Just how did Éomer and Lothíriel get together? This is my sixth go at it and every time I think it’s the last but as I get to the end of one story, another idea pops up. Éomer is Éomer as always, but not knowing anything about Lothíriel allows us authors to unleash the imagination. My thanks to my beta, Eirwen, as always and to Tolkien for the inspiration. LBJ

Bound by Duty 

                                                          I slept and dreamt that life was beauty:

                                                I woke and found that life was duty:

                                                Was then the dream a shadowy lie?

                                                Toil on, sad heart, courageously,

                                                And thou shalt find thy dream to be

                                                A noonday light and truth to thee.

                                                                               Ellen S. Cooper

Chapter 1   - An unwarranted proposal.

Edoras August 3021

I sniffed and swallowed but it was no good: the tears would not stop. It must be the highly emotional state I was in. It was no excuse, I told myself angrily as I at last located the linen handkerchief I had stuffed under the pillow sometime in the night. I blew my nose thoroughly, determined to cease this nonsense. The first rays of dawn were slanting through the window and most likely my husband, always an early riser, would soon be hasteninginto our bedchamber to greet me. A little thing like too much ale and wine the night before would not prevent him waking at this early hour, especially as he had presumably spent the night uncomfortably on the cot in his study.  I wiped my eyes again. I did not want to cry in front of him. It would be the third time since I had come here, the third time I had lost control.

Sniffing once more, I turned round and grabbed the pillow. I was hot, and the pillow uncomfortably warm, so I reached over and pulled one of my husbands’s towards me and quickly swapped them over. His was blessedly cool and I sank back onto it gratefully, dabbing at my eyes. At least the tears had stopped and I tried to relax, to take advantage of this short time of peace before demands would be made upon me again. It was getting much lighter and still he had not come, so I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to fall into that state between sleep and wakefulness when thought, dreams and reality are intermingled. I let my mind wander back to the time before I came here, to that day when I discovered that all the plans I had made for myself were of no account and that all that mattered was service and duty. Even now I wondered how I could have been so naïve. My only excuse was that I was so full of my own ideas that I never wasted a thought on the possibility that others might be designing a different future for me….

***

Minas Tirith - March 3020

I had needed a handkerchief that morning too. Not because I was crying, that happened only occasionally when something reminded me of my mother, but because I had a slight fever. It was the sort of ill that produces a tickly throat and a mild headache, not to mention the annoying necessity of having to blow one’s nose far too frequently. It had caused me to leave the feast hall rather early the night before and the difficulty in breathing easily through my stuffy nose had encouraged me to seek fresh air just after dawn instead of lying in bed, either asleep or with a book. I wanted to get out before my maid arrived with my early morning tea: she was of the school who thought fresh air was dangerous most of the time and downright deadly if one was suffering from the slightest malady. Deciding on a quick walk around the wall, before perhaps, seeking out a tisane of willow bark, honey and lemon, I washed my face and hands, secured my hair in a simple crespinette and dressed hurriedly in a gown of blue grosgrain, putting a shawl of  silver grey wool around my shoulders as a precaution against the dawn chill.

It was one of those mornings when the air was completely still. I remember that particularly. I exited the royal palace by way of a side door, the guard coming quickly to attention and saluting. The noise of his boots on the stone rang out sharply, upsetting the silence. I headed straight to the wall, wanting to watch the sun come up over the mountains of Ephel Dúath: it would never fail to be a welcome sight to those of us who had lived through such dark times. But I remember feeling that morning how good it was that those days were behind us, with the festivities we had enjoyed over the previous forty eight hours finally convincing our people that they were truly over. The celebration of my cousin Faramir’s marriage to Éowyn of Rohan had been a magnificent affair. I had not been in attendance at King Elessar’s wedding, but however lovely it was, now, almost a year latter, it must be easier for the citizens to join in totally, as time had partly healed the grief that still abounded in the city back then. Also Faramir had always been loved by the common people and everyone shared his radiant happiness. I was looking forward to getting to know Éowyn and hoped to stay in Emyn Arnen once they emerged from their few weeks of blissful seclusion and were pleased to receive visitors.

The sky in the east was slowly turning to pale gold and the first rays hit against the walls of the White City. Down on the Pelennor, however, all was still in shadow. I could just make out the dark outlines of the Rohirric encampment way below me. The city was full with visitors from the outlying parts of Gondor so room could not be found for all the Rohirrim who had chosen to attend the wedding. I secretly wondered if all had come to pay their respects to the Lady Éowyn – the arrival of the tall blond riders had caused a tangible rustle of excitement amongst many of the women of the city – ladies and commoners alike. I paused for a moment before carrying on around the pathway that hugged the wall. The night before, when I had taken the air rather that retiring to my bed straight away, the Pelennor had been lit by many fires and the sounds of festivities and merrymaking had wafted their way up from the lower levels, but this morning all was quiet.

I continued my walk, deciding to complete the circuit back to my chamber. There was no one around except the guards as I crossed the open area past the entrance to the tunnel. But then I came close to the wall again and almost immediately I was aware of voices. Brazenly they penetrated the tranquillity. I was above the stables and the words easily carried up to me in the still air, not well enough to distinguish all that was being said but perfectly clear enough to recognise my father’s cultured tones. Intrigued, as to what the Lord of Dol Amroth was doing in the stables at such an early hour, I moved to one of the embrasures to get a better view. Ah… the royal guard of Rohan was lined up, waiting, I presumed, for their king. I could not see King Éomer, but that would explain my father’s presence: he would not let his friend and valued comrade leave without a farewell. Why though, the Rohan king wanted to undertake a nigh on four hundred mile journey after being here only three days was a mystery to me, although I remember my father remarking that his was to be a very brief visit and that he would be leaving well in advance of the rest of the Rohirrim.  There was a slight stiffening in the posture of the guards and their sovereign came into view, he was leading a large gray horse and, not only my father accompanied him to the front of the line, but my own liege as well. That was not really surprising as the three men had spent, except for the actual wedding, most of the past few days together.  I studied King Éomer, or perhaps it should be Éomer King, but that title did not trip easily off the tongue of a Gondorian. He was certainly a striking man: tall, well formed and with the most piercing blue eyes I had ever encountered. He would not need to wear a crown: the mass of gold hair and dignified manner with which he comported himself, compensated more than adequately. I had only had the slightest of conversations with him and the obligatory dance the last two evenings, but I thought him rather terse and grim. True, his eyes had softened and a smile had lit his stern face when he had stood up to offer his sister to my cousin and I had heard him chuckle a few times when we were at dinner, but that was a result of his conversation with King Elessar and I was not party to it. I had been uncomfortably aware of those piercing eyes and that shrewd gaze when I had made my excuses to retire early from the feast the previous evening. It had been obvious that I had interrupted some intimate conversation between the two kings and my father but as the three of them had been closeted together in a corner for most of the evening, I had no choice. I am not fanciful, but I was sure that those eyes had followed me as I left the hall after making my curtseys.

I put the thought away and watched as first my father, and then King Elessar, embraced their Rohirric friend. There were a few final words before he leapt on his horse with a lightness that belied his size. The riders moved off as one with the raise of his hand. I stayed where I was, intending to watch them pass beneath me. They were a handsome sight: the wonderful horses, the blond braids of the men contrasting well with their dark green richly embroidered cloaks and the metal adornments picking up the pale light of the morning sun. I know I did not move but suddenly and somewhat vexingly, as if some hint of unseen danger had entered his consciousness, the king of Rohan looked up just as he came level with my position. His penetrating stare brought a slight heat to my cheeks even though he was at a distance. It was possible he did not recognise me, of course, but, whether he did or not, he bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement. I did the same: a curtsey would have been wasted with the wall in the way. My father did not seem to notice but my own king glanced in my direction just before I stepped back out of sight of those below. Not particularly wanting to meet my liege and my father this early I headed back to the palace by the quickest route and entering, as I had left, by the side door which brought me almost directly outside my own chamber.

My maid was there of course, fussing because I had gone out without a cloak. But at least she had brought a tisane and it was being kept hot on the small oil burner that was used to make tea and warm food.

“I thought you had more sense, my lady, than to go out in that cold air when you’re going down with something nasty. You’ll end up with a proper fever, mark my words.”

“I am sure I won’t, Moreth. I will drink the remedy and I am certain that by tomorrow I will be up to fettle. I am never ill for long.”

She shook her head; I was not going to be let off so easily, “It’s the city air. I knew it when you wanted to come here for the winter. Say what you like, my lady, but the salt does keep the ills at bay.”

“I have been here almost four months, Moreth and this is the first sniffle I have had.”

“Well, it must be all that junketing around with Lord Faramir that has worn you out. He has been working you too hard.”

I sighed audibly. Sometimes it was difficult to keep my composure but since she had looked after me since I was a small girl, I suppose it was understandable.

 “That junketing has taken me out of the city to Emyn Arnen; the air is pure and fresh there. People are not ill because they do not live by the sea,” I reminded her.

My health was certainly a lot better away from it and if she gave the matter some serious thought she would probably realise that. There was a tutting noise, but Moreth refrained from saying anything else and passed me the mug of hot drink. I tucked myself into a chair and sipped at my tisane. The honey and lemon was soothing and hopefully the willow bark would take away the slight headache. I would miss my time spent with Faramir, I mused, as I had enormously enjoyed helping him with his new house. His duties to the new king had meant that he could not always be there to supervise the carpenters and masons and he had been glad of my organising skills, and of my ideas on suitable decorations. I just hoped Éowyn liked them. I had been careful to put in only the necessities, leaving her to add the final flourishes.

“Do you feel like something to eat, then, my lady? You need to keep your strength up.”

I didn’t much, but I knew it would start her off again. “Some stewed fruit would be nice if there is any,” I answered.  

“They’ve always got some of one kind or another,” she said as she bustled out. “Now don’t go opening the window when I’m gone,” she threw back to me.

I finished the tisane and went about seeing to my toilet. I would never be allowed a bath when I had the slightest malady, but there was always hot water in the copper that took up a corner of the dressing room. I imagined it would be hot in the summer but in early spring the warmth was welcome. I stripped off my old plain dress; it would not do for today with all the guests in the palace, and quickly gave myself a thorough wash before Moreth returned. It took far less time if I was able to see to myself. I chose a dress of fine blue lawn; it had an intricately-worked lace edging the neckline and cuffs. Worn over a silk shift I judged it to be warm enough for the day if I took a shawl.  The plain crespinette was changed for one sewn with seed pearls and I clasped a simple string of much larger creamy sea-jewels around my neck.

I had finished my meal and was lingering over some floral tea when there was a knock on the door. Sighing, I rose to see who might be there. Moreth had finally been persuaded to leave, taking a basket of washing with her; the incessant chatter that had always been part of her nature was particularly annoying when one had the headache. I had not admitted it to her but I would have preferred to spend the day mooching around on my own, not feeling up to the social requirements of my position or of the occasion. The door opened to a neatly dressed middle aged man. He was wearing a chain with a key around his neck: it hung heavily against his black velvet tunic. I thought he looked vaguely familiar. Of course, he was King Elessar’s private secretary – Allenthor.

Allenthor bowed, “Princess, King Elessar asks that you would meet with him in his study as soon as you have finished your morning repast and prepared for the day.”

To well trained to show the surprise I felt at the unusual summons and the messenger, I merely assented with a quick nod. “I will be there immediately, Allenthor. I assume you mean his private study?” The king mainly used a room in the palace, keeping the round chamber in the tower for formal occasions.

“That’s correct, Princess. Your father is with my lord Elessar and by now they should have finished their meal.” He smiled, answering one of my questions, “I was coming this way and offered to convey the message to you.”

“Thank you,” I smiled back. “I will be there shortly.” Allenthor bowed and departed and I returned back into my chamber to check the neatness of my hair, smooth my dress and make sure I had a clean handkerchief. The thought of sneezing over somebody was worrying me a little. Satisfied, I left the chamber and headed down the long marble corridor.

 I had no real idea what the king wanted of me but I imagined he had some kind of task. Organising entertainment for some guests was the most likely. I had made myself useful since my arrival in the city, the Queen’s advanced pregnancy had precluded her from some of the more arduous duties concerned with such a huge wedding. I did not mind using my time that way and was just thankful that an elf felt no need to surround herself with a court of simpering women. A few carefully chosen ladies-in-waiting were all she required. I fell outside that sphere, my position as a princess of the most powerful fiefdom in Gondor, rather unique. The king spoke to me quite a lot, and asked my opinion on various issues occasionally, but it was generally over the evening meal. To be summoned had to be counted unusual.

There was a guard at the entrance to the corridor that led to the king’s apartments and another outside the door to his study. However, it seemed that I was expected because the first let me through with just a salute and the second knocked on the ornate wooden door as I approached, and before I had the chance to blow my nose, I was being ushered in.

The king and my father both rose from their seats at the small dining table in the bay window. How alike they were these two lords of Gondor: the same aquiline features and the typical black hair and grey eyes of our race. They were both elegantly dressed, although I had to say that the rich garments probably sat easier on my father than on the ranger turned king. But it was the unconscious air of command that set them apart from many others. I had also come to realise, though it was not always so apparent, that my cousin shared it in his quiet way. I sank in a deep curtsey noticing when I rose that they had only just finished their meal.  The remains of a smoked ham joint, an almost empty dish of baked eggs and the end of a crusty loaf still adorned the table. It always surprised me how much men could eat in the mornings.

“Good morning, my liege, Father.” I smiled at both of them but walked over to my father.

“Good morning, my lady,” the king answered me as my father dropped a kiss on my forehead, “you were up early this morning.”

So, he did see. But my father raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Yes, Sire. I have a slight malady which you may remember caused me to leave the feast hall rather early last night. The same ill brought me out of bed to seek fresh air.”

“Oh, dear. Nothing serious, I hope?”

“Nothing more than the mildest of fevers and a sore throat,” I assured him. “I will soon be over it.”

Good. He indicated a basket of small cakes, “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, thank you, my Lord.”

“A cup of tea, Lothíriel?” This from my father.

I nodded assent, “Yes, please.” It was drink that I needed, for some reason my mouth felt a little dry. My father poured out the tea and the king drew up a padded leather chair in front of his desk for me. He walked around to his own seat pulling on the gold tasselled bell rope on the way. I took the tea from my father, put it down on the edge of the king’s desk and blew my nose. My father looked a bit surprised.

“I apologize for this,” I addressed my liege.

He waved his hand in dismissal just as there was a brief knock at the door. Two servants appeared and quickly cleared the remains of the meal. My father took the opportunity to pull his own chair to the end of the large desk while I used the time to glance around the room. I had been in it once before – when I had first arrived in the city and the king had welcomed me. Not that I had taken much notice then,  more interested in studying our new sovereign, but now I let my eyes wander over the wall of books and the maps of Middle-earth that embellished another. It was an interesting room and I would have liked to be let loose to explore it fully. The servants left, I retrieved my tea from the desk and sipped it thoughtfully, rather warily in fact, waiting for the king to speak.        

“Faramir tells me you have been extremely helpful to him, and my wife also sings your praises, my lady. She says you have a natural diplomacy which enables you to get things done with the least possible upset.”

His smile looked to be…reassuring. So he did want me to take on some task. “I am used to running a large household, my lord. I have been trained for it since birth.”

He nodded and sat back with his elbows on the arms of his chair placing the tips of his fingers together. His gaze was fixed on me. He wanted to assess my reaction to something, that much was plain. “You have been here four months, are you happy away from Dol Amroth?

My fingers momentary tightened on the handle of the cup and I carefully put it back on the desk and reached in my pocket for my handkerchief. The king was looking at me with open speculation now. “I was hoping to stay here for the foreseeable future, my lord. I am happy here and trust that I can make myself useful. My cousin has indicated that there is plenty for me to do.” I replied with a slight smile. I hadn’t actually told my father that I did not want to return home for a very long time. But perhaps he guessed.

I put my handkerchief to my nose and blew just as the king said, “If you are happy away from your home, my lady do you think that you would be content to live in Rohan.” At least that is what I thought he said, but something strange happens to the ears when one blows one’s nose.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” I stuffed the handkerchief back in my pocket. “I thought you said something about me living in Rohan. I must have misheard you.”

His lips only twitched slightly but I caught an amused gleam in his eye before his next words knocked me a little off balance. “You did not mishear me, Lothíriel. May I call you that? I am so used to hearing your father and my wife refer to you by your name.”

“Of course, my lord,” I said automatically wondering whatever duty he could possibly want me to perform in Rohan.

 “Éomer of Rohan has asked for your hand in marriage.”

“Marriage?”  Having no teacup to hand my fingers gripped the arms of the chair and my mouth no longer felt merely dry: it felt as though I was sucking lemons. I turned to my father, not saying anything but enquiring with my eyes. He had the sort of expression I had seen on his face a hundred times - the one he used when trying to make his children believe they would enjoy something they knew they would not.

“It is a very good offer, Lothíriel.”

I turned back to the king, too stunned to utter anything sensible. My usually easy way with discourse had evidently been deposited into the handkerchief. He showed no sign of expecting an immediate response, which was fortunate. Gradually my scrambled thoughts rearranged themselves into some semblance of order. “I have not spoken more than a few words to King Éomer, my liege.” I was surprised at my voice: it sounded normal, to me, anyway.

“It was a shame you had to leave early last night, Lothíriel. I did send a man to your chamber but you had evidently retired.”

I ignored that. It was of no consequence, anyway. “I imagine, my lord, that this was discussed between the three of you. King Éomer may see it as desirable to marry the Princess of Dol Amroth but he cannot possibly have developed any fondness for me.”

“Lothíriel!” my father’s voice rang out sharply.

King Elessar raised his hand to calm him, “No, Imrahil, your daughter is entitled to question this. We want her to take a different direction in life and she must have all the facts before she makes a decision.” He turned back to me, “You seem inordinately surprised, my dear, but I know you to be a very intelligent woman so you must be aware of how beneficial a match this would be, to both Gondor and Rohan.”

Was I aware? I was not. Mainly, I admit, because I had not given it the slightest thought. My head had been too full of carving a future for myself in Minas Tirith. I had not given any consideration to furthering relations with Rohan, except in wondering how I would get on with Éowyn. The king was probably right and there were many good reasons, but at that moment my brain felt unusually fogged and they would not show themselves. Luckily they didn’t need to emerge from their hiding place because my Liegelord went on to explain.

“Éomer has renewed the Oath of Eorl but the closer our ties are, the safer it is for all of us. If our two countries had not been so estranged then maybe things would not have got into such dire straights. Random occurrences would have been noticed and discussed. “We shall be working closely with Rohan in the future, Lothíriel. Regrettably, I am also sure we will be needing Éomer’s help again before too long. To the East and the South of us old hatreds will no doubt fester again. Besides being a formidable warrior in his own right, Éomer is a great leader. The éoreds will follow their king as no other. Your father and I think that he will turn out to be an excellent ruler but even with the aid we sent his people barely made it through the winter. On top of that he has had to clear his borders of roving bands of orcs. We hope the danger is past and that this year will produce a bountiful harvest and when they have horses to trade again things will improve. He has already performed magnificently in his new role but the task before him is immense. Éomer has had a hard time, and it showed during his visit.”

“I did think he looked rather grim.” I interrupted, voicing my thought.

King Elessar stood up and walked around to sit on the edge of the desk, a small grin playing on his lips. “He did look a bit severe most of the time, I agree but believe me, Lothíriel, he can joke and laugh with the rest of us.”

“And I fit in to all this, do I my liege?” I don’t know why I said it, he was right: I was starting to understand.

“He needs a woman and a queen who will help him, Lothíriel. He cannot come to our aid leaving behind some goose of a wife he will have to worry about. The right woman will be able to act as regent in his absence. You my dear proved when you were left in charge of Belfalas during a time of war that you are perfectly capable of fulfilling that position.”

I could not disagree with him, but it was the thought of fulfilling the role of a wife to the stern man I had danced with only twice that was causing my stomach to clench and my heart to beat wildly. “Is there no one in his own land who would make a good queen and surely he has a loyal Marshal who can be left as a regent?” I asked, knowing full well I was grasping desperately at extremely slippery straws. I was a true daughter of Gondor: a princess of the realm, to refuse such a request, from my liege, my king, would be almost unthinkable. My father knew that, no wonder he had not put this to me himself.

“He is attached to no lady and therefore a choice would have to be made. I need not tell you that whoever he chose, that choice would upset some noble or other. The Rohirrim are absurdly loyal to their king but he is young and untested. There has always been a slight rivalry between the East and the West Mark. In the difficult times ahead he needs complete unity more than anything. With that in mind the Marshal of the East and West have been made equals, neither has precedence over the other. It would be easier to make the queen regent.”

“And if the queen is a Gondorian then both sides can unite against her,” I stated wryly.

“Or unite behind her,” he answered firmly, before standing up and taking a step towards me to put a hand on my shoulder. “Lothíriel, talk it over with your father, you will feel less inhibited with him than with me. I cannot hide the fact that it would please me if you felt you could do this, but if you really cannot then I will not mention it again.” I felt a slight squeeze from strong fingers. “I will leave you alone; I have not yet said good morning to Arwen, she was fast asleep when I left.”

Both my father and I stood up and as he left the room, I took the opportunity to blow my nose.

“Lothíriel, you are not going to cry.”

I felt surprise at such a question coming from the Lord of Dol Amroth, but then he hated tears, “No, of course I am not. I am sure crying will not help me decide anything.”

My father moved closer to me putting his hand on my other shoulder and easing me back into my chair before taking up the seat on the desk so recently vacated by his king. He nonchalantly swung one shiny-booted leg. “It is the best thing for you to do, you know, my love?”

“Do I know that, Father? I do not think I do. Do you really think I will be happy marrying a man I know nothing of? One who asks for my hand after his two friends have no doubt convinced him it is a good idea and then cannot even wait one day to speak to me personally about it. No, it may be the best thing for Gondor but I certainly do not think it is the best thing for me.”

“He had no choice but to go, Lothíriel. As much as he needs to feed his people, he needs peace on his borders. Rohan has suffered from raids from the Dunlendings ever since Calenardhon was ceded to them. They joined with Saruman’s forces at the battle of Helm’s Deep.”

I nodded, I knew my history and I knew the tales of the Ring-war.

“Erkenbrand has been negotiating with them. They trust him because it was the Marshall of the Westmark that let them go free after the battle. Their main grievance has always been lack of land. Aragorn is allowing them free lease of a large area of fertile land in Enedwaith. If they keep the peace for five years it will be theirs. Negotiations are at a critical stage but they will now only commit to Éomer himself. Also the Chief of the tribe is extremely ill and his wish is that he sees his people settled in their new land before he dies. That is why Éomer has to return immediately. He has to take this chance to ensure permanent peace for his people and also the safety of his herds and that of those who farm the isolated parts of the Mark.”

“And the wooing of a wife takes second place to the needs of his people,” I added the obvious. Not that, from what I had seen of him, I could imagine the king of Rohan doing much wooing anyway.

“You know jolly well that it does, my girl and that is why he needs someone like you.”

When I didn’t answer he carried on, “You did not see him to advantage, Lothíriel. He is a good man. The difficulties he has encountered have taken their toll on his sense of humour, but that will change. Ask your brothers, when we were in Edoras last summer he was much lighter-hearted. He will make you a fine husband.”

“If you had given me some clue, Father, then I would have made sure that I engaged in some meaningful conversation with him. I do not even know if I like him and yet you are expecting me to agree to spend the rest of my life by his side.” I sniffed, and took out my handkerchief again, trying to find a dry patch. A pristine piece of white linen appeared in front of my face.

“Thank you,” I said gratefully.

 “I don’t want it back.”

I smiled, in spite of the cold feeling in my stomach. If the Lord of Dol Amroth had his way ladies would never need to blow their noses.

“How do you want to spend the rest of your life, Lothíriel? I know you do not wish to return to Dol Amroth for a good while. I think you are wise in that. With Elphir taking over from me now that I am committed to our king, Melina will want to run things her way. It is better that you let her get on with it.”

“It’s not the only reason.”

“I know, and I am sorry that it had to be you to …,” he shook his head sadly, his eyes far away for a moment. “Time will make it better for all of us.”

I wondered if it would, if I would ever hear the roar of the surf on the beach again without remembering that morning. I would certainly never be able to gallop along the sand again. I had borne it for the past three years because I had to, but now I had got away – I didn’t think I would ever want to go home permanently. “I thought I could stay here,” I eventually answered. “You know Faramir has found me useful. I get on well with Queen Arwen. There is plenty for me to do. I have my translating, my books and Ithilien is open for riding, now.”

“And where do marriage and children fit into this grand plan, Lothíriel?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I supposed I imagined that I will eventually meet someone suitable I like well enough to marry.”

“Only like?” My father asked softly.

“I am realistic enough to have put thoughts of love away when I was sixteen and fell heavily for one of your soldiers!” I retorted irritably, but any emotion made my noise run again so I carried on rather more quietly. “It was painful then, and I have no wish at twenty to fall in love with someone whom I will not be allowed to bond with.”

“Very sensible, my dear. In fact you have always been a very sensible girl.”

“Sensible enough to fall in with your plans, you mean?”

“If you decide not to ‘fall in with my plans’, so to speak, who do you think you may marry?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Nobody springs to mind.” That was true, I had had no lack of company or attention since I had arrived in the White City, but none had even caused my heart to flutter.

“You know, I cannot believe you are naïve enough to think that you, one of the highest born in the land, can make your home in the City of Kings without attracting an extraordinary amount of attention. I have refused two offers for your hand in the last month.

“Have you! Why did you not tell me?” I demanded, ignoring his statement of how naïve I was. It was something I could not deny.

“Because, for one, I did not think you would be interested in marrying the Lord of Lossarnach.”

“Forlong’s brother! You are right! How dare he?” I responded furiously. “He is old. Old and fat. Fatter even than …,” I put my wrath aside for a moment and demanded crossly, “Who is the other?”

“Lord Turgon.”

“He is even older,” I exclaimed, standing up and striding over to the window. It was too much.

“But he is not fat.”

“No, he is not,” I rounded on him. “He is as skinny as …” My father’s lips were twitching and suddenly I saw the funny side and burst out laughing. “All right then, how old is Éomer of Rohan?”

“Twenty seven or twenty eight, I believe.”

“He looks much older,” I said surprised.

“So do you, my love with those net things you insist on wearing. You look like a matron.”

Maybe I did. I swallowed and turned to look out the window, the tears stinging my eyes for a moment, but it was better than my hair floating around loose and reminding me of…

“It didn’t put King Éomer off.” I retorted petulantly, pushing awful memories aside “Although, I imagine he didn’t really bother to look, just agreed to what was suggested.”

“He did look, Lothíriel, and I might have said you look like a matron, but it is a very lovely matron.”

“So, he is ready to do his duty and it only remains for me to agree to it.”

“He was born to duty, Lothíriel. Just like you, I and your brothers were. I know Erchirion couldn’t wait to go to war but do you think Elphir really wanted to ride away leaving a wife and a young son he thought he would never see again. And Amrothos, as good a combatant as he is, he is even less inclined to war than your cousin, Faramir.”

I stared out of the window, looking towards the sea and my once-loved home. There was no choice, I knew it and my father knew it. “I know that Father, and I am grateful. We all are. But those that survived came home. If I go to Rohan, survive or not, I can never return.”

TBC

Author’s note – The inspiration for this story came when I read one of Phillipa Gregory’s masterpieces and realised that when kings and queens married in the Middle-ages they often arrived at the wedding night as total strangers, only having seen a painted likeness of each other. I did not think that would quite happen in Middle- earth but immediately wanted to write about how a woman would cope with it. LBJ

Chapter 2 – A calm acceptance

Gondor – Summer 3020

I liked Éowyn. She was blunt and brutally honest. She was the only person of my acquaintance who did not want me to marry her brother, or at least the only one rude enough to say so. Not because she did not return the fondness I now felt for her but because she was fiercely protective of my betrothed. She had wanted him to make a love match. Being so happy herself, she wished that same joy for her beloved sibling. I understood exactly how she felt: I would have quite liked to have made a love match myself but no one, not even my brothers, seemed to consider it of any importance. Perhaps it was my own fault. Maybe I should have wept uncontrollably, languished into a decline or lost my temper and stamped my foot – but it was not my way. My brothers went on about what a good man he was – honest and true – a great warrior – a trustworthy comrade: all the qualities men found important. Faramir gave me a hug whilst saying that I would cope admirably with the challenges before me and even Queen Arwen looked me over in her enigmatic way and said something about it being an interesting alliance.

And an alliance it was. That was made plain by the respectful way I was treated by the High King’s advisors; the way a room in the palace was given over as a workshop to produce my bride clothes; how the rules were broken to allow books on the history of Rohan to be sent to my chambers and that a tutor was found to teach me Rohirric. I was going to Rohan as an emissary of Gondor and I had to be well prepared, representing my country to the best of my ability. The only difference I could see between me and the normal ambassadors was that I was expected to sleep in the king’s bed.

It would not be honest of me if I did not say that I thought about that part of it rather a lot. I spent a great deal of time going over the brief acquaintance I had had with my future husband and it was not his face I remembered most: all that remained of that memory were the vibrant blue eyes, the neat  close cropped beard and the sombre expression. It was the low, resonant, attractive voice that remained in my mind. And his hands, they were huge: I had noticed when he had danced with me, holding my delicate manicured fingers in his rough calloused warrior’s one. Although, to be fair to him, he had taken them gently and moved to the music with surprising grace. Many the nights over those six months did I lie in my bed wondering if he would be gentle when roving his hands over my body or if that low rich voice would ever whisper endearments that I would want to hear. How often must I have fallen asleep whilst trying to imagine what it would feel like to lie beneath such a powerful man. I wanted to know more about him and the only person who could really tell me was Éowyn, but the perverse pride that stopped me showing my worry and anxiety also would not let me ask.

I found out quite a bit though, because during those six months before I left for Rohan, I spent a lot of time with my soon-to-be sister. She was glad to find a Gondorian lady to ride with her. To find one who could keep up with her was much more than she expected. Together we raced our mounts on the flat land between the city and Emyn Arnen, jumping the ditches and the walls that were being painstakingly rebuilt after the battles. And when she saw it was my mare, not I, that was left behind at the end of the day then I was persuaded to ride one of my cousin’s young horses. The one she had chosen for me was a showy bay: he was nervous and needed a gentle hand, but once I gained his confidence he was fun and he put his heart into the task of keeping up with the Rohirric gelding Éowyn favoured.

“At least they are sending my brother someone who can ride,” she announced one day when we were walking our horses in the cool of the trees near her home.

I glanced across to her; she was looking very beautiful. As I had noticed before, the flaxen hair of her race, which for riding was twisted into one heavy braid, and her fair skin contrasted admirably with dark green. This time however it was not an embroidered cloak but an elegantly cut twilled linen riding habit. I could not help smiling at her remark. It was typical that she was only considering Éomer in this match; she had made it clear many times that she thought I was lucky to be marrying him. I usually held my peace and let her talk but sometimes curiosity overcame me. I suppose the nearer we were getting to the event the more anxious I was becoming and the more I wanted to know.

“I expect that was taken into consideration when they chose me to fill the vacancy,” I said dryly.

“Did my brother know you could ride?” she asked in all seriousness. “Perhaps that’s why he agreed to the union.”

The laughter escaped from my mouth and she looked at me indignantly, obviously not realising that she had said anything that might be construed as unusual. The thought that a man would choose a wife dependant on her riding ability would only occur to someone like Éowyn. “I don’t know whether he did or not,” I managed to say when my laughter had died down. “There is not much time for conversation in the middle of a Gondorian dance and the rest of his short time here he spent talking strategy with my father and the king.”

A frown appeared on her lovely face, “He does not know you at all, does he? I cannot imagine why he did it.”

“I think it was probably more that he went along with it.”

She shook her head, “It is most unlike my brother to let someone else arrange things for him.”

I had no answer to that, as I did not know what he was or was not likely to do, but I had got to the stage when I needed to find out something, “I am surprised that there was no one he wished to marry, are there no heartbroken ladies in Rohan?”

Éowyn shrugged, “A warrior takes his pleasures when and where he can find them, I don’t think there was anyone special.” She looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes, “There was the inevitable first love with someone entirely unsuitable - in Éomer’s case a buxom young widow with a shocking reputation - but my uncle soon put an end to that.”

“And how did he do that?” I asked much amused.

“He promoted him to captain and made sure he spent most of his time out on patrol.” She grinned, “He gave him some of the Riddermark’s most seasoned and obstinate riders to command. That kept him on his toes: he did not have much time for anything else.”

“Much like my parent’s way of dealing with things then,” I said ruefully. “My first love was sent to man the fort on the Island of Tolfolas and my mother brought me to Minas Tirith for some serious shopping.” Éowyn looked thoughtful for a moment but a faint smile on her lips alerted me to the possibility that she had found herself in a somewhat similar situation. “Well?” I said invitingly.

“Oh, Éomer’s methods were much more direct.” She giggled, obviously remembering something funny, “He threw my young suitor into a horse trough. I imagined he would probably have drowned him, had not Théodred thought it prudent to intervene.”

