Éomer's mouth curls in a smile, but there is a flash of something almost dangerous in his eyes, so like his sister's. He hears the challenge in Jaime's voice, it is clear, smile or no smile, and he is no more able to ignore it than she would be - though he does not know what to make of it, under the circumstances. His hand rests a moment more against the other man's pauldron, his eyes scouring the Westerosi's face, before he lets his arm fall and nods.
"Many of our people," he agrees, "though many are eager to meet you too, Jaime Ofergyld, and I do not think you will lack for friends."
"My lord Éomer!" Éowyn sounds, if not scandalised, then at the very least annoyed. It is, in truth, a level of unvarnished humanity that she rarely allows in company; but then, they are not in company, there are here only the two men who know her best, and Jaime was not supposed to know that nickname. She had forgotten some of the similarity between them. She had forgotten that, grim as he is and lordly as he is, there was ever a mischief in Éomer too.
"Daþ waere alswá ne áhiscende." His tone is sober, but there is laughter still behind it. "There are many who would gladly hear stories of one so far-travelled and no doubt renowned. Not least myself and the good lady Lothlíriel, who is excited to meet you both."
"She has met me," Éowyn corrects him, "though she may not remember it. At the coronation, we passed words, you may recall? She spoke highly of you then; I am glad to see it come to fruition." She seems almost physically to settle herself, and not without a certain cost of effort. She had not thought, in her excitement to get here, how easily brother and husband might clash; nor had she expected Jaime to be so sharp in his attitude. It is beginning to dull the shine of this homecoming. Her eyes flick, again, between the two of them. If I must suffer both of you taking jabs at each other all this while...
Turning away, she whistles between her teeth, spurring the horses to raise their heads, and goes to gather her own mount's reins, and Jaime's too. "I am weary, Jaime, even if you are not. And if there is to be weeping, then I would fain have it done with. Come, let us not linger here among the dead, Éomer; your bride has too often seen me grim, and never merry."
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sforzinda
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Date: 2021-09-21 12:56 am (UTC)"Many of our people," he agrees, "though many are eager to meet you too, Jaime Ofergyld, and I do not think you will lack for friends."
"My lord Éomer!" Éowyn sounds, if not scandalised, then at the very least annoyed. It is, in truth, a level of unvarnished humanity that she rarely allows in company; but then, they are not in company, there are here only the two men who know her best, and Jaime was not supposed to know that nickname. She had forgotten some of the similarity between them. She had forgotten that, grim as he is and lordly as he is, there was ever a mischief in Éomer too.
"Daþ waere alswá ne áhiscende." His tone is sober, but there is laughter still behind it. "There are many who would gladly hear stories of one so far-travelled and no doubt renowned. Not least myself and the good lady Lothlíriel, who is excited to meet you both."
"She has met me," Éowyn corrects him, "though she may not remember it. At the coronation, we passed words, you may recall? She spoke highly of you then; I am glad to see it come to fruition." She seems almost physically to settle herself, and not without a certain cost of effort. She had not thought, in her excitement to get here, how easily brother and husband might clash; nor had she expected Jaime to be so sharp in his attitude. It is beginning to dull the shine of this homecoming. Her eyes flick, again, between the two of them. If I must suffer both of you taking jabs at each other all this while...
Turning away, she whistles between her teeth, spurring the horses to raise their heads, and goes to gather her own mount's reins, and Jaime's too. "I am weary, Jaime, even if you are not. And if there is to be weeping, then I would fain have it done with. Come, let us not linger here among the dead, Éomer; your bride has too often seen me grim, and never merry."