Ellevain was sitting in her bedroom window reading the day they came from Rohan. She heard voices through the open window lattice and looked out. Several people barbarically dressed in brightly dyed leather and wool and a great deal of gold were being ushered by the porter through the cobbled courtyard, with its potted shrubs and fountain bubbling against the side wall, towards the marble stair that led up to the door of the reception hall. Ellevain put aside her book, climbed down from the window seat and went into her little anteroom to open its window and lean out for a better view.

There were five of the strangers and their long fair hair no less than their gaudy clothes proclaimed them Rohirrim, foreigners but Ellevain’s distant kin through her father who’d been born a prince of Rohan.

Ingilda, her nurse, joined her at the window, a half stitched shift in her hands. “What is it, little lady?”

“People from Rohan come to see my father.” she answered. Though she had not spoken loudly the leader of the Rohirrim seemed to hear her and turned to look up at the window. Ellevain was startled to see that it was not a Man at all, as she had assumed, but a Woman though dressed manlike in a leather corselet inlaid with swirls of yellow gold and a green robe divided for riding. Keen blue eyes met Ellevain’s startled grey ones for a moment. Then the Woman nodded greeting and continued on up the stair and into the house.

Ellevain ran to the door that led from her rooms to the reception hall but Ingilda, astonishingly, blocked her. “No, Ellevain. I recognize that lady; she is Fastraed Fengel’s daughter, your father’s eldest sister. It can be no light matter that brings her here, and not one meant for little girl’s ears. Wait until you are sent for.”

The girl pouted a little but she saw the sense of obeying. Curious as she was it would be too humiliating to be sent away like a little child. And if this really was one of her Rohirrim aunts she would surely be presented once the grown-ups had finished talking business. “Very well, Ingilda.” she turned and went back into her bedroom.

It was a small, square chamber whose pale yellow walls, all painted with flowering and fruited vines, made it seem bright and sunny despite the one window facing onto a court overshadowed by the tall blocks of building that surrounded it. Her big bed of carved fruitwood stood against the back wall hung, like the window, with green curtains and the coverlet was a richly hued tapestry of flowers and birds. The green and yellow cushions from the window seat lay scattered on the floor, she picked them up and restored them to their places then took up the book lying face down on the sill and started to read again, but her mind kept wandering from the intricate philosophies of Master Nolendil.

Why had her aunt come? Had her wicked grandfather done something? But what could he do off in Rohan that could hurt them here in Gondor? Maybe Aunt Fastraed had run away from him too and come to live with them. Ellevain frowned a little at the thought. Their third of the sprawling old mansion was barely large enough to contain both family and servants. She hoped she wouldn’t have to give up her rooms to this aunt and go back to the nursery with the two infants.

Finally Ingilda opened the door. “The Lord Captain asks for you, m’Lady.”

Ellevain closed her book on the strip of needlework she used for a place mark and laid it carefully on the lectern in her study corner. She stood still as Ingilda fussed briefly over hair and dress, just as a matter of form, Ellevain was always neat and tidy.

Master Gelmir, Father’s chamberlain, was waiting at the door to her rooms to conduct her, an unaccustomed bit of ceremony, and Ingilda followed respectfully behind rather than holding Ellevain by the hand as she usually did. The little girl began to feel nervous. The reception hall was full of her mother’s gentlewomen whispering with the under-chamberlains and squires, but not loudly enough for Ellevain to make out what they were saying.

Gelmir opened the door to the withdrawing room and stood aside so the girl and her nurse could enter. “The Lady Ellevain, my Lord.”

Father was standing in front of fireplace looking morosely into the flames, Ellevain wanted to run to him and ask what was happening but restrained herself. The strange aunt, Fastraed, was sitting in Mother’s chair to the right of the fireplace with a crystal gilt goblet of wine in her hand. The four Men who’d come with her were standing behind the chair and Mother had seated herself out of the way on one of the cushioned benches against the wall.

Ellevain approached her father and made him a courtesy then stood silent, hands primly folded and eyes downcast until she was spoken to. But it was the aunt, not Father who spoke. “Ellevain?” she said, a lift of question in her voice.

“Elfflaed in your tongue, Sister.” said Mother from her place by the wall.

“Sweeting,” Ellevain looked up to see her father give her a rather forced smile, “this is your Aunt Fastraed, my eldest sister, who has come to tell us my father is dead.”

She’d cried when Lord Turgon died and still felt sad whenever she thought about him. But she couldn’t possibly cry for the wicked grandfather she’d never seen and never heard anyone speak a single good word about - not even her father, his own son! “May the Valar receive his soul.” she said formally.

“You are what, ten years old, Ellevain?” the aunt asked, slightly mispronouncing the name.

“Only eight, my Lady.” she answered.

“Our Ellevain is forward for her age.” Father said with his usual touch of pride.

“And tall for it as well, but that’s to be expected with Dunedain blood,” Fastraed mispronounced that word too. “I saw you watching us from the window, brother-daughter.”

“Yes, my Lady, I was reading with my window lattice open and heard your voices in the courtyard.”

Aunt Fastraed’s eyebrows rose sharply. “Reading? Are you fond of reading, Ellevain?”

“Oh very!” she answered, a touch of enthusiasm for the first time warming her polite little voice. “I’m reading Nolendil’s ‘Thoughts on Truth’ it’s very hard but quite interesting.” she was showing off a little, Nolendil was far too advanced for most children her age.

But the aunt didn’t seem in the least impressed. “And what do you do besides read, brother-daughter?”

“I study literature and history with one tutor, and mathematics and natural science with another, and take dancing and music lessons with the Orothonioni children...” Aunt Fastraed was not only unimpressed but looked positively disapproving. Ellevain fell silent abashed and a little resentful. Grown-ups always approved of her; Her manners were perfect and she was both clever and forward for her age. Maybe Fastraed just didn’t like children.