I couldn’t help laughing but to be honest I was surprised the King of Rohan would show such emotion. “It’s amazing though, my parents were right. You grow out of it and for me, anyway, there has been no one else.”

“There was for me,” she murmured reflectively, “but when I met Faramir I realised the other was only infatuation and hero worship.” Éowyn smiled softly, a lovely knowing smile that put a glow on her face and a gleam in her eyes and told me more than words ever could of her feelings for my cousin. For a moment, she was lost in thought but then she said abruptly, “I don’t think there were any others for Éomer though - no one as suitable or as accomplished as you, anyway.”

I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise: it was one of the few positive things she had said but more was to come.

“The Riddermark is changing,” she carried on. “For many hundreds of years we have been content within our own borders but Éomer realises that we will need to build on the relationship we now enjoy with Gondor. He wants to open the old trade routes, not only to the south of us through the Dimholt but north to Dale. We have to trade. Relying only on that we produce ourselves leaves us vulnerable as the past year has shown. Trade means that there will be many visitors to entertain and a talented hostess who is a gifted linguist and diplomat can make a difference. Perhaps it was pointed out to him that you excel in those sorts of things. It’s the only thing I can think of that made him agree to it.”

That boded well for a happy marriage – my future husband thought I would make a good hostess. Éowyn at last realised that she may have let her tongue run away with her because her face turned red and her hand flew up to it with an embarrassed, “Oh!”

“I did not mean that he would not find you attractive, Lothíriel, you are quite lovely but he does not know you and…you are both so very different.”

“In what way, Éowyn?” Perhaps it was better not to ask, after all there was nothing I could do about it now, but a morbid curiosity overcame me after all the detached interest I had tried to show.

“Well…” she began hesitantly,

At least she had to think about it a bit –  we couldn’t surely be so incompatible.

 “…you are always so controlled. You do not show your feelings at all. My brother is not like that, as the horse trough incident must tell you. It is always obvious when he is happy or sad or downright angry…the whole of Meduseld knows when he is angry,” she added with what sounded like vast experience.

 I thought that sounded more like a reason we would get on to me: there was nothing to gain from two ranting and raving, but I said nothing.

 “He finds it hard to cover his emotions; you must have noticed he was a little sombre at my wedding.”

“He did appear to be rather stern,” I replied in my most neutral voice.

“He’s not like that really. He’s quite fun most of the time. It’s just that we had such hardship over the winter even with the aid and he hated to see our people having to struggle and make do when they should have been enjoying the peace. It was a good job the weather was kind to us.”

“Hopefully he will be a little happier at his own wedding,” I remarked sardonically. “Let’s pray it is a good harvest.”

“Oh, it looks like it will be,” she replied brightly, missing the satire. “And he writes to tell me that this year’s foals are top class. In fact he sounds to be back to his old self. You will find a great difference in him.”

Well, that was some relief, I thought ironically, but refrained from voicing this as Éowyn could find no fault with her brother. “What other ways are we different?” I had put my reserve aside now: it was surely normal to want to know.

“Hmm… you are a peaceful person, content to sit and read. Éomer is always on the go. I wrote and told him how ‘bookish’ you were.”

“And that did not persuade him to break off the betrothal?” I remarked innocently. I was rewarded with a gasp from Éowyn. In fact she pulled her horse to a stop and stared at me.

“I did not mean that!” she retorted sharply. “Oh, you are funning,” she grinned when she saw my lips twitching “In fact, I am coming to realise that I do not really want the betrothal to be broken.  I think you will probably make him a comfortable wife.” She sighed. “I suppose I just hoped for more for him. For you as well of course,” she added quickly.

“Thank you.”  It was the first time she had acknowledged that I might not be desperate to marry the King of Rohan.

We rode in silence for a while heading down to a wide shallow stream which wound it way from the hills of Emyn Arnen to eventually join the Anduin. The horses were now cool enough to have a drink. Gratefully they waded out. It was high summer and hot even under the trees.

Éowyn was unusually quiet on the way back and I thought she was deliberating on something. I was content to enjoy the birdsong and did not feel the need to talk but finally she must have decided to tell me what was on her mind.

“Lothíriel, I think you ought to know that not everybody will want to see you as Queen of the Mark. Eomer’s advisors and most of the council are well pleased of course, but Byrhtwyn has written to me recently and she says that many of the common people would have preferred their king to take a bride from his own land. You might have some difficult times ahead.”

It did not surprise me. Why should it? My marriage looked to be doomed to failure why should the rest of my life be any different.

“There are some who will think it a good idea, of course. And if you and my brother are seen to be happy together then that will help.”

I thought it was perhaps better if we discussed something else; I was tempted to turn my horse and ride as far away from Gondor and Rohan as I possibly could. But of course I did not. I did decide, however, not to bring up the subject again. I talked myself into believing that Éomer would never have consented to the match if he thought it was going to be truly disastrous.

Éowyn must have realised I was a little upset because she shut up. We rode in silence again until I made the effort to appear unconcerned. “It’s cooling down, Éowyn, and Pageant is pleading for another gallop.” I dropped my hands and Pageant immediately responded, leaving her no choice but to follow me and negate the need for any further conversation.

It was almost the last gallop we had together because very shortly Éowyn realised she was carrying a child. For once, my cousin exerted his authority as a husband and the Steward of Gondor: Éowyn could ride, but not gallop. Forbidden also was the four hundred mile journey to Edoras for my wedding. There was no risk to be taken with his possible heir. What with Queen Arwen not wishing to travel with a young baby, especially as Eldarion was a crown prince, and my sister-in-law,  Melina, about to present my brother Elphir with their second offspring, I was going to be short of female company on my journey to Rohan.

It was one reason that I decided to find myself a new handmaiden, one who would be happy to come to Rohan with me and stay for a short while. Nothing would prevail on Moreth to make the journey on horseback and I for one did not want to travel at wagon pace. I also thought that I would like someone from Gondor with me: if what Éowyn said was true then I may need the support. For that reason, it was imperative to find someone I got on with and preferably some one young who would be happy to have some riding lessons. Faramir agreed it was a good idea and offered to advertise the post for me. The result was astonishing – I could have taken a hundred maids to Rohan. The lure of the tall blond riders to the womenfolk of Minas Tirith was obviously irresistible. Faramir’s secretary was asked to whittle down the list to six, but evidently his office was besieged by a horde of girls all claiming that they had been invited to Rohan and just lacked the means to get there. In the end however I found my own maid, or rather she found me.

I was in the cool of my chambers working on my translation one hot afternoon. Some ancient manuscripts written in elvish had been found in the vaults of Dol Amroth, having come to light when we prepared the city for war. It was realised that they told of the first coming of men to Belfalas and although difficult, I was enjoying working on them. I had reached a place where the writing was faded and the parchment torn when there was a knock at the door. Frowning, I put down my quill. I did not like to be disturbed but I realised I was expecting a delivery of soaps, oils and perfumes from the apothecary I favoured. Taking a large supply with me to Rohan seemed a good idea not knowing how easy it would be to obtain them there.

Standing in the corridor outside my door was not only the young delivery boy, the footman who acted as escort through the confusing corridors but a young woman whom I recognised as one of the daughters of the owner of the shop.  She was a pretty, pleasant girl with a host of soft black curls that framed her faced. As always when I saw her she was dressed neatly and demurely, today in a plain peach summer dress, but it was worn with a certain style. I had often passed the time of day with her and I smiled as she dropped a curtsey before saying politely,

“My Lady, we have brought your order. I came myself to make sure everything was to your satisfaction.” 

The boy was staggering under the weight of a large box, whilst the girl carried a much smaller one. I held the door open and beckoned them inside. “Put them down on the table over there, please.” No sooner had the boy done so when the young woman, putting down her own burden, said with some authority.

“Wait outside for me, Girwin, would you.” The young boy did as he was told, but I realized that her sharp manner was a covering for her nervousness as she had caught the fabric of her dress in her fingers and was twisting the material into a knot. I waited with some interest wondering what she wanted to say to me.

“My lady, I would like to speak with you.”  She might be nervous but she looked me straight in the eye.

“I guessed that….?”

“Aerin, my Lady.”

“Well, Aerin, what can I do for you?” I had a suspicion I already knew.

She took a deep breath and then it came all in a rush, “I would like to apply for the position of ‘ladies maid’ that you are advertising.”

“That is being handled by Lord Faramir’s office,” I informed her.

“I know, but there are so many and I want the position so badly,” she said rather desperately.

I did not think it was her desire to serve me that led her to seek a private audience, “A young man you met in the war?” I asked, tongue in cheek.

Aerin nodded, scrabbling in her pocket for something, “He wants me to come. I have a letter.”

I was surprised at this but she explained before I could question it. “He paid a scribe to write it. He speaks Westron reasonably well, but cannot write it.”

I nodded, waiting for her to go on but she passed me the letter. It was quite crumpled, and had definitely been read more than once. “There is a bit from his mother as well. She will welcome me and move in with her widowed sister, if I go to Rohan.”

I scanned through it. It was evident that the young man was intending that Aerin became his wife. “What about your own parents, Aerin?”

“That is the trouble. If they agreed I could go with one of the supply wagons, but he works with the horses. He came with King Théoden to war and I got to know him because he came to my father’s shop for liniment for the horses. He came again with King Éomer for his sister’s wedding and in Edoras he works in the royal stables. He wants to be a stable master like his father was. My parents do not understand that in Rohan it is considered to be an esteemed job.”

I walked over to the window to give me sometime to think. I did not want to come between a girl and her parents, but I guessed she was not far off her coming of age. When I turned back she was still standing in the same position, standing very stiff waiting for my response, “So you would like to come as my maid and then you think your parents would not object?”

“They would not. They would think that an honourable position. Why working as a handmaiden is all right when working with horses is frowned upon, I do not know. But they would listen to you, my Lady.”

“The citizens of Minas Tirith are not used to horses, but no matter. Can you act as a personal maid?”

“Oh yes,” her face lit up. “I have three younger sisters and I do their hair and dress them. I make my own clothes as well: I am good with a needle.”

I was tempted; she was a presentable girl and would be good company on the journey and, unlike me, someone who actually wanted to go to Rohan to be married. “If your parents agree, then you would have to start straightaway. My present maid would need to instruct you in your duties. I am here for another two weeks and then I am returning home to Dol Amroth by ship. I shall be there for a month. We will be travelling to Rohan on horseback and you would need to learn to ride well enough to cope with a five day journey.”

She clapped her hands together in excitement, and almost jumped up and down, “You cannot imagine how constrained I feel here, I have talked and talked to Léod about his homeland, and I have sat on his horse and long to ride. Women sound to have much more liberty in his country. And the journey would be wonderful. I would repay you with devoted service, my Lady.

I could not say no in the presence of such enthusiasm. “Aerin, if your parents agree, I will take you but you must promise me three months of service when we get there. That will give me time to find a Rohan girl, I am happy with and for you to make sure you really want to stay and marry Léod. If you decide you do not or do not like Rohan, then I will arrange for you to return to Gondor.”

“Oh, my Lady, thank you,” Aerin clutched at my hand before remembering her manners and dropping into a curtsey. “I will not want to return and I promise I will make you an excellent maid.”

***

Aerin was certainly as enthusiastic in learning her new role as she was in wishing to get to Rohan. Moreth, after a few sniffs and mutterings about ‘chits of girls with romantic notions’, put aside her slight jealousy to make sure I would be well served, surprising me by even imparting to her successor her special recipe for whitening lace. The two of them were certainly kept busy as all the bride-clothes, which comprised not only my wedding outfit but many warm woollen dresses, Gondorian riding habits and the more casual tunic styles that Éowyn assured me were suitable for a life in Rohan that centred around horses. All had to be packed to make the three week journey from Minas Tirith to Edoras. There was no point in taking everything back to Dol Amroth as I would need only what was required for the journey.

Finally it was all done and in the third week of August it was three women, all with contrasting emotions, who boarded the great Swanship berthed at the Harland. One was half-heartedly looking forward to retirement: one – me - was very reluctantly going home knowing that time was running out and very soon I would be preparing to leave it again for Rohan and marriage; the other, Aerin, was as excited as a young puppy who had just discovered its tail.

I had not been home for some nine months and as the ship left the Anduin behind and headed out towards the open sea, I realised that I was looking forward to seeing the great castellated city that had been my home for most of my life. I could even enjoy standing on the forepeak watching the waves roll underneath the hull, looking out for the porpoises that loved to travel with us: leaping and riding the bow wave or diving under the keel to emerge the other side with what looked like a grin on their shiny grey faces. It was good to be returning, even if it was because the anxieties of the life before me were pushing aside the memories that had clouded my existence for the last few years. I would never forget, and I knew I would not wish to gallop on the sands again, but I wanted to see my home and my family.  There was a new nephew, Elphin, to meet and I was looking forward to seeing how much Alphros had grown. Consequently when Dol Amroth came into view, rising from the high cliff above the harbour with its turrets reaching almost to the clouds, a wave of happiness surged through me and tears of emotion sprang to my eyes.

My three brothers were at the harbour to meet me, Elphir with Alphros sitting before him on his horse. The little boy struggled down and ran towards the gangplank when he saw me coming down it. I crouched down to his height and chubby arms were flung round my neck, “I’ve missed you, aunt Lothy and I’ve got a new brother!” he exclaimed in his excited high voice.

The month went by too quickly. My books and other possessions that I had left in Dol Amroth were shipped to Minas Tirith to be sent on to Edoras. It was not thought wise to trust loaded wagons to the Dimholt road just yet. I received some unlooked for but probably much needed instruction on marriage from my forthright sister-in-law, which caused me to look at my brother Elphir in a new light, and also a  number of sleepless nights thinking about my future husband. A few days before we were due to depart my father arrived home. He was not alone because King Elessar came with him and the travelling party was swelled by around fifty. As the royal knights of Gondor had brought tents and provisions, no one, least alone me, was in the slightest put out.

***

Ered Nimrais – September 3020

It was a party of almost one hundred who left the castle one fine September morning, my brothers, Elphir and Amrothos riding at my side as Erchirion had volunteered to stay. Elphir was taking the opportunity for a first visit to Rohan. It was with mixed feelings I guided my mare up the steep track to meet the main way to Edhellond. Although coming back had made me realise how much I loved Do Amroth, I had not felt at ease in my childhood home. The running of Dol Amroth had been in my hands since the death of my mother and my grief had not stopped me doing my duty. When Melina arrived she had left me to it and then devoted herself to her first child. She had only started to take over when Elphir came home from war. She was a capable woman of whom I was very fond, but the past month I had felt almost a stranger in my own home. With my father in Minas Tirith almost permanently, and Elphir taking on the duties of ruler, then it was only natural they would order things their way. I would never be comfortable living there again, but even so I had hoped to make my home in the White City, not in Edoras, a place of which I knew very little except that it was ruled by a large fair haired man with a dour countenance.

Life however plays tricks, some good some bad, and since I did not really know the hand I had been dealt then my youth, natural interest and curiosity let me enjoy the journey.

Some of my pleasure came from watching Aerin: I had passed her into the hands of my old riding instructor and in the time we spent in Dol Amroth he had turned her into a credible horsewoman. Her cheerful ways and her pretty face made her an object for gallantry to the soldiers who were travelling with us, but although she laughed and joked and let them take turns to lift her onto her mare’s back, her heart was firmly in Rohan. I envied her. How different I would feel if I had been going to a man who would welcome me with love in his eyes and a fond embrace. The one letter I had received from my future husband had been stilted and formal, an acknowledgement of an agreement made in the council chambers of Gondor and Rohan and sealed with red wax.

I pushed these thoughts aside ready to enjoy the scenery, which over the next few days changed from the fertile fields of Belfalas to the flower meadows of upper Langstrand until finally we were climbing up the great Morthond Vale heading for our last camp before we were due to meet King Éomer and his escort north of Erech just before the entrance to Dimholt pass.

There was still enough heat in the sun to made travelling dusty and tiring work in the day but the coming of autumn brought a chill to the night air. The tents were large and comfortable and the food varied and well cooked. It was fun in the camp: I could not remember the time I had had so much conversation with my father and brothers, but the facilities were limited. There were plenty of solders to see to our comfort but I did not feel it fair to ask for more than a bowl of hot water as all the wood had to be collected and then transported. The prospect of meeting my betrothed in such a dishevelled condition as I was, desperately needing a hair wash and a bath, led me to consider asking my father to stop by a convenient stream with a waterfall. The road was rough and uneven and wound its way steadily upwards between boulders and sometimes through cuttings in the solid rock that must have been made long ago. However, down to my left was the great Blackroot Vale and here and there I could see the glint of water and hear where some stream tumbled over ancient stones.

I was trying to think up a convincing argument for leaving the road and dispensing with propriety when the column came to a halt. Looking between my father and King Elessar I could see one of the outriders conversing with a group of men. They were on foot and had no doubt reached the road by a track that was to be seen winding its way up from the valley. Far below me I caught a glimpse of the roofs of a number of buildings. I studied the men: they were dressed in greys and brown and all carried long-bows slung over their shoulders. One stood out from the rest: taller and with an air of command. Suddenly my father shouted an exclamation, said something to the king, and both men rode forward to greet the newcomers.

“Who are they?” I enquired of Elphir who was next to me.

I think it is Duinhir, Lord of Morthond. The one on his left must be his remaining son; he has the look of his brothers. The other two were trampled on the Pelennor,” he informed me, tight lipped. “I imagine he was the one that stayed at home. He was too young for war.”

“Thank the Valar for that,” I answered. Nobody knew more than me how lucky we were that none of our immediate family had been lost.

We waited while some conversation took place and eventually my father returned, heading for me with a smile on his lips. “Lothíriel, Lord Duinhir received news of us from a village we passed through. He has offered us hospitality for the night and a bath for you and Aerin. We have made good progress and as long as you are prepared to rise early in the morning, we will meet Éomer in good time.”

It was slow progress down the track with the bowman leading the way and it was a full hour before we reached the cluster of buildings, but not quite another hour before I was soaking in a large tub that I had liberally laced with sweet oils. It was a measure of the improvement of one part of my mind these last months that I did not recoil from letting my hair float around me in the scented water, I was only glad to get it free of dust. I would do well to take my lesson from Elgrin, Duinhir’s wife: only a slight firmness of her mouth and a hardly noticed dullness in her eyes betrayed the fact she had lost her two eldest boys. We were made welcome, and, although the large stone dwelling could not house all the party, everyone was well plied with food and ale and many went merry to their beds.

It was before dawn when I was called and rose to face a day like no other: I was to meet again the man I would wed. Within twenty-four hours I would be a queen and a wife. So I did what any female would have done – I put on womanly armour. This took the form of my most elegant riding dress. It was mid-blue, the fabric woven in a linen-satin twill that picked up the light. It was embroidered around the hem with tiny white swanships. The bodice was tight with the neck cut into a low vee that showed a ruffle of exquisite lace. The same lace peeked from the end of long narrow sleeves and half covered the dove grey suede gloves that matched the leggings needed under the split skirt.   I wore my pearls but dispensed with my customary net, pleasing Aerina by letting her braid some of my thick hair around my head, allowing the rest to hang down my back.  My father’s observation that the crespinette made me look like a matron had weighed heavily with me. I was as ready as I ever could be, when, after a very early meal we started back up the track to rejoin the road. The hour of dawn was cold and I was glad of the cloak that I had swathed around me, more to keep the dust from my clothes and hair than anything else but it also served to shield me from my family’s speculation. The track that climbed up the side of the valley was too narrow and difficult to talk much but once we were on the road again both my brothers tried to engage me in conversation, but apart from answering them in mono-syllables, it was beyond me to participate. I was lost in my own thoughts, which were rapidly becoming of the ridiculous kind: turning my horse around and begging sanctuary from Duinhir was the most rational one, I remember; finding a cave in the Ered Nimrais and living as a hermit, another. I was so in a world of my own and allowing my mare to pick her own path that I did not realise until he spoke that the person who spurred his horse close to me was my king and not my brother.

“You are nervous, Lothíriel?”

“Oh, Sire, I did not see you there.”

“You were deep in thought.” He sounded amused but his eyes were kind.

“Yes, I was, and you are right. I am nervous.” The anxiety I was feeling led me to be more forthcoming than I would normally be, “I can hardy remember what my future husband looks like. The worst thing is that we never really spoke to each other.” There was no point in being other than honest. I always felt that our king had a very good idea what one was thinking anyway.

“No, I agree it would have been better if Éomer had been able to stay a little longer. He was also very preoccupied with Rohan’s problems when he was with us. Things are better now, Lothíriel. I think you will find a change in him.”

“That’s what Éowyn said,” I agreed. “But I still would have expected him to be a bit more talkative.”

“I think you will find him talkative enough. It is true he does not idle his time away in pointless conversation, but you will find that what he does say is meaningful and he has the ability to cut through the dross and get to the centre of any issue.”

I smiled, and tried to say something positive. “No room for misunderstandings then.”

“No,” Elessar said, this time definitely amused. “I doubt that anyone would ever misunderstand anything Éomer has to say.”

The conversation was cut short because one of the outriders returned down the stony road and headed towards my father who was now riding with the Captain of the Guard.

“Ah,” said my royal companion, I guess we have made contact. He bowed his head and trotted off to the front of the column.

My mouth dried instantly and I had to grasp the reins firmly to stop my fingers trembling. My father looked back and gave me a reassuring smile.

 “Chin up, little sister.” It was Elphir who had come alongside me again. I removed my cloak; it was getting warm now anyway, and smoothed down my hair.

“She will be fine. Won’t you Lothy?”

“Don’t worry, Amrothos, I have no intention of embarrassing anybody” For just one short moment I wanted to scream out against these men who were taking me to a land I had never seen to be wed to man I did not know, but then I regained my composure and faced my obligations. I had been born a princess and was destined to become a queen. My duty lay the other side of a range of high mountains through an underground way made safe by the bravery and faith of my king. I could not let them down, so I kicked my horse to catch up with the front of the column and around a bend in the road came the future.

They were a handsome sight: two dozen flaxen haired men, spears held high, riding on beautifully turned out, clean limbed horses. They were trotting down the track towards us, the green banner blowing out straight and the white horse on it seemingly striding out. The man in front raised his hand and the column came to a halt just in front of our own standard bearers. The king of Rohan let his eyes search over our front ranks and then his intense gaze met mine and there was a moment’s recognition that showed in the almost imperceptible inclination of his head, before he leapt from his horse with a smile on his face and a hand outstretched to greet his two great friends.

TBC

Chapter 3 – An interesting journey

Ered Nimrais - September 3020

“I don’t think it’s worth dismounting, Lothíriel. There is certainly not room for us all to do so and I expect we will be stopping for some light repast before we enter the tunnel.”

I nodded to Elphir in a rather abstracted way as I smoothed my dress, arranged my hair and shook out the lace at my wrists. After I had made sure I was as neat and presentable as I could, I fixed my eyes on my betrothed who was still talking to my father and King Elessar. Laughter drifted back to me. Rohan’s king certainly sounded different from my last meeting and I found myself studying him unashamedly. Something I had not done before. His golden hair was loose, not braided like most of his men and it differed in colour, being of a darker hue. He was taller than his kinsmen, maybe slightly taller than my father, and more heavily built. Not fat though, I remembered that from dancing with him. The brief times my hand had touched him I had felt solid muscle. Suddenly he turned towards me, said something to my father and they both walked back to where we were quietly waiting. He was not wearing armour, just a long hauberk which was mostly covered by a dark red tunic embroidered in gold around the collar and hem. His green cloak, which was held around his neck by a large ornate clasp, was pushed back from his shoulders to hang down behind him. Leather gauntlets were tucked under one arm. He walked with a long easy stride and, as he got nearer I realised, for the first time, that Éomer of Rohan, besides being striking, was a very attractive man.

I made to dismount but my father’s voice stopped me, “No, don’t get down Lothíriel. We will be resting half a league up the track.”

I nodded and stayed where I was but my brothers seemed to melt from the sides of me and by the time the Lord of the Mark stood by my horse’s neck, I was alone.

I removed my glove and held out slim fingers and drooping lace just as his large hand reached for mine. “My lady, good morning,” His lips were firm and warm on my knuckles and his voice deeper than I remembered but his hand was as rough and as gentle as before. As he raised his head our eyes met and I saw his were a darker blue than Éowyn’s, but they both had the same bold stare. There was no doubting they were brother and sister. I wondered if he felt as uncomfortable as I did. He certainly did not show it but gave the impression of being totally assured and at ease with himself and the situation. He flashed me a charming smile and almost absentmindedly ran his hand down my mare’s neck before scratching her under her forelock. He must have hit the right spot because she quivered in pleasure and nudged into him. “We have prepared some refreshment on a plateau just outside the entrance to the tunnel,” he informed me as he affectionately petted my shameless horse. “You can rest there for a short while, Princess, but we will need to press on if we are to reach Edoras before dark.”

I nodded and gathered up my reins, “I am ready to continue the journey, my lord.”

“Good, we will get going then.” A bow to me, a quick greeting to my brothers, a final pat for Zante, and he and my father returned to their horses. The cavalcade started out again, with the Rohan guard leading the way and King Éomer riding with King Elessar and my father. The three of them were deep in conversation but we rode in silence my brothers sensing I did not want to talk, although I could feel their eyes on me – wondering what I was thinking, no doubt. It is true that I was thinking, but I was now speculating on what impression I had made on my husband-to-be. He would have beheld a very ordinary young woman, of average height and with the silky black hair, the grey eyes and the fair skin common in Belfalas. It was true my lashes were long and thick and my eyebrows finely arched but the sun had given my exposed skin a light golden hue and encouraged a fine sprinkling of freckles across the top of my cheeks. At least my nose was straight and not too big. I considered my lips for a moment: they were probably too full to be attractive. I had never lacked admirers, but that meant nothing: as a princess I was unlikely to. But what this foreign king thought of me, I had no idea. As to what I thought of him – it was too early to say, but I had certainly gained a more favourable impression than from my first meetings at his sister’s wedding. These deliberations were pushed aside as the track widened out into a large stony plateau. A group of men were busy laying out some food and drink on a few flat rocks and an awning had been erected between some stunted trees. There was some confusion for a moment with so many arriving in quite a small space. Grooms were rushing to hold the horses and some of the Rohan guard had already dismounted and were welcoming Gondorian soldiers they must have met in the Ring-war. Amrothos jumped down from his horse ready to assist me but just before I put my hand on his shoulder and dropped to the ground I had time to notice a tall young man hurrying towards Aerin.

“My lady, this way if you please.” At the sound of a strange voice I turned from searching the crowd where I had hoped to witness the meeting of two lovers, and perceived a thin man rising from a bow. He was not dressed like a warrior but more as a retainer. “Some refreshment has been prepared for you,” he informed me, a bony white hand waving me towards the awning.”

A young man was behind him waiting to take my horse. I nodded a thank you, picked up my skirts and followed my guide, my brothers having disappeared to greet some friends. To my surprise, under the canopy a wooden trestle table had been set with a dozen stools. I was offered a bowl of water, some soap and a drying cloth and then shown to a place between King Éomer and my father.

“I was not expecting this,” I remarked as my betrothed made sure I was comfortably seated before he sat down.

“It is only a simple meal, my lady, but I thought you may have been fatigued from the journey. Your father tells me however that you rested well last night as a guest of Lord Duinhir.”

“Yes, I did. I was even able to take a bath. That was most welcome.”

“That accounts for you looking so pleasing then, I was expecting you to be somewhat travel worn but you look very much the lovely elegant princess I remembered.” he said bluntly. This observation caused an infusion of warmth to invade my cheeks but thankfully at that moment I was offered a drink. He certainly said what was on his mind, no skirting warily around what he wanted to say.

“There is cider, wine or some blackberry cordial made by the housekeeper at Meduseld, my lady,” the server addressed me in my own language.

“Thank you, I will have the cordial,” I said, smiling at the man as an earthenware mug was put in front of me and a small pitcher on the table. I did not like to drink spirit in the day, it always made me sleepy. Neither did my future husband by the look of it because after he had poured me some cordial he took some very well watered wine. Luckily the table was small enough that once my brothers and the captains had sat down the conversation became general and I was spared the intimate conversation that in spite of six months notice, I was definitely not ready for. I needed to get used to having this hulk of a man in such close proximity to me. How I was going to cope with the intimacies of the following night I dared not think.

As soon as we had finished eating a light meal of soft bread, goat’s cheese, smoked ham and fruit, I excused myself with the intention of stretching my legs and finding Aerin. I spotted her sitting on a large rock next to her young man; they had their heads together chuckling over something. Both jumped up as I approached, the young Rohír pulling down his tunic and brushing back his hair with his hand. It struck me, catching Aerin’s eager expression, that it should be her getting married the next day and me in three months time.

“My lady, this is Léod, my betrothed.” Aerin was looking so happy and proud that her joy pushed my own worries aside for a moment.

“My lady, Princess,” he greeted me in heavily accented Westron whilst making a very well executed bow.

Léod was a good looking boy, with the blue eyes, long fair hair and neat beard of the Rohírrim. He did not have the sword of a warrior but there was a long knife on his belt and he wore a plain green tunic with a small sun insignia on his left breast. I guessed it was because he worked in the royal stables.

“Léod has had a promotion,” Aerin said excitedly. “I will write to my father and tell him. It will make him happier.”

I had managed to persuade Aerin’s father to let her come by promising that I would only allow her to marry if I thought she was happy and the boy suitable, so I understood why she was pleased. “Congratulations, Léod. I am sure you will become a stable master.” I said warmly.

“I certainly intend to, my lady,” he replied confidently. “May I thank you for your kindness in bringing Aerin. I will make sure she is happy.” He let his eyes fall on the young woman at his side and his gaze was so was full of love and tenderness that I was totally reassured.

“I hope you do,” I replied. “It was lucky you could come and meet her. Was it part of your duties?”

“No, my lady, I usually only accompany the king’s party if they are away for a few days but I was given the day off to meet Aerin. Éomer King said that if you were kind enough to bring ‘my lady love’ as he put it, then he would have to reciprocate.”

“That was good of him,” I replied laughing. More than good really - that the king would take an interest in a stable lad. However I did not have time to dwell on that as it was obvious that preparations were being made for us to leave, so with a nod to them both I headed towards my horse. As I approached one of young lads supervising the horse lines untied her reins from the long rope that had been hitched between two trees and led her towards me. I thanked him in Rohirric and earned myself a wide grin and a compliment on the condition of my mare considering her age and the length of the journey. I petted her for a moment; she had done well managing the long trek better than I had hoped. I could understand most of what the lad said but even though I was clever at languages it was difficult to find all the words I needed. I was just going to ask him for a leg up when I felt someone moving behind me, I waited, thinking it was one of my brothers but the voice was deeper, richer and an unexpected tremor of awareness shot through me.

“May I assist you, my lady?”

“Yes. Thank you, my lord King.”  I expected him to cup his hands or perhaps grasp my lower leg to lift me up but he did neither. Before I could realise his intention those large hands had clasped me around the waist and he lifted me up, holding me, for the time it took me to find the stirrup, as if I weighed no more than a speck of swansdown. It was not an unpleasant sensation - being at the mercy of his strength and feeling the warmth of those hands through my dress - but no man in Gondor would ever have done such a thing. Once in the saddle I stared at him stupidly for a moment probably expecting some kind of apology, but there was an amused gleam in his eyes and I knew immediately that this man would beg pardon of no one. I retreated into politeness: remarking on the efficiency of the organisation for our meal as I set my skirts in order.

He laughed, responding lightly to my platitudes, “A few packhorses were all it took,” he said dismissing my thanks. I hardly recognised the man I had met in Minas Tirith - this was a different King of Rohan: the sombre expression was gone. It must have been a good harvest I mused as he started checking over my horse. I was sure there was no need but guessed it was natural for a Horselord to do so “Now,” he said when he was satisfied, “we need to get going. We enter that ravine,” he pointed to where the track left the plateau between some rocks, “the sides get higher and higher and then you are in the tunnel. My men have lit some torches and a few of them will lead the way. Aragorn and I will follow them, perhaps you would like to ride behind us with your father and your brothers can come after you. It is stony and dark, but perfectly safe.”

“Thank you, I will be fine. We have caves at home. I doubt Aerin will be bothered either, she is remarkably adventurous.”

He glanced towards my maid, who had mounted her own horse and was waiting a little way down the line. “She must be to come so far, but Léod is a good lad. He will look after her.”

With the slightest of bows he went to his own horse taking the reins from the lad holding him and swinging easily into the saddle. My father, who was already mounted, moved his gray gelding to my side and we followed the two kings up the mountain. The ravine we entered was narrow but certainly wide enough to take a wagon. The sides were quite sheer and came almost together at the top. Without much warning, other than my betrothed looking back and suggesting we keep close, they joined completely and we were in the tunnel. I shivered. Not because I was cold or because I was frightened but because I knew that once I came out the other side of this mountain I would be in Rohan, and Gondor would never again be my home.

“Are you alright, my dear?” my father asked, his soft voice echoing against the hard walls.

