The title belongs to Shakespeare, again, but it's from a different play, A Midsummer Night's Dream.

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CHAPTER 7

The Course of True Love

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When Legolas and Gimli arrived that afternoon, Éomer was still pondering the morning’s argument with Lothíriel. He knew not why it had affected him so greatly, but he was glad to have new company at the house, if only to distract him from recent developments. He immediately took a turn with his friends in the vast gardens around his sister’s house. Through the hedges they wandered, conversing easily of many things. It had been some months since Éomer had last seen his Dwarf friend, so he was glad of this visit.

Legolas began to explain their plans to Éomer. “And we are to travel on to Eryn Lasgalen in—”

He was cut off by the sudden sound of Aragorn’s voice on the other side of the hedge. “And what did Éowyn tell you, Lord Faramir?” he asked. “That Lothíriel is in love with Lord Éomer?”

And Éomer froze, his eyes wide. His companions looked at him in surprise. But Faramir answered before Éomer could recover from Aragorn’s words. “There is no question in the matter, my lord,” he replied. “My cousin is as in love with him as any of our wives have loved us.”

“And your brother-in-law has no knowledge of it?” asked Imrahil. He does now, Éomer thought. Apparently Faramir gave some response, and Imrahil said: “What a pity, for Lothíriel will never let him know of her affection.”

“It is just as well,” said Faramir, raising his voice in a lofty tone, “for we all know how much he dislikes her.”

Gimli gave Éomer an odd look, but he was given no opportunity to defend himself. “It is true,” said Aragorn. “I am surprised that a woman of such intelligence has lost her heart to him. We know how proud and disagreeable he is with her.”

Indignant, Éomer almost spoke out against this, but Imrahil’s voice preceded him. “Be fair to him, my lord,” he said. “The King of Rohan is yet young, and he could learn to put aside such feelings if he knew of her affection.”

“I love Éomer as I would love a brother,” said Aragorn, “but I cannot believe you there. He would scorn the lady’s love, though she is well worthy of so great a man.”

“Then he is no great man, if he should spurn my cousin,” Faramir replied. “I shall go to Lothíriel and counsel her to fight her feelings. She deserves a man who loves her.”

“Do you distrust your brother-in-law so?” asked Imrahil. “Surely he would not scorn my daughter’s freely offered love. Tell him of it, and see what he will say.”

Éomer was by then becoming very uncomfortable with the situation, not in the least because his friends heard this exchange as well as he. “I know what he would say,” Faramir continued. “For I have heard him call her headstrong and insolent. He would tell us not to saddle him with Lothíriel as wife, though she is beautiful and clever beyond anything he deserves.”

And Éomer winced to hear some of his own words said back to him. Yet as the conversation continued, he was struck by this revelation. Lothíriel was in love with him — he could hardly believe it! She who seemed bent on teasing and testing him was actually in love with him. As he considered this, Legolas touched his arm. “Are you well, Éomer?” the Elf asked.

Éomer nodded distractedly. “Forgive me,” he said, and left the garden, leaving Legolas and Gimli alone.

The two hurried around to the other side of the hedge, where Faramir was whispering something to the two older men. Upon the sight of the two, Imrahil backhanded Faramir’s stomach, and the three looked at the Elf and Dwarf. A look of relief crossed all three faces as they did not see Éomer. Then Legolas said: “My lord, did you not realize that Éomer was—”

And suddenly Aragorn’s hand clamped over his mouth with such force that the Elf was nearly knocked to the ground. There was a warning look in the King’s eyes as the Steward ran through an opening in the hedges and came back. “He is almost to the stables, my lord,” said Faramir. Aragorn released Legolas then. “There is little danger he heard him.”

“I see your Elf ears do not discern everything,” said Gimli then. “Why would they talk so loudly if they did not wish to be overheard?”

Legolas turned the question to Aragorn. “Why would they wish to be overheard?”

Imrahil laughed. “Éomer will never own himself in love unless he believes Lothíriel loves him first, so we have given him that belief.”

“And does she?” asked Gimli.

“Certainly!” Faramir cried. “You, Master Dwarf, have never seen them together, but they are in love, I assure you.”

Said Legolas: “And has the same net been laid for the Lady?”

“It soon will be,” said the King. “Come, let us go up to the house.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And let us send Lothíriel to fetch him for dinner.”

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Away from the gardens Éomer fled. He hardly knew which way he walked, so occupied were his thoughts with this fresh intelligence. Lothíriel in love with him? It seemed surreal, and yet. . .and yet it did not seem so strange either. Nor was the idea entirely unpleasant.

He soon found himself in the stables, with his horse Fleetfoot. In times of emotional stress he was wont to go to his horses; they were less complicated than what troubled him, and allowed him to think on other things. Yet this time it did not work. His mind kept conjuring images of the Princess of Dol Amroth, and it was not long before the horse noticed his distraction and nudged his shoulder.

After a moment Éomer laughed. “I fear you do not have my full attention today,” he said. “I have learned something most distressing, Fleetfoot. The Lady Lothíriel, who seemed outwardly to despise me, is actually in love with me.”

Fleetfoot threw his head back. “I know, it is incomprehensible,” Éomer said, smiling. “I have given her no cause to love, and yet love she does. She has apparently confided this to my sister.

“I know not why she loves me, Fleetfoot,” he continued. “My friends have maligned me, saying I would scorn her if I knew. Three weeks ago I would have said the same, but I do not. I am almost relieved to know this.”

He paused, running his fingers through Fleetfoot’s mane. “I fear that if this were known, that she loves me and I have no objection to it, that I would never hear the end of the matter from my friends. But,” he added, raising his voice to a more lordly tone, “they know my situation. They know I must marry, that I must have heirs, and I would much rather marry a woman who loves me than not.”

Fleetfoot suddenly threw his head back, shaking it and whinnying loudly. After a moment, Éomer laughed. “You disagree, friend,” he said. “And I suppose you are right. But if she can love me, why should I not think of her as a suitable bride? She is lovely beyond report, wise beyond her age, and well-schooled in the ways of royal life. She is not perhaps so mild as I would have looked for in a wife, but she is altogether suitable to be the Queen of Rohan.”

The horse eyed him suspiciously before nudging his shoulder again. Éomer pondered his words carefully. “And if she loves where I thought she despised,” he said slowly, “is it possible that I love her too?”

Once the words were out of his mouth, the sudden truth of them was obvious to the King. Their strife and discontent stemmed from being in love with each other, and not wishing the other to know. Éomer had perhaps loved her since first setting his eyes upon her those many months ago, but now it was clear. The arguing, the condescension, all had been a mask for his true feelings for her.

“I love her,” he whispered; and Fleetfoot whinnied his approval.