The door to the hall opened again and Gelmir announced: “The Lord Aranuir and the Lady Vanawen, my Lord.”

The little ones came in holding tightly to either hand of their nurse, scrubbed and dressed in green and yellow. Aranuir was five and golden haired like Father, Vanawen was a year younger and dark like Mother and Ellevain herself. They were very pretty children, and too overawed by their best clothes and the strangers to misbehave, but Aunt Fastraed clearly liked them no better than Ellevain. It must be that she disliked children.

“And what would those grand Stoniglander names be in our tongue?” she asked acidly.

“Theoden and Flaeda.” said Father.

Fastraed turned abruptly to Ellevain. “Do you understand the speech of your fathers’, Elfflaeda Eorlinga?” she demanded in the language of Rohan.

“Yes, father-sister, my nurse Ingilda speaks it with me.” the girl answered in the same tongue.

“But not your father?”

“From time to time.” said Father, in Westron..

She ignored him. “And has your father told you who he is?” she asked still in the language of the Mark.

“He is Thengel son of Fengel.” Ellevain answered, feeling her temper rise. What was this very rude aunt of hers driving at?

“That is right. He is Fengel King’s only son - and now that our father is dead King of the Riddermark!”

Ellevain blinked, startled. “Oh!” and looked at Father.

He was staring into the fire again. “If he chooses to return and claim the crown.” he said to the flames, still in Westron, then turned to his sister. “I have lived in Gondor since I was twenty, I have taken a wife and had children here, why should I return to a land that has become strange to me?”

“Because you are its King!” she answered, switching back to Westron.

“And what kind of a King will I be, a stranger from a strange land?” he retorted.

“Then you would leave the crown to Cutha?” his sister spat.

“What?” he frowned. “Folcraed’s eldest son is heir after me.”

“Cutha too is wed to a daughter of Fengel, and he holds Edoras. If you do not return, Brother, we will either see Cuthwulf on the throne with Cutha behind it - or civil war in the Mark!”

Mother got up and went to take Father by the arm. “Thengel wants only to do what is best for his people, Sister. And you must help us to decide what that is.” she said to Fastraed. Then turned to the babies’ nanny. “You may take the little ones away Elfgifu.” her grey Dunedain glance shifted downward to her elder daughter. “Sit down Ellevain, this concerns you too - Ingilda you may go.”

Ellevain sat down uneasily on her usual stool as the nurses led the children out. The door shut behind them and Mother turned back to Fastraed. “Now, Sister, calmly; who exactly is this Cutha?”

“Our father’s favorite and crony and First Marshal of the Mark,” she shot a venomous look at Ellevain’s father. “The true heir not being there to contest him for the place.”

“Do you really think it would have made any difference if I had been, Fastraed?” he demanded angrily.

“We shall never know shall we.” she answered grimly. “Cutha is also married to Theodraed, our youngest sister, and has no less than three sons with Eorl’s blood in their veins and a good claim to his throne.”

“Folcraed’s oldest boy’s is better.” Father said flatly. “And his father is Herubrand Helminga!”

“Herubrand cannot fight all of the Mark, and there are many who would accept Cuthwulf, however reluctantly, rather than risk another Winter War.”

“And yet you believe Cutha will tamely forget his ambitions and submit to me?” Father snapped.

“You are the direct heir.” Aunt Fastraed answered. “Cutha has his following, but the true King would have all the Mark behind him - not just the west or east. Cutha is nothing if not a realist. He will try to make terms with you rather than gamble all against such poor odds.”

Ellevain sat tensely on her stool, she knew enough history to understand what the grown-ups were talking about; if Father didn’t go back to Rohan there’d be a kin-strife and so he had to go - and take his family with him.

But he didn‘t want to go. “If Gondor backs Herugar -” he began.

“As Wulf won the throne with Dunlending help?” the aunt snapped. “You are Eorl’s heir Thengel, will you deny your blood and heritage?”

“My father denied me my heritage.” he said bitterly.

“Father is dead!” her voice softened. “Time to come home, Brother.”

He turned to Mother almost in despair. “Do you understand what this will mean for you, Morwen? You will have to leave your country and all your kin for a strange land -”

She smiled up at him. “What of it? I love a Man of Rohan, no doubt I will learn to love his land just as dearly.”

“And what of the children? their education -”

“Judging by this daughter of yours they are already educated and over educated.” Aunt Fastraed said acidly.

Father looked at Ellevain as if he’d forgotten she was there, then crossed the floor to kneel in front of her stool. “Rohan will be very different from what you’re used to, Sweeting.” he said gently and uhappily.

But they had to go, Ellevain could see that plain enough, and she wasn’t going to make poor Father feel one bit worse about it than he already did. She forced a smile. “That will make it interesting. I’m sure I will like it very much.”

Ingilda was terribly excited. “Just think, my Lady, you’ll be a princess! Eldest daughter of the King and second lady of Rohan.”

Ellevain just managed not to snort. Princess indeed! The Eorlingas weren’t *real* royalty, just the descendants of a northern chieftain - for all they were supposed to be akin to the House of Hador. But she knew better than to say that, even to Ingilda.

“They say the walls of Meduseld are all covered with gold, that is why Men call it the golden hall.” her nurse continued happily.

“It sounds very grand.” Ellevain said politely. “Have you seen it, Ingilda?”

She shook her head. “Oh no. I’ve never been out of Gondor myself, but my mother came from Rohan, from Edoras itself, and she told me all about it. It is the King’s city and seat just as Minas Tirith is the chief city of Gondor and seat of the Stewards.”