There was a musty damp smell and when the glow from the torches swept across jagged walls I could see the glisten of trickling water. But I was used to caves and not unduly worried, “Yes, I am fine, Father. There is quite enough light from the torches to see. I imagine it is very different than when our king came through the first time.”

“It is very different,” a voice came from in front of me. “We only had two torches and even Gimli did not like it. It took a great deal of persuasion to get the horses through but they are not bothered now.”

I swallowed. My king had passed through here with only faith and hope to guide him, I should surely share that faith that what I was doing was for my country and good would come of it. It was not as though service to Gondor had required me to wed some corpulent old man with greying hair, rotten teeth and smelly breath. I was sure that there were definitely worse fates than marrying Éomer of Rohan, now I knew that he actually smiled.

“Before Aragorn, no man had entered the Dimholt since Baldor, Brego’s son.” It was easy to tell my future husband’s voice as apart from the different accent; it was as rich and luxurious as thick brown velvet. “Aragorn found his remains and we have buried him properly. The ghostly army has gone and once we have passed safely a few times the people of Harrowdale will lose their fear. I am hoping to use the passage for trade.”

“We need to talk about that,” my father said. “If we open the old trading route then we will need guesthouses. Camping is not so good in the winter.”

“No, we cannot expect those who live in the soft south to have the resilience of the Rohírrim,” Éomer laughed, his merriment circling around us again and again until it finally faded away.

“I suppose your cold climate is why you have to mimic bears and sport all that hair,” my father retaliated, surprising me with his unusual flippancy.

“I don’t think Lothíriel will be able to grow a beard,” Elphir quipped from behind me.

“I am not sure I will be able to bear the disappointment,” Éomer shot back, surprising me even more and starting off a giggle.

The laughter certainly shooed away any remaining ghosts, but after that, conversation was limited as we concentrated on guiding our mounts thorough the long dark passage.  In fact not much more was said until we entered a vast chamber. It was cold and I could not see the walls it was so enormous and the light of the torches was almost lost is the huge space. I shivered involuntaly just as Éomer said, “This is where Baldor was found.” 

Once through the chamber the way narrowed again but at last I was aware of a gleam of light ahead which quickly increased until we passed out into a deep glen, its high rocky sides lined with fir trees. We were in Rohan and I looked around to see how Aerin had fared on the dark journey. She was riding between Léod and another, older man and there was laughter on her lips. I imagined she was only too pleased to have left Gondor behind and was already embracing her new life. We rode on, passing a single tall stone which looked like a finger pointing, and then out from the trees and through two lines of dark stones of varying size that were placed each side of the track until we emerged onto an upland field which was divided in two by the lines of marching stones. As the column spread out Éomer held back his horse for my father and I to catch up.

Rohan – September 3020

“Welcome to the Riddermark, my lady.” He turned to me as I came alongside him and King Elessar dropped back with my father so that I was riding next to my betrothed. I supposed it was best if we did have some conversation before becoming man and wife but I was understandably nervous of how we would deal together. “This is the Firienfield and the natural amphitheatre behind us is called Hold of Dunharrow. There is a large cave that was used as a feast hall long ago, it is so big it will shelter three thousand riders,” he explained, pointing with one leather covered hand, “but until now no one fancied going near the Haunted Mountain. When Théoden called for the muster, the six thousand riders that answered, assembled in the valley,” “You will see where when we get to the cliff edge. Farther away, where the foot of the mountain reaches out across the plain, is Edoras

“It is amazing scenery,” I remarked as I looked around. The mountain was behind me but ahead, it looked as if we were going to leap over the cliff into space, landing on the plain below.

“I think so,” Éomer replied. “We have mountains, fierce streams, forests and the endless plains of grass. All are beautiful but it is the grass that makes us what we are. It is there we run our herds of horses.”

“And sheep and goats in the mountains,” I remarked. I could hear the sheep and we had eaten goat’s cheese.

“But everyone has them. They do not make us unique.”

“They are necessary however.”

One eyebrow was raised in mock amusement, “Trust a practical Gondorian to think of that.”

I laughed. “I am not really practical and I prefer horses to any other animal.” I suddenly remembered Éowyn’s remark about him wanting me as a wife because I could ride. I had to stifle my amusement because I did not want to have to explain that one. I looked back at him to find that he was watching me intently.

“You ride well. Éowyn told me you did.” That remark nearly caused me to laugh out loud but he carried on, “Your mare is well bred and has lovely points but if you do not mind me saying, my lady, she is a bit…”

“Long in the tooth,” I helped him out.

“Yes. That’s exactly what I meant. Has the journey not been too much for her?”

“I have not ridden her all the way. We brought spare horses.” I hesitated, knowing that how he reacted may well set my feelings for him. “She was my mother’s horse, but my mother was not brought up to ride from childhood like me. She was not that keen. She loved Zante but did not ride her much, so as soon as I was big enough to manage her I sort of took her over. It is natural to love one’s horse but because she belonged to my mother she is very dear to me.” As if to prove the how I felt I lent forward and pulled at her soft black-tipped ears,  “I brought her with me hoping that there is sufficient grass in Rohan for her to live out her retirement and that I may see her occasionally, but if not then my father will take her back to Dol Amroth.”

I sat back up and searched his face for some clue as to what he was going to say. For all I knew horses that were of no use may not be tolerated. I had intended asking Éowyn about it but with everything else it had gone out of my mind until I was back in Dol Amroth. However he showed no surprise or looked at all bothered. In fact his lips were curved into a very attractive soft smile and I had the impression that I had pleased him, but when someone is a stranger it is difficult to read their expressions. “I am sure we can spare some grass for the Queen’s much loved mare,” he replied. “She can graze outside the gates of Edoras during the day with a few other old faithfuls. At night they are brought into a stockade just inside the gates. There is shelter there for the winter months, but since she is from a southern land it may be better to house her in the royal stables during inclement weather. You can see her every day if you wish.”

“Oh, thank you,” I smiled back very relieved.

“Actually it is very fortuitous that you are in need of another horse as it will allow me the pleasure of choosing one for you.”

“Thank you, my lord. I shall look forward to it.” I said genuinely pleased. “My father advised me not to take another and leave it to you.”

“Very sensible of him,” he grinned affably, and I realised, looking extremely handsome as he did so.

I was surprised at that thought but put it aside as we started on the track that left the Firienfield and zigzagged its way down, clinging to the side of the mountain. The track was steep and rough and needed concentration so conversation was limited but just as we approached the first bend I could not stop an exclamation of surprise, “Oh! What are they?” The lump of stone that sat on the side of the track turned out, on closer inspection, to be a kind of statue and although eroded by weather and time, was recognisable as some form of man, squatting cross-legged, with stumpy arms folded over its fat belly.”

Éomer looked up at the figure towering over our heads. “That is the first of the Púkel-men, they line the way down to Harrowdale,” he answered me. “Some are quite recognisable but others have almost reverted back to the stone from which they were sculpted.”

“But who put them there?” I asked intrigued by the size of the stone from which the likeness was carved.

He shrugged his broad shoulders and for a moment before he answered me, his thoughts looked to be far away, “Some long forgotten race that were here in the Dark Years, before the Éothéod was thought of, and even before a ship came to the western shores.” He smiled. “It is good to think how very old this land is. It has survived for a long time.”

“But the people have come and gone.” I reminded him.

“True, but I intend the Rohirrim to be here for the time to come.”

“And I understand you worked hard to ensure that over the past winter, my lord.”

His faced changed and the grim look I had seen before appeared, but it was swiftly gone and he was smiling again. “We had a hard time, even with all the aid that came from Gondor. It takes a lot to feed a whole people and so many had lost their homes. But that is behind us now and I shall take steps to make sure it never happens again.”

Our conversation ceased for the time being as my father and brothers wanted to know all about the Púkel-men and discuss who they thought had made them. It took over an hour to reach the bottom of the Stair, as the Rohirrim called it, but then we were on a wide smooth track that sloped gently down the valley of Harrowdale. We made good progress through the open land where the Éoreds had gathered and were soon on the outskirts of the village of Underharrow. The houses were made from a mixture of stone and wood, simple dwellings but neat and tidy. Around the village were small fields that ran up the sides of the dale, all obviously well tended. Éomer explained that this part of the Riddermark was untouched by war except by way of the number of men they had lost. But that was common to every part of Rohan and Gondor. Those working in the fields stopped and watched as we rode past, some waving, some just standing. In the village there were smiles and bows, greetings for their king and curious, cautious glances for me. The people were not hostile but they were not that welcoming either.

I was thinking about what Éowyn had said about many wishing for a Rohirric queen when Éomer mentioned that very fact. We had drawn a little in front of the others so we were able to talk privately again.

“They are a little reticent, my lady. It will take them a little while to become used to the idea that I chose to marry a Gondorian. Some thought the bloodline too diluted by my grandmother but to be honest, all our kinsmen are quite closely related, as are our horses, of course.” He tilted his head to one side as if he had just thought of something, “Perhaps I ought to talk to your father about that as well. It will do us nothing but good if everything is mixed up a bit.”

I was stunned to silence for a moment. The man was comparing me with one of my father’s brood mares. Éowyn had wondered why he had agreed to the bond and now I knew – it was good for the breeding stock! My hands gripped the reins in righteous anger but I managed to control myself and said icily, deliberately ignoring his reference to horses, “Your kinsmen do not wish for this alliance then, my lord.”

I don’t know what I was expecting but it was not a short laugh. “I thought my command of Westron was pretty good,” he said lightly. “I have always thought that an alliance was a bond between two countries, between two people it is surely called a marriage.”

“That is true,” I said haughtily, “but I rather thought our marriage cemented an alliance between our countries.”

“Yes, it does,” he agreed, totally ignoring my manner, “but whatever the political considerations are, as far as I or anyone else is concerned, I proposed marriage to you, admittedly via your father, and you accepted.” Ah!...,” he looked as though he had just discovered something unpleasant and his lips set into a firm line. “Am I to understand, Lothíriel, that your father forced you into this for the good of Gondor?”

I shook my head. “No, he did not force me. It was King Elessar who told me of your proposal, I guessed the three of you had cooked it up between you.” I could be just as blunt.

Éomer sighed irritably. “Friends can be especially annoying sometimes, don’t you think? I imagine you were not actually coerced but felt you could not refuse a request from your king.”

“Something like that,” I admitted, “but I have always known that my choice of husbands would be limited and my father did point out that he had already had two other offers and would most likely be getting more. It helped me with the decision.”

“And I assume you are going to tell me who the two rejected suitors are.” He did not look annoyed but curious. Oh yes, I would enjoy telling him.

“Lord Turgon was one and Forlong’s brother, Darlang, was the other.” I answered in my most expressionless and diplomatic voice.

“Gratifying,” he enounced with a sharp expel of breath.

I whipped my head around seeking his eyes. Fool that I was; now I had really offended him. It was stupid to be on bad terms before we were even wed. I should have known not to let my emotions get the better of me, but I glimpsed the merest twitch of his lips and was sure those blue eyes held a hidden twinkle.

“So…,” he drawled the word out to an extraordinary length, “the choice was between a hog’s pudding, a streak of lard and a rough and ready warrior. Do you expect me to be flattered that you decided to do what was expected of you and accept my offer, Lothiriel?” He raised one eyebrow and fixed me with an amused look. I decided it was an Éomer trait.

“Well,” I countered, “I am not very flattered that you were forced into making an offer for me for political gain,” At least he was easier to talk to than I had imagined, and I was discovering that he had a sense of humour, perhaps I had wronged him on the bloodlines and all Horselords talked like that.  If I had to put up with a marriage of convenience then I suppose it could have been worse. One thing I was coming to realise was that warrior he may be, but rough and ready he was not.

There was another short laugh. “You know, Lothíriel,” he was definitely moving onto personal ground by continuously using my name and I was intrigued as to what was coming next, “I would do many things for the Riddermark, but to be forced to marry for purely political reasons is not one of them. Let me tell you that there have only ever been two people who could make me do something I did not want to do. One was my father and the other was not, as you may think, Théoden, but by cousin Théodred, whom I hero- worshipped when I was young.”

I was not sure I understood what he had said; he could not possibly have wished to make me an offer. “That’s what Éowyn said, but you did not… do not, know me.”

“Well, I am sure we will remedy that over the coming months…”

The conversation ended abruptly as the guards, who were riding someway in front of us, parted to reveal a good-looking young man with braided hair, riding a beautiful bay stallion. He came straight up and swept an elegant bow to us both.

“My lord King, my lady Princess. Welcome to Harrowdale. May my wife and I offer you some refreshment before you continue to Edoras?”

I smiled warmly. I remembered Aelfric from Éowyn’s wedding. He had been extremely popular amongst the ladies but had confessed to me with a cheeky grin one evening when we were dancing that he had left a sweetheart back in Rohan but was enjoying the attention. He had obviously married her and I was intrigued to see what she was like.

Éomer turned to me with a resigned half-smile lurking on his lips, “I imagine you know the Lord of Harrowdale. Aelfric is great-nephew to Erkenbrand from whom I guess he gets his unfailing exuberance.”

“We met at your sister’s wedding, my lord,” I confirmed, extending my hand to Aelfric who had moved his horse to my right side. I did not say that the difference between the demeanours of the two men that evening had been immense. Then I had thought Éomer a lot older, but now I realised that the gap was not wide.

“I am sure Princess Lothíriel would like to meet Helwing, but if we do come we must not stay long, Aelfric. And after such a journey I imagine the Princess will wish to retire early.” Éomer addressed his next words to me, “It is only a short way off the track, do you feel up to it, Lothíriel?”

“Yes, my lord, I am fine.” I smiled at Aelfric, “I would be pleased to meet your wife, Lord Aelfric, especially after you spoke to me about her.”

Aelfric grinned shamelessly, “I was very rude, my Lord King, I danced with one woman and talked about another.”

“You have always been extremely rude,” Éomer retorted deadpan.

Aelfric tossed his head in a laugh and wheeled his horse around to ride next to me, “It’s not far, my lady. My house overlooks the village.”

It was not far, the village of Upbourn was around the next bend. The villagers appeared to be a little friendlier towards me, but perhaps it was Aelfric’s presence. We turned along a lane which climbed up behind the houses; at the end was high stone wall. Large wooden gates were set in the wall but they stood open and we passed through into a spacious cobbled courtyard. Some steps led up to a stone built house. It was not large but was of pleasing proportions and at the top of the short flight a fair-haired woman was standing.  A few boys appeared to hold our horses and everyone started to dismount. This time my betrothed lifted me down and took my arm as we headed towards the main door. I had not had time to think on our recent conversation, but whatever the reasons for me being here – marriage or alliance- forced or not – for breeding or hosting - I was here to stay and had to make the best of it.

TBC

Chapter 4 -  An understated welcome.

Rohan - September 3020

Aelfric’s wife dropped a graceful curtsey but then held out her hand for her king to graze his lips over it, which he did so with obvious pleasure. It was a lovely hand, I noticed, slim and delicate, and so was its owner. Helwing was like, but unlike, Éowyn. She had even fairer hair, almost silver in fact, and her features were finely chiselled, as if some artist had sculpted her. She looked fragile and feminine but she had a lovely open smile for me.

“My lady, welcome,” she greeted me as soon as the introduction had taken place, before turning to receive King Elessar and my father who were coming up behind us. Once the formalities were done with she led us into a sizable hall where some tables had been laid out with various drinks and some small cakes.

It was my first time inside a Rohirric dwelling and I looked around with interest. The stone walls were hung with multicoloured hangings, mostly of battle scenes and horses, and skins were thrown on the floor. There was none of the intricate stonework of Minas Tirith, the blocks were small and plain here, but the wooden doors I could see were elaborately carved and great beams held up the vaulted roof.

Helwing drew me aside away from the others, encouraging me with a gentle smile and a slight movement of her silver-clad head. I went willingly, glad of a friendly face. “Would you like some wine, my lady, or there is a cordial made from the flowers of the elder tree?”

“I will try your cordial, Helwing,” I answered, smiling back at her. I took an earthen mug and put it too my lips. “Umm, it is very good. Did you make it?”

“Yes, I do every spring. It is stored it in stone bottles and lasts a while. The Elder tree is very useful; I make a rich wine from the berries at this time of the year.”

“The ladies of the Mark must be accomplished at using the fruits of the hedgerows; I have already tasted some blackberry cordial which was very pleasant.”

“Oh, I expect Elfgyuu, made that. She is the housekeeper at Meduseld,” Helwing informed me.

“The first name I will need to remember then,” I said, sipping the drink and accepting a cake.

Helwing puckered up her face, “She has been there a long time and is very efficient, but she’s a bit of a dragon.” Placing one slim hand on my forearm she lowered her voice conspiratorially, “I hope you don’t mind me saying, my lady, but I would advise you to start as you mean to go on. Don’t stand any nonsense. She thinks the world of Éomer though, so she won’t want to upset him.”

I had the distinct feeling that Helwing would become a friend and although I would not normally discuss such an issue on so short an acquaintance, I took a chance.  We were a little way apart from the others so I said softly, “Is she one who did not want a Gondorian at Meduseld?”

“Yes, and she has made no secret of it.  It is nothing to do with her really; it’s just that she has been there so long. But evidently Éomer told her to shut up in no uncertain terms. He will not tolerate anything other than the proper welcome and respect due to his wife and queen.”

At least that was reassuring. I nibbled at the cake thoughtfully, “Are there many like that? Éowyn told me that I could have a few problems.” I might as well be prepared, not that I doubted my ability of dealing with most situations. My father had left me in charge during the Ring-war; it had been no easy task to rule the old men and soldiers left behind.

Helwing considered for a moment before answering with a small frown, “A few. I am not sure about Byrhtwyn, she has kept her own council, and so she should.  But most have accepted it and Éomer King will always do as he wishes. There are also many, like Aelfric and I, who think your marriage makes sense. Aelfric was pleased when the betrothal was announced. He thought you were very nice and would be good for Rohan. He said we could do with a bit of culture.”

I laughed out loud at this, “I am sure you do not need me for that.”

“Well,” Helwing echoed my laughter, “I for one will be pleased if you bring some refinement, something other than horses.”

“Don’t you like horses?” I asked somewhat surprised.

She wrinkled her very pretty nose, “Not very much. Very disconcerting of me don’t you think?” she grinned mischievously. “Oh, I can ride, of course,” she carried on, perhaps realising my slight disbelief at the revelation that a lady of Rohan didn’t like horses. “I will be able to come to Edoras to see you, but that’s about as far as I wish to go. Aelfric wanted us to get married and go Éowyn’s wedding together, but the thought of the journey and,” she gave an involuntary shudder, “all those creepy crawlies in the tents, put me off. So he went with his men and we were wed as soon as he returned.”

In fact I was quite pleased that not every lady in the Riddermark was a hardened rider and aped the men, I could not imagine this feminine creature wielding a sword. It was nice to know I would not be alone in that. “Aelfric couldn’t stop talking about you when he danced with me,” I told her, and enjoyed the glow of pleasure that crossed her face.

“We have known each other since we were children, but it was only when he was about to ride to Gondor with Théoden King that we realised what we both felt. But I was a bit young and then his father was killed in the war and he had to take over here. It was a lot of responsibility as we had to share the food we had with other parts of the Mark. It was not an easy winter, so we felt we could not marry until things were better.”

“And they are now?”

“Oh, yes. The harvest is turning out to be the best for many years. The people will certainly have something to celebrate at your wedding tomorrow.”

That was a relief then – they would be happy about something. “Are you coming to Edoras for it, Lady Helwing?” I asked, keeping the rest to myself.

“Of course. Aelfric and Éomer are good friends. We are coming in the morning and will stay with my cousin.” A faint blush suffused her face, “I will be singing a Rohirric love song.”

“Oh, how lovely,” I responded, hoping she would be able to put some feeling into it by thinking about her own happy marriage rather than the arranged one being celebrated. I felt a touch on my arm before I could say anything else.

 “We must leave, my lady. I want to arrive well before dark.” The velvet tone wafted a faint breath of air across my ear and caused a quiver of sensation to run through me. I suppose my nerves were slightly stretched which accounted for the unusual response to such a simple thing. “You will become better acquainted with Helwing, I am sure. We will be almost neighbours,” he continued.

“I hope so, my lord.” I clasped Helwing’s hand for a moment, “I have enjoyed talking to you, Lady Helwing. I expect we shall see you often at Meduseld.”

She dropped a curtsey and grinned, “I will be coming so often my riding is sure to improve.”

Éomer took my arm and drew it through his, “Did you find Helwing pleasant company, Lothíriel?”

“Yes, my lord I did. She was a surprise. I thought all the ladies in Rohan would be keen and expert riders.”

“Most are, but not all. It is certainly convenient that you are so accomplished, but it would not have mattered if you were not,” he commented as he led me to my mount. Well, I stifled the chuckle that threatened to rise, that knocked one of Éowyn’s theories on the head. He had not agreed to this union because of my riding abilities.

***

The road between Upbourn and Edoras was smooth and well used, hugging the west bank of the fast flowing Snowbourne River. As we descended, the tended fields, which had been cut into the mountainside, gave way to a rough area of gorse and bushy trees with alders and birches dipping their roots into the clear waters. By some unspoken agreement King Elessar and my father had chosen to ride together leaving my soon-to-be husband and me to engage in much needed conversation and for me to study him more closely. As far as I was concerned, it should have happened six months ago. Maybe if I had got to know him a bit better, I would have been spared so much anxiety.   As it was I was conversing easily with him, and, enjoying listening to his descriptions of other parts of Rohan. I was not sure whether this was because of a natural interest in my future homeland or because the orator had such an attractive voice. I was definitely finding his voice fascinating and slightly compelling, something that surprised me. I was also fascinated by his hands: they were as large as I remembered, and looked even more so in the gauntlets he was wearing, but he was holding the reins with the lightest of touches. The lively young stallion he was riding, which I guessed was not yet a fully trained warhorse, was responding instantly to the almost imperceptible movements of fingers and legs and the occasional soft indecipherable command. But however undeniably handsome and interesting a man he was, a scant day’s conversation was not really preparing me for a wedding night, especially when one of the reasons he had given for agreeing to our bond was the prospect of enhancing the breeding stock! Perhaps I was being unfair, as there had no doubt over the years been many arranged marriages between the high born of Gondor. Maybe I was better off than some: he was young, brave and possibly all the other things a woman would want in a husband but however suitable he might be, the traditions that compelled me to arrive on the eve of the wedding took no account of a bride and groom who knew virtually nothing of each other. I pushed down a sigh; it was no good going on about it as it could not be changed. I concentrated on the scenery again.

The valley widened but still I could not see my future home. “When shall we see Edoras, my lord?” I asked as I searched ahead for some clue as to how far there was to go. I was keen to see it but also, admittedly, I would be glad of some rest.

“We will come on it suddenly as we rounded the next bend.” He scanned me through narrowed eyes for a moment. “Are you tired, Lothíriel?”

I stretched my toes in my boots and pushed my bottom away from the saddle for some relief of the mild stiffness I was beginning to feel, “Yes, a bit. The five day trek has been the longest ride I have undertaken, although I have enjoyed it.”

“Well, it is not much further. There will be a meal waiting for us but there will be no formality tonight, you can dine in your room if you wish.”

“I think I can manage to stay awake long enough for a meal, my lord. I imagine there will be a few introductions to complete.”

“There certainly will,” he laughed, “and many more tomorrow. I thought you may be weary so I arranged that tonight you need only meet the household. The most important of those are the two women who have ruled my life since Éowyn left, Byrhtwyn and Elfgyuu. Elfgyuu is the housekeeper and has fed and watered those who live in Meduseld for years. She is training up her niece but I doubt she will be content to relinquish her position very easily. Byrhtwyn has been fulfilling the role that you will now take over….”

He stopped when he saw my expression and let out a loud guffaw of mirth, in which I could not help joining. I could not connect this man who now had laughter dancing in his eyes with the stern king I had beheld in Minas Tirith, “Those were the wrong words,” he said when our amusement ceased. “She is old enough to be my mother, maybe my grandmother. Since Éowyn went to Gondor she has been acting as um… the Hlafdige – the lady of the hall, a sort of hostess really. Elfgyuu, however efficient, is not able to meet and converse with noble visitors.”

“Éowyn told me about Byrhtwyn, she is very fond of her and they still correspond.”

“Yes, she was very good to Éowyn when we first came to Meduseld. Her husband, Háma, became the Captain of Théoden King’s household, but more than that he and Théoden were great friends. Háma was slain at Helm’s Deep but Byrhtwyn remained at Meduseld to help me. She will be happy to retire but…” he hesitated.

“Do not worry, my lord;” I responded, guessing what he was about to say, “I will tread lightly on her feelings. I hope she will stay a while, until I am in the way of things.”

“Knowing what I do of you, Lothíriel, I doubt she will have to stay long. Although,” he said rather thoughtfully, “she would have been prepared to do so had I chosen to marry a lady not as suited as you to the role of queen. It was lucky that you have abilities in that way.”

Lucky? I thought that must be one of the reasons he had agreed to this, I could not believe it was just the blood lines. No matter, I admonished myself; I really must stop wondering why as it made no difference now. “I hope I can fulfil all that is required of me, my lord. I would be confident in Gondor but you have different ways.”

He shrugged, “I am not anticipating you will find too many problems. It will take you a little while to feel at home but I will help you and I understand you already speak our language quite well.”

“The basics only, I do not understand your horse commands, for instance.”

“No, they are quite special. I will teach you when you have a Rohirric horse….look you can see Edoras now.”

He was pointing ahead. Unnoticed by me, we had rounded the bend and I gained my first glimpse of Meduseld. The late afternoon sun, slanting through a gap in the Ered Nimrais, was bathing the top of the hill in a red-gold light. I could truly believe the tales of the golden courts of Edoras.

“Is the roof made of gold?” I asked, taking in the full beauty of the scene opening up before me.

He laughed. “If it was, we would probably have used it aeons ago. There are bits incorporated into the ridges and the door pillars are decorated with it, but the main part of the roof is thatched, as Saruman delighted in reminding us.”

I looked expectantly at him for clarification of such a remark, but he answered with a wry smile, “A story for another day, my lady.”

I nodded and turned back to the vista ahead. I could now see that there was a high stone wall surrounding the city and this fortification was topped by wooden ramparts and a spiked fence. Below the wall there looked to be a deep ditch. I searched for the entrance but could see no way in.

“The gates are around the other side,” Éomer answered me before the question was out of my mouth. “The road sweeps around to the ford and meets the road that comes from Gondor through Aldburg and then it goes straight for the gates through the burial mounds of our past kings.”

We soon reached the junction where the road from the Westfold crossed the Snowbourne and all three ways merged into one and turned towards the city gates, passing through the grassy burial mounds. We did not linger, all, including the horses, sensing food and rest. I knew I would have plenty of time in the years to come to wander in this peaceful place, where tiny white flowers clothed the barrows like drifting snow.

I understood that I was to ride into the city at Eomer’s side, my own king for once taking second place in this casual ceremony. The three standard bearers went before us and we approached the massive gates to the welcome of Rohirric horns. Many eyes were observing the entry of their future queen from the tops of the two watchtowers that flanked the entrance and I could see a reasonable crowd inside the gates.

It was not a rousing greeting, but at least it was a welcome and maybe the Rohirrim did not parade their emotions as the people of Gondor tended to do. I decided not to let it worry me: there was plenty of time to sell myself to my new people. I concentrated on showing a friendly smile, determined not to appear as some arrogant princess from a foreign land.

“Today we will ride up to the steps below the hall, Lothíriel. Normally we go directly to the stables but the people will want to see you.”

The way up was broad; the path was made of hewn stone and it wound its way between neat wooden houses which got bigger and more elaborately decorated as we travelled upwards. Beside the road, clear water flowed in a stone channel and many houses had tubs of flowers outside their open doors. A number of citizens were lining the way and children peeked between mother’s skirts. The natural greeting seemed to be a quick bob of the head – none of the deep bowing prevalent in Gondor. I felt all eyes upon me.

We had to negotiate short runs of shallow steps but my mare, although I knew she was tiring after the long day, sensed the occasion and tripped boldly upwards, lifting her weary head and looking around with interest.

“Not long now, old girl,” my betrothed murmured, “it’s a warm mash for you and fresh straw.”

“If you don’t mind I would prefer a bowl of soup and linen sheets,” I replied, causing him to break into soft laughter. The mirth was no bad thing, giving a much better impression, I thought, than sombre faces.

We came at last to the bottom of a flight of stone stairs cut up through a green lawn. At the foot of the stair was a large stone carved in the likeness of a horse’s head and from this a stream of clear water gushed out and fell into a basin which spilled over to fill the stone channel. No shortage of clean water in this city. Boys were standing here, dressed in the same fashion as Léod and waiting to take our mounts. Éomer sprang from his horse and came around to assist me. As soon as a lad had gone to Zante’s head I neatly swung my right leg across her withers and arranged my skirts so that he could lift me down. I had decided that it was better to anticipate some informality and be prepared for it. Our eyes met before he deposited me on the stony path, the gleam of amusement in his gaze and the slight squeeze of his hands on my waist responsible for the heat I felt in my cheeks. But he said nothing and tucked my arm through his, leading me up the steps after issuing some orders as to the care of my mount.

The stair took us to a wide paved platform in front of the massive carved doors of Meduseld. As far as I could see the major part of building was fashioned from dark wood but there were towers at the corners made from stone and they rose higher than the main roof. Stone benches flanked each side of the entrance and the guards that sat upon them rose as we approached and held the hilts of their swords towards us. They were dressed much as Eomer’s mounted guard but were holding green shields emblazoned with the Rohan sun and their golden hair was braided. One stepped forward and spoke in his own language, of which I knew enough to recognise a traditional greeting. There were some words in Rohirric – too quick for me to understand - and we entered thorough the open doors into a narrow anteroom that looked to be the width of the body of the hall. Further doors opened into the hall itself and just inside these a tall grey haired woman was waiting next to a carved wooden table, on which were about a dozen small cups.

“Welcome, my lord King, my lady Princess,” she greeted us in perfect Westron and bobbed the smallest of curtseys, bowing her head slightly as she did so. “My lady, welcome to Meduseld. Please honour us by accepting this mead-cup.” Taking one of the small cups she passed it to me and then one to Éomer, uttering a salutation that I roughly translated as: ‘may this house shelter and succour you.’  I thanked her in my halting Rohirric and received a twitch of her lips in response. The cup in my hand was squat, with no stem and made of wood, studying it closely I was not surprised to see that it had been embellished with carvings of horse’s heads. It was finished with a decorative silver rim. The others were all similar and I guessed they were ceremonial and kept for this offering of drink. There was only a small amount of liquid in it and with silent encouragement from my betrothed I took a sip. It was strong and sweet, pleasant and warming. I finished the drink and the giver accepted the cup back from me, bowing her head again.

“It’s mead, my Lady.” Éomer said as we moved past into the hall. “A traditional drink made from honey. Did you find it to your palate?”

“In a small quantity like that, yes I did.”  

“Good.” I thought there was something amusing him but the flash of humour in his eyes was gone before I was sure. “It is only drunk like now, as a welcome cup or as part of certain celebrations.” I imagined we would be drinking mead tomorrow in that case but failed to see why that should amuse him.

My father, the King, my brothers and those that came behind us all received a small cup; they were replenished by another grey haired lady standing behind the table holding a tray.

As soon as everyone had taken of the mead-cup Éomer introduced me to Byrhtwyn. I watched her eyes carefully; reassuringly the smile on her lips was reflected in them. The smile on the lips that belonged to Elfgyuu stayed exactly where it was and traveled no higher.

“The meal is ready, my Lady. You need not change your dress unless you wish to do so but I expect your would like to freshen yourself. I will lead you to the room that has been prepared for you tonight.”

“Thank you, Lady Byrhtwyn. I would like to wash but I will not change as I hope to retire as soon as I have eaten.”

Byrhtwyn bowed, “I have sent my granddaughter to show your handmaiden to her quarters. She can attend you after the meal.”

“Thank you.”  I followed the tall figure down the length of the hall. It would have been quite dark as the windows appeared to be high up and the sun was low, but besides the glow from the hearth which was in the middle of the open space each of the pillars we passed supported a large candle in an iron sconce. The sides of the hall were in shadow but I could see hangings as in Aelfric’s house but here, instead of the plain floor, the flickering light was picking up richly colored tiles. Tables had been set at the far end, with one table set upon a raised dais.

“It is only the household eating this evening,” Byrhtwyn started to explain; “tomorrow the hall will be full to capacity.”

“What time will the ceremony take place,” I asked her.

“In the afternoon, my lady. Then the feast starts. It is normal for the meal to finish by sunset which is when the bride leaves.”

I swallowed. I hope that by this time tomorrow I would have found some courage. It was either that or drink heavily of the wine.

