and honour; may we be brothers indeed, bound as we are by love of the White Lady. Come, let us see your horses stabled, and wine poured, for you must be weary."