As the packing and preparations continued Ellevain realized with dismay that moving to Edoras was not going to be at all like their earlier move from the too small house in the fifth circle before Vanawen‘s birth. For one thing practically all their household were being left behind. The servants vanished by ones and twos as other places were found for them. All of Mother’s gentlewomen went except for Merendal, a poor relation on grandmother‘s side, and Gladwen who had no family and nowhere to go. Master Gelmir and one or two of the squires had asked to come but Father had refused them - Ellevain didn’t know why. Of course her tutors, Master Alchoron and Mistress Hirwen, weren’t coming. They couldn’t be expected to leave their other students. But Ingilda was, and Elfgifu too, for they had kin in Rohan and spoke the language as well as they spoke Westron.

Almost all the furniture was going to be left behind as well. “The King’s Hall is already fittingly furnished, we won’t need our old things,” Mother explained, “and there would be no room for them anyway.” So Ellevain was to lose her big carved bed, and her breakfast table and high backed chair of lebethron wood but she was allowed to keep her desk, and book cupboard and the bench that went with them.

The Steward’s wife, Lady Miriel, lent Mother her own state coach for the journey. “Gondor must do honor to the Queen of the Mark.” she said smiling when she came to call and then she took Mother and Ellevain and Aunt Fastraed to see the coach in the big carriage house adjoining the Steward’s stables in the sixth circle.

It was both long and wide, its side panels were painted with scenes of the Elder Days and the arched roof covered with a blue cloth powdered with silver stars. Steps led up to doors in the middle and inside there were rugs on the floor and cushions on the wide seats. Ellevain was very impressed but, typically, Aunt Fastraed didn’t like it at all.

“We would go faster on horseback.” she said. “The little ones could ride pillion and we could get a pony for Elfflaed.” and she gave her niece an unaccustomed smile.

Ellevain smiled politely back. “Thank you, Aunt, but I don’t ride.” she knew immediately that she had said something very wrong indeed from the look of blank shock on Fastraed’s face - but what?

She didn’t find out until that evening, as they all watched out the long night before their pre-dawn departure. She chanced to be in the garderobe off her father’s study and had just opened the door to leave but not yet pulled aside the curtain that covered it when she heard Father and Aunt Fastraed come in talking rather loudly. She should have shown herself at once, but they were talking about her so she stayed where she was and listened instead.

“You can’t blame the child -” Father was saying.

“I don’t,” Aunt replied, “I blame her father for not raising her as becomes a Daughter of the Mark. A princess of the Eotheod who cannot ride! All the Kings from Eorl down must be gnashing their teeth in their graves!”

“There is little opportunity for riding in the City.” Father answered mildly. “Nor is it considered a proper accomplishment for a lady.”

“And she is a very proper little Stoniglander lady,” Ellevain could almost see Fastraed’s lip curl. “learned in old dead languages and dwimmer arts but knowing nothing of her heritage!”

“Such learning is her heritage, on her mother’s side,” Father said heavily, “and a far older a greater one than ours, Sister.”

There was a tingling silence. Then Fastraed said grimly. “You have been in this City too long, Brother.” and Ellevain heard the tramp of her boots and swish of her cloak as she stalked from the room.

She listened for what seemed like a very long time but there was no sound or movement from her father. She started to get worried; if he were reading or writing she should have heard *something*, a rustle of parchment or the scratch of a quill, but there was nothing. Finally she put aside the curtain and went in.

Father was sitting in the big chair behind his writing table, turned half sideways and staring into the brazier where a bright fire burned against the evening chill. He looked at her in astonishment. “Ellevain?”

“I heard you and Aunt talking,” she said, “I’m sorry I listened but I wanted to know what I’d said to upset her. Is horse riding really so important?”

Father laughed and held out his arms, she climbed up onto his knee and snuggled her head under his chin. “You might say that it is, we Rohirrim aren’t called the ‘Horse Lords’ for nothing you know.”

“I can learn to ride.” she offered.

He laughed again, shortly and not happily. “We’ll never hear the end of it if you don’t. Oh my little Ellevain, my Elven fair daughter of Westerness, whatever are you going to do in Rohan?”

“You said it was very different.” she ventured.

“Different indeed.” he answered a little grimly. “Edoras is much smaller than Minas Tirith, more town than City, and built of wood not stone - as is the King’s Hall.”

“Ingilda says it’s covered with gold.”

“That is true. Door posts and walls are all covered with carved scrollwork overlaid in gold. The pillars upholding the roof are carved and painted and the floors are paved with colored stone.”

“It sounds pretty.” she said hopefully.

“Pretty.” he echoed in a tone she could not interpret. “Perhaps. I thought it very grand when I was a boy.”

“You shouldn’t have told Aunt our Dunedain heritage is higher and better than hers,” she admonished her father seriously, “it wasn’t polite. And you hurt her feelings and made her angry.”

“Yes I’m afraid that I did.”

“She’s a very strange Woman isn’t she?” Ellevain continued curiously. “Why does she always dress like a Man?”

Her father laughed again, more easily than before. “Not like a Man but like a shieldmaiden. Fastraed preferred arms to marriage and took service with our kinsman Herubrand Helminga, Lord of the Westfold.”

Ellevain was very startled indeed for a moment, then she remembered some of the stories Ingilda had told her. “Oh! I see, like Guthfrid and Gunnild or Queen Swanwhite and her Maidens.”

“That’s right.” he agreed. “Shieldmaidens are a very ancient tradition of our people though most eventually put aside their swords for husband and children. Few chose to live out their lives as warriors as Fastraed has.”

“Why did she?” Ellevain wondered.

Another laugh from Father. “Probably because she never met a better Man than herself!”