Byrhtwyn led me to the left of the dais, though a door which opened into a small hall. She opened one of the doors leading from it. “This is Eowyn’s old room, my lady. I am sure you will be comfortable here tonight.” It was a square, paneled room, simply furnished. A smallish four posted bed graced the far wall and a decorated screen shielded one corner. The small fire burning in the hearth gave the room a cozy feel. It was probably needed: the days were still warm but as we had traveled farther north I had noticed a definite chill in the night air.  There was not much light left in the sky and Byrhtwyn walked over to the window to pull heavy tapestry curtains across. She indicated the screen, “The water will be warm, my lady. It was put in here piping hot when you entered the city. Would you like me to arrange for you to take a bath before you retire?”

I plonked down on the bed for a moment, thinking it would be nice to get straight in it. “No, thank you. I had one last night. I would prefer one in the morning as I would like to wash my hair before the wedding. Traveling is so dusty.”

“There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow, my lady. I will show you the royal chambers as well. They are in the other tower.” She pointed to the opposite side of the building.

“I would grateful for that.”

She nodded, “I will leave you then….,”but she did not go straight away and gave me a sympathetic smile. “If you are tired I can bring you a tray.”

I was tempted … but I really did want to try and establish some rapport with the man I was going to marry the next day, “No, I will eat with everyone else, thank you, lady Byrhtwyn; King Éomer said it will not be formal tonight.”

“That’s right, just the household. Come when you are ready, my lady. The men will probably only stop to wash their hands.” She turned to leave but as she put her hand on the door handle, paused and addressed me again. “It would be better if you got used to referring to him as Éomer King, my lady.”

I smiled compliantly, “Yes, of course. I shall take special care to do so.” A quick nod and she was gone. The door closed with a soft click, leaving me to wonder if  she was slightly chastising me or her intention had been to make sure that I gave no one cause for criticism.

I was still sitting on the bed contemplating my new home when there was a rap on the door, “It’s only me, my lady.” I could not fail to recognize Aerin’s cheery voice.

“Come in, Aerin, the door is not locked.” The door opened with a bit of a bang. Aerin was carrying my two traveling bags. “You should have asked for help,” I said rising to assist her.

“Oh, I can manage, my lady. I thought you might want your dressing case. I expect you would like me to brush your hair.”

“Yes, I would. That was thoughtful of you when you must be so excited.”

She grinned, “I am my lady, but not too excited that I can’t do my job. If you have your wash I will unpack what you need for tonight.”

I nodded, and disappeared behind the screen to find soap and drying cloths laid out on a marble washstand. “Have they made you comfortable?” I called out, as I poured warm water in the bowl.

“Oh, yes, my lady. I am sharing a room with Heregyth, Lady Byrhtwyn’s granddaughter. She is to put me right on everything and show me where to find all that I need for you.  It’s a cute room in one of the towers and we go up by a ladder.

“Really?”

“Yes, they only put the young ones up there, naturally. But just fancy, my lady, I am to take my meals in the hall like you. Everyone does. Up the other end of course, but I will be waited on.”

“That will be nice then.” I emerged from behind the screen, grinning rather impishly to myself. “Make the most of it; you will soon have to be doing the cooking yourself.”

“Oh,” she waved her had airily. “That will be no problem. I did that at home. Actually, my lady, it will be easy for just two. Often my mother was in the shop and I had to prepare the meal for all ten of us.”

I smiled, no wonder she was keen to get away. “Right, lets get my hair brushed, because I am hungry and I am sure you are.”

When I got back to the main hall it was obvious that all were waiting for me. Éomer got to his feet and so did everyone else. He held out an ornate chair on his right between him and my father, King Elessar was on his other side. The table on the dais also held my brothers, Lord Éothain and the Captains from Dol Amroth and Gondor plus an old man introduced to me as Lord Bertwald, who had been an advisor to Théoden and still lived in Meduseld. Byrhtwyn also had a seat but she remained standing to supervise the serving of the meal. Young boys were doing the fetching and carrying but she oversaw those who waited on the top table and I noticed that Elfgyuu took charge of the servers assigned to the other members of the household, comprising mostly of guards and their families, who were seated at the tables on the floor of the hall. Looking around for Aerin I saw that she was placed next to a pretty girl with bright gold hair, which was worn in two plaits, one each side of her head.

“Would you care for some wine, my lady?”

I started; I had been so engrossed in looking around me I had not noticed that, Eadric, the thin man who had served me at our midday picnic was standing behind me with a jug in his hand.

“Yes, thank you I would.” I leaned to one side so that he could reach over and fill my goblet and my eyes made contact with my betrothed, who was leaning back in his chair and watching me with the amused expression that I was already starting to become familiar with.

“You are interested in everything,” he remarked when Eadric had moved on.

“Of course. It is similar but different from home. In Dol Amroth we are not as formal as in Minas Tirith but more formal than here, I feel. We do not have the young doing the serving, as you evidently do. We have specific servants for that.”

“It has always been so here, not the very high born, but the others have all taken a turn. Elfgyuu will call on however many she needs. But the Lady, the role Byrhtwyn is fulfilling for the moment, by tradition makes sure that everyone has enough to eat. She does not have to cook or serve herself, but it is her responsibility. It will be yours and I am sure you will manage admirably.”

“I did read about that,” I replied.  I knew that I would need to take a close interest in the running of things. “That does not worry me….”I stopped suddenly, something or someone was rubbing against my leg. I still had my riding skirt and I realized that under the table my split skirt had opened up and I felt a pushing between my suede clad legs. I put my hand down with the intent of finding out what was going on without causing attention to myself. I could feel my heart thumping.

“What is it?” Éomer asked looking slightly concerned.

Something cold and wet thrust itself into my hand and I looked down transfixed as a long, thin, hairy, grey snout appeared on my lap.

“It’s a dog,” I said stupidly.

“Oh,” his face relaxed, “its Hasopad, my lurcher. He’s supposed to be behind my chair. He obviously wanted to say hello.”

My heart slowed down and I started to scratch the top of his head, soulful brown eyes regarded me in blissful silence.

Éomer watched for a moment, “You’ve sent him into a stupor. I am glad you like dogs, Lothíriel.”

“We have many at home. Mostly they live around the stables, but I had a terrier once that used to sleep in my room.” I grinned at him, “Unfortunately as he got older he started to snore.”

Éomer let out a chuckle, “Well, don’t worry. Hasopad sleeps in my study.”

“What about when you are not here, he must miss you terribly?”

“He is used to it. He spends all day by the fire; lurchers are inherently lazy and only rouse themselves if they see a rabbit or some other game. Once Elfgyuu has fed him he waits outside the door to my apartments until someone lets him in.”

At that moment a plate of food was put in front of me, Byrhtwyn had been dishing up a meat cobbler at the end of the table, and Éomer clicked his fingers and at a quiet command, Hasopad pulled back his head, his warmth left me and the next minute I saw him fold his long legs and curl into a surprisingly small ball, settling behind his master’s chair. I was glad Éomer had a dog that was slightly spoilt; to me anyway it said a great deal about my future husband’s character.

Dishes of hot vegetables were put on the table, but before we ate Éomer rose and made a short speech of welcome to his guests and future wife. His rich voice filled the hall with no noticeable effort. I imagined he would have no trouble making his himself heard on the battlefield or anywhere else.

Cheese and a blackberry fool followed the first course and I guessed the fine summer had produced a glut of hedge fruit. Perhaps that contributed to my betrothed’s change of demeanor from when I first met him, I surmised with an inward giggle. I could only hope the change was permanent. 

I excused myself as soon as the meal was over, knowing that the men would probably stay late with many more goblets of wine and plenty to talk about. As I rose to go I noticed that some of the younger children were ushered out at the same time and realized that normally the meal would be earlier and must have been kept back for our arrival.

Aerin followed me to my room and I cleaned my teeth while she turned back the bed. Sitting quietly, whilst she undid my braids and brushed my long hair, before tucking it into its customary sleep-net, my thoughts went to my coming wedding night. As I said goodnight to her and got into bed I wondered whatever I would do with my hair. I lay between the cool sheets pondering on the problem, probably to stop me pondering on anything else concerning wedding nights. I had missed my mother dreadfully over the last few years but now, more than any other time; I wished she was here to hold my hand.

TBC

Chapter 5 –  A rude awakening

It was barely light when I awoke. For just a fleeting moment I wondered where I was, then – like the tide sweeping into some half submerged cave – it all came flooding back. I shut my eyes again - I was in Edoras – in the king’s house – by tonight I would be a Queen. It was not the Queen bit that started me trembling – but the tonight. I willed the shaking to stop – it was ridiculous to be afraid of something that was natural between a man and a woman and was, as likely as not, happening in many homes in Edoras even as I lay here in my virginal bed. I was not afraid, I reminded myself - I had just thought that when my time came I would be much more familiar with the man who was going to enlighten me into the pleasures of the flesh as I had heard my brothers call it on more than one occasion. I had naively assumed that I would have something more than just regard for my husband. I realised at that moment that I did have a great regard for him, but it was unlikely I would not. There was no doubt he was a good friend to Gondor – He had proved this. He was an accomplished warrior and a respected leader and now an esteemed king. Éomer was valued by my own king and, more importantly, by my father, who gave his friendship and his respect more sparingly than most. Giving myself a good talking to worked and the quivering ceased as abruptly as it had started. Just a case of wedding day nerves, I told myself firmly. Opening my eyes to face the day and lifting my self up in the bed, I stared at the curtains. The light that showed through them was dull and sunless. The window faced east, but no pale gold rays were peeking through faded fabric. It was a grey day. It was my wedding day.

I sighed, and tucked myself back under the covers. Aerin was not likely to appear for a while as I was not expected to rise early, so I stayed in the bed trying to doze – it didn’t work as my active mind refused to cooperate and started to list the various reasons why I had agreed to this bonding at all. The first few were easy to recall: I had felt a sense of duty- to my King- to my country; my father wanted the match – he had told me that as well as the political advantages such a union would bring, Éomer would make me a fine husband. On reflection, I did not doubt that he believed this. My father would never have bonded me to a man he did not honour and personally like. On top of that I had not wanted to return to living in Dol Amroth. The next few reasons were more difficult to recall but I knew I had considered the other suitable candidates likely to come forward – none were promising. Also, it was not to be denied that the opportunity to be Queen of the Mark was not to be pushed aside lightly – not because I particularly wanted to be a queen, after all  I was already a princess, but because it would give me a purpose. I had been hoping to carve a future for myself in Minas Tirith, but Gondor already had a Queen and Ithilien a princess, so I could have been considered a little bit superfluous. Here, in Rohan, hopefully my time would be gainfully filled.

Deciding that they were good enough reasons, I tried to doze again but my disobliging brain refused to lie still. There was the other reason – the one I was reluctant to admit even to myself – the King of Rohan had been considered an enviable catch. A princess I may be, but a woman I was also: too much a woman not to relish the notion that I had been given the choice to say yes or no to such a matrimonial prize. And when I had baulked at the thought of his abrupt manners and his stern face then I had reminded myself that I liked a challenge. Not that it now looked that he would be so much of a challenge: except for lifting onto my horse his manners had been impeccable and the grim countenance had been replaced by an expression of continual affability. It would not be permanent of course, it was plain that he could be subject to fits of moroseness and as I understood it, bouts of temper, but I could deal with that. All of a sudden I could hear my mother’s laughing words when I complained about some fault in my brother’s treatment of me- ‘you must learn to manage men, Lothiriel – take your father – have you ever seen me unable to tease him out of the sullens, or soothe his wrath?’  And I hadn’t. My father, who could quell my unruly brothers with the raise of one eyebrow or reduce an errant servant to a quivering jelly with a softly spoken word, would allow himself to be coaxed and cajoled into doing anything my exuberant, beautiful mother wished of him. But then, he loved her. I did not have so fair a start as that, or my mother’s easy, lively ways, which was probably why a wedding night was causing so much anxiety to a normally sensible disposition.

Luckily, before I could work myself into any further state of apprehension, there was a brief knock at the door and Aerin came bubbling into the room. I say bubbling because it described her personality perfectly and never was I more grateful that I had chosen such a merry young woman to accompany me. This morning she appeared to be even more cheery than usual. In fact she was brimming over with suppressed laughter.

“Oh, good morning, my lady. I thought you would be awake and I have brought your early meal.” Aerin was carrying a tray on which looked to be my usual morning fare of fruit, bread and honey and tea. I went to get up but Aerin shook her head. “No, you stay in bed, my lady.” She put the tray down on a chair and came to plump up my pillows, “You are to be spoiled this morning. I insisted on it.”

“You, did?” I asked guardedly, guessing from her expression that this had something to do with her merriment.

She giggled engagingly, “I stood up to that hatchet faced old woman who runs the place. You would never believe what she wanted to put on your tray.”

“Oh, dear, Aerin. Don’t tell me you have been upsetting her.”

“Quite frankly, my lady, I don’t care much if I have. Of all the things as to want to give you fatty bacon and porridge on your wedding morning – I’ve never heard the like. I told her straight that it was not suitable for my lady and if you had to eat that you would as likely as not be sick, being that you would be bound to have a few nerves, so to speak.”

“You did,” I said faintly.

Aerin nodded happily, “And when she said that you must be a poor soul if a bit of honest food would make you sick, I said what did she think she would feel like if she was dragged all those leagues to another country by way of a gruesome dark tunnel and then had to live amongst a lot of strangers and marry a man she hardly knew?”

“Aerin, you didn’t,” I uttered totally horrified.

“Oh, don’t worry, because that nice Lady Byrhtwyn came in. She was very softly spoken but she made it clear that I would know what would suit you this morning.”

I was so shocked at my handmaiden’s fierce defence of me that the reference to Lady Byrhtwyn caused no reaction except that I collapsed back against the pillows. Aerin plumped me up again with a grin, put the tray across my lap and leaned close to my ear, “Léod told me to give Elfgyuu as good as I got. He said she’d been shooting her mouth off about stuck up princesses from Gondor, so I was warned. You ought to have heard her going on about your tea.”

“My tea?” I asked open mouthed.

“Well, I told her we had brought your favourite Hibiscus with us, but she said what was wrong with the blackberry and nettle that everyone else would be drinking. I said that there was probably nothing wrong with it and no doubt you would be trying it soon, but just for this morning I wanted you to have your favourite. She sort of sneered,” Aerin screwed her face into what she supposed was a mimic of the housekeepers scorn, “and said that ‘she supposed Hiss- biss- cus,’ that’s how she said it, ‘ was something exotic, out of the reach of ordinary folks.’ I got her there, of course,” she broke into laughter, “because I told her that is was a very lovely big bright flower, but in Dol Amroth it grew like a weed along the sides of the roads and anyone, prince or pauper, could have Hibiscus tea, just for the picking. That shut her up,” she finished triumphantly.

“I imagine it did,” I said blandly. It was hard to cover my amusement but although I was grateful for Aerin’s loyalty, I could not really condone rudeness to the Meduseld housekeeper and guessed that one of us would probably pay for it. I picked up the tea to take a sip. It was made just as I liked it, but I was not sure could manage the fruit and bread. However, Aerin was watching me, and only turned away, to seek out the wardrobe that was hidden somewhere in the panelling, when I started on a piece of bread. She took out my wedding dress, removed its linen cover, hung it up on the open door and proceeded to straighten up the fine pleats, in between glancing around to make sure I was eating. Since my meal was obtained with such difficulty I made a valiant effort and managed to get down a fair proportion.

“At least they’ve stored it well,” she said rather grudgingly, “I will not need to do much, there is a hot iron ion the hearth.  I will sort it out after your bath, it wont take me long to undo the holding stitches.” Aerin said replacing the linen cover.

“There should be plenty of time. Lady Byrhtwyn is going to show me the royal apartments. My hair can dry when we do that.”

“It can, my lady and you can wear your robe because no one else will see you. The water for your bath will be here soon. That will take much longer than usual, but your hair should be dry in time.”

“Why will it take much longer?” I asked surprised.

Aerin finished with the gown and turned to look at me with a rather wicked smile on her pretty face, “Because you will have to use the pumice and make sure all your skin is smooth. I need to do your nails as well.”

Seeing my blank expression, she giggled, “My mother told me it was very important to use the pumice on one’s feet. She said men liked soft skin and that you need to be sweet smelling as well. She said that if a wife attended to all those things then her husband would not stray. She should know because she had eight children and evidently my father was quite a catch when he was young, although,” she shook her head rather disbelievingly, “I think she might be exaggerating on that a bit.” Shrugging her shoulders she carried on, “Anyway, I don’t believe he’s gone anywhere else, so she must have done something right.”

Stunned by this announcement, I pushed the tray aside and got out of the bed, “Perhaps we’d better start then. I presume your mother gave you advice because you were intending to get married?”

“She told me everything I was likely to need to know. She liked Léod. It was only really my father that was a bit put out by it all, what with the horses and me moving to Rohan.” Suddenly her face turned a fiery red, and she got out in a strangled voice, “My lady, you do know all about it, don’t you? I mean, with you not having a mother, somebody has told you?”

It was my turn to giggle: the look of horror on Aerin’s face, when for a moment she thought she may have to instruct me on marriage, was just too comical. “Don’t worry, Aerin, I have a very plain-spoken sister-in-law who took it upon herself to educate me.”

There was another knock on the door at that moment and I was just able to tie my robe before the chamber was invaded by an almost silent Elfgyuu and a number of chattering girls, one who carried a bath, one with a basket of wood and others with buckets of steaming water. I nearly apologised for the work involved but stopped myself: if the future queen was begrudged a bath on her wedding morning then something was really wrong. However, Lady Byrhtwyn followed the retinue and her pleasant greeting reassured me.

“Good morning, my lady. I hope you slept well.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you.” I watched as the bath was put behind the screen and then the girls queued up to fill it.

“Do you want the fire made up, my lady?” this was from Elfgyuu.

“Yes, please, I will need to dry my hair.” She nodded and gestured to the girl with the basket.

“We think its going to rain,” Lady Byrhtwyn had gone to look out of the window, “the ceremony may have to take place in the hall instead of on the steps.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. The people of Edoras will not be able to watch,” I said disappointedly.

“They probably won’t worry as long as they get their day off work and plenty to drink,” Elfgyuu looked almost pleased.

I bit back the retort I had in mind and said quietly, “I am sure they would like to show their respect to Éomer King on his wedding day, Elfgyuu.”

“Yes,” Byrhtwyn glared at the housekeeper, “and the female population will be saddened if they do not see our new queen in her wedding dress.” She glanced towards the silken fabric hanging down beneath the plain linen shield. I guessed that she had already looked at it when it had arrived.

Elfgyuu sniffed as she caught sight of the dress but managed something that could have passed for agreement, if one was feeling generous, and ushered her goggle-eyed helpers out of the door. “There is a bucket of cold and one of hot left, my lady. I expect your maid would like to make sure your bath is exactly how you like it.”

“I certainly would,” said Aerin, answering for me, and disappearing behind the screen.

Byrhtwyn gave a short sigh as Elfgyuu closed the door behind her, her firm lips were pressed tightly together but I knew it was not me who displeased her “Have you everything you want, my lady?”

“I have, I did not realise a bath caused this much work.”

“Luckily it won’t in future; your dressing room has water fed to it, my lady. Éomer King sent for a stove from Gondor, and it was just a case of diverting some of the water from the stream via wooden channels. I will show you latter.”

My mouth must have remained open for a considerable while because she started to laugh, “Our king is always receptive to new ideas.”

“My lady, you must come and have your bath otherwise your hair will not dry in time.” I could hear Aerin swishing her hand about in the tub.

I smiled at Byrhtwyn, “I’d better do as I am told.”

“Yes, my lady. I will come back in a while and show you where you will be tonight.”

***

By the time Byrhtwyn came back I had been scrubbed, pumiced, creamed and powdered. My nails had been pared, my eyebrows plucked and the ends of my long hair neatened. Aerin had patiently used three cloths to gently extract all the water from my thick tresses and now, when we heard the knock at the door, I was sitting in just my shift by the fire whilst she gently brushed them dry. And it was raining. It was no ordinary rain: it had started with huge drops and then water had literally poured from the sky; now it was raining steadily and all that could be seen through the window was a dull grey waterfall.

“I don’t think it’s going to let up,” were the first words she said as she came through the door. “Éomer King and some of his guests have gone out riding; I must take you now, my lady before they get back.”

“Riding? In this?” I stuttered in total amazement as I got up from the stool and felt my hair. It was nearly dry.

“It wasn’t raining when they set out. Your brothers wanted to try out some horses,” she shrugged, “and since the wedding wasn’t until later. I expect they took shelter somewhere during the worst of it. But there will be more than one bath wanted when they come back.”

“I would have thought the kitchen staff would have enough to do with the feast, without my brothers getting soaked,” I said irritably.

“We are going to send them to one of the guesthouses. It’s the food that is the problem. It can’t all be prepared in the kitchens. We are roasting the pigs and the venison under the shelters outside, but even so the rain is driving in.”

I wondered if things could get any worse, the rain seemed a fitting welcome to a princess who was not wanted. Perhaps Rohan was trying to tell me something. Deciding not to be so silly, I picked up my robe from the bed and wrapped it around me, “We had better go then, before Éomer King gets back. It would not do for me to bump into him before the wedding, especially in my robe.”

“No, I have set someone to warn me when he returns, but I want to show you your chambers.” She took me through another door that led to a passage behind the main hall which linked the two rear towers. Light came through high windows because she explained that Eomer’s study was on the left and it benefited from the windows on the south side of Meduseld. “The central parts of the hall are original,” Byrhtwyn informed me, “The towers and this extension at the back were added later. There is a lovely sunny garden out there as well,” she said waving her hand in a southerly direction. I wouldn’t be going out there today but it sounded promising. We entered into the atrium of the southwest tower and Byrhtwyn pointed to the right, “That is the door from the main hall, my lady. You will come through there tonight.” She pointed at another door but did not open it, “That is the nursery; it needs refurbishment, as do the rooms up in the tower. They are for older children but have not been used for years. Théodred used the southeast tower, where you are, as did Éowyn and also Éomer, when he was here. You can decide what you want to do with the rooms,” she said glancing up.

I nodded, I supposed it depended how many children came along and did not feel it was worth any discussion at the present moment.

“This room will be mainly for you, my lady. Éomer King has his study,” Byrhtwyn opened the next door and held it wide so that I could pass through. The room I entered, was square, and glowed softly: the pale ochre walls imbuing a sunny feel even on such a grey day.  A large tapestry, with a design of trees and flowers, covered part of one wall, but except for decorative candle sconces, the rest were bare. The wooden floor was mostly covered by rugs and a small fire danced in the hearth; two leather armchairs, with coloured blankets draped across them, were placed either side of it. To my left stood an ornately carved dining table: it was not large and six matching chairs were set around it. The dining table surprised me, but what surprised me even more was the beautiful desk that sat in the window embrasure, and even more, the empty bookcase to the side of it.

“I had the fire lit to keep the room aired, my lady,” Byrhtwyn said, as I went to the desk and ran my hand across the polished wood. It was lovely and a smile crossed my face as I realised that the drawer handles were made in the shape of horses’ heads and the legs were adorned to look like tails. I turned to her, “It’s beautiful.”

“It was Eomer’s mother’s desk. He had it moved from Aldburg because Éowyn wrote and told him you were doing some translation work, something from elvish, I think she said. We decided this west facing window was the best place to put it because its gets the afternoon sun. Mornings are more likely to be taken up with chores or riding. He thought you would have time in the afternoon to sit here and so he had the bookcase made for you.” She laughed, “It’s a good job he did, with all those books arriving. They are in a store room, by the way. Your clothes have been unpacked but everything else was left for you to supervise.”

I could not answer her for a moment; there was a big lump in my throat. It was the first real sign that I had since I had arrived in Edoras, that I was actually wanted here, by my betrothed, if no one much else. “I shall certainly make use of it,” I said at last, “and it will be nice when I can see the view.” I peered out of the window, working out that I should be able to look up towards Harrowdale, but a few rooftops below me was all I could see thorough the gloom.”

I moved away from the window and looked towards the dining table. “Does that mean that we will not have to take all our meals in the hall?”

“Éomer decided to change things. The table came from Aldburg as well. He thought it might be good for you to be private sometimes, and he needs time off, away from the continual harassment he has had over this past year. This used to be the queen’s bedchamber, but the bed was moved some time ago for Éowyn to use. You slept in it last night. Éomer decided it was not needed, and a solar would be preferable.” I stared at her for a moment, realising that she meant there was no queen’s bed when a faint expression of apology passed across her face. “Éomer decided that the king’s bed was plenty big enough for two,” she hesitated for a moment and then averted her face slightly, “he said, my lady, that if you did not like it you could always put a bolster down the centre, it was so big.”

I was not expecting such a comment put in such a matter-of-fact way by such a matriarch, or that my future husband would have talked so openly to a woman old enough to be his grandmother, but my indignation was tempered by an irresistible desire to giggle. The thought that such a warrior as the King of Rohan would be prevented from reaching his objective by the mere presence of so ineffectual a barrier as a feather bolster, was storming the bastions of incredulity. It was obvious that Byrhtwyn had a similar thought because when she dared to look back to me, her lips were twitching in a very inappropriate manner, but she obviously decided that some explanation was necessary because, on controlling her amusement, she said in her soft way, “Éomer King is a man of resolution, my lady but he did say if you want to be just a queen and not a wife then he would sleep on the cot in his study.”

I knew from my dealings with Éowyn that the Rohirrim were a plain speaking lot, but I had somehow not anticipated it from this mild mannered matron.  Deciding that only by putting aside some of my own natural reserve would I learn to deal with these people, my response was equally blunt, “I have every intention of fulfilling my role as both a queen and a wife to the best of my ability. However, it has been made obvious that not all welcome me here, but I shall try to ignore that and hope that time will give them a better opinion of me.”

Byrhtwyn had the grace to look discomfited, “I apologise for that, my lady. Let me assure you, that most will welcome the one Éomer King has chosen to be his bride, and those who do not, are reticent out of love for him.”

I folded my arms and looked steadfastly at the woman in front of me. I did not want her to see my anger, “You had better explain, Lady Byrhtwyn. I would like to be clear as to why I am held to be an unsuitable wife for your king.”

She did not drop her eyes “You do not mind forthright speech, my lady?”

“Forthright speechoffered with the intention of helping or aiding others is always welcome – but uttered with no thought but to wound, it is of dubious use, unless it is to proclaim the mindset of the giver.” The current Halfdige of Meduseld nodded her head slightly in agreement and pursed her lips as though wondering where to start. I did not help her.

“Everyone knows that the marriage was arranged, my lady. It is common knowledge. It is not the way of the Rohirrim and many found it strange. In general we are a people of strong passions and often intense emotions. That a bond between a man and a woman can be made by writing an agreement on a piece of paper, is a foreign idea to us. Those who care for Éomer King, and there are many, wished for him the joy, comfort and constancy of love.” She smiled softly and went over to the window looking out at the rain before she continued. “When Háma was young, before I married him, he would go out on patrols and return tired and hungry, sometimes cold wet, or even wounded. His mother would minister to him, arrange a bath, bind his wounds. Once we were married, I would do those things. When he became a doorward, he would come off duty with freezing feet, and aching legs and I would massage them until the feeling returned. And years later, when he no longer had to take his place outside the door but stood next to his king in all things, he would sometimes return to me at night distraught and drop his head despairingly into my lap. Helpless he was to change the way the evil was creeping over his beloved master and friend.” She turned suddenly staring vacantly at me for a moment before lowering her eyes, “Those are the requirements of a wife here, my lady, and Éomer King is no different from any other man. He may not ride out on patrol any more, but the pressures of unexpected kingship through the hard times we have had make it more imperative that he has a welcoming place to lay his head at the end of the day.”

“And you think I cannot provide that place?”

“They say you are a clever woman, who cares more for books than people. They say you come from an exotic southern land and will never be happy here. You will always yearn for the sea.”

My fingers dug into my palms as a wave of hot anger shot through me, and only my long training as a princess stopped me from saying something truly cutting, “I can assure you, Lady Byrhtwyn that you can suspect me of many things but I will tell you that I have no wish to live in Dol Amroth and I will definitely not miss the sea. As for the other charge levelled against me - it is too preposterous to merit an answer. I would have you remind everybody that your king requested my hand in marriage and from what I understand, and indeed from what I have heard from his own lips, he is one who follows his own counsel.”

“That is true, my lady, and I am sorry if I have caused offence. I thought some explanation was needed for any rudeness you have suffered.”

I was angry, and I had taken offence, but not at Byrhtwyn. She was only the messenger and I forced myself to be calm. “I have not taken offence, I asked and therefore I cannot complain at the answer. I have no quarrel with your treatment of me and can only hope that time will allay the misgivings of others.”

“If it is seen that your bond is successful, then the atmosphere will change, my Lady.”

“Then let us hope, shall we? And now,” I said forcefully, deciding that the only way forward was to use my authority, “perhaps we could continue the tour as I must prepare for the wedding.”

“Of course, my lady.” She moved towards a door in the left hand wall, “Your dressing room and the water-closet are through here.” The door opened into a fair sized room, with rugs thrown over a stone floor. One wall was lined by wardrobes and cupboards; I guessed one must be the closet. It was warm, not surprisingly, as in one corner was a Gondorian water boiler fixed over a small contained fire. On one side of it was a basket of charcoal and on the other a cauldron. Hung on the wall were two tubs of different sizes. There was also a marble washstand, a screen and a couple of chairs.

“The water is being heated, my lady, because Éomer King will want a bath when he returns. His dressing room is the other side of the bedchamber. There is a fire there also, and the room is also fed with water, but it is only possible to heat enough for a wash. His baths will need to be taken in here.”

I refrained from saying anything about that, I could hardly complain at the lack of privacy after what I had been told. I was not expecting it, but I was not expecting Éomer to have gone to so much trouble to provide for my coming, either. It would be churlish of me to refuse to share it. “The running water is convenient, it has to be piped a long way in Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth.”

“Yes, I imagine that was why Edoras was built here,” she answered, sounding pleased to be talking on a neutral subject. “The stream has always been divided to provide drinking water and to wash waste away, but it is only now that it has been diverted directly into the rear of Meduseld.”

I nodded, and guessed Edoras would be a lot sweeter smelling in the summer months than the cities of Gondor sometimes were.

“Your clothes have been put away, my lady,” Byrhtwyn indicated the wardrobes. “Your maid can sort them as she wishes. I will just show you the bedchamber.”

I never got to see it because at that moment there was a call and then a rap on the outer door. When Byrhtwyn answered the knock a young lad was standing there.”

“Éomer King is coming up the steps,” he panted in halting Westron, “and it looks like he spent the morning standing under a waterfall.”

TBC

 .

Chapter 6 – An eventful afternoon.

Able to show my feelings at last, I slammed the door behind me with considerable force: preferred books to people, indeed! Never be happy here! I certainly wouldn’t if they made it plain they did not want me. It was not my idea to be Queen of Rohan, for Valar’s sake!   The slamming of the door relieved my irritation momentarily, but of course I immediately felt ashamed of my lack of decorum. Luckily Aerin was not there to witness it. I strode across the room and sat down heavily on the bed, taking a few deep breaths to compose myself. Hadn’t I expected something like this? Éowyn had warned me, after all. I could cope if my intended husband wanted me here, and from what I had gathered it looked as though he did. I would just have to get on with it. Sighing with resignation and determined to put it from my mind, at least for the present, my eyes fell on my wedding dress. Having been taken from its protective cover it was revealed in all its glory. If the Rohirrim thought they were getting an exotic princess from the south for their queen, then I was about to prove it to them. I briefly thought about wearing one of my other gowns, but almost instantly dismissed the idea, they would have to accept me as I was or not at all. I stood back up and went over to my dress, running my hand gently down its length. Aerin had made a good job of removing the stay stitching and freshening up the crimping. My mother had originally bought the fine rose-pink silk fabric from the traders that plied our shores in times of peace.  The design was almost exclusive to the noble ladies of Belfalas and could only be made from such delicate materials as came from the far south. The whole of the garment had been pleated - ironed and stitched into narrow folds that were caught in a band at the neck and then fell to the floor. The sleeves were likewise crimped, but the pleats were stitched a little way down the upper arm before hanging loose to the wrist. I reached in the wardrobe and brought out the corsage that would be worn over the dress. It was of a deeper pink silk, cut to mould to my body. Three thin layers of material sewn together with diagonal lines of gold thread to produce a honeycomb effect and tiny seed pearls painstakingly sewn at the cross-sections by the Gondorian dressmaker. It was a rich opulent garment and I knew it became me.

A quick tap at the door made me turn around, but it was only Aerin.

“Well, my lady. The ceremony definitely won’t be outside.” She eyed the corsage I had in my hand. “At least you won’t have to cover that lovely thing up.” There was a deep pink surcoat that went with my wedding outfit, but she was right – it would not be needed indoors.

“It is still bad, is it?” I asked, sitting back down on the bed.