***

They left in the eleventh hour of the night, the dark hour before the dawn, following the nightly train of supply wains out of the City. Ellevain, wrapped warmly in cloak and woven rug, curled sleepily in a corner of the big coach with the little ones fast asleep on the seat beside her. Ingilda dozed on her other side with Elfgifu beyond her, and Mother and her Women sitting opposite. The curtains of deep crimson silk stiff with gold embroideries had been rolled down over the windows so they could not see City passing by outside, or the rest of the cavalcade, but Ellevain knew there were three sumpter wagons behind them followed in turn by half a score of Riders. And that Father and Aunt Fastraed rode directly ahead of the coach with the other ten Rohirrim around them.

Ellevain fell asleep for a while and when she awoke the curtains were tied up letting in the mid-morning sun as they rolled through the green countryside of Anorien. She had packed Master Nolendil’s philosophy away with her other books and had with her instead a copy of Pengolodh’s ’Cirion and Eorl’ bound together with a gloss to make a single thick and heavy tome. She heaved it onto her lap and began to read about her father’s ancestors.

***

It took them nine days to pass through Anorien, riding from sun-up to sundown and stopping every night at one of the inns that lined the old east-west road. The late fall countryside was brown and bare and tree and grass glinted with frost in the mornings, but it was well settled, dotted with town and hamlet, farm and manor, and there was considerable regular traffic on the road but it drew aside to make way for the state coach and its honor guard, the merchants and other travelers watching them pass with curious eyes.

To the south the jagged snow capped peaks of the White Mountains marched in a near straight line from horizon to horizon, until the sixth day when suddenly they drew back in a great curve that cradled the terraces and towers of a shining white city. Ellevain knew this was Vinyamar, the pleasure city built by Atanatar the Glorious and seat of the Princes of Anorien.

They did not leave the road to go up to the city but the Prince, Glorindol, and his young son Lord Narcil came down to the inn to meet them. The sign of the Setting Sun was the largest inn Ellevain had seen yet, with stables and carriage house on one side of the great forecourt and kitchens and a bathhouse on the other. The public rooms included a banquet hall splendid enough for a king and the best guest rooms opened onto their own little gardens.

Ellevain was allowed to attend the grand dinner given by Prince Glorindol for the new King and Queen of the Mark in the inn’s banquet hall. Ingilda dressed her for it in a green silk gown all sewn with flowers of gold and put a cap of netted gold and pearls over her carefully pinned hair.

Prince Glorindol was the premier noble of Gondor and a descendant of the ancient kings, but he looked more Rohirrim than Dunedain, being rather short and golden haired like Father, and his mother had been a half-sister of King Fengel which made him near kin. He sat at Father’s right hand at the high table, with Aunt Fastraed on his other side. Ellevain was between her mother, at Father’s left, and the Prince’s son Lord Narcil who was more than twice her age but very polite, treating her like a grown-up lady instead of a child.

The Prince seemed to know a great deal about affairs in Rohan, which made sense given that it was on his western border and that he was blood tied to its kings. And he seemed very pleased that Father was going to be the new King.

“Relations with Fengel have been difficult to say the least, especially after he began flirting with the Princes of Rhovanion.” he said.

“Our hereditary enemies as well as yours.” Fastraed agreed grimly. “Another of his follies!”

“Yet we are akin,” Father mused, “the Wainriders blood mixed long ago with that of the remaining Northmen and today they speak a tongue not unlike ours and share some of our ways.”

“Thengel!” Aunt protested.

But Prince Glorindol looked interested. “You think some rapprochement might be possible?”

“I think it is worth trying for.” Father answered firmly. “We need allies on our northeastern flank, to let old grudges stand in the way of that would be a greater folly than any of my father’s.”

“Father was not thinking of the security of Gondor but of breaking our ancient alliance.” Fastraed reminded him emphatically.

“I know it.” Father said calmly. “Yet it need not be that way. We Rohirrim could be a link between the Rhovanioni and Gondor.”

“As Thengel King has said it is worth a try, my Lady Fastraed,” the Prince agreed. “especially now that the Enemy has returned to make trouble among the Easterlings.” he grinned at Father. “If I can be of any help to you in your project, my Lord, you may command me!”

“Have no doubt but I will.” Father laughed. And Ellevain remembered that he and the Prince were old friends having campaigned together before he’d married Mother and taken up a command in the City Guard.

The Prince and his son saw the Rohirrim party off when they resumed their journey at dawn. As the coach rolled westward Ellevain, looking back, saw them ride up the branching road towards the terraces and towers of Vinyamar, called the beautiful, and regretted they were not to guest with them in the palace built by King Atanatar II. But there would be other chances to see Vinyamar, she told herself. They must pass it whenever they traveled from Rohan to Minas Tirith and surely they would make that journey many, many times in the years to come, going to visit Grandpapa and Grandmama and Uncle Angeloth in Lossarnach

At midday on the tenth day of their journey they passed through the Firien Wood at the foot of Halfirien hill and crossed the shallow Mering stream into Rohan.

***

NOTES:

Canon: In ‘Appendix A II: The House of Eorl’ we are told that Fengel was ‘- greedy of food and of gold, and at strife with his marshals, and with his children.’ We are also told that his only son Thengel left Rohan when he came to manhood, served Turgon of Gondor married, rather late, a noble Gondorian lady and returned unwillingly to claim the throne upon his father’s death.

We are also informed that Thengel was Fengel’s third child, meaning he had at least two elder sisters, and that Theoden had four sisters, one older than himself and the rest younger, two born in Gondor like himself and two in Rohan. However only Theodwyn, mother of Eomer and Eowyn, is named in LotR.

Fanon: The names of Thengel’s sisters, their ages and character is entirely my own invention, are their nieces Ellevain and Vanawen, (Elfflaed and Flaeda). Prince Glorindol and his son, and his connection to the House of Eorl, are also my own invention. Readers of ‘Siege of Minas Tirith’ and ‘The Steward and the Queen’ may be interested to know that they are respectively the father and grandfather of Idril, yet another OC.

Everything changed after they passed into Rohan. To start with they were met on the other side of the Mering by a troop of more than a hundred riders dressed in long scaled steel hauberks and gold edged green cloaks, their faces half hidden by masked helms with horsehead crests.

Their leader pulled off his helm to show a grinning, heavily bearded face and a long, disordered mane of fair hair. Father stared at him for a long moment then cried; “Framgar!” and urged his mount forward for a clumsy one armed horseback embrace.

“Welcome Thengel King, a hundred thousand welcomes!” the other Man said, grinning even more broadly as they broke apart.

Father sat back in his saddle and surveyed his old friend. “Look at you! You’ve grown fat as a farm-thane!”

“Nay, I have but put on a dignity suited to my years.” Framgar protested laughing.

“But how do you of all Men come to be captain of the King’s Guard?” Father demanded. “I cannot believe you would have been my father’s choice.”

“I am but recently appointed, by Queen Idis, in place of your father’s captain who, no doubt out of grief for his King’s death, resigned the office and went home to his manor.”

“Hmmm.” said Father, and looked thoughtfully at the men behind Framgar before bringing him over to the coach to present him to Mother. “My dear this fat fellow is my oldest friend and foster brother. Framgar, this is my lady and Queen Morwen of Lossarnach.”

The Man bowed, “Hail Morwen, Queen of the Mark.”

“And this is our son, Theoden, and our daughters Elfflaed and Flaeda.” Father continued and Framgar bowed to them too, his eyes lingering on Aranuir - or Theoden as the Rohirrim called him. 1

They resumed their journey with their augmented escort. In Anorien the state coach and Rohirrim outriders had drawn no more than interested stares from fellow travelers and laborers in sight of the road but here in the Eastfold of Rohan their way was lined with folk come to see and cheer the new King.

Mother had all the curtains on the coach tied up and the people threw flowers into it as they cried their welcome. Mother sat by the windows, smiling and waving acknowledgement, and made all four children do the same. Ellevain obeyed rather self-consciously, not quite able to understand the greetings as they were shouted in an accent rather different from Ingilda’s or Father’s, but very aware of the joy and relief behind them. Life under her wicked grandfather must have been just dreadful for the people to be so happy to see Father.

She couldn’t imagine where all the folk along the road had come from. Unlike Anorien the land seemed thinly settled, here and there smoke rising above the rolling hills bespoke a settlement of some kind but she saw no farm fields just acre upon acre of grassland dotted with grazing sheep, cattle and many, many horses.

***

They didn’t stop at an inn that night, Rohan had them but they were small and rather mean places not fit for entertaining Kings and their trains. Instead they guested at the manor hall of a local noble - or thane as they were called in the Mark - and his housewas completely unlike any Ellevain had every stayed at before.

An earthen bank topped by a log stockade enclosed a long rectangle divided into two by a dike and wattle fence. The outer ward held stables, storage barns, workshops and the like while the inner, reached by a wooden bridge over the dike, had two long halls set at right angles to each other with a pair of small houses opposite them. All were built of wood with porch posts and door and window frames carved and painted with strange designs in bright green and red and yellow. The yard was of bare earth with clumps of weeds showing here and there.

Ellevain tried to hide her shock and dismay at the poverty of the place as she walked over the bridge holding tightly to Ingilda’s hand but did not quite succeed, for Mother suddenly bent down to say softly in her ear. “Isn’t it exciting? Our fathers fathers must have lived just like this in the Elder Days before the fall of Beleriand.”

Ellevain gave the place a considering second look. It was rather like the description of Hurin’s holding in the ‘Narn i Hin Hurin’ even to the fence between the outer service yard and inner ward with the living halls and houses. She brightened up a little, she could pretend she was Nienor - or what’s-her-name the older daughter who died.

***

Mother and her women, Aunt Fastraed, the children and their nurses were all to lodge in the northernmost of the two houses which faced the great hall. Inside it was a single large room, longer than it was wide, with richly patterned hangings of green and scarlet and blue covering rough plank walls. Below them a bench-high wooden platform ran down both long sides piled with rugs and furs. The floor, which Ellevain suspected was of earth like the yard outside, was covered with straw matting and a fire burned brightly in an iron brazier set on a flat oblong stone in the center of the house, its light augmented by yellow candles in holders fastened to the posts that framed the walls.

Some girls came in with water and basins for washing and there was a good deal of confusion as everybody in the crowded little house changed for dinner. Ingilda dressed Ellevain in a good warm dress of soft red wool with silver needlework at neck and hem. Then she took down her hair and combed it smooth, but instead of putting it up again left it loose with only a pair of gold pins to keep it from her face.

“It is not the custom in Rohan for little girls to put up their hair.” Mother explained when Ellevain objected. Her own long hair was coiled into a silver net held in place by a narrow pearled fillet, and she wore a flowing dress of sea green silk under a heavy fur lined gown of dark blue velvet. Ellevain and the two little ones were also well swathed in furred mantles by their nurses before the group ventured out into the blustery November evening to cross the yard to the hall.