“Bad? I have never seen rain like it. It is almost chaos in the hall with so many soaking wet guests arriving. Many have travelled overnight, as evidently Éomer King did not want you to be overwhelmed by hordes of strangers yesterday. Most were hoping to come straight into the hall but they are so wet that the citizens are having to open up their houses to give them somewhere to dry off. Even so, there are plenty clustering around the fire in the hall. The place is steaming. The servers are trying to lay the tables with everyone in the way, and that’s not easy. I think it has been decided that the most important nobles line the centre aisle and everyone else stays in their seats. The ceremony will take place on the dais in front of the top table and then you and Éomer King walk up and down the aisle to meet everybody. After that, everyone sits to eat and there is some entertainment throughout the meal As soon as the light goes Lady Byrhtwyn will give me a signal and I will leave to prepare the bedchamber and you, my lady, follow at sunset.”

“How will I know its sunset in all this gloom, or do I just guess?”

“No doubt the candles in the sconces and on the tables will already be lit but there is a big candle on a stand just inside the door and that one is not lit until sunset. Every night a doorward comes to light it.” Aerin stared out through the window at the murk, “I don’t know how they will know the right time on a day like this.”

“I hope I notice then,” I muttered, causing Aerin to laugh. But of course I would notice. I would probably be on tenterhooks waiting for the man to appear with the taper. I sighed; I could not put it off much longer: marriage was creeping up on me. I looked across to Aerin, she was watching me closely so I smiled, stood up and said brightly. “It must be about time to get ready. What are we going to do with my hair?”

I am sure Aerin relaxed, whether she expected me to make some kind of fuss, I did not know, but she must be aware of the opinions of the Meduseld housekeeper if no-one else. However, I would not be put off by being made to feel unwelcome as besides it being against my nature to show my anxiety and concern, I had come to think that Éomer King was quite capable of fighting any battles I was unable to win for myself. He, at least, had prepared for my coming.

“Well, my lady, now that wedding is to be indoors you will not have to wear it all braided up. We can make two braids each side, twist and pin them together and then make a four plait down your back. The rest can be loose which will cover the lacings of the corsage and the braids around your head will help support the crown.”

“That sounds like a good idea; it won’t take so long to undo tonight either.” I still hadn’t thought what to do with it when I went to bed as I had no idea what a man would expect. Maybe one could put it in a net after years of marriage but certainly not on a wedding night.

I sat down at the small table while Aerin went to work on my hair: she rubbed in the smallest amount of my favourite oil to make it more manageable and set to work with skilled fingers. “Do you wish me to weave in some ribbons?” she asked through a mouthful of pins. 

“I rather think it will be too much, what with the corsage and the crown. Don’t you agree?”

Aerin stopped what she was doing for a moment and looked over to my wedding outfit. I had decided on pink because I thought I should be standing between Éomer and my father and pink looked well with both dark blue and green, I guessed that the King of Rohan would be wearing his signature colour, anyway. King Elessar, who would hear our vows, was likely to be wearing grey or black, so all-in-all I did not think my choice was at fault. And, as it had turned out, it would brighten up a grey day. I had chosen gold thread for the embroidery because I knew the crown would be gold, and pearls because they were part of my heritage and were delicate – like the dress.

“Yes, I think you are right, my lady.” Aerin agreed turning back to her task, “You do not need any other embellishment.” She finished fixing the braids around my head and then deftly twined all four together down my back. “I will use a gold ribbon to tie the bottom, I think,” she said as she held the end of the plait together and reached for the ribbon box.

“I‘ll find one,” I told her rummaging in the small inlaid chest, “don’t let go now.” I handed her a length of gold satin and she swiftly tied off the heavy braid. “Can you hold it up, my lady, while I brush the hair underneath?

My hair done, I slipped off my robe and reach for the perfumed oil, dabbing a little on my pulse points. “Let it dry a minute before you put on the dress,” Aerin warned me.

I was already wearing my silk chemise, so I passed a few moments staring out at the unceasing rain, refusing to liken it to tears of desolation. It would not always rain and I would not always be unwelcome. I was determined on it. My future life was in Rohan and I would not consign it to misery and despair.

“I think you can put it on now, my lady,” Aerin recalled me from my musing holding out the exquisite dress. The vee shaped neckline was cut quite low so it slipped over my head easily. She tweaked it straight carefully and then reached for the corsage. The sleeveless garment hugged my figure tightly, pressing the delicate crimped silk of the dress against my torso. It was laced tightly at the back and fell to hip level, cut into a gentle curve back and front, allowing the skirt of the dress to float free.  Aerin took a while to finish the fastening and arrange my hair down my back before fetching matching slippers.

“There,” she stood back to admire the effect. “It looks much more daring without the surcoat.”

I went over to the mirror that was propped in a corner, and gently twirled around looking at myself. The skirt moved with me, the thin pleated material clinging to my form. The corsage was shaped to my upper body and pushed up my breasts to show a reasonable amount of cleavage. It was perfectly acceptable in Gondor but suddenly I was uneasy. Was it too indecorous for Rohan? “Do you think it looks too immodest, Aerin?”

“I expect that old sour puss will think so, but I imagine Éomer King will love it,” she replied bluntly.

I giggled, which made Aerin join in with me. Our ranks might be far apart but only months in age separated us. We were still giggling when there was a knock at the door and when Aerin opened it Lady Byrhtwyn was there.

She came into the room at my maid’s invitation and stopped dead a few feet from me. I started to feel uncomfortable wondering if I had been right and the dress was a little too unseemly but she slowly nodded her head up and down as if she had just been made aware of something. “Well, my lady, I don’t think there will be many wondering now why our king asked for your hand.”

I opened my mouth to deny this, I was sure he would never have offered had he not received a nudge the size of a mûmak from my king and my father, but I closed it again swiftly. So much the better if that misapprehension was allowed to stand. “Is it suitable Lady Byrhtwyn?” I asked instead. “It will be too hot to wear the surcoat.”

“I think it’s very suitable, my lady. We have not had a queen for many years and it was hoped that when we did she would be worthy of the honour. It would not do for you to look the same as every other woman.”

Surprised and relieved, I decided to think no more about it and asked pleasantly. “Is it nearly time?”

“Yes, my lady that is why I came. Most of the guests are here, a few are missing but that is probably due to the weather. We cannot put the ceremony back to wait for them. Éomer King has bathed and will be ready shortly and your father will come as soon as all are in their places.”

“I will finish my toilet then, I will just be a few minutes.”

Byrhtwyn gave me a small bow and left the room leaving Aerin to fix the pearl choker around my neck and apply a little rouge to my lips. My long dark lashes and well defined eyebrows didn’t usually need any kohl but today Aerin stroked a line along my upper lids. “There,” she said, admiring her handiwork, “you look beautiful, my lady. I just hope these Rohirrim appreciate what they are getting.”

“Thank you, Aerin,” I clasped her hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. “Now you had better go and take your place.”  She nodded and removed the tabard that she was wearing over her blue linen dress. I will collect this later,” she smiled as she folded it neatly and put it on the bed. Turning back to me she grinned, “Is my hair neat, my lady?”

“Yes, you are lucky; your curls always look nice.”

“I will go then. I am right down the end by the door so I will have to squeeze past all the lords and ladies.”

“They won’t mind. Do you know what to say?” Aerin nodded, I had taught her a few words of Rohirric during the time we were in Dol Amroth.

When she had gone, I was drawn back to the window. It was still raining and I wondered if there would be any flooding at the bottom of the hill. Trying to keep my mind occupied I started going over the words I would have to speak. They were not many: the Rohirrim were people of deeds and action, flowery speeches did not appear to be part of their make up. I cast my mind back to Eowyn’s wedding: she had had to learn a lot more, but she had looked, and indeed been, so happy. I did not feel at all happy and was going to have to work hard to not show my unease. But putting on a brave face was part of my education, so it was not too difficult to smile at my father when he knocked at the door.

The glow on his own face showed clearly that I looked fit for the role he had chosen for me. In fact, unusually for him, he was reduced to silence for a moment. Then, after a short reverie, he sort of shook his head and said softly, “Well, Lothíriel. I thought I would never say it, but you rival your mother on our wedding day.”

It was a stupid thing to say and he realised it at once. Not only did the mention of my mother always upset me, but they had been desperately in love. He put his arm around me and kissed me gently on the forehead, “I am sorry, I did not mean to distress you. I spoke without thought.”

“No matter,” I said bleakly, trying to hold on to my composure as his arm tightened round me. “You are right to remember her on a day like today. It is as bad for you as it is for me.” I reached up and kissed him on his cheek, “Shall we go?”

He nodded and tucked my arm in his. We got as far as the atrium before he stopped. “Lothíriel, you are shaking.” My father searched my face but I could say nothing. “I know it would have been nice for you to have a love match,” he said sighing softly, “but your mother and I were lucky. It is rare in our position. You must not worry, my dear, I trust Éomer implicitly. He will treat you with all consideration and respect. I would not countenance this if I had any doubts about that.”

“I know. It will be fine. I am bound to have a few nerves, Father.”

The door opened to the hall and I stepped through. The first thing that hit me was the aura of damp; the second was the sight of my tall bridegroom who turned to look at me as those who were sitting rose to their feet. As I had expected, the King of Rohan was wearing a dark green tunic which was emblazoned by a leaping white horse, and on his head he wore a golden crown. He looked, I was forced to admit, magnificent. My father led me up the few steps to the dais and Éomer walked towards me and held out his hand. I put mine in his, flushing, as his eyes opened wide and a soft smile spread slowly across his face. His hand was warm and large and my own felt very small. I fruitlessly tried to stop my fingers from trembling. He bent down slightly to speak quietly in my ear and his hair, still damp, brushed my cheek. “You look beautiful, my lady. I am honoured you consented to this.”

His deep voice was caressing, wrapping an aura of protection around me like a velvet cloak. It was unexpected, and it was good of him to try and normalise the situation. Smiling back to show my appreciation, my hand was gently squeezed and my soon-to-be husband led me to stand in front of King Elessar. I took a few unobtrusive steadying breaths and prepared to focus on what was going to happen. We waited for those at the tables to sit down; the only ones who remained standing was the party on the dais. This included my brothers and some Rohirric dignitaries, one of whom I recognised as Marshall Elfhelm, having met him in Minas Tirith. The sea of faces in the main hall was a blur to me. As the shuffling ceased, except for the noise of the rain battering against the high windows, Meduseld became ominously quiet.

King Elessar, after a nod from Éomer to show we were ready, turned to the hall and started on an opening speech. First in Westron and then in Rohirric, he thanked all for coming and talked a little about his friendship with Éomer and Rohan and his reliance on my father and the loyalty of Dol Amroth. My organisational skills, my role in the war and my suitability for the position I was about to fill was remarked upon with grace and skill. This finished, he beckoned us forward. It was at that moment that I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. Something small and white was working its way along the side of the dais. As it reached the bottom of the steps I realised it was a small terrier dog. Not thinking it would matter I looked back towards the king but before he could take our hands there was a ferocious snarl and a swift movement behind me. I had not reckoned on Hasopad, who had turned into a quivering muscled mass of canine fury and was guarding the dais against all comers. The terrier, not realising his life was in danger, or perhaps just not acknowledging the difference in fighting weights, curled his lip contemptuously and put a paw on the first step. The resulting fracas was only stopped by my not-yet-husband lifting his lurcher bodily off of the ground and bellowing loudly into the recalcitrant dog’s ear. He then was able to remove the small white body from vice-like jaws. The owner, a Rohír of gargantuan proportions, retrieved his dog from Éomer’s hands and confirmed that it was still alive - blessed with a thick rough coat, he had only been taken by his scruff. Hasopad, duly chastised, slunk away to take his place behind his master’s chair but the terrier, realising it had survived, was determined to continue the bout and loudly screamed obscenities all the way to the outer doors.

Éomer randomly brushed down his tunic - it now presented a speckled appearance, white and grey hairs giving it an individual look - took my hand again and said conversationally, “Shall we continue?”

I heard a stifled laugh behind me and guessed that Amrothos was finding it hard to contain himself. I was extremely glad my wedding was providing such amusement. The look of incredulity on the faces of those who had come from Gondor was matched perfectly by the looks of complete unconcern displayed by the Rohirrim present. King Elessar however took all in his stride and asked me politely if I was ready to make my vows. I suppose I was, but I never got the chance because after Éomer had said his, the door to the hall flew open with a loud crash.

“No! No! I will announce myself.”  The doorward, who was trying to restrain the entrant, was pushed aside by a short stocky figure who, as soon as he was through the door, stopped and shook himself. Hair and beard flew in different directions showering everyone in the vicinity with droplets of water.

“It’s wet out there,” Gimli announced at the top of a very loud voice. He moved forward as if looking around for a seat and it was only then that I realised that Prince Legolas was coming in behind him. I had met them both at my cousin’s wedding and was struck then by the unlikely friendship, but never had the difference been so marked: Gimli was short, stout, hairy, loud and wet; Legolas was tall, slim, clean shaven, quiet and dry. The elf must have achieved the dryness, I observed, by the wearing of the thin grey cloak he was carrying. In contrast to Gimli, who strode grimly down the centre aisle looking intent on thrusting some unfortunate soul from their rightful place, Legolas glided behind him with a benign smile on his fair face.

My father’s sigh of resignation, the sparkle of amusement in the eyes of Gondor’s king, and the chuckle of mirth from the lord of Meduseld, told more than words the affection in which these unlikely two were held. I tired to let it all wash over me, wondering if perhaps the Valar was playing tricks and next, the roof would collapse from the weight of water and I would not be married that day at all.

Lady Byrhtwyn forestalled any unceremonious ejections by rising and directing the latecomers to the seats near the dais that had been saved for them. Gimli apologised three times for interrupting, requested a cloth to wring out his beard, and then, just as the rest of the guests had started to mummer for ale, stood up and announced, “You can carry on now.”

“Thank you,” said King Elessar, straight faced and bowing slightly. “Perhaps, Éomer, you would not mind saying yours vows again.”

“I do not mind repeating them,” my almost-husband concurred.

This time nothing happened to stop the bonding. Even my thumping heart had no effect on the joining of two strangers and, as in a dream, I knelt on a green velvet cushion while my new husband placed a golden crown on my head.

TBC

A/N The description of Lothíriel’s dress is taken directly from Medieval Costume and Fashion by Herbert Norris. This kind of Bliaut and Corsage was first worn by Western women who followed the Crusades and had access to the fine materials of the East. LBJ

Chapter 7 – A worrying interlude.

It was probably just as well that I had been brought up a princess, otherwise the introduction of what seemed like half of Rohan, could have disconcerted me. Of course the irony was that if I had been born other than a princess I would not be here at all.

It had been decided that because of the limited space in the hall – it had originally been intended that the wedding take place outside – only the most important families were to be introduced. Everyone else would have to wait until the next day when further celebrations, that incorporated a Harvest Fayre, were due to take place. However, it seemed that the Rohirrim present had not understood, or had not been attending, to their instructions. It wouldn’t be true to say that the pushing and shoving was totally unseemly, but the hullabaloo caused some Gondorians amongst the visitors to stare open mouthed. In the end there were more standing in the centre aisle than were left sitting at the tables. Éomer, after having introduced me to those on the dais, shrugged his shoulders, took my arm, and using his bulk, cleared a path. It struck me that it would take quite a lot to fluster my husband. He certainly did not stand on much ceremony with his people and they seemed able to show him the respect to which he was entitled, without being the least in awe of him.

We started at one end and I quickly realised that Lord Elfhelm’s family were standing on the right of us – the east- and Lord Erkenbrand’s on the left – the west. I wondered who would take precedence and who their king would honour first. Fate stepped in though, as she often did on these occasions: Lord Elfhelm’s youngest, a pretty little girl of about five, wound her way to Éomer through the legs of others, clasped her arms around his knee’s and asked pleadingly if he would give her another ride on  his big horse. Since Erkenbrand’s lot were all considerably older they were content to wait and the problem was solved. After that we moved from side to side. Éomer knew everyone’s name and took care he missed nobody out but all I could remember afterwards were a lot of damp bodies and pairs of eyes that deliberately looked me over without any embarrassment at all: the ladies studied my dress; the men just studied me. I tried to ignore such unaccustomed directness and concentrated on observing the Rohirrim in general. They appeared to be divided into two distinct types: some like Lord Elfhelm were tall and slimmer built, whilst others, as Lord Erkenbrand, were shorter and stocky. Occasionally the two came together, a tall husband and a short wife, or, even more unlikely looking, a short well built man and a tall willowy wife. Some though, as Aelfric and Helwing, were well matched. The Lord of Harrowdale was still quite wet; his lovely wife appeared remarkably dry. She, probably because of our previous acquaintance, was the only one to openly comment on my wedding outfit.

“Your dress, my Lady Queen, it is just so beautiful,” she whispered. “I have never seen anything quite like it.”

“It is a favoured design in Belfalas for important occasions,” I explained. “It can only be made with delicate silks.”

She grinned. “I will have to send for some as soon as the trading route is open.”

“You look lovely in what you are wearing,” I smiled. She was wearing a soft green dress with a silver girdle. “How did you manage to keep your hair so dry, or did you arrive before the rain?”

A gurgle of mirth accompanied a quick look around to see who stood in earshot, but Éomer had become involved with talking to Aelfric, Éothain and a couple of his guards.

“It was not raining when we started out but as soon as it did Aelfric took me up with him. I snuggled into his chest and he wrapped his cloak right over me. I was only a little damp when we got here.” Grinning impishly she glanced towards her husband, “It was a very pleasant way to travel.”

I imagined it was, if one shared a love such as those two obviously did. I looked towards my own husband wondering if I would ever feel the same. Éomer looked up from his conversation at that moment, caught my eye and held out his hand. “There are not many more and then we can sit down,” he said quietly. As a gesture it was unfamiliar to me, but his eyes were smiling and, unhesitatingly, I again put my hand in his.  I had no idea if we would ever share such deep emotions but I trusted to hope that we could at least share a friendship.

If it had not been my wedding feast I would probably have very much enjoyed the occasion. I discovered that the Rohirrim had exceptionally pleasing voices.  I thought there would be a designated group of musicians but surprisingly a lyre was passed around and several of the guests entertained us with moving ballads or lively songs. Although I could take pleasure in the melodies, the words were lost to me. Judging by some raucous laugher that accompanied some of the offerings, this was probably just as well.

Considering the difficult conditions the cooks had had to work in, the amount and variety of the dishes on offer was stupendous. Unfortunately, however, my appetite had almost completely deserted me. The feast centred on great haunches of venison and the pork that had been cooked outside. I knew I could definitely not stomach the pork or the buttered freshwater crayfish and smoked eel that were dishes prized in the Riddermark, but I took some venison and some vegetables. In the end I only managed the vegetables: the venison was never going to go down. Opportunely, just as I wondered whether I could be so rude as to leave it, I felt a bump against my legs. Hasopad!  Transferring the meat from my plate to the salivating mouth on my lap without ruining my dress could prove a problem, but luckily the dog placed his muzzle directly on my napkin. As soon as I had passed him the meat he took it straight down to the floor. I thought I had done pretty well but a deep amused voice made me jump guiltily.

“Useful, isn’t he?”

Damn, I thought he had been engaged in conversation with King Elessar. “I am sorry, my lord. I am not very hungry.”

“If you don’t want it, Lothíriel, then don’t eat it. Relax and enjoy the songs.” He must have guessed how nervous I was because his smile showed some sympathy, and he indicated to Eadric to fill my goblet.

“Thank you,” I pushed my plate away and sat back sipping at my wine. I would have to be careful to limit the amount I drank, having not had much food – I imagined I would have to rise and leave the hall with all watching me.

Éomer finished what he had on his plate and picked up his own goblet. The intense blue eyes were watching me speculatively and I sought for something neutral to say.

“I thought it would be different,” I ventured.

“What would be different?” His mobile eyebrows rose in a question.

“This feast. I was not expecting the lovely music and song with the guests sitting quietly eating and listening to it. I thought it would be much more raucous.”

“It will be later,” he chuckled softly. “They will be drinking until the early hours, I imagine, but now is the time to listen and eat. If there were only Rohirrim here there would be story tellers as well, but the stories are in Rohirric so it’s only songs tonight.”

“And there will be dancing later? There doesn’t seem as if there will be much room.” I commented looking around at the packed hall.

“Oh, the tables will be pushed aside or disassembled and the fire put out, but it has to be mostly chain dances. If the weather is better tomorrow there will be dancing all day in the square.”

“But the dancing will not start this evening until we have left?” I found this a strange custom and was not sure I had understood correctly.

Éomer didn’t answer for a short moment and I realised he was trying to hide a smile. “That’s right, at a bridal feast the dancing is for the guests. It is assumed that the bride and groom make their own entertainment.”

The heat flashed to my face, no wonder he had been hiding a smile! But he hadn’t finished. “The idea is that the dances get faster and more frenetic as the evening progresses.” 

It was said with a totally straight face, but I just caught the amused gleam in his eyes. Surely he could not mean that the dances were supposed to ape what was happening in the bridal chamber, but I was sure he did because as I stared dumbly at him his face broke into a decidedly boyish grin. “I am sorry, Lothíriel. I should not have told you. But it was too tempting: you blush so becomingly.”

“You do not have to apologise, my lord,” I said haughtily. “If it is a custom here then I need to know about it.” The only effect of my haughtiness was to make him chuckle more.

“We Rohirrim are rather basic, you know.”

Oh, what was the use? It was no good standing on my dignity. I was going to lose it in the not too distant future, anyway. “Is the dancing really meant to portray ….that?” I asked joining in his laughter.

“It certainly is.”

I shook my head disbelievingly, trying to imagine the same thing happening in Gondor but was saved from more conversation on the subject by the clearing of the table and the arrival of the puddings. The laughter must have done me good because I managed to eat some honeyed syllabub and poached plums whilst listening to my husband translate some of the words of the ballad that was being sung by the owner of the fearless little terrier. The man had an excellent voice. The ballad, about Felaróf father of horses, was long and before it was finished the light had almost faded and candles were being lit in the sconces and on the tables. Another song followed, and at the end of it I noticed Aerin making her way to the rear of the hall carrying a tray. Whatever was on it was covered by a cloth so I guessed it was some kind of refreshment. I glanced over to Lady Byrhtwyn, who smiled reassuringly, not yet indicating that it was time to leave.  Helwing stood up next curtseying to the top table before moving to a seat in front of the dais. She had her own instrument. It appeared to be a kind of harp which she laid across her lap. Unlike anyone else who had performed she looked towards me explained what she was going to sing about.

“My Lady Queen, I am going to sing a traditional love song. It is often sung at weddings and tells of a bride whose husband is called away to war the day after the wedding. She climbs the mountain every day to look for him returning and gets thinner and thinner until she cannot climb any more.” She laughed, “But it has a happy ending because he comes riding home, sweeps her into his arms and feeds her mead and honey cakes until she is well again.”

Helwing’s voice matched her perfectly. It was beautiful, ethereal even, and the haunting melody filled the hall. No-one even scraped a chair. As she finished, a slight movement at the end of the hall caught my eye. A doorward had entered to light the large sunset candle. My throat contracted and my heart started to thump wildly. How had I ever thought I had this under control? I looked towards Lady Byrhtwyn who nodded her head. It was time. I took a breath to steady myself knowing that there was only one way to do this.

I turned to my husband, rising as I said, “If you will excuse me, my lord, it is time for me to retire.” He stood up and so did the whole hall. I honoured him with my most elegant curtsey and then did likewise to King Elessar. My father received a kiss on his cheek. He took my hand and squeezed it, so I smiled to try and show him that nothing was bothering me. But for the first time I saw a look of concern in his eyes and it only relaxed when I squeezed his hand in return. I did not know if Éomer would be subject to taunts and teasing, but I was not. There were a few coughs and lots of polite good nights, but nothing except a few murmured undertones. Whether it was because I was a Gondorian, different for a royal wedding, or just that the bride was left in peace I was unsure, but whatever the reason, I was truly grateful.

I closed the door behind me and leant back thankfully against it. The vestibule felt blessedly cool after the heat of the hall. Looking down at my hands I realised they were shaking. Ridiculous, I told myself. It was my wedding night, not my execution. My husband was a good man, and on top of that he was undeniably attractive, handsome even. Given time, I would probably relish the idea. It was just too soon. Squaring my shoulders and putting on a bright face I went to the third door along, working out that it must be the direct way in to my dressing room. It was, and Aerin was waiting for me.

“Oh, there you are, my lady, I thought I heard the outer door open.”

I immediately noticed the rise in temperature. The fire smouldering under the boiler made the room warm, but nowhere near as bad as the hall. They would have to open the big doors if they wanted to dance. The thought of the dancing nearly stopped me in my tracks but I managed to recover and greet my maid. “Yes, I came as soon as the candle was lit, but it has been dark for quite a while.”

Aerin looked to the window, “It’s this awful weather,” she conceded. “I think it’s still raining, my lady, but it’s cosy in here. The water’s hot; I thought you would like a wash.”

“I would, it was hot and sticky in the hall. The pleats are falling out of my dress.”

Aerin nodded and poured some water into the basin while I carefully removed my crown, pearls, corsage and dress. My nightgown and robe were hanging outside the wardrobe; they were both made of silk, in a lighter shade of pink than the dress. It was a colour that suited my dark hair but the diaphanous garments that had been made especially for tonight were very different from my usual night attire of white lawn. Trying not to think of how much of me would be on view, I passed the dress to Aerin.

“I will press the pleats back in, my lady. You may wish to wear it again.”

“I would not have thought it would be suitable for anything else,” I returned.

“Well, you never know.”

Aerin started to carefully straighten out the creased garment and I slipped behind the screen. She had laid out everything I would need so I undid the shoulder fastening on my shift allowing the silky fabric to slither to the floor, leaving me naked and shivering. It was far from cold, so that was not the reason I started quivering. The connotation of removing my clothing and nakedness was just too much for my fragile nerves. It took a few moments of speaking sternly to myself before I was able to sponge down my reluctant body. I’d reminded myself how kind he had been in arranging for a desk and bookcase and that he had been sympathetic over my lack of appetite. I could only hope that he would be equally receptive to my mood tonight. No, that was not fair – I would have to get rid of the nerves and show as much willingness as I was able. If I shut my mind I would be fine. Deciding this, I reached for the large drying cloth and spotted the bottle of perfume. Whatever I had put on earlier had probably long gone so after I had cleaned my teeth, I reapplied it generously. “What do you think I should do with my hair?” I called to Aerin, with more assurance than I felt, as I waited for the oil to dry.

I heard her wicked giggle before she called back, “I wouldn’t wear your sleep net, my lady, that’s much too staid. Men like to run their fingers through ladies hair.”

“Do they? Did your mother tell you that?” I asked, somewhat intrigued.

“Yes, she did. I bemoaned the fact that I had short curly locks and not long straight tresses like yours. She said as long as it was silky clean the effect would be the same.”

“Oh,” I digested that for a moment, “Would you pass my nightgown please, Aerin.”

The garment fastened at the shoulders with ribbons in the same way as the shift, but the material was more sumptuous, having been embroidered all over with a delicate tracery of flowers. It must have taken hours but no expense had been spared in the production of my bride clothes. So much was expected of me - I just hope that I did not disappoint.

“I will need to do something with it,” I remarked coming out from behind the screen and reaching for my robe. “I cannot leave it loose; it will fly all over the place.”

“Why, don’t we tie it back with a ribbon and then it will be easy if he wants to undo it,” Aerin suggested with another giggle.

“I suppose so,” I agreed. A few days ago I could not imagine the King of Rohan wanting to run his fingers through my hair, but now I was not so sure. There had been something in his eyes that made me wonder.

I sat on a stool whilst Aerin undid my braids and used long calming strokes to brush out my long hair until it was tangle free and silky soft. I handed her a pink ribbon and she loosely gathered it up and tied it back at the nape of my neck.

“Almost ready, I think, my lady.”

There was nothing much left for me to do so I purposefully got to my feet.

“It’s a lovely room,” Aerin remarked as she opened the door to the bedchamber.

It was certainly large, taking up the whole corner of the tower. The bed was also very large and draped with green and gold brocade hangings which matched the curtains at the two big windows. I looked around: the walls were the same pale ochre as the solar, again partly covered with rich tapestries. This time as far as I could tell in the candle light, they were mostly of horses. A dark gold carpet covered a good deal of the floor and a fire was burning in the grate. Leather armchairs and a small table were placed near the fire and standing at the foot of the bed was a huge carved ornate chest. Smaller versions of the chest stood each side of the bed head serving to hold night lights and water jugs. In spite of the size of the room and the terrible weather the overall effect created by the glow of the fire, lamps and candles was warm and homely.

“I have prepared the bed, my lady. There is an extra sheet that can be removed after….” She came to a halt.

“Thank you, Aerin, I understand perfectly.” I walked over to the bed; she had turned back the thick patterned quilt exposing the pillows and the tops of white linen sheets. I managed an inward chuckle: there was no bolster down the middle. Then I realised that Aerin had put my book and a clean handkerchief on the chest at the end of the bed. It hit me suddenly that I was not just here for a wedding night, this was where I would be sleeping for the rest of my life – the realisation was shattering.

Determined not to show my apprehension to Aerin I looked around the room again, this time my eyes fell on the small table which held a tray on which were two squat cups and some small cakes.

“Is that some kind of refreshment?” I asked, walking around the bed to investigate.

“It’s mead-cup and honey cakes. Traditional for a wedding night, they told me,” she replied with a little laugh.

I picked up one of the small cups: they were similar to those that were offered at my arrival but these were decorated with ears of corn. I smiled at the blatant fertility symbol, “Are we supposed to drink this before….” It didn’t get any more out because Aerin dissolved in a fit of giggles.

“No, after the marriage has been consummated,” she said through her amusement.

I couldn’t help grinning, “To celebrate the deed, I suppose?”

“No!” She giggled even more, “It’s intended to give you strength to do it again.

I put the cup down carefully, not able to share her amusement. No wonder he had smiled when he asked me if the mead was to my taste. “I see. The Rohirrim are nothing if not practical,” I remarked with all the confidence I could muster.

“My lady,” Aerin started cautiously, “I can tell you are nervous. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. It won’t be like Léod and me, fumbling around not really knowing what we are doing. Éomer King is bound to have years of experience.”

“Is he?” I asked, more in astonishment at Aerin’s frank announcement than at the thought of my husband’s past amorous affairs of which there were probably many.

“Of course, at his age and in his position….”

“Yes, quite, Aerin, I am sure he has. It is bound to help. Now I think you had better return to the hall.” I really didn’t want to encourage any further confidences and I couldn’t put it off any longer, anyway.

“You are sure you have everything?”

“I think so; I will see you in the morning.”

Aerin pointed to a corded rope, “There’s a bell pull connected to the kitchen. Ring it twice and they will send someone to find me.”

I nodded; I just wanted to be alone for a few moments. “Thank you, goodnight, Aerin.”

“Goodnight, my lady.”

A curtsey and she was gone. I hung my robe on a hook behind the door and stared at the bed. I was not sure which side to get in. When I was on my own I slept in the middle, but I couldn’t do that anymore. I had no idea which side he would prefer, but he would no doubt come in from his dressing room so it made sense for him to get in that side and me the side nearest to mine. Thankful to have made a decision, I picked up my book and handkerchief, deposited them on the appropriate side-chest and pulled the quilt back a bit more. Maybe something else had been sent from Gondor because the sheets looked new. However, when I actually plucked up the courage to get in the bed I felt the slight ruckle of the extra draw sheet. Yes, the Rohirrim were certainly practical but the thought of its use nearly had me leaping out again. Rejecting this impulse as worthy only of the wimpiest of women, I told myself that I could be considered lucky as nowadays only the washerwoman would bear witness to the loss of my maidenhead. Pulling the sheets over me – they were cool and smooth - I glanced apprehensively towards the door that led to the king’s dressing room. Now, what did I do? My inclination was to lie down and tuck the covers up under my chin, but I dismissed that immediately. Conversely, I did not feel I could push them back and lie on my side in what I assumed would be a seductive pose, I was sure he would not expect that. I plumped up the pillows and sat up, but after a moment I felt uncomfortable and exposed. Normally when I got into bed I read, but could I do that now? I decided I could. If I casually put the book down when he came in, it would look as though I was relaxed. I reached for my book and turned the pages until I found my place. Trying to read was useless. I did not manage one line before my thoughts centred onto what was going to happen, very soon now. Putting down the book, I stared at the dressing room door again; he would surely come through wearing a robe, wouldn’t he? My sister-in-law’s words returned in a rush – ‘I’d seriously advise you, Lothíriel to try not to look at it until after the deed is done. You will get used to it, of course but at the start it may unnerve you. Especially as he’s quite a big man.’ Unnerve me!I was already totally unnerved and I definitely hadno wish to look at it! Perhaps he wouldn’t notice if I closed my eyes. Sighing, I picked up the book again but at that moment the door opened, a tawny-gold head appeared, and the book jumped out of my hand falling with a loud thump onto the floor.

TBC

Chapter 8 – An intimate exchange.

The book landed heavily and the momentum sent it skittering across the floor. Éomer remained still for a moment, surveying the scene before him. I had no doubt that his superior height enabled him to see the book even though the bed stood between it and him. I knew he could, when that tell-tell amused expression appeared on his face, but he addressed me with perfect gravity, “Oh, dear, Lothíriel, I do hope you have not lost your place.”