This was illuminated by the reddish light of torches and the fire burning on a hearth in the middle of the long room. There neither hood nor chimney and the smoke was left to find its own way out through a hole in the high peaked ceiling. Brilliantly colored tapestries covered the walls and ornately painted and gilded shields hung above the benches and trestle tables. In the middle of each of the two long row of tables was a high backed settee, wide enough for two, facing each other across the fire. Father was already seated on one of them but everybody else was still on their feet, milling about and talking, only to fall abruptly silent and make way and stare as the royal children followed the new Queen down the hall to their places. Mother sat on the settee to father‘s right but Aunt Fastraed steered the children on, past their father, to sit on a cushioned bench to his left; first Aranuir, then Vanawen and finally Ellevain, with Aunt on her other side.

Once they were settled in their places everybody else started to sit down too. The settee on the wall opposite was quickly occupied by a short man with very broad shoulders whose long, fair hair and beard were with grizzled with age. He wore a baggy scarlet tunic, lavishly embroidered at the neck with yellow and gold thread, and green leggings cross gartered with yellow ribbons. He was dressed in fact very like the figures on the tapestry behind him, as was the Woman seated beside him. She wore a yellow gown under a bright blue mantle fastened at the shoulders with a pair of large golden brooches joined by several strands of gold chain glittering with citrine and garnet.

It really was very like the rude halls of the Men of Elder Days. No sooner was everybody in their place when Women and boys came through a door at the far end of the hall carrying great platters of meat and loaves and cakes of bread, spits of game birds, beakers of drink and bowls of honeyed fruits all served jumbled together without ceremony. The meat was plain boiled or roasted with neither spices nor sauce nor vegetable garnishing. The bread, though white, was chewy with a thick crust and the drink was not wine but a thick, sweet stuff Ellevain wasn‘t sure she liked.

The little ones were all bright eyes and questions. Aranuir asked his of Father, sitting beside him, but Ellevain bore the brunt of Vanawen’s curiousity.

“You’re using your fingers!” her little sister said accusingly.

“So is everybody else, there aren’t any forks.” Ellevain answered shortly. There were however knives, hers had a bone handle ending in a horse’s head, she used it to saw a roast pigeon in half taking one part for herself and giving the other to Vanawen. Then she took two cakes of bread from the nearest platter and slathered one in butter and honey for the baby.

“There’s no table cloth” Vanawen said around a bite of bread.

“I guess they don’t use them in Rohan, don’t talk with your mouth full, Vanwe.” Ellevain replied.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they just don’t like them.” at least there were napkins, big squares of unbleached linen tucked under the wooden trenchers, Ellevain used one to wipe the dripping honey off her sister’s chin. “Don’t gobble, Vanwe.”

“Who’s that?” the little girl demanded next, pointing rudely at the Man and Woman across the fire.

“Our host and hostess, I don’t know their names. Don’t point, Vanwe, you know better.”

“Why do they have the fire in the middle of the floor instead of a fireplace?” was the next question.

“I don’t know, I guess they prefer it that way.” Ellevain answered. She’d been wondering the same thing herself, Rohirrim had lived cheek by jowl with Gondor for some five hundred years now - surely long enough to learn how to build a chimney!

“But it’s smoky.” It was too, from the torches burning on the posts upholding the hall roof as well as the fire.

“I guess they don’t mind that.” said Ellevain.

“Pears!” Vanawen cried and lunged across the table at the carved wooden bowl holding the fruit.

Ellevain pulled her back. “No, Vanwe, finished your meat and bread first!”

Then Aranuir tugged at Vanawen’s sleeve to get her attention and started self importantly passing on to her everything Father had told him, giving Ellevain a chance to eat in peace. Meduseld wouldn’t be like this, she assured herself, it was the King’s own house not a country gentleman’s manor. It had to be more comfortable and civilized - hadn’t Father said the floors were of colored stone and the walls patterned in gold? It must be much grander than this.

Ellevain had never been a great eater and she finished her half a pigeon, cake of bread and baked apple long before the grown-ups were done eating. She sat quietly, with hands folded, and looked around. The Men were becoming noisy, calling to each other up and down the long tables and across the width of the hall, perhaps they were a little drunk. Ellevain herself felt surprisingly sleepy, and the little ones were nodding despite the noise.

Aunt Fastraed, who’d been talking to the Man on her left all evening suddenly turned to her niece. “Take the children out after the horn goes round.” she said.

“Yes, Aunt.” the girl said obediently, then puzzled: “What horn?”

“That horn.” Fastraed said, nodding up the hall.

A Man with a solemn face and white wand of office was advancing towards the host’s seat on the opposite wall followed by a very pretty blond girl in an un-girdled white gown bordered with green and gold, carrying a great gold mounted drinking horn reverently in her two hands, with a manservant bearing a large copper-gilt pitcher at her heels.

Silence fell over the company as the mistress of the house rose and came from behind the table to take the horn from the girl’s hands. She crossed the hall to stand before Father and raised the horn high. “Westu Thengel hal! Take this horn and drink my King, and rejoice as your people rejoice in your return.”

Solemnly Father took the horn from her hand and drank then gave it back. To Ellevain’s astonishment the Woman next offered it to Aranuir. “Hail, Theoden, Prince of the Mark.” But, realizing the great horn was too heavy for his small hands, their hostess held it for him as he took a sip. Vanawen was next, then it was Ellevain’s turn.

“Hail Elfflaed, Daughter of the Mark.” the Woman intoned. She let Ellevain take the great horn in her hands and it was very heavy. The girl took a tiny sip of the mead inside then carefully handed it back over the table. ’Elfflaed, Daughter of the Mark.’ that was her name now. It gave her an unpleasant, fluttery feeling inside. It was like the new name would turn her into somebody else - and she didn’t want to be anybody but Ellevain Aranchilien of the White City.

It took the mistress of the house a long time to go down the tables, offering the horn to each of the diners, but finally she returned to her own place, drained the last drops and sat down. Boys went around refilling the goblets and horns on the tables and in all the bustle nobody seemed to notice as Ellevain collected her little brother and sister and led them down hall to the door, where they met Ingilda and Elfgifu, who took them across the yard to their lodging.

The children were put to bed on feather bolsters spread on the wooden platforms with wool rugs and furs tucked securely under their chins. Then the candles were blown out leaving only the dim red light of the brazier’s glowing coals. The mead Ellevain had drunk did its work, despite her strange and uncomfortable surroundings she was fast asleep long before her mother and aunt came to bed.

When they left the next morning the thane - whose name was Uffa - rode with them along with seven other Men. And so the journey continued; some of the places they stayed were much better than Uffa’s manor with wooden floors and private chambers, and a few were much worse with the royal family sleeping in ‘rooms’ curtained off from the main hall and their escort camping in the courtyard. And at each stop the master of the house and his sons and retainers would join their ever lengthening train.

Mother seemed to be enjoying it all thoroughly, maybe she was pretending to be her namesake Morwen of Dor Lomin. The babies didn’t mind either, adjusting happily to the smoky halls and rough lodgings as long as Mother and Father were near. As for Ellevain, she put on her best face and pinned her hopes on Meduseld.

Then they came to Aldburg.

***

NOTES

1. While the Rohirrim don’t exactly hold Ellevain and Vanawen’s dark hair against them they are very pleased that their future king should have their fair coloring.

Aldburg stood on the tallest of a line of three hills rising abruptly from the plain south of the Road. Several villages could be seen, tucked into their folds, but Aldburg itself was invisible behind a massive stockade of gigantic tree trunks weathered grey as stone. Kneeling in the front of the coach and looking over the horses backs Ellevain saw the gates of polished oak bound with gleaming bronze open to reveal a cobbled street running directly towards a great timber hall set high on a squared mound of earth, green with grass. A dozen or more halls and houses of age darkened wood brightened with green, red and yellow paint lined the street and clustered around the mound.

The coach followed Father past clumps of cheering Rohirrim to the foot of the steps leading up to the great hall. A golden haired Man, very richly dressed after the Rohirric fashion in bright colors and much gold, waited there to greet Father with an embrace the moment he dismounted.

“Thengel! It has been too long.”

“That’s what I keep telling him.” Aunt Fastraed said drily.

The Man shook his head. “No, Cousin, it was better that he stayed away. Safer. I am only sorry for the necessity.”

“It is good to see you again Eoric.” Father said.

Mother gathered her skirts to descend from the coach, signaling for the children to follow. Father took her hand as she came to his side and introduced her: “My wife Morwen of Lossarnach. And our children; Elfflaed, Theoden and little Flaeda. My dears, this is Eoric, Lord of the Eastfold and our kinsman.”

But not a near one as Ellevain knew from her ‘History of Cirion and Eorl’. The Lords of the Eastfold were descended from Eofor, the third and youngest son of Brego, second King of the Mark, which would have made them very distant cousins indeed if not for the several generations of princesses who’d married into that line.

They were greeted at the top of the stair by Eoric’s wife, Lady Osburga, and his cluster of golden haired sons and daughters. The Lady offered the welcome cup as they stood on the great porch beneath wooden pillars carved in a pattern of interlocking rings painted red and green, then she and her husband led their guests inside.

The great hall at Aldburg was much larger than any of the thanes’ halls they’d guested at with a polished wooden floor and a double row of massive, carved and painted columns upholding the roof. A shaft of daylight fell through the open smoke hole onto the cold hearth and long windows in the end walls and smaller ones in the aisles showed the walls were not hung with the usual tapestries but coated with plaster and painted with frescoes. And unlike the thanes’ halls there was a dais at the far end of this one, flanked by two chambers formed by walling off the upper ends of the side aisles.

On the dais there was a table laid with cold meats, bread and fruit and pitchers of ale with chairs and settles, not benches, to sit on. As they ate and drank Ellevain sorted out Lord Eoric and Lady Osburga’s several children: The eldest, Eobald, was almost of age *1 and his next brother Eodred and sister Eoswith were also nearly grown. Then came the fifteen or sixteen year old twins, a boy Eohere and girl Eohild, and finally a third daughter not much older than Ellevain herself whose name was Eogyth. The last shot many curious looks at the new King’s children but didn’t speak so Ellevain’s attention drifted to the painted walls. Mother was looking too and Lady Osburga noticed it.

“Aren’t our pictures beautiful?” she asked proudly. “They say Mundburg itself has none finer.”

That was an exaggeration but it was true the frescoes were superb examples of the Morchaint school of painting - so called for its characteristic use of light and shadow. *2 Ellevain recognized the life of Eorl as the subject of the paintings around the dais. She saw the taming of Felarof; The great ride; his arrival on the field of Celebrant; the oath of Cirion and Eorl; and finally the new King of Rohan crowned and enthroned with his thanes around him. Between the scenes were portrait panels of Leod, father of Eorl the Young; Borondir Udalraph the messenger who had carried Cirion’s appeal; Eorl himself and his son Brego. On the side walls of the hall Ellevain could see other heroes and legends portrayed, including some of Dunedain origin. There was Turin facing Glaurung; Hurin and Huor covering Turgon’s retreat; the great migration; and even the wave overwhelming Numenor. *3

“My company may strain even your hospitality, Eoric,” Father was saying to the master of the hall. “I seem to be mustering an army. Am I like to need one?”

“Yes and no.” Lord Eoric replied. “The more Men you have at your back the more likely you are to enter peacefully into your heritage.”

Father raised his eyebrows. “Or to provoke Cutha into making a fight of it?”

Eoric shook his head. “No. Cutha is a coward at heart, show him force and he will flee.”