I gawped at him, embarrassed into silence by my show of nerves. He had not changed into a robe, but thankfully, neither was he naked. In fact he wore hose and a long linen shirt. A few strides took him to my side of the bed and in one fluid movement he retrieved the book and took it to a lamp to read the title.

“ ‘The Voyages of  Eärendil.’” he read aloud in his deep voice,  a slight frown appearing on his brow as he contemplated the words. “Didn’t he have a lady who had to be rescued from the sea?”

“Yes…,” I replied haltingly, “her name was Elwing, and ever after, she would not go with him but waited on the shore.

“I thought so; it was one of my mother’s favourites.” He put the book carefully on the chest beside me and with only the slightest hesitation perched his large frame on the edge of the bed, his eyes searching my face. Neither of us said anything for a short second, the only sounds being the beats of some unfamiliar music that were escaping from the hall.  For a few tense moments I registered that, without the crown, the formal tunic and with his abundant hair newly washed, he looked much younger and less terrifying than my previous observations had made me think.

I swallowed, and shook slightly under his scrutiny - his gaze intense but not unkind, “My lord, that reminds me - I must thank you for your thoughtfulness in providing me with a desk and bookcase. I appreciated the gesture.”

He didn’t answer but, keeping his eyes on my face, reached out and took my hand. Try as I might I could not stop it trembling and could only lower my own eyes to watch with nervous fascination, the rubbing of his large thumb across my knuckles.

“Lothíriel… ”

My eyes flew back up to meet his, encountering not that amused gleam that I had already learnt to recognise, but more a look of compassion.

“… are you very frightened?”

“No!” I said quickly, intent on denying my trepidation. “No…, I would be a poor spirited fool, my lord, to be frightened of something that I have found to be sought after by women of all classes and ranks. Something that must happen every hour of every day…it is just that…” I stopped, taking a deep breath of courage, “It is just that we are almost strangers …that is the only thing that makes me uncertain.”

A twitch of his lips and a squeeze of my hand told me he had sympathy with my feelings, “I am not surprised, and admit it is probably easier for a man. I suggest, Lothíriel that we take some time to get to know one another. I will sleep in my study for the next few weeks and perhaps then, when you know me better, you will feel more comfortable.”

The look on my face must have betrayed my mortification because his eyes grew warm with laughter, “Do you think I am not interested? My lovely wife, the gaze of every male present fell upon you today. I would have to be an imbecile, totally infirm, or only half a man, not to want to consummate our marriage and believe me,” he said, his eyes twinkling merrily, “I am none of those.  But I do not want our life together to start with you being unhappy. There is plenty of time.”

Had he considered the consequences? It would not go unnoticed. I could not believe that the servants in Meduseld were any different from those in Dol Amroth. Here I was, being offered a way out but not sure I wanted to take it. My own perversity of disposition made it impossible to draw back once given the opportunity to do so. Besides that, my repute amongst the Rohirrim did not stand very high now: deny their king and it would not leave the ground.  A glance around the room to seek a way of conveying my misgivings on not conforming to tradition, must have drawn my eyes to the mead-cups, causing another soft laugh.

“I am sure we can dispose of those. I won’t tell anyone.”

A wave of heat rose steadily from my breast to my face but I forced myself to voice my doubts, “It is not only that, my lord, the servants will know…the washerwoman…”

“Ahh…, well I have lost quite a bit of blood in my life, a bit more will not go amiss.”

“No...,” shaking my head. “No, my lord,” I uttered firmly with more resolution than I felt. “I appreciate your consideration but no-one forced me to come here. My life is now as your wife and Queen of the Riddermark, I will not begin it by cheating you or lying to your people.”

“You mean that, Lothíriel?”

I nodded, holding his set gaze, “Yes, my lord, I do.”

His face changed. The look of understanding replaced by one that showed quiet satisfaction, “I am not surprised,” he said softly. “I would have expected nothing less of one of Imrahil’s offspring. You are no less brave than your brothers.”

“Do I need to be brave?”  I asked jokingly and succeeded in breaking the tension because his face displayed a more boyish grin.

 “Only if I loose my temper and I promise I won’t tonight.” He let go my hand abruptly and stood up from the bed. One by one the lamps and candles were doused, the room sinking further and further into darkness while I watched, with growing anxiety, until only the nightlights remained. The sides of the room were put into shadow but enough light remained around the bed to see perfectly adequately and I wondered fleetingly if I would be brave enough to keep my eyes open when he started to remove his clothing. He threw a log onto the fire but then, to my total surprise, he didn’t get in his side of the bed but plonked his full length down on top of the quilt. Once the bed had given up its protest at the unwarranted assault, he rested his head on his hand and surveyed me with that sardonic expression of his, “Well, my lady, you have set me a fair challenge.”

“I have?” Relief that I did not have to test my bravery at that very moment must have shown on my face because even the dimmed light in the room did not dull the gleam of laughter sparkling in his eyes.

“Getting to know you, wooing you and making love to you, all in one night! It is a task to relish, I think. Perhaps it would be a good idea if you came down here and talked to me to start with.”

Since I had chosen to sit bolt upright but he had lain on his side with the pillow being pushed up by his elbow, I could see his point, and so I wriggled down, easing the covers away as I did so. Fiddling with the pillow for a moment in order to prop myself facing him, I realised that my nightgown, which during the manoeuvre had managed to get caught up and pull tight against my breasts, could be considered the subject of some close observation. Trying to yank it straight only produced a wry comment.

“Don’t bother on my account. I did say I wanted to get to know you.”

Even though I knew the flimsy garment did not leave much to the imagination, I had to stifle a giggle. Probably due, I suspected, not only to my natural sense of humour but also that I had softened to him directly he had offered to forgo his marital-rights in deference to my stupid nervousness. More curiously though, I had to admit to being intrigued to see how he would approach the task of seducing an anxious bride. Chastising myself for behaving no better than a flirt, I managed to make myself comfortable without exposing anything else to inspection. I fixed my eyes on him.

“You did say you wished to talk first, my lord.”

“It’s because I want to talk that I have remained outside the bedclothes,” he said with another laugh. “Once inside I may find it difficult to hold a conversation.”

“I knew a bolster would not suffice.” I muttered it more to myself than anything, wondering why when most things Gondorian were rather prudish, bride-clothes were apt to be quite tantalising.

“A bolster?” A short puzzled frown appeared for a moment before he must have remembered his comments to Byrhtwyn. The memory caused a burst of laugher which resulted in a, “No, you are right, it wouldn’t,” and another judder of vibration through wood, horsehair and feathers as he fell back against the pillows. Finishing with his mirth he raised himself up to face me, “Are you cross that I decided not to reinstate the Queen’s bedchamber? I thought a proper solar would be more useful to us.” He looked so contrite that I had to laugh myself.

“To be honest, it probably will be, as I intend to be a wife and not just a consort, my lord. I am sure that is what your people expect,” I did not say that I had probably only decided that after my lecture from Byrhtwyn.

“If you are going to be a wife, Lothíriel, then may I respectfully suggest you use my name?”

He had a way of saying things with a twinkle in his eyes but sternness in his words. Perhaps I had missed the twinkle when had I met him in Gondor, but I thought not. Whatever, it could not be ignored now and it made him more human as well as slightly easing my nerves. “Of course, my… Éomer.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, “that’s much better. Did you like the room?” his tone indicated he sought reassurance. “I thought it would serve well as it benefits from the afternoon sun. We don’t always have to eat in the hall.”

“It is very pleasant. I love the desk and you providing the bookcase pleased me very much,” I said, returning to my first unanswered remark.

“Hmm… my mother loved it.” His eyes had glazed. Lost in some memory, I realised. I waited for him to carry on which he did so, thoughtfully. “It is one of my poignant memories of her – sitting writing letters at that desk. My father had it made as a wedding present.”

“That must have made it precious, to her and to you now. I am surprised Éowyn did not wish for it.”

“She is not much into books and writing. You will appreciate it more.” He grinned suddenly, white teeth gleaming, “It showed how besotted my father was with my mother – he was always an out and out warrior, and she learned and gentle. She liked nothing more than to spend time with her books, and he loved her for it.” His eyes fixed on me for a moment causing another flush to steal up over my cheeks - so much for him being bothered that I had a ‘bookish’ nature, as Éowyn called it.

I dropped my eyes, and sought for something else to say; knowing that we could not continue talking all evening, but not yet ready to voluntary exchange conversation for something more intimate – understandably, still not totally comfortable with lying in a bed in such close proximity to such an imposing man.

“You told me that one of the two people who could make you do something you did not want to do was your father, but what about your mother?” I asked, looking up again and realising that his eyes still focused intently on me.  He had propped his fair head on one hand; whilst the other played with the fringe of the quilt. As I watched those large, but sensitive fingers, an irresistible wish to have him run them through my hair, struck me hard. I felt so unexpected a longing, that I only just managed not to gasp out aloud. Luckily he did not notice as at that moment he smiled reminiscently.

“I loved my mother more than I can say, but I am afraid I could wind her around my little finger.”

“Sons have a way of doing that,” I agreed. “You must have missed her very much.”

“I still do, I suppose.” He sighed and I noticed he had started to wind the fringe tightly around his fingers. “After she died, I could only feel furious anger.”

“You were angry because she left you?”

“More because she left Éowyn. My sister had barely reached eight summers. Mother did not bother to fight her illness. When my father died she lost the will to live. It made me so angry to think she did not want to stay in Middle-earth for us.”

“Perhaps she became more ill than you realised and could not help herself,” I ventured, understanding that even after all the years the wound still festered.

“Perhaps. I’d like to think so,” he said quietly, continuing his destruction of the fringe. “How about you, Lothíriel, were you angry with your mother when she left you?”

It had come, the question I had been dreading when the conversation turned this way. Even then I could feel the sobs welling up in my chest and I shook my head slowly, “No, I was angry with myself.”

His hand stopped its twisting and his gaze sharpened, “So that’s it,” he said softly. “The only thing that almost stopped me asking for your hand was that I felt afraid you would miss the sea and Dol Amroth, but your father assured me you would be happier living somewhere else. He did not tell me why. Do you somehow blame yourself for your mother’s death, Lothíriel?”

“I know it could not really have been my fault but…” I could get no further- my voice choked and my body shook, but even before the first violent spasm racked through me he had pulled me down on top of him, holding me tightly against his chest. I do not know how long I sobbed; I only remember the feel of his arms around me, the soothing voice and the stroking of my hair. As my shameful crying eased and my tortuous breathing started to return to normal, I became aware of the warmth of him, the hard muscles and the clean masculine smell. His grip on me lessened and I pushed myself up on my elbows to rub my hand across my eyes and grope for my handkerchief.

“Hold on, I’ll get it.” He shuffled us both across the bed, keeping me close to him with one arm and reaching out to the bedside chest with the other. “Here we are.”

“Thank you.” I wiped my eyes, blew my nose and wondered how I could have been so weak as to break down in front of a virtual stranger, for husband or not, we did not yet know one another. “I am sorry,” I gulped, more out of embarrassment than anything, “I have made your shirt decidedly wet.”

His response came immediately, “Don’t worry; I am hoping to be allowed to remove it sometime tonight anyway.”

I managed a watery gurgle and as I found it more comfortable than propping myself up, let my head sink back down on his chest mumbling my apology into damp linen.  “Éomer, I don’t know what to say, I should never have lost control like that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Do you think I don’t understand what a strain this has been for you? For whatever you say, Lothíriel, I know you were compelled to marry me. On top of that, to have to live in a land where you know hardly anyone and struggle with a difficult language would daunt the most robust of individuals. Also, you have not received the welcome that you have a right to expect, so it is no wonder that my thoughtless words caused that violent reaction.”

He talked quietly into my ear, all the time stroking his hand over my hair. I could have stayed there all night, comfortable and warm, but I must have looked a mess. “Your words were not thoughtless and I should be able to talk about my mother without going into hysterics.” I pushed myself up again, cross with myself for behaving so badly, “I had better go and wash my face.”

“And while you do that I will fetch us some wine. It will do you good.”

“You don’t have to go into the hall to get it, do you?” I could hear music, growing louder and livelier now, and I could imagine the surprise if he appeared still clothed.

“No, I brought some with me but I left it in my study.” He gave me a sideways grin, “I thought you would banish me there.”

“I am glad I didn’t,” I said softly, which resulted in a raise of the eyebrows and a grin. I was glad, I decided, as I picked up the nightlight and headed for my dressing room. Even crying over him had one advantage – I felt so mortified, that any awkwardness over the intimacies to come would be of no account.

Splashing my face with cold water made me feel a lot better and I spent a few moments trying to improve my appearance by tidying my hair. When I got back to the bedchamber Éomer had already returned to the bed. He still lay outside the covers but he had changed into a dark-wine coloured robe. I imagined he still wanted to talk or surely he would have got in the bed. I put the nightlight back on the chest next to a large goblet of wine, if I drank all that I would not care what happened.

I resolutely put my shyness aside, got partly under the covers but moved towards the middle until I sat very close to him. I could not deny the cosiness of my position: sitting up in the bed, sipping wine and listening to the vibrant music coming from the hall, whilst the rain beat against the window.  He made a few remarks about the wine, the weather and then surprised me by saying.

“It took me a long time to forgive myself for Théodred’s death. I could not bear to think about it, let alone talk about it. Not until Cormallen, when I talked it over with Aragorn and your father. They made me see that I could have done nothing to prevent it.”

“I know he died at the Fords of Isen, but I don’t know the story,” I encouraged. 

 Éomer sighed, settled back against the bed head, and took a gulp from his goblet. “You know the Fords were vulnerable to any attack from Isenguard, don’t you.

“Yes, I have studied the maps.”

He nodded, “Théodred had been defending the crossing against continual skirmishes, but he realised that Saruman intended to unleash much greater forces. He sent word for me to bring reinforcements, however, Grima persuaded Théoden to retain my companies to defend Edoras. After a lot of argument Elfhelm was released with four éoreds, but by the time he got there Théodred had lost his life.” He stopped to drink some more wine and I did not say anything, not wishing to interrupt something I guessed must be causing him difficulty. “Evidently Saruman’s uruks had deliberately targeted my cousin, heedless of their own losses. Grimbold got to him before he died; he shielded his body from those who would dishonour it, until Elfhelm arrived.”

I put out my hand and laid it on top of his, “But it you had been there, Éomer, then you would have been a target as well. The Riddermark could well have lost its two male heirs and Théoden might never have recovered from such a blow and would have lost the heart to go to war.”

He smiled, “That’s what your father said, but Théodred expected me to come. His last words to Grimbold were ‘Let me lie here and keep the fords until Éomer comes.’ But I did not get there until after Helm’s Deep.”

“Does Théodred still lie there?”

“Yes, we have erected a cairn. I will take you before winter sets in. Now the Dunlendings are not troubling us, it is a peaceful place.”

“I would like that,” I replied softly. “It will be good to see a different part of the Mark.”

He appeared lost in thought for a moment but then transferred the goblet that he had been cradling in two hands to his right one and put the other around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. 

“Now, tell me about your mother.”

I stiffened immediately, realising how expertly he had led me to this point. I could hardly refuse to confide in him when he had unburdened himself to me.

“Did she resemble you?” he asked when I did not answer.

“Livelier, full of fun and much more beautiful,” I said at last.

“She must have been wondrous indeed; it is not surprising your father fell in love with her.”

“Did he tell you that?” I asked, not able to hide my astonishment.

“It’s a funny thing, Lothíriel, but after you have won a battle there is initial euphoria but then a few days later, melancholy sets in. So much has been gained but so much lost. It was like that at Cormallen, many confidences were shared around the camp fires.”

“I see,” I said thoughtfully. “Well yes, he did love her and she him. I had a happy childhood, safe and secure. My mother was so proud of her sons but she and I had a special relationship and we spent a great deal of time together.” I stopped again, wanting to tell him but finding it so difficult.

“But not riding together,” he prompted.

“Sometimes, but not much,” I smiled. “Then a Harad prince presented her with Zante, when we were still more or less friends with those from the south. Mother virtually gave her to me as soon as I grew big enough to ride her.”  Determinedly ignoring my drying mouth, I forced myself to carry on, “Horses did not steal my mother’s heart: that honour belonged to my father, and the sea. Most days, she and I would go down to the beach just after dawn. I would gallop Zante along the water’s edge, splashing through the shallows and my mother would spend the time swimming. She had more skill in the water than I probably have on a horse.” I stopped again and the hand on my shoulder squeezed gently.

“Tell me what happened.”

I had to swallow convulsively before the words would come, “We had had days of storms and had not been out. The first clear day we went down to the beach as usual.” I brought my eyes up from where they had been contemplating the rich pattern on the quilt, “You know those mornings when the air is so fresh you just want to take deep breaths to savour it?” He nodded but said nothing, giving me time. “Zante could hardly wait to go”, I continued. “She had not been out for days. I went much farther than usual. I think could have ridden all the way to Langstrand on such a glorious morning.” The memories crowded in on me and I could go no further for a moment.

“Did something happen to her then?”

I nodded. “When I got back to the part of the beach where I had left her swimming, I could not see her. I guessed she had given up and gone home, but then I saw what I thought to be a log in the water. The tide was gently moving it, up the beach and back again. When I got closer I realised it was not a log. My mother lay face down, her long black hair spread out - floating in the water.”

Éomer gave a sharp gasp and his arm tightened around me, “She drowned?”

“Not exactly. At first we thought she must have been stung by a jellyfish but there were none of the distinctive wheals on her body. Later, we found a wound on her foot. She had stepped on a stone fish.”

“A stone fish?”

“They lie half-hidden in the sand and look like a large pebble. They have poisonous spines along their back. If you step on one it is very painful but they do not usually cause death. However, Aunt Ivriniel remembered that during her childhood, a cousin of hers stepped on one and died within minutes. Evidently there are some people who react badly.” I stopped, remembering the anger that I had felt then at the injustice of it. “My mother must have been one of them,” I said finally. “She normally wore something on her feet but had forgotten that morning. I blamed myself because if I had got back earlier I might have done something.”

“Done what?”

“I don’t know…, maybe at least dragged her out of the water until help arrived.”

“In reality, Lothíriel you could probably have done nothing. One of my riders got stung by a wasp once, a common wasp, but he died within a few minutes. I have been stung quite a few times and have found it only mildly irritating.”

“I know you are right, of course,” I said bleakly.

“To lose your mother is bad enough, but for you to find her like that…” He shook his head, “I can understand why it has taken you a long time to get over it.”

“I went to pieces. I did try to go down to the beach. I tried to ride Zante but I couldn’t: every time I saw even a branch in the water, I froze.”

“You know, I would like to visit Dol Amroth. “It’s not far now and we can easily go next spring. You and I will go down to the beach together and lay your ghosts. Firefoot will gallop carrying us both; he has not seen the sea.”

I smiled, the idea suddenly appealing to me very much. Already I felt the blackness that had occupied a part of my mind for so long, slowly dispersing, “You will take Firefoot rather than the young stallion you were riding yesterday?” I knew all about Firefoot from Éowyn.

“Yes, he is well up to it. He will fight no more wars but would enjoy a journey before complete retirement.”

“And I will have a new horse?”

“You will. I shall select one as soon as I am sure of my choice.”

I could not be certain if he meant - sure of me, or sure of the horse he would choose - but before I could ask the music from the hall reached some kind of zenith, enthusiastically accompanied  by loud whoops and cheers.

“I think our guests are way ahead of us, Lothíriel – I haven’t even kissed you.”

TBC

Chapter 9 – An undeniable pleasure.

The music ceased. The room relaxed into quiet. The only sound to muffle the thump of my heart came from the crackling and spitting of the large log Éomer had positioned on the fire earlier.  My husband took the goblet from my hand, placed it next to his own on the small carved chest and then stretching out one long arm, snuffed out his nightlight.

Of course he had kissed me during the marriage ceremony, but how do you compare the spark from a tinderbox with a full blown forest fire? The first touches of his lips were soft and tender and he did no more than brush them across mine, while his large hands cradled my head. But then those hands, and his weight, encouraged me to sink down into the bed until he lay half over me and my lips were teased, nibbled and eased apart to accommodate an insistent exploring tongue. How right he had been to talk to me - for it enabled me to push aside my first shock at the intimacy of that kiss and confirm by my accord, to do my duty as a wife. When you have cried onto a man’s chest and he has responded with understanding, then barriers erected by the dread of the unknown are more easily swept aside. Overcoming my reserve and responding to his lead caused such a surfeit of sensation as to bring a flush to my face and a constriction to my throat. Without thinking or intending, as the power of his kiss increased, my arms snaked slowly around his neck until my fingers burrowed into thick soft hair.

“Are you sure?” he whispered when at last he pushed up, disentangling himself from my clinging arms. “Then I think it may be time for me to join you,” he said softly when I nodded assent. For a brief moment I felt bereft as his weight left the bed but before I could protest I heard the soft plop of his robe landing on the floor. The covers moved aside and he slid in next to me. Already I could feel his heat.

He didn’t kiss me, for which I felt an initial disappointment, but propped himself up on one elbow looking down into my eyes. “Do you mind if we leave your candle burning? I want to look at you.”

Mesmerised, I shook my head, as he took the long tail of my hair between his fingers and lifted it to his face, “It smells wonderful. I noticed when you arrived yesterday. What is the fragrance?”

I found it difficult to speak, because by then he had undone the ribbon and already begun to divide the thick tresses, teasing them apart and placing them to lie over my breasts.  And when his fingers moved across the delicate material of my nightgown, my body quivered with unaccustomed and unexpected reaction.

“The perfume comes from a small orchid that grows where the sand dunes meet the pine woods.” I answered fighting, desperately for breath.

“Not the same as the purple ones that grow in our grasslands? I have never noticed a strong smell from them.”

“No, it’s small and white. Quite insignificant, really.”

“That’s surprising. I thought it would be something exotic. Something more like you.”

I didn’t get to answer because, as he had warned me earlier, being under the bedclothes put an end to his interest in conversation.

And if I had compared his kisses with the flames that swept through the pinewoods of my home then I could only compare his lovemaking with the storms that raged our shores. Quietly it started: as the first few drops of rain would caress the parched ground, giving no hint of the turmoil still to come.

From the instant his lips found mine again, my body trembled with delight and exhilaration and that is when I decided to deliver myself into his patient and expert hands. When the ties holding the gauzy fabric that covered me were released, I abandoned all modesty and helped the garment to slide down over stomach, hips and legs, finally pushing it off one foot with the other. Lying still, as my husband ran smouldering eyes over my unclothed form, caused me a moment’s difficulty. But all discomfiture vanished with the movement of his lips to my throat and then to my breasts and after that it seemed natural to rub my own partly open mouth across the smooth skin of his shoulder. The muscles of his back were hard under the squeeze of my hands. And by the time the skilled fingers that were moving searchingly over my body, finally reached that most private of places, my teeth were gnawing gently at the parts of him within reach. His growls of pleasure mingled with my gasps of enjoyment.

Wave after wave of sensation flooded through me. So much, that when the moment came to complete our bond, it was not my sister-in law’s advice that made me meet my husband first cautious thrusts with anticipation and courage, but more the trust he had earned and the pleasure he had given. So, as soon as he whispered to me to raise my knees, I did so obediently, and as his flesh filled me deeply, my legs wound willingly around his hips to join in that most ancient of rhythms. Only then did I begin to understand why the place was leading me was so eagerly sought and as I whirled in a vortex in of unparalleled intensity, I clung desperately to my guide. The storm of fulfilment ended with my husband’s body being racked by long sensuous shudders and a moan that he buried somewhere around my neck. 

All receded into quiet again. Éomer rolled from me, but my feeling of desertion lasted only a few heartbeats as he instantly gathered me up in his arms and pulled me against him, his hands smoothing back my hair and trying to arrange the rather tangled disorder.

“I can promise you I found that infinitely preferable to sleeping in my study,” he murmured, his velvet voice close to my ear.

I had to agree. Even though my father and brothers had never been far from me, since I had arrived in Rohan I had felt unwanted and lonely. How much Rohan’s king really wanted me I did not know, but for now I was content to lie snuggled amidst his warmth. I must have been drifting off when he spoke again, “Lothíriel, are you still awake?”

“Yes,” I mumbled sleepily.

“Lift up a moment then, I will get rid of this.” I raised myself as directed and felt the sheet being pulled gently from under me. Before I could protest he had wiped it between my legs. Swivelling myself around to remonstrate rewarded me with the spectacle of my husband screwing up the redundant linen and throwing it into the corner by the door, “That should satisfy any old crone who is nosy enough to look.”

 I opened my mouth to protest, but he grinned mischievously, forestalling any objection I might have had. So, relinquishing all dignity, I decided that I might as well clean myself up and I moved a pointed foot around the bottom of the bed trying to locate my nightgown. Not finding anything, I gave up on the gown and struggled to sit up, “I think I will go and have a wash.”  Éomer released his hold on me and I then faced the prospect of walking across to the door to get my robe, completely naked. Ridiculous of course: to be so self conscious after what had just happened between us, but to my relief he got up himself. “You take the nightlight, I know my way and the fire will give me enough light,” he said, disappearing in the opposite direction.

It took me a while to wash and then brush and tidy my hair – I tied it back again -and by the time I returned, Éomer had climbed back in the bed. I put the candle down on the chest and went down to the foot of the bed. “What are you doing?” A voice came from half under the covers.

“I am looking for my nightgown,” I replied, pulling at the sheet.

“You don’t need it, come and get in before you get cold.”

He had a point: the fire had died down and the wind must have increased in strength because the curtains were moving gently. I threw my robe over the end of the bed and slipped in beside him.

“Are you alright?” he asked, pulling me against a warm, solid body.

“I am fine, just drowsy now.”

“Good, go to sleep then.”

He moved me around until I lay with my back against his chest and my behind couched against the warmth of his loins. I was fine, I decided: I had no soreness; I did not even feel bruised, which I thought I might after the energy expended. Only a pleasant feeling remained – a sort of memory of where he had been. I felt a kiss on my hair and a hand reached around to rest on my breast.

“Goodnight, Lothíriel.”

“Goodnight,” I whispered. Too tired to think over what had happened, I settled myself for sleep. I did not know what the future might hold, but at that moment, I felt loved.

***

Something must have woken me and I lay still for a moment sorting out the memories of the night. There was only me in the bed. I realised that quite soon, but I also realised, after moving my arm over the sheets, that he had not been gone for long – the place next to me still held warmth. My husband getting out of the bed had most likely been what had woken me, I decided. Slowly, I pushed myself up, looking around the room. The nightlight had gone out but someone, probably Éomer, had stirred up the fire. The mead-cups were still on the table – we had forgotten them.  Before I could worry about the significance of this oversight, a faint noise from the other side of the room made me turn my head quickly.

My eyes focused on my husband, who stood next to the window, completely naked. He’d pushed aside the heavy drape and his eyes were fixed on me

“Good morning, wife. I am sorry, I expect I disturbed you. I always rise at dawn.”

“Good morning, my lord,” I tried to keep my voice normal, but as I did not normally find myself staring at a totally naked male, I found it difficult. Proof of my new status perhaps, or my just awakened state, that I made no attempt to drop my gaze. I admit I had no comparison, but even to my inexperienced eyes he must be counted as outstanding specimen of the male gender. He had half turned towards me, giving view to an abundant mane of dark-gold hair, a deep muscled chest, long powerful legs and a glimpse of firm buttocks and… I could not drag my eyes away – his manhood – which had been quite prominent when I had first looked – grew steadily as I watched. Melina’s advice had been certainly been astute – if I had caught sight of that last night….

I eventually forced my eyes to his face and encountered a rather amused apologetic look. “I am sorry, Lothíriel, but with you naked in my bed, there is no likelihood of me being able to stop that happening.”

For the first time he looked a little unsure of himself and why should he be sorry? But then I realised that he was unsure of me, not himself. Sensing that the response I made could well set the quality of our marriage, at least for the time being, I smiled.

“May I suggest, Éomer that you return to the bed for a while? I feel that it would be extremely uncomfortable for you to have to greet our guests this morning with that…” I momentarily glanced down at the subject of the conversation, before lifting my eyes to his again “…affliction,” I stated blandly, managing to keep a straight face. He opened his eyes wide but still hesitated so I pulled back the covers, inviting him in.

Éomer burst out laughing and a few strides brought him to the edge of the bed. He sat down, placing one arm each side of me. “I cannot tell you, Lothíriel, how much your willingness pleases me.”

He brought his face very close to mine. His gaze drilled into me, causing a tremor of awareness to rush down my spine. “Your care and your consideration for me last night…not to mention the pleasure you gave, makes me willing.” I said softly.

“Lothíriel, as my wife I will always care for you and always consider you. Also, as the daughter of one of my greatest friends, one whom I hold in the highest esteem, for that alone: I will always cherish you.” His mouth curved upwards and his eyes twinkled, “And as for the pleasure…” He didn’t finish, but lent forward and placed his lips on mine, kissing me gently before easing me back into the pillows.

This time, his kisses evoked in me a desire that had evidently lay dormant under a schooled and controlled demeanour and gentle encouragement persuaded me to take a more active part. Haltingly at first, I explored his body as he had explored mine.  I ran my fingers over his face, his beard soft to my touch. “Any longer and it is like wire and if it is very short, it rasps like grit,” he answered in response to my whispered remarks. My fingers moved to trace the line of his lips and were caught gently between strong teeth. Once released, they trailed slowly down a muscled neck, lingered on the smooth skin of a powerful chest, discovered the pucker of an old scar that traced the line of a rib, until finally they followed the path of sparse golden hair that spanned a flat stomach and led….

He lay motionless: only the shiver that flickered through his muscles betraying his response to my touch. Watching me from under hooded eyes, waiting to see what I would do. I hesitated for just a few wild heartbeats before I reached out tentative fingers to discover all I could about the man I had married. My touch acted as a catalyst to his own need and once more I abandoned myself to the newly discovered thrill of matrimony.

***

“We forgot to drink the mead,” I murmured into his chest when all returned to quiet again.

“So we did.”

He didn’t sound bothered so I lay still for a moment longer. Not tired now, but feeling gloriously languid and relaxed. Unfortunately, I also felt hungry. I am not sure if Éomer did as well but without me saying anything more, he gently released his hold on me and extricated himself from the tangle of bedsheets, returning a moment later with the tray.

“Would you like a cake, Lothíriel?”

I struggled into a sitting position, and plumped up the pillows. Balancing the tray in one hand, my husband re-joined me in the bed.

Mead turned out to be a bit thick and sweet for a morning drink but we very properly touched cups and drank it together before starting on the small plate of cakes.

“You know what this is for?” he asked in his amused voice.

“We managed without,” I answered grinning.

“Hopefully it will work for tonight.”

We sat very close, sharing the tray to stop the crumbs getting in the bed. I really hadn’t imagined I would be doing this: happily sitting naked next to my husband, so soon. After the inauspicious start of a poor welcome, a wash out and an interrupted wedding, my marriage showed much more promise than I had ever thought possible. It seemed we could talk quite easily together and as for the physical side of the bond – well, he had definitely given the appearance of enjoying himself, certainly as much as I did. Obviously, a harmonious relationship depended on much more than talking and a rapport between the sheets, but those two components must rank as of considerable importance.

“Would you like me to ring for Aerin to organise a bath?” Éomer asked when we had emptied the plate.

“Is there time? Do we not have to eat with our guests?” Light now streamed into the room and I imagined the hall would have come alive.

“Oh, there’s plenty of time. The first meal is not taken until quite late. It allows for the horses to be mucked out and fed, as well as other chores. I often am out riding by now and like most, just grab some tea or ale and a piece of bread to keep me going. I come back later for a good meal and then we don’t eat again until the evening.”

“That sounds sensible. I imagine you need the time outdoors if you are stuck in the council chamber for any length of time.”

“Hmm …” Éomer lent towards me and kissed my cheek before moving to my ear and nibbling gently, “I am not sure that in future, I will be appearing in the stables quite so early as I used to.”

I turned my head and placed my hand on his cheek, rubbing my thumb over his bearded chin; grateful for his words even if they were designed to reassure me. “Thank you,” I said softly and kissed him on his lips. “Perhaps you had better ring that bell,” I suggested in response to his arm slipping around me and his obvious intention of continuing the kissing.

He let me go and grinned. “I will, but let me say that if there were not a hall full of guests out there, I would not be so compliant.”

“The mead is working already,” I laughed, as he rang the bell.

“Think what you like,” he answered smartly.

***

TBC

To those who have asked for Eomer’s POV -  I cannot oblige because Lothíriel is telling a story. I hope that by the end, when we go back to the present to find out why she was crying, you will have a pretty good idea of Eomer’s character and feelings. LBJ.

Chapter 10 – A triumphant morning.

Aerin fluttered around the room, casting me sidelong glances from under her dark lashes. I tried to show unconcern: sipping my tea slowly, whilst waiting for the bath tub to fill. But I could not stop my lips from twitching. Being my personal maid, she had been obviously expecting me to say something, but as yet, I disappointed her. I fully intended to– but did not wish to give away any intimate secrets. Aerin, her preparations complete, swished her hand around in the fragrant water and looked up hopefully.

“I expect a bath will be refreshing, my lady.”

“I imagine it will,” I answered non-committally. She stopped swishing and closed the spigot.  The chagrin on her face, and her pretended disinterest, finally caused me to dissolve into laughter. When I finished chuckling I decided to take pity on her, “You cannot expect me to go into details, Aerin, but suffice to say that I think you will enjoy marriage. Let me just tell you that I found the whole experience …very agreeable.”

“Oh, I am so glad, my lady!” I caught the hint of relief in her usually chirpy voice, and wondered if I had not covered my feelings as well as I thought over the previous weeks. “He’s very handsome to be sure,” she carried on, “even if he is a bit stern. But I could not help worrying if you would find it a little awkward - you not being in love and all that - however practised he might be.”

Stern! I did not find him stern. Why ever did I think that? But I could not argue with her words: it might have been very awkward. Why it hadn’t been, intrigued me somewhat. I knew one thing, though: I was glad I had not postponed consummating our marriage when given the chance to do so. Facing the hall that morning might cause me some embarrassment, but facing them having failed to do my duty, failed to uphold Gondor’s honour – would have been much worse. Aerin must have guessed that no further confidences were likely to be forthcoming, because she concentrated on making sure the water reached the right temperature and that everything I needed was to hand. She had already pinned up my hair so, when she indicated the bath was ready, I slipped off my robe and stepped in the tub. I suppose she expected the lack of nightgown because she said nothing. Feeling a bit wicked I remarked innocently, “You will have to search for my nightgown, Aerin. It’s lost at the bottom of the bed.”

Her eyebrows shot up and a giggle escaped from her pretty lips, “I’ll look for it later, my lady. I will sort out your clothes, now.” She pulled the screen across and flounced off humming to herself.

I slipped right down into the soothing water, not that I really needed much soothing. That such a physically powerful man could be so gentle, considerate but at the same time passionate, came as a pleasant surprise. I had been uncertain of what to expect from my wedding night, but whatever, it was not the sense of contentment and belonging that I now took pleasure in. The events of the night told me that in all likelihood we would be friends, and if I received my husband’s support then I could face any opposition to my new role with confidence.

“Do you know what your bridal gift will be?” Aerin broke into my thoughts from behind the screen.

“Bridal gift,” I echoed. “No, I have no idea and never thought.”

“I don’t think it’s a horse, which one would think it might be,” Aerin murmured reflectively. “Léod says that the royal herd are kept at Aldburg but none have been brought over.”

“Éomer King did not know I required a new horse, but he has said he will choose one for me.” I remembered his words – I had not asked if he wanted to be sure of me, or sure of his choice. “I think he wants to get to know me first, before he chooses.”

“Yes, that sounds like something a Rohír would want to do, I suppose,” Aerin agreed.  “He will probably give you some jewellery today.”

“I imagine so,” I concurred. Something of his mother’s probably, I thought. It would be in keeping.

Aerin stopped chattering, but I could hear doors opening and closing so I guessed she had gone to find a dress for today. I relaxed back in the bath for a moment, idly holding the sponge in the air and squeezing it gently so that the water landed in a trickle on my stomach.  Not surprisingly, my thoughts were still on the recent novel happenings in my life and with a sudden playful notion Iexperimentally ran my fingers up and downmy arms and across my breasts. I felt nothing except a tickling sensation – strange that - as I felt on fire when my husband did something similar. It could not just be because his hands were a lot rougher, I decided. There must be something else going on. Giving up caressing myself, I relaxed again and started to think back to the things he had done. Almost immediately a wave of heat washed over my body. I didn’t get the chance to ponder on why this might be because Aerin called out to me.

“Would you like to wear the cherry red velvet, my lady?”

“Yes,” I sat up quickly and belatedly began to wash myself with the sponge, “I think that will be suitable. I can wear the girdle Éowyn gave me.” She had presented me with a lavish girdle embroidered in the colours of the Riddermark – green, gold and a dark red, tied with rich gold tassels and ornamented by red garnets.  The red in the girdle would pick up the colour of the sumptuous dress, which I knew would become one of my favourites. A simple dress, but it skimmed my figure nicely, flaring out around my legs. The bell-end sleeves complimented the flaring. I did not have much gold jewellery and briefly wondered if Éomer would gift me with some. Aerin must have read my thoughts because by the time I got out of the bath and dried myself, she had searched around in my jewel box and found a golden rope-necklet that once belonged to my grandmother.  I put the dress on, smoothed out the skirt and she fastened it around my neck, standing back to determine the effect.

“That looks well, my lady. How shall we do your hair?”

“What is the weather like?” I asked, not being able to see much from my seat. “If there is a chance of us going outside for the celebrations, then it cannot be completely loose.”

Aerin stretched herself to look out of the window. “The men say it is clearing. I can see a patch of blue, anyway. I could plait it just from your neck down and wind in some ribbon,” she suggested. “It won’t blow about then.”

Halfway through the plait she suddenly stopped, “Oh…do you have to wear your crown, my lady?”

“I don’t think so,” I chuckled after giving the possibility a moment’s thought. “I can’t imagine they are that formal in Rohan. Maybe for very ceremonial occasions, but I doubt if I will have to outside, especially if there is to be dancing. Anyway, we will be able to see if Éomer King is wearing his. He said he would come and escort me.”

As if on cue, a knock shook the door and a deep, “Are you ready, Lothíriel?” his voice easily penetrating thick wood. The door opened and the room that seemed quite adequate before, now appeared decidedly crowded.

“Smells good in here,” his first comment after greeting Aerin.

My cheeks warmed to his remark. He looked relaxed with his big shoulders propped against the doorframe as he waited patiently for Aerin to finish her ministrations to my hair. The memories of him untying it not so many hours ago and commenting on my perfume – were still fresh. Aerin finished, and I shifted in my seat so that I could examine him. As I thought: there was no crown on his shaggy head. He looked happy and relaxed and wore another green tunic; this one embellished by embroidery similar to that on my girdle.

 “You look very Rohirric,” he grinned, pushing himself away from the frame as I stood up

I hope I did, but I deliberately chose not to wear green: wanting to give the Rohirrim time to get used to me. Éomer ushered me out into the atrium allowing me no time for any further thought. “You look lovely,” he said brushing his lips over mine. “That necklace reminds me that I have some jewellery to give you. We will do it later: everyone is waiting now.”

I swallowed. Entering the hall with all watching me was not going to be easy. “Have you spoken to my father, Éomer?”

“Yes, I took Hasopad for a stroll in the garden and he and Aragorn joined me.” His faced creased as he gave one of his short laughs, “I have to admit that neither of them appeared quite so hearty as usual. The Rohírrim know how to celebrate.”

At least his kinsmen felt they could celebrate. “What about my brothers?”

“I did not see them in the hall a few moments ago. Gimli showed himself for enough time to drink a sustaining tankard of ale and then he went outside to stick his head under the spout. Evidently Legolas decided to keep the doorwards company last night when everyone else eventually went to bed. He watched the dawn rise and looks as fresh as spring grass.”

I managed a smile, trying to hide the truth – my nerves lay only just under the surface. I, or rather we, were going to be under scrutiny from both sides. Those from Gondor would be wondering if I had capably fulfilled my role as wife to their greatest ally, and the Rohírrim would be eager to discover if I had pleased their king. Hopefully, he was satisfied with his bargain. He certainly seemed to be, but maybe just too polite to show otherwise.

My husband must have sensed my nerves because as I placed my hand on his arm he put his other over it, gave my slightly shaking fingers a squeeze, and flashed me a reassuring smile. I immediately felt better: his large solid presence already giving me confidence. Twice he voluntarily held out his hand to me during the wedding ceremony and twice I unhesitatingly put my own in it, and afterwards he pulled me tightly against him when I needed to sob out my anguish. My father was right - he was a man I could trust.

“Are you ready?”

I nodded, and my husband opened the door.

The hall was full, but not quite as full as the night before. All rose as we mounted the few steps onto the dais and Hasopad thumped his tail loudly on the floor. The dog must have decided to show a bit of extra respect, given the occasion, because he struggled wearily to his feet, presenting the impression he had been chasing rabbits all night and not snoring in his master’s study. He padded towards us, first shoving his wet nose in Éomer’s hand and then in mine. Éomer pulled at his ears, said something like - ‘lie down’- in Rohirric, and the lurcher resumed his customary position.

I greeted my father and King Elessar, perceiving that both men were looking extremely complacent. Knowing that they had already conversed with my husband that morning I did wonder if they guessed that the wedding night could be considered a reasonable success. My brothers just made it to the meal but looked decidedly seedy. In comparison to our father they were watching me with looks that varied between concern and curiosity. I smiled at them and said my good mornings, keeping my emotions well hidden. All three of my siblings had eagerly agreed with me being betrothed to a virtual stranger and I forbade myself to give anything away to these two. Let them wonder. Having acknowledged everyone on the dais a general greeting rose from the hall and we all sat down.

It was not only my brothers who were curious. The Gondorians amongst the guests were at least making pretence of being more interested in the meal than the empathy between the bridal couple - the Rohirrim were openly staring. I briefly considered standing up and making an announcement but controlled the impulse and tried to smile at those who caught my eye. A glance around the hall showed me that the seating arrangements were much more informal than the night before. Families were sitting together; even the two Marshals were sitting with their wives and children. Most of those eating were on wooden benches, but the more important graced large carved chairs. Helwing sat not far from the dais and she flashed an understanding grin. I also noticed Byrhtwyn sitting at one of the tables and I thought that at least two of the females near her could have been her daughters. I could see Elfgyuu, but she seemed to be in charge of the serving of the meal - intent on dishing out something from a large cauldron. As I watched, she said something to a tall auburn headed girl and gesticulated in the direction of the dais. I took no more notice because at that moment Eadric offered me some tea. I accepted the tea – blackberry and nettle- and studied the food on offer. There were plates of ham; three different kinds of cheese; baskets of crusty bread; raspberry jam; scones and small cakes. A bowl of fruit adorned the centre of the table – it held apples, pears and plums. Just as I contemplated what to have, a voice interrupted me.

“My Lady Queen.”

The auburn headed girl stood next to my chair. I smiled, waiting for her to say her piece.

“I…that is, Mistress Elfgyuu, thought you might like some porridge. It being traditional …so to speak.”  She held out a brown bowl with a slightly shaking hand.

I didn’t particularly want porridge, although I was not adverse to it. However, deciding that it would be better not to offend Elfgyuu after Aerin’s tangle with her, I smiled, “Thank you, that would be nice…?”

“Æscwyn,” my lady.

I smiled again, wondering why the girl looked so nervous. Surely she did not think me that frightening? “Well, thank you, Æscwyn.”

She put the bowl down in front of me and executed a quick bob before leaving the dais with considerable speed. Shrugging to myself I picked up my spoon, looked down at the bowl and stopped, my spoon in mid air. Unlike the normally creamy coloured oatmeal this was pale grey. I put my hand around the side of the earthenware bowl. It was cold! Elfgyuu had quickly taken her revenge by serving me cold porridge. It might be possible to get through it with a liberal helping of honey and cream but I could see none on the table. I gave no consideration to a mixture of raspberry jam and porridge.  No, there was no way I would eat the glutinous glop, but neither did I feel inclined to tackle the Meduseld housekeeper in front of a hall full of guests. Dealing with the woman did not bother me, but when I did confront her – we would be alone. I could just push the bowl aside for now but it would probably cause comment. Luckily, I knew that the saviour of the situation laid curled up only a yard away from me, behind my husband’s chair.

Éomer’s ongoing conversation with my father meant I could probably attract Hasopad’s attention without him noticing, so, confident of the sensitivity of a dog’s hearing, I reached my hand under the table and clicked my fingers a few times. Not long after my hand connected with a wet nose. Sneaking food from the table could be considered a newly acquired skill. Nobody noticed, and when I retrieved the bowl, it was pristine clean. Grinning to myself, I tucked into some lovely fresh bread with goats butter and fruity raspberry jam, intending to finish my meal with an apple and a small piece of cheese. 

Listening to the conversation across the table, which ranged around the amount of work required to open up the Dimholt pass to wagons, I did not notice Elfgyuu approach until she stood next to my chair. She hovered over me like a grey-hooded crow.

Her eyes fixed on the empty bowl. “Did you enjoy your porridge, my lady?”

I stared straight at her, and held her eyes long enough to banish the smirk from her face. If she wanted to battle with me now, then I would not disappoint her, “I am fond of porridge, Elfgyuu. I discovered a partiality for it during the many times I stayed with Princess Éowyn. However, I am sorry to say that I much prefer her way of serving it. I found that served cold, it is not very appetising. Éowyn always presents it piping hot, and with plenty of honey and cream. Maybe, she discovered that way of eating it in Gondor?”

“What’s that?” Éomer butted in. “Discovered it in Gondor! Éowyn has always eaten it that way, so do most ladies.” He glared at Elfgyuu, “Was my wife served cold porridge?”

“An oversight, my lord. It won’t happen again.”

After throwing my husband a restraining glance, I turned back to Elfgyuu, “It must be because you are so busy,” I said in my sweetest voice, nodding a dismissal. The housekeeper clamped her lips together, picked up the empty dish and a few other things and dropped a slight curtsey before stalking from the dais.

I am sorry, Lothíriel,” Éomer sighed. “She will come round, but in the meantime I will not have her bully you.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied, “she won’t. I can deal with her, and anyway,” I grinned at him, “Hasopad enjoyed his breakfast.”

He answered my grin with one of his own, “I know you can deal with it, Lothíriel but I wish you did not have to – I don’t want my dog getting too fat!”

“I’ll find another way next time,” I chuckled.

He sighed again. “Unfortuately, I have to say that there may be a few more times before she gives up. I don’t want to dismiss her, but I won’t put up with her being rude to you.”

“No, don’t dismiss her, Éomer. I am sure I can sort it out.”

 “I am confident you can,” he said laughing. “I remember Éowyn’s wedding when you sorted out that idiot, Malpin, who caused all that fuss about the seating arrangements. I have always wondered how you did it.”

“Lord Malpin…? Oh, I remember,” I said, casting my mind back. “He kept on complaining that the place he and his family were allocated ranked below that which his status demanded, and especially below that of the Burgon, Lord of Lebennin.

“Oh, that’s what it was, was it? It doesn’t surprise me.”

“Well, to be honest, Éomer,” I replied, finding it difficult to keep a straight face, “The real reason appeared to be that whilst Lord Burgon’s daughter sat directly in your line of sight, his, had the bad luck to be shielded by a pillar!”

“What! Oh, for Béma’s sake.” He shook his head disbelievingly, “I never noticed either of them. How did you resolve it?” he asked curiously. “I suffered more than a strong urge to throttle him for holding up Eowyn’s entrance but I saw you send a message to him via the steward, and he sat down like lamb.”

Surprised that he even noticed, let alone remembered the incident, I answered glibly, “I just offered to change places with his daughter. He must have been so embarrassed because I realised the real reason why he persisted in making a fuss that he gave up immediately.”

“I bet he did! The silly old fool.” He looked thoughtful, “So…, I’ll leave you to it with Elfgyuu. But if anything gets too much, please alert me to it.”

“It is bound to take a time, Éomer. It is understandable that your kinsmen would have preferred one of their own for their queen.”

“They can prefer what they like! It’s up to me who I want for my wife and I think it’s about time I made them aware of that.”

Éomer looked around the hall: he appeared to waiting for something. Afterwards, I realised that he had been waiting for a lull in the conversation. He did not have to wait long because, as I noticed the day before during the wedding ceremony, the Rohírrim tended to concentrate on their food. Conversation and entertainment were mainly saved until after the meal.

“Elfhelm!” The Marshall of the Eastmark looked up from his plate, so did most of the others who sat in the body of the hall, Éomer’s voice undoubtedly commanding.

“My Lord King.” Elfhelm started to rise, inclining his head and wiping his lips with a large napkin.

Éomer, having got everyone’s attention, waved at his Marshall to sit back down. “Elfhelm,” he moderated his voice slightly as the hall lapsed into quiet, “the mare, Lyftfætsceadu, how does she go on?”

On my first meeting with Marshall Elfhelm at Eowyn’s wedding I decided that he must have been a handsome man in his youth, but the hero of the battle for the Fords of Isen and of the clearing of Anorien, probably had spent most of his life riding the plains of the Riddermark. Now in middle age, his strong face bore the signs of his responsibility and lifestyle … his demeanour, while not being exactly harsh, could be considered a bit forbidding and his skin, what you could see of it around the beard, showed a great deal of …weathering. What’s more, however much those in Minas Tirith held him in respect; all knew that his disposition bordered on - uncompromising.  Therefore, the change in his countenance at the mere mention of a horse could only be described as - remarkable. The hard, keen eyes softened. A smile, prized for its rarity, swept the corners of a firm mouth into a shallow curve. He let out an audible deep sigh.

“My lord,” the mighty Rohír sat back in his chair and fixed his gaze on his sovereign, “never have I seen her like. She is well named: for if her sire is the silver streak of the swiftly running stream, then she is the shaft of shadow that flashes across the plains at night. Her coat can glisten like moonbeams, and yet few will notice her passing, so steady, but so fleet of foot is she.”

There were nods of agreement from those sitting near the Marshall who no doubt, hailed from the Eastmark. Hiding a smile at such poetic speech from so acclaimed a warrior I glanced toward Amrothos. My brother’s grin showed that he shared my amusement.

My husband, however, did not even blink, and exhibited no surprise at his Marshall’s lyrical uttering. “And her temperament, Elfhelm?” he asked sharply.

“Ah… well, my lord, she has fulfilled all our expectations. She is biddable, but with that flicker of fire and sparkle of independence that raises her above the common kind. She is a true daughter of Felaróf and now only needs some intensive training to bring her to perfection.”

“Good,” Éomer looked extremely pleased, “it is as I thought. You will oblige me, Elfhelm by sending a small escort to fetch her to Edoras.

“Fetch her, my lord? Now?” Elfhelm looked discomforted for a moment.

“Not exactly now. Those you send may finish eating first. But I would like the mare here by nightfall… my wife is in need of a horse.” He paused to allow his words to sink in, I felt. “I will supervise the completion of her training myself.”

The words must indeed have taken a moment to sink in, because at first no one said anything. But then, there were few whispers between those sitting at the tables in the hall.  There were even a few smiles and nodding of heads. I glanced over to my father; his earlier complacent look unquestionably replaced by one of total satisfaction.

A voice rose above the whispers. A voice in which I detected a note of annoyance, and when I turned to see to whom it belonged, I recognised a man whom I thought a little hostile when he had been presented during the wedding ceremony.

“My Lord King, Lyftfætsceadu is the best of our mares, and with her sire now given to that wizard, she is even more important to us…”

Although Éomer’s chair stood a little apart from mine – I immediately became aware of his controlled anger. His body stiffened. His hand clenched hard on the cup he was holding, but luckily, being made of pewter, the drinking vessel survived the onslaught. When he did speak, his silky smooth voice held a veiled menace. “Thank you, Cereth, for confirming my opinion. I do not think that anyone would deny the rightness that my wife… and your queen, should be given the best horse we Rohírrim can produce, do you not agree?”

It could not only be my imagination - the strained atmosphere that circulated throughout the hall since our entrance that morning, perceptibly lightened. The Lord of the Mark effortlessly conveyed to everyone, Rohirrim and Gondorians alike, that he was pleased with his wife. Lord Cereth bowed his head, but his reply vanished into the hubbub that followed. Mutterings of accord were followed by much discussion. The snatches I could hear led me to believe that the decision being already accepted, the only important thing now: to discuss the finer points of the horse.

I deliberately sought out King Elessar. He returned my look with a smile on his lips, a small nod of his head and a gleam of amusement in his grey eyes. I quickly dropped my own before I betrayed my feelings with a laugh. His assessment of my husband shrewdly accurate - no one, especially his kinsmen, would ever mistake anything Éomer of Rohan had to say.

To be continued.

A/N  Before I get a rap over the knuckles by allowing Lothíriel be given one of Shadowfax’s offspring  let me say that I thought it over carefully and decided that such a great horse would probably have sired a good  number of foals – many would be mares. I would imagine that the best pure bred Mearas stallions were kept for the King and his sons but the mares could be ridden by Queens and daughters – equal rights! LBJ

Lyftfætsceadu - Moonshadow

Chapter 11 – A ride on the wild side.

Lyftfætsceadu, or Sceadu as I mostly called her, helped with my integration into Rohan society, but I still had to prove myself. The burgeoning relationship between my husband and myself must have been evident to those who lived in the hall. Our compatibility could not be denied. Of course, we had to make a few adjustments in those first few weeks, mostly because of our very different upbringing, but so it would be in most marriages. My feelings were rapidly growing for this warrior king, whose true heart and clear mind earned him the love of his people and had gained him the trust and admiration of my kin. I know that he appreciated my counsel, and together, at the close of long working days, we would often sit sipping wine and talking over the problems of ruling a loyal but scattered people, who deserved to live in peace.

Elfgyuu I know reserved her judgment of me, but, strangely, the more I stood up to her, the more I could detect grudging admiration in her steely eyes. There were others also. Lord Cereth found it difficult to hide the fact that he thought the Rohirrim were ill-served by having a Gondorian for a Queen, but for every antagonist there were many more supporters, both of me and Éomer. Lord Bertwald, a softly spoken intelligent man whom Éomer respected greatly, advised me to bide my time and to be myself. ‘Remember, it is you who are our Queen. No one else’, he told me. ‘Make your decisions and stick to them.’  I was grateful for his support, but the chance to really assert my authority did not come until about five weeks after my marriage– when Éomer kept his promise and took me to the Fords of Isen.

October stayed fine, which decided him not to put the trip off to the spring. Anyway, we planned to go to Dol Amroth then. In reality, I thought he could not wait to get away from the restrictions of his office and spend some time in the wild. For myself, I found that I became as excited as Aerin had been when anticipating her trip to Rohan. However much I had enjoyed the scenery and the traveling then, my anxiety about the future had spoilt my own enjoyment of it.

Aerin would accompany me, but because neither she nor I were experienced in camp life, one of Eomer’s guards would be bringing his wife. A young widow had also been added to the party, so that my maid would not have to sleep on her own. However, the men organized everything - from the food to the bedding. Lady Byrhtwyn had laughingly explained that the Rohirrim traveled in one of two ways – setting off with a bed roll, a few strips of dried meat and some oats or taking every luxury a packhorse could carry. I had learnt that a portion of the population of the Riddermark were still slightly nomadic and, winter and summer, followed the herds that traditionally grazed the Eastemnet. Understandable then, that they would make their camps homely and comfortable. I had to say that the thought of a little luxury pleased me, because although the weather kept fine, the nights were cold, and sleeping on hard ground wrapped in a blanket had no appeal to a delicately bred Gondorian!

On the morning of our departure I tripped gaily down the steps and briskly walked along the back path to the stables. I felt a bit strange – wearing mail for the first time - but Éomer had insisted. When I reached the yard it was evident which of the two ways we were traveling – the place bustled with activity. Men scurried around, finishing the loading; strapping everything down tightly. In Rohan, packhorses were expected to gallop. Some of Éomer’s guards had already led out their horses and stable lads ran to and fro with armfuls of spare tack. All looked purposeful. Sceadu had caught the excitement for she whickered loudly and pawed the ground when she saw me coming. As usual, my heart leapt at the sight of her. She had been well named, for her grey-shaded coat changed its hue from the softest dove to the darkest pewter, shimmering in the differing lights. I had fallen in love with the mare the moment she had been presented to me. As ordered, she had arrived just before nightfall the day after the wedding and her acceptance of me as her mistress had increased my standing in the eyes of a good number. I rode most days, sometimes with Éomer, sometimes with Aerin and an escort. Once Éomer had satisfied himself she would remain reliable in all situations and I had learnt the necessary commands, then I could go out even if he could not find the time to come with me. 

The lad holding her grinned hugely as he handed me the reins. “Good morning, my lady. Be careful now. She’s even more lively than usual.”

“I will,” I assured him, “she won’t misbehave with all the warhorses around.” Wanting a little time alone with my horse, I waved him away to lead her to a mounting block. Sceadu might be lively but she had no vices, and Eomer’s presence on the journey would make certain she conducted herself creditably.  I searched the crowd for him, but he was nowhere in sight. He had left our bedchamber that morning just as my eyes were opening, eager to supervise the preparations.

I could mount myself, using the block, but before I did so Iput my lips to Sceadu’s soft velvet muzzle: she smelt of sweet hay. The piece of apple saved from breakfast was accepted with pleasure and crunched with delicacy. Slipping one arm around her strong neck I reveled in her warm body, for the early morning air held a biting chill. Sceadu nuzzled into me, blowing gently through quivering nostrils as I murmured into a silky ear, “You’re a beautiful lady, aren’t you?”

“Yes, you are. Very beautiful,” a deep voice whispered behind me, “but you’re not sleeping in my tent if you smell too much of horse.”

I jumped and turned around, too newly married for the pleasure of his presence not to bring warmth to my cheeks.

“Or perhaps you would prefer to kiss a horse?”

He moved so close to me that I initially contemplated the top of the sun design on his leather cuirass. Lifting my eyes slowly, my gaze traveled upward - over the collar of his wool tunic, catching a glimpse of a burnished hauberk. It passed a determined chin, taking in the newly trimmed beard; lingered longingly on the firm mouth; swept a strong straight nose, until finally encountering vivid blue eyes that were alight with laughter.

“No,” I said softly. “I would prefer to kiss you. But not here.”

“That’s reassuring, for I have no intention of taking second place to a horse.”

“That’s very unlikely, and you know it,” I chided gently, “but how you have the audacity to suggest that I might smell of horse when…”

“If you are going to cast aspersions on me, my lady wife,” he interrupted grinning from ear to ear, “then I would remind you that I am always more than willing to take a bath.”

I glared at him indignantly. “That I know… ever since you discovered that we can both fit into the same tub!”

“Shush…!” He moved even closer so that his lips were in contact with my hair, “You will embarrass Lyftfætsceadu. She’s still a maiden.”

The giggles rose in my throat. “Oh, stop this nonsense and lift me up,” I gurgled.  Then, suddenly conscious that we were surrounded by his men and that I was likely to betray my ardent response to his closeness and teasing words, I inched back and looked around. “They are all starting to line up,” I unnecessarily informed him.

“I doubt if they will go without me!”

I refrained from answering and just slanted him a wry look, before turning to gather up the reins. He did not move, so I glanced back over my shoulder to see him watching me with his arms folded.

“You want me to lift you?” he asked with a twitch of his lips

“Of course I do, but if you do not want to, then I will manage,” I tossed my head in pretended nonchalance and started to maneuver Sceadu to the side of the block.

“It’s just that I do not want one of your haughty looks. Like the first time I tried it.”

“Éomer…,” I let out a long breath, exasperated. “Will you please just lift me onto my horse!”

“If you put it like that…” He grasped me around my waist but did not pick me up. “Oh, that’s a shame.” He sounded crestfallen. “It’s not so much fun with you wearing this mail.”

“You virtually gave me an order to wear it!” I relaxed on the reins and half turned towards him. His arms were still around my waist. “Do you really think there is any danger?” I said more softly.

“Within our borders, no I don’t. But we have lived with threat and conflict for so long that I find it difficult to believe we are completely safe, even close to Edoras. Since Gimli gave you it, and it is so light to wear, then I would prefer you to be protected. I know it pleased Faramir when Gimli gave Éowyn one for a wedding present, Dwarf made mail is unsurpassed.”

I nodded, seeing the sense of it and fully understanding that he preferred not to take any chances, especially as the long mail shirt was so wonderfully supple and light that I hardly noticed it under my tunic. I had given up wearing elaborate riding dresses for informal occasions about the same time as the last Gondorian wedding guest had headed back down the hill! However, he could not really be concerned that the Riddermark might still hold adversaries because he had chosen not to wear his full battle amour.

“You were at the briefing last night, Lothíriel,” suddenly sounding very serious. “You heard me detail six of my men who would be responsible for surrounding you in the unlikely event of anything untoward happening. I would personally need to keep focused on command.”

“Yes, I understand. You were very thorough. There is no need to worry about me. I am not one for heroics and would just obey orders.”

“Good! Now let’s go and enjoy ourselves.”  A kiss dropped on my forehead and in one fluid movement my super-strong husband lifted me effortlessly into the saddle.

***

Tendrils of autumn mist swirled around us as we crossed the Snowbourne, the grass heavy-wet as we headed out onto the plain. I shivered in the cold, sharp air, glad of the thick woollen cloak that I had tucked tightly around myself: my gloved hands and booted feet, the only parts of me other that my face not protected by its warmth.  Our road skirted the foothills of the Ered Nimrais. It led to the Hornburg - the fortress of Lord Erkenbrand, Marshall of the Westfold - and then on to the Fords of Isen, the Gap of Rohan, and eventually, so Éomer told me, ending at Fornost, the seat of ancient kings. It was the way to the North which he wished to be opened again for trade.

Gradually the sun gained some warmth, encouraging me to push back my hood and take more interest in the scenery. The road between Edoras and the Fords appeared well used, at least the part we were travelling that first day. As in Harrowdale, the valleys and coombes that sliced green swathes high up into the mountains were intensively cultivated. Here and there I would catch a glimpse of the thatched roofs of cottages, defiantly climbing the steep sides, and occasionally a larger meeting hall or barn could be seen. Éomer confirmed that those villages near to Edoras had come through the war relatively unscathed, the settlements farther to the West having borne the brunt of Saruman’s malevolence.

Early in the day we passed many villagers, most making for Edoras with carts loaded with vegetables and cheeses to be sold in the markets of the city. Some were carrying pigs or had goats tethered to the back, pretty little brown and white creatures who bleated continually. In many places sheep were grazing along the side of the road, watched over by young boys and big rangy dogs. Their constant nibbling must have accounted for the wide green sward on which we were able to keep up a comfortable fast pace. But when we encountered them, or met a cart lumbering along the dirt road, Éomer raised his hand and slowed to a walk, not wanting to spook the flocks or cover any travellers with dust. Those we passed waved or bowed, and sometimes pointed. The extended fingers were aimed at me. Riding by their King’s side my identity must have been obvious. Used now to Rohan informality, I waved and smiled and received a grin or a slight bow of the head in exchange.

We stopped to rest the horses and take some refreshment just before midday, noticing, when we continued on our journey, that signs of habitation were becoming less frequent. Permanent settlements, so Éomer told me, tended to cluster within a days ride of the fortresses of the Riddermark – places to which the people could flee. The next villages we would come across would be those of the Westfold which we would the next morning. The beaten way continued: crossing many streams by means of stony fords. It rose gently up and down as it followed the contours of almost empty terrain, and along the roadside, with less sheep grazing, the sward grew long  Beyond it, to the east, the plain stretched out - a waving sea of tall grasses with yellowing seed heads glowing in the westering sun. Ahead: the dark smudge of Fangorn and the ridge of the Misty Mountains, a purple spine of hard rock marching north to hidden lands.

Dusk came early this side of the Ered Nimrais; the October sun a beaten copper ball sinking behind darkened peaks. The pine trees that clothed the lower slopes, stood menacingly tall, gradually merging into one black mass. We set camp before the light had completely gone from the cloud-streaked sky. Éomer chose a place, not only where a stream came plummeting down from the mountain, spreading itself into a silver sheet as it hit the plain, but where long ago jagged rocks had tumbled from the high cliffs and embedded themselves into the soft earth of the grasslands.  Whether fate or some other more magical force had lent a hand, it was not possible to say, but they had formed a large, crudely drawn circle that provided a natural stone stockade.

The tents, round structures of lightweight canvas, were erected with military precision. Ours, Éomer’s and mine - his threat of excluding me from it given little credence by me and probably none at all by him - had been cosily lined by colourful hangings and the floor strewn with skins.  I watched with unfeigned interest as pieces of carved wood were slotted together to form solid cot-beds suitable for royalty to sleep in.

We ate well, the fresh air and energetic ride giving all an appetite.  Those not concerned with putting up the tents and tending to the horses had soon started fires and unpacked the iron cauldrons that had been slung one each side of an uncomplaining equine porter. Into one vessel went the makings of vegetable soup, but the other boiled water for washing – a concession to the ladies on the trip. Aerin took the opportunity to glean all the knowledge she could from the Rohirric women. She had, from the moment of her arrival, embraced her new culture with pleasure and determination, and took satisfaction in learning to cook over a camp fire. Once the tents were up and the soup made, all except the sentries sat around together. There were plenty of us: Éomer had doubled his usual guard and with Léod and another to tend the horse lines; the two Rohirric women; Eadric to supervise the catering; Aerin and me, it was a merry party that tucked into the evening meal. Besides the soup, there were meat pies brought from the Meduseld kitchens wrapped in muslin; fruits, cheese, bread and oat biscuits, all washed down with rich red wine and water brought from the stream.  Finally, the last remnants of daylight left even the open plane, chased away by the coming of the huge waxing moon. Stars twinkled: a thousand jewels peeping between the wispy clouds, and a creeping cold stole down the mountainside. I wrapped my cloak tightly, snuggling up to Éomer who put his arm around me and pulled me close against him. No one showed any disapproval or even took much notice and I reflected how my life had changed in a few short weeks. Out here in the wild, listening to the quiet singing of men around a campfire, secure in my husband’s protective embrace, I felt at peace. So at peace that my eyes were closing.