“I hope you are right.” Father said grimly. “I would rather not kill my sister’s husband.”

“I doubt Theodraed would grieve if you did.” Aunt said flatly. “She never wanted that match any more than Folcraed or I wanted those Father had planned for us. But unlike her elders she had not courage to resist.”

“She would not leave the Queen bereft of all her children.” Lady Osburga said in mild reproof.

Fastraed snorted. “So she marries at Father’s behest and breeds a litter of distaff Eorlingas to bedevil the rightful heirs. Mark my words, Thengel, you may well overawe Cutha, who is indeed a coward as Eoric says, but his sons are not and they will forget neither their blood nor the ambition their father has bred into them. Theodraed has given us three Frecas *4 and a daughter to breed more if her brothers fall.”

“Yet Freca’s grandson returned to his proper allegiance.” Father pointed out mildly. “You yourself serve his heir, Fastraed. Perhaps if I treat Cutha‘s sons as generously as Frealaf treated Heorulf I will have the same fortune.” *5

Aunt Fastraed snorted her disbelief but said nothing more.

They were lodged that night in the two chambers off the hall. They were very large, as large as their withdrawing room back home, though longer and narrower, and very well furnished by Rohirrim standards with wolfskin rugs instead of rushes on the floor and green hangings on the walls and the big carved bed, big enough for all three children to share.

Ellevain lay awake next to the peacefully slumbering babies, worrying. What if there was a war? What if Father were killed? That would make Aranuir King of Rohan but he was just a baby. Anything could happen to them - they could all be murdered as poor Prince Ornendil had been! Oh why had they come to this awful country, who cared who ruled in Rohan?

The answer came back, stern and inexorable; Gondor cared. Rohan was the realm’s oldest and best ally, a bad King could change that - apparently wicked Grandfather had meant to - and Gondor could not afford to lose that alliance, not with the Enemy back in his old stronghold and up to his old tricks. And Father cared too; Rohan was his heritage and his responsibility - and his children‘s. Ellevain had been raised as a Gondorian noblewoman, not a princess of Rohan, but that meant she had trained to duty. She was a Daughter of the Mark - as they kept calling her - the King’s daughter and Heir’s sister. She no less than they had a duty to put Rohan’s good before her own, and before her wishes too, and she knew it.

Ellevain blinked back tears. They could not go back to Minas Tirith, Rohan would have to be home now. If there was a war and Father fell Mother would have to carry on the fight in Aranuir’s name. It sounded like the great Lords of Rohan would side with them and protect them. And she had read about strongholds in the White Mountains, the Hornburg and Dunharrow, that were safe from any attack.

Besides Father wouldn’t die, she told herself, he’d fought in many campaigns and lived through them all - and won them too! And Gondor would send help if they needed it. And maybe there wouldn’t be any fighting at all. Maybe everything would be all right. It could be - surely it *would* be.

***

They departed the next morning with not only Eoric and his sons and three hundred horsemen added to their army but theLady Osburga and her daughters as well, to do honor to their new Queen. The four of them rode astride like the Men, Osburga and the two older girls on tall horses, grey and dappled and white, and Eogyth on a bright gold pony whose coat almost matched her hair, flying long and loose in the sunlight.

Ellevain was watching the other girl ride merry circles around the slow moving coach, and trying to decide whether or not she would like riding like that herself, when suddenly Aunt Fastraed addressed her in quite the kindest tone her niece had ever heard her use.

“Don’t worry, Brother-daughter, there is nothing to fear for now. Cutha is a coward, he will take one look at the rightful King with the Men of the Westmark at his back and flee just as Eoric said.”

Ellevain looked gravely out the window of the coach at her aunt riding beside. “Where will Cutha go and will he take Aunt Theodraed and their children with him?”

Fastraed gave the girl a look of approval, the first she’d received from that quarter. “So you are clever at more than book learning, Brother-daughter, those are both very good questions.” she thought. “Where Cutha will go depends on how frightened he is. He might simply withdraw to his lands in the Wold, or he could flee to his friends among the Easterlings.” Aunt Fastraed grimaced. “I can’t decide which I would prefer, either would leave him free to make mischief if he gets the chance.

“Theodraed will not flee with him, of that much I am sure, but what their children will do....” Aunt shook her head, “that depends on whether it is Cutha’s blood or Eorl’s that runs most strongly in their veins.”

The tight knot in Ellevain’s stomach loosened. “So we’re all right for now but we must be watchful.”

“Exactly.” her Aunt agreed. “Thengel is clever, and far more patient than I. Perhaps he can win over the Cuthingas as he hopes.”

Ellevain hoped so too.

***

Note:

1. Eobald is Eomer and Eowyn’s grandfather, he is twenty-four in 2953.

2. We would call this chiaroscuro. The wall paintings of Aldburg were inspired by the famous frescoes of Tamworth, capital of the Mercian Kings.

3. And *that’s* where Movie!Eowyn gets the image from ;-)

4. Freca was the ambitious and treacherous thane who challenged Helm Hammerhand, thus bringing on the Winter War. (Canon not Fanon).

5. Freca’s son Wulf took Edoras and married Helm’s daughter to shore up his claim to the throne. Wulf was slain by Frealaf Hildsson Helm’s nephew and successor but his wife bore a son, Heorulf, who might have become a danger to the new royal line. But Frealaf raised the boy with his own sons and when he was grown restored to him the heritage of Freca, (the lands of the Angle) and gave him the stronghold of Helm’s Deep and the Westfold as well. Heorulf magnificently vindicated his foster father’s trust and founded the line of hereditary Lords of Westfold, represented at the time of the WR by Erkenbrand. (Fanon! *not* Canon)