“Come to bed.” The soft words woke me from my dozing.

“You mean go to bed,” I murmured under my breath, “there is not room for two.” The cots were only designed for single occupancy.

 “No, I didn’t. I am sure that since we can fit into a bath tub together…”  Even without looking up I could tell by his voice that he must be grinning.

In spite of my tiredness I lay awake for some time, the only noise the soft sound of my husband’s breathing, the occasional snuffle or cough of a horse and the far away bleating of wild goats as they transversed the high-mountain tracks. I was in Rohan, and it was my home.

***

Early the next morning we reached the first of the Westfold villages. As those we had passed the day before, the dwellings reached far into the deep valleys. Mostly the houses were thatched, but some were being re-roofed with wooden shingles cut from the nearby pine-forests. It became apparent that the land was becoming more thickly populated again. Great trenches cut through the grasslands and piles of drying peat stood in castellated mounds. Horses grazed in vast stockades and long haired cattle chewed contently on abundant pasture.

Many greetings were called but we did not stop until the sun reached its zenith, when we came upon the place where the road to the Hornburg wound slowly upwards, delving far into the rocky heart of Mt. Thrihyrne. We had come to the way that led to the Fastness of Helm’s Deep. I craned my neck to try and glimpse that fearsome fortress, for it had been there, on the massive stone walls, that an enduring friendship had been formed between two future kings.  But now we had to leave. The Fords beckoned, and I would see the site of that famous battle on our return journey, when we planned to spend a few days with Lord Erkenbrand.

By late afternoon we came out of the shadow of the mountains and the River Isen lay before us. The road carved its way down to the crossing through a series of grassy terraces until finally reaching a wide, flat expanse of chattering water. Three lines of stepping-stones thrust out from each bank and fording places ran between these lines, meeting on a small island that sat in the centre of the river. From our raised vantage point, we could see that a large mound stood on the island. The remains of a ring of spears stood atop the mound and in the centre - a stone cairn had been built. I turned to Éomer and found him staring at the site, mesmerised, his thoughts far away.

“Shall we go across to the eyot?” I asked quietly.

He did not answer for a moment, but then seem to gather himself, “No, the sun is sinking. We will make our camp and perhaps you and I will go alone at dawn.”

I nodded, pleased that he felt prepared to share such a poignant moment with me.

Very soon the tents were arranged in a double row along one of the green terraces, facing the water. I stood in the doorway of ours, my eyes focused on the Isen which had been turned into a streak of liquid gold by the molten globe of the sinking sun. Éomer had been right:  the whole place gave the aura of peace and serenity, even after all that had gone on here. Entranced, I gazed west, but decided that it could only be my imagination that made me think that far away, I could glimpse the sea.

“It’s beautiful,” I remarked softly as he came out of the tent behind me, putting his chin on my head and slipping muscular arms each side of me, to cross them around my waist. No words were said; he just squeezed me gently, pulling me back against a hard chest. For a few moments we stood as statues, lost in the wonder of a world not at war, but then suddenly, I felt him stiffen. Abruptly, his chin left my head and I looked up and followed his gaze. One of the scouts, who had been despatched along the banks immediately we had started to pitch camp, had returned. He was talking avidly to Éothain and pointing down stream. Even from this distance I could tell there appeared to be some trouble.

Éomer dropped his hands from my waist, “Stay here!” he ordered gruffly and strode off towards the two men. His arrival was the signal for much gesticulating and discussion and others joined the conference in the middle of the camp. I sighed, reflecting ruefully that peace could only ever be considered a transient state.  I stared back out through the Gap of Rohan, reluctant to relinquish the enjoyment of the moment until eventually it looked as if some decision had been made and Éomer started to walk back to me.

“What is it?” I asked as soon as he came near enough to hear me. He frowned, as though he did not want to answer. For the first time since our marriage I could sense the tension in him: his warrior’s instinct palpably aroused.

“Swidhelm has found animal tracks in the soft mud farther downstream…”he hesitated, expelling his breath, “…they were made by wargs.”

“Wargs? Is he sure?” I shuddered involuntarily, wondering if Éomer should not go and check himself, but his next words dissuaded me from suggesting it.

“He would not make a mistake; Swidhelm is one of the Riddermark’s best trackers. If he says they are wargs, then that is what they are.”

“We are in danger?”

“No, not us, the tracks were made two days ago. If wargs were in the vicinity the horses would let us know. They have a natural fear of them. Swidhelm tracked them for a while; they are following a goat path up into the mountains.” He cast his eyes up to the peaks of the Ered Nimrais as if looking for some movement, some evidence of where they had gone.”

“So,” I said, thinking hard and trying to recall the features of the area. “They can either come down by way of the Westfold valleys, or cross into Gondor before they get that far. But that part of Gondor is unpopulated, there would be nothing there for them.”

“Exactly, and it is a large pack. They are much more likely to come down on our side. The mountain goats will not be enough for them; it will be the sheep that graze the high pastures they will head for, if we are lucky. If we are not… then it will be those who farm the Westfold.”

“Do they normally cause trouble?” I asked.

“They have done, when evil stalked this land, but I thought we were rid of them. Our patrols have seen no signs all year. They must have come down from farther north.”

“I am slightly surprised that the Fords do not have a permanent garrison. You have not thought it necessary?”

Éomer absently ran his hand through his long hair before he answered, “We discussed it at great length.  We should be safe from that direction. The Ents control Isengard. Our treaty with the Dunlendings means that they have extended their land and now guard the North-South road, but they are not permitted to come this side of the Fords. We patrol this area regularly, but if I kept a force here continually it would appear that I do not trust them to keep their word. I did not wish them to think that. If we intend to have future peace with them then they must believe we have faith in their honour.” He smiled ruefully, “At any rate, the Dunlendings probably were unaware of the wargs traveling through their land. They are depraved but cunning creatures and if they were aiming for the valleys of the Riddermark then they would have kept to the high passes in the Misty Mountains, where men seldom go. If we had not been here, and Swidhelm not been so keen eyed, then we would not have had this warning.” 

“I see…have you decided what to do?”

“They have to be eliminated. Wargs are a danger we cannot ignore. Swidhelm and Oeric are going back to warn Erkenbrand tonight - as soon as they have eaten. They will be there by midnight. If there is any sign of the creatures or they have already made any kills, then tracking can start at first light. I am afraid we will have to go back tomorrow; I will not feel happy sojourning here for another night when there is a threat to our people. We will have to find those vile beasts.”

The look on his face gave doubt that the ‘we’ was metaphoric, but I decided not to pursue that notion at that moment. Instead, I took hold of his hand. “I would not expect you to; we must go back first thing.”

Strong arms pulled me roughly into a tight embrace, “We will keep our tryst tomorrow at dawn, then we will go.”

Sinking my head into his shoulder, I nodded. “It was worth the journey, just to come here for so short a time. And last night was perfect, the songs, the campfire… everything.”

“Mmm…” the words were murmured into my hair, “you’re right - just perfect, and it’s my turn tonight.”

“Your turn for what?” I queried hesitantly, having learnt to be wary of such innocent sounding statements.

“To sleep on top of you.”

I pushed him playfully away, “I don’t think so! I would never recover from being squashed in the bottom of that cot.”

“Yes, perhaps you are right,” he dropped kiss on my head, his sense of fun dispelling the gloom for a moment. “Come on, I think the meal is ready.”

By the time we sat down around the fire everyone had been told about the wargs. Éomer explained what had been decided and nobody queried his decision. Aerin moved a little closer to Léod, but showed no other anxiety. Thankfully, like me, she had had no personal experience of wargs and knew them only by reputation. I could only feel for the two Riders who, having been in the saddle all day, faced a dark, cold ride back to the Hornburg.

TBC

Chapter 12 –  An unscheduled return

Dawn came unhurriedly; content to let the night cling to its domain. Éomer and I stepped out into a grey dripping world. Grass burdened with dew; cloying autumn mist embracing the ground; a dull dismal daybreak. We huddled around the flickering fire, cradling mugs of honeyed tea in grateful hands. 

“The sun’s breaking through.” Éomer waved one hand toward the east.

Just above the level of the mist a pale, muted banner of orange streaked across the sky, the edges shading pink as the struggling sun pushed its way upward into the acquiescent day. I looked down at the river; the mist still lay thick below us. “Do you think we will be able to see to get across?”

“When we get close we will. It looks worse from up here.”

The men had already begun to take down the tents and the three women had the meal well underway when we started down the road to the Fords. We were not alone, though. A couple of guards followed at a discreet distance. Descending into grey murk, the boisterous babble of the water reached our ears long before our eyes could see it, or any way across to the small island. The eyot in the centre of the wide stream was hidden, but the mound, complete with spears and cairn, floated above the mist like some ghostly craft sailing on an ocean of smoking vapour.

When we reached the bank, Éomer pointed in the direction of the mound, “Look, you can just see the stepping stones.”

My eyes followed his finger, and, as I looked, the swirling haze thinned slightly,      revealing the path of flat rocks.

“Come on, the mist is gradually dispersing as the sun comes up.”

I doubted if such a pallid orb would stand much chance against this drab blanket but I took his proffered hand and gingerly followed him across.  To my relief, not wishing an icy ducking on such a morning, after we had taken the first few steps our way stood out clear before us.

Once across, Éomer told the two guards to stay on the pebbly beach before pulling me up the muddy bank to stand beside him on the wet grass. As the mound loomed up in front of us he lapsed into silence, his face set into a tense mask. But he still held my hand, so after a while I ventured a remark. “So many must have died?”

“Yes, but not so many as we first feared. Gandalf rounded up all those who had scattered and he and Erkenbrand marched them back to Helm’s Deep to relieve us. Just in time as it turned out.”

“But you still wish that you had been here?”  Éomer made no answer for a few long moments but when he did so I thought that his face had relaxed considerably.

“I suppose not. If I had died here, then Merry and Pippin would have been taken to Isengard and there is no doubt that Saruman would have bled them dry of information. Frodo might not have made it to Mordor unseen. The Quest could have failed.” He stopped talking abruptly and started walking, leading me with him. Together we circled around the mound until he stopped again on the other side. “I do not think Théodred would have wanted me to come to his aid if he knew that by doing so, the West could fall.

 “I am sure he wouldn’t or even if it just meant your death,” I replied, smiling up at him. “You sound as if you feel a bit better about the whole thing.”

“Yes, I do. It would be foolish to deny that the Riddermark needs me. Like you, I am also glad we came, even if we cannot stay as long as we intended.” He dropped my hand and put his arms around my waist, looking at me in his intent way. “I have hopefully laid a few of my ghosts; next, we must go to Dol Amroth and confront yours.”

I nodded, “I would like that, but strangely the memories have not bothered me so much since I talked to you on our wedding night. I find myself thinking about my mother quite a lot now. Often I imagine how she would have handled a situation. It has been helpful rather than upsetting me.”

“Good.” His hips brushed mine for a fleeting second, but then he stood up straight looking over my shoulder, “Look, the mist is dispersing.”

I turned around. A few wisps still clung to the stones, but I could see the crossing clearly visible the whole width of the river. I had given no credit to the sun, but contrary to my lack of faith, she had defeated the grey monotony and the morning at last attained its true colours.

Aerin handed me a bowl of steaming porridge when we got back to the camp, no cream though, just honey. But very welcome for all that. The tents had been taken down and most of the equipment already strapped to the packhorses, so we perched on a convenient rock and made a hurried meal. I watched the two Rohirric women whilst Éomer bolted his food down. More interested in discussing with Éothain the number of scouts they were going to send out on the return journey, than eating. Hroddwyn, the young widow, went about cleaning pots and mugs, as she usually did – silently. I imagined the wargs would not bother her as she had nothing much left to lose. However, Egelfled, whose husband was a senior member of Eomer’s guard, looked slightly drawn, no doubt wondering if she would be making the journey back to Edoras without her husband’s escort. If Éomer went Warg hunting then Aiken probably would too. But as yet Éomer had not made known his intentions. He finished his food before mine had barely cooled and I could tell that he had put any melancholy thoughts to the back of his mind and wished to return to the Hornburg with all speed. After all, the needs of the living outweighed those of the dead. I finished the porridge, but had barely the time to drink my tea and eat a biscuit before Léod led over my eager horse. Eadric took my cup and, with my husband still busy giving orders to his Riders, Léod gave me a leg up into the saddle. Within moments the last few utensils had been packed away, somebody threw dirt on the fire to douse it, and we broke camp.

I knew the pace would be fast. The horses were rested; the morning cool, and the mission urgent. I could sense the difference in the men too, we had had scouts and outriders since we left Edoras, but many times I noticed the Riders around me looking up, scanning the rocks above us, alert to any danger.  Glancing at Aerin I stifled a laugh, not surprised to see her giving a very good impression of enjoying herself, possibly the extra spice of danger responsible for the flush on her cheeks and the excitement in her eyes. If I had any doubts about her riding abilities, seeing that she had only learnt that summer, they were misplaced. I knew that she had spent a great deal of her off duty time making sure she would make a suitable wife for a young man, who even more than most in Rohan, spent his life amongst horses.

By the time we reached the branch in the road where the way led up to the Hornburg I had difficulty thinking of anything other than a bath. We had seen nothing of wargs, or any other danger, it had just been a tiring few hours. Now, though, I pushed my aches away and concentrated on studying the countryside around me. The Westfold Vale was true farming land, with rich fields and many homesteads. We travelled steadily upward, through grazing cattle and past small farms with their assortment of pigs, goats and hens, until finally we entered the Deeping Coomb. It looked like a great green chunk had been cut right out of the mountainside. The road followed the course of the Deeping Stream, the noisy rushing water issuing from a gorge at the far end of the coomb and flowing rapidly towards the plain. As we progressed further toward the mountain and into the gorge the cliffs rose like huge towers each side of us and ahead – the first fortification – the Dike. A triangular tract of green sward spanned the distance from the Dike to the Wall, beyond. The road climbed gently up across this high-meadow and ended at Helm’s Gate. The guards waved us through, and in what seemed like no time at all we were trotting up the long causeway to pass through the outer wall of the Hornburg. And there, at the entrance to his domain, Erkenbrand, Lord of the Westfold, Marshal of the Riddermark, waited to welcome us.

Erkenbrand wasted little time on official greetings, very obviously eager to talk to Éomer and he started almost before my husband had helped me down from Sceadu. “You made good time, my lord; I did not expect you quite so early.” 

“Yes, we rode hard. I expect my wife is tired and could do with a bath.”

“Of course, rooms have been prepared. Wilflede is waiting to escort the Queen,” he indicated his wife, who came forward and bobbed an extremely inelegant curtsey. She was short and very plump and much more suited to bowing, but I suppose she must have thought my position warranted the honour.

“Éomer,” I said under my breath. “I would like to know if anything has happened first.” One look at Erkenbrand’s face, unusually drawn tight with worry, told me it had.

Éomer fixed me a speculative look for a moment, possibly wondering if I should be involved in such discussions, but then nodded and squeezed my hand. “In a moment, Erkenbrand. Perhaps we could have some refreshment first and discuss the situation. Have you had any sightings?”

“Not any sightings, but I am afraid they have killed. A young shepherd was due to bring his flock down from the high pastures yesterday. He did not appear.” He shook his head almost despairingly, “A search party went out, but found naught except one shoe,” he hesitated,  “and nothing at all of the sheep.  We would not have known wargs were to blame if Swidhelm and Oeric had not arrived.”

I put my hand to my mouth to stifle my gasp, the bile rising in my throat at the thought of a young boy facing a pack of wargs –his poor family! But I controlled my horror, lest I be excluded from the discussion. I wanted to know what went on in this new land of mine.

“Where are Swidhelm and Oeric now?” Éomer asked, giving my hand another squeeze. He did not miss much.

“Out looking, my lord. They managed a few hours sleep but left at first light with some of my men. If they find any signs, we will get word.”

“They will find them. But you did not send out enough to launch an attack, I presume. We will need to stalk them, surround them. None must get away.”

Erkenbrand shook his head again, “No, Swidhelm will send a report back and he will endeavor to keep track of them until you get there.”

I tensed inwardly. Did that mean my husband had intentions of going after them himself? Had it already been discussed, I wondered, already been decided the night before?

Éomer neither confirmed nor denied my suspicions when he answered Erkenbrand. “As soon as we know where they are we will have to send out a large force, get right around them. I don’t want them getting near Edoras; but also, I do not want them going farther along the Ered Nimrais and crossing into the inhabited uplands of Gondor. They are not used to dealing with them there.”

“No, that’s true. We, at least, have some experience of fighting them. Anyway,” Erkenbrand slapped his king on his back, “we can do nothing until we have some news. Let’s get you some food and then your lady wife can take her bath.”

We passed through into a large hall, unlike Meduseld where wood abounded, here, all was stone. Coloured hangings clothed much of the walls; spears and lances crossed over the top of open archways. These openings led to further rooms, inside which, even this early in the day, torches were burning in dark corners.  It could not be considered homely; everything spoke of the province of a warrior. In a large space through one of the arches a dining table had been set. Made of dark carved wood, the table could have accommodated forty people. A simple meal had been laid out at one end and I ate my food quietly, tired, and perhaps a little worried, listening to the men discussing the finer points of warg hunting, until a soft tap on the shoulder made me turn around.

“Would you like to come to your room now, my lady? Your maid has finished her meal and is preparing your bath.” Erkenbrand’s wife had a cheery vibrant voice; she also had smooth tanned skin and a lovely open smile.

I smiled back, “Yes, I would, thank you.” I knew I was not going to learn any more, the general feeling of the men that they would hear nothing until the evening at least, and any expedition unlikely to set forth before morning.

I followed Wilflede back out into the hall and up some stairs. She led me to a large wooden door outside which stood a pile of empty wooden buckets. “I hope you will not mind sharing with Éomer King, my lady, we do not have a great many bedchambers. The burg was not designed to be a house.”

“No, of course not,” I replied, wondering if he would be sleeping here anyway or off up into the mountains. The room was not big, most of it taken up by a large four posted bed. A screen partitioned off one corner and I could hear the sounds of water being poured into a tub.

“Éomer King will probably want a bath as well,” Wilflede said cheerfully, “I will send him up when some more water has had chance to heat. There will be some for you later, Aerin isn’t it?” She called towards the screen.

“Oh, thank you, Lady Wilflede. I could certainly do with it.” Aerin appeared, empty bucket in hand.

Wilflede nodded, “Right then, I’ll leave you to it. Call me when the bath needs emptying.” She waddled out leaving me alone with my maid.

“I should get undressed quickly, my lady. The water is hot now but will soon cool down. It’s not very warm with all this stone.”

Except for my cloak, I still had on my outdoor clothes so had not really noticed the temperature. However, as soon as I started to undress I realized that although a fire had been lit, stone and autumn chill combined to render it rather ineffectual.

“Help me with this mail, would you Aerin?” I normally preferred to dress and undress myself, but the mail shirt fastened at the back.

“I thought at one time you might have needed it,” she remarked as she loosened the fastenings enough for me to pull it over my head.

“I doubt it would stop a warg,” I said slanting her a wry look.

Aerin shuddered. “I suppose not. But Léod said that Éomer King, Éothain and the others would have sorted them out. We were quite safe.”

I tried to refrain from chuckling, wondering if Léod really thought that or if he had sought to reassure her. Not that from what I had seen she had looked at all worried. “Well, let us hope they track them all down.”

“Oh, they are bound to. Léod says that Swidhelm is the best tracker in the Riddermark and Éomer King will lead the men himself.” She replied with certainty.

“It is common knowledge that the King is going on this hunt, then?”

“Oh, yes. Léod says he will not be able to resist it. He’s not had a good fight for ages.”

“A good fight! Is that what they call it? I cannot believe they relish battling with those evil creatures.”  I tried hard not to show my incredulity but Aerin laughed.

“Léod says that the warriors need to keep up their skills and the training grounds are not the same.”

Getting a bit fed up with hearing Léod’s opinion, I went behind the screen to take off the rest of my clothing.

                                                             ***

Feeling tired after our early start that morning I rested on the bed for a bit after my bath, glad I had packed a thick woollen robe.  I say rest, but first I had to watch Wilflede supervise a procession of servants carrying out buckets of dirty bathwater. Then, just as I started to drift off, the whole process was reversed, with hot water brought in to refill the tub. I presumed my husband would soon appear for his turn. He did, within minutes, and I heard him outside insisting that he was perfectly capable of removing his chain-mail, and no, he needed no help at all.

“You are sure, my lord? We can send for your squire.”

“No, thank you, Wilflede. You say my wife is here. I am sure she will not mind undoing a few fastenings.”

“Well, if you’re certain, my lord. Call if you need anything else.”

The door closed with a deliberate clunk. Éomer looked towards the bed and grinned, “I don’t think she quite understood that I actually would prefer you to take my clothes off, rather than my squire.”

“If you’ve got any sense you will leave them on,” I muttered. “It’s freezing in here.” I knew as soon as I said it I would be in for some teasing. A few short steps brought him to the bed. He sat down beside me with a thump and pulled me up against him.

“I hope my little Gondorian hot-house flower is going to survive her first winter in this cold barbaric country.”

“I’ll manage,” I replied, giggling unashamedly when he took my earlobe between his teeth and proceeded to nibble it gently. But since the bath water would be getting cold I reluctantly squirmed away.  “I must get your clothes off.”

He immediately stood up and stretched his arms out from his sides, beaming at me. “You do have some wonderful ideas. I will not hinder you.”

Used to his humor after nearly six whole weeks of marriage, I ignored him and struggled off the bed wrapping my robe tighter around me. Reaching under his arm I attacked the lacing holding his tunic, but only two had been freed before he grabbed me for a very thorough kiss which left me breathless and suspicious. His next words confirmed my suspicions.

“Lothíriel, I am going to have to leave you here.”

“You are going after the wargs?”

“It’s what I do best.”

I said nothing and resumed my battle with the laces.

“We are going to have to put a cordon around them. None must escape. It will need some organization.”

Standing back from him, I jerked my head towards him, indicating the tunic, “You can take it off now.”

He grabbed me again but this time held my chin in his large hand and looked me straight in the eye. “Tell me what you think, woman.”

“I think, Éomer, that it is your decision. If you are asking my advice, then I would say that you will probably fret abominably if you do not go, but that does not mean that it is right to do so. There is a risk to your people but is it great enough to put yourself in such danger? Is there another who could lead?  If there is, then you have to admit that you want to go and be happy with that.”

“Erkenbrand is getting too old to spend nights in the mountains. Elfhelm is not here, neither is Aelfric. Swidhelm is an excellent tracker but not a leader. There are a few others, but wargs are intelligent evil creatures ….”  He dropped my chin and sighed before stepping back and pulling the tunic over his head emerging with tousled hair and an almost childish, and certainly a rebellious, look on his face. “I want to go.”

I took the tunic from him. “In that case, take your boots off and then turn around and let us get this hauberk off so you can have your bath. It may be the last for a while.” Slanting me a rueful grin, he did as he was told and I tugged at the fastenings on the mail. “If you are going to be more than a few days then I should go back to Edoras: Grievance Day is coming up.”

“Oh, damn.” He twisted his head over his shoulder to look at me, “I’d forgotten we were aiming to return by then. Do you mind going back and can you manage. It will be the first time you will have used your given authority?”

“I would prefer to go home if you can spare the escort and as for managing, well I wouldn’t have thought it will be much different than the last time, when I sat with you, and probably nothing I haven’t had to deal with when I did the same thing in Dol Amroth during the war. The only thing is - how popular will it be to have me sitting in judgment.”

“You were sworn in as Underking and anyone who doesn’t like it can sort out their own problems,” Éomer retorted in his usual blunt fashion. “You are perfectly capable of reaching a sensible decision on any dispute put before you.”

 “I hope so,” I helped him push the heavy mail off his shoulders; it slithered down piling in a heap on the stone floor. Éomer picked it up and draped it over a convenient chair and started to pull his wool shirt over his head. “It will only present a problem if there is any aspect of Rohirric law I am not conversant with, although I am sure Lord Bertwald will advise me.”

The shirt followed the hauberk. “Cereth is very knowledgeable, he will also be there to help you. And translate anything you cannot understand. Yes, I know he’s taking a time to come round,” he said seeing the skepticism on my face, “but you will win him over. He has always been very loyal to the Mark, especially in the dark times. He stood up to Grima more than most.”

“Well, he certainly sees me as another usurper.”

Éomer grabbing me was becoming a bit of a habit, not that I complained about being held tightly against a lovely warm, bare chest. “Lothíriel, what matters most is that I want you here. You have made me happier in a few short weeks than I thought I had any right to be. I just hope I make you as happy.”

My answer somehow got lost between his lips and mine. A few short weeks and now I could not imagine wanting to be in any other place than I found myself at that moment. “The water will be cold,” I whispered as space materialized between us again.

“Are you sure you don’t fancy another bath?”

I wondered if that velvet voice would always send shivers through me. “You will find there’s no chance,” I chuckled, “you will barely get in it yourself. They have to carry the water so far that the tub is the smallest tolerable.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“Don’t mind what?” I asked, taking the opportunity to start divesting him of the rest of his clothing.

“That things are not quite so luxurious here as in Minas Tirith. Plentiful hot water for instance.”

“Éomer, I miss nothing.  You did your best to make me welcome. Meduseld is very comfortable, and there’s plenty of hot water. Although, cold may be more appropriate for you at the moment,” I quipped as the last garment fell to the floor. “Now, get in the bathtub before the water turns to ice.” I gently pushed his hands away from their exploration inside my robe; he would never get his bath.

“Afterwards?” his voice was husky now.

“Afterwards,” I promised. He grinned, and finally sunk into the warm water.

TBC

Chapter 13 – A Dangerous Plan

My playful husband had gone. He disappeared at the very moment we heard a loud knock at the door and Éothain’s strident voice penetrated age-hardened oak.

“Sire, there is news.”

Éomer erupted from the bed, reaching out to snatch his breeches from the chair. “I will be there in a moment,” Dancing on one leg, the breeches just managed to make it up over his hips before he grabbed his shirt, pulling it impatiently over his head. He probably would have flung the door open in his haste to hear Éothain’s report, but the heavy wood resisted and would do no more than swing ponderously inward.

The door’s opposition gave me a moment to grab my robe and cover myself decently, but luckily Éomer retained enough memory of the previous half an hour, to step into the corridor and pull the door shut behind him. Seizing the moment, I fled behind the screen, intent on presenting myself as a suitably dressed Queen of Rohan. The soft squeak of the door alerted me to my husband’s return to the room.

A tawny head appeared around the tapestry, “Swidhelm’s found where they are holed up. I am going down as soon as I have dressed. Erkenbrand already has the maps out.”

“I should get ready, anyway. It must be nearly time for the evening meal.”

“I suppose so.” He glanced at my disordered hair, “Would you like me to send Aerin up?”

“A good idea,” I chuckled, smoothing it down, “and anyway it will be interesting to hear what Léod has to say about all this.” Éomer raised an eyebrow: I had been entertaining him with Léod’s thoughts on his king’s actions.

Aerin however, was unusually silent. Evidently, discussion amongst the Riders led her to believe that Léod would probably be included in the mission. If the paths became unsuitable for horses and they needed to be left under guard, then someone skilled would be required to keep them quiet and calm.

****

Servants were setting the long table when I arrived back down in the hall. There was no-one else to be seen at first but then the soft mumble of voices led me to another chamber where my husband, Erkenbrand, Éothain and a few other Riders clustered around a small table, studying a map. The details were obscured from me but no doubt it showed the paths and terrain of the Ered Nimrais. A fire burnt brightly in a large ornate fire basket, but, in spite of its generous size, it barely filled the huge hearth.

Moving quietly, I headed for the chair nearest to the source of warmth. Éomer never noticed me, being heavily engrossed with Éothain in discussing some strategy, but Erkenbrand flashed me a smile.  I eased myself carefully into old leather, not wanting to disturb the conference.

Sitting slightly apart from the men allowed me to observe Éomer covertly. For the first time since our marriage I saw him, not a king and as a husband, but as a warrior and a leader. His whole demeanour now reminiscent of the stern man I had encountered so briefly in Minas Tirith, all those months ago. His finger moved decisively over the map. He listened attentively to the suggestions of his companions but when he made a decision his orders were terse and sharp. The others nodded in agreement, not questioning his judgment. After a while, they could plan no more and the meeting started to break up. Bodies relaxed and arms stretched thankfully. Erkenbrand strode off to find out about supper and Éomer looked up and caught sight of me. His face softened; his eyes smiled and my heart leapt.

He came over as the group dispersed. “You look nice,” he remarked. “Green suits you.”

“The dress survived the packhorse,” I agreed.” My first Rohan-green dress and at least the thick velvet kept out some of the draughts.

“Lothíriel, I am sorry this trip has not turned out as we intended. I will have to be gone at first light. Swidhelm has passed word that the wargs are using some caves high in the next valley, but they could move on at any moment and we could lose them.”

 “I imagine they can travel very quickly,” the shake of my head intending to push his apology aside.

“They certainly can, and unlike orcs, do not tend to make permanent quarters. They follow their prey and if they are hounded out of one valley, will target another.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Contain them if we can. The main thing is to stop them dispersing into the mountains. The terrain is not suitable for the horses there and they will easily outrun a man. We need to put a cordon around them and drive them onto the lower slopes.”

“So you will have to send men above them to drive them down?”

“Yes, that is why we need a large force. If I send up just a few men the wargs will not run from them, they will attack them. We have to make them think they are outnumbered and at the same time hide the fact they are being driven into an ambush.

It sounded extremely dangerous to me, but I had no intention of voicing my fear. Éomer probably decided not to admit to any danger, because he smiled and took my arm leading me towards the dining hall. “I do not anticipate a problem, but it may take a few days. I am sending you back to Edoras with six of my guard and some of Erkenbrand’s men. I want you to stay here tomorrow and by the evening I will send word if it is safe for you to leave the next day, when I have assessed the situation. Erkenbrand has suggested that instead of camping you spend the night with his daughter in the village of Héacoomb It is less than a day’s ride back to Edoras from there.”

“That sounds a good idea,” I agreed.

Crossing the main antechamber we passed under the archway that led to the large hall containing the dining table. Wilflede waited next to small table which held bowls of washing water. “Good, evening, my lady, my lord. Supper is about to be served.” She bowed and then handed us some drying cloths.

I dipped my hands into the tepid water, and smiled, “I hope you have not been too inconvenienced by us arriving a day early, Lady Wilflede.”

“As long as you don’t mind chicken, instead of pork, my lady, then it doesn’t matter at all.”

Serve me right, I admonished myself: making a typical Gondorian meaningless remark only landed me with a typical Rohírric honest answer. “I am very fond of chicken, Lady Wilflede. They certainly smell good,” I remarked, as two servants struggled past carrying a spit containing around a dozen large chickens. They carefully placed the spit on two iron rests set in the large hearth.  As usual, the arrival of food caused a break in conversation.

“Ah, here it comes,” Erkenbrand boomed, eying the chickens. He stepped towards us, “My Lord King, my Lady Queen, please be seated.”

I doubt any more could be squeezed around the table. What with a fair proportion of Eomer’s guard, the high ranking Westfold Riders and their wives, plus a few elders, the count looked to be well over forty. My place was between my husband and Lord Erkenbrand who immediately engaged me in conversation.

“Did Éomer King say you will be staying with my daughter on the way back to Edoras, my lady?”

“Yes, I shall look forward to renewing our acquaintance.” I replied politely. “She lives in the village of Héacoomb, doesn’t she?”

“Yes, she does. Her husband has a large farm,” he said, with pride in his voice. “You will be there long before sundown. I am detailing some of my best men to go with you. Once you are within half a day of Edoras, they will return to strengthen my éored. We are patrolling the edge of the plain; hopefully we can encourage the devils to come down that far. They won’t get away then; I will make sure of that”

The light in his eyes told me he hoped he would get chance to prove his words. A grin hovered on my lips: too old to spend nights in the mountains! What would he say of Eomer’s convenient assessment, I wondered?  Doubtless the Marshall of the Westmark did not consider himself too old to lead a warg hunt. “Are they likely to be chased down?” My question asked more to provide suitable conversation than from a desire to know.

“Hopefully they’ll come straight to us, my lady, but they’re wily creatures and not totally predictable.”

“Are you talking about women or wargs, Erkenbrand?” Éomer butted in.

“If its Erkenbrand, it’s probably women,” someone sniggered.

“Give me a warg any day,” Éothain muttered.

“He gets better luck with them,” a comment came from down the table.

The general amusement lasted until the first dish arrived: huge mushrooms coated in herbs and breadcrumbs and cooked in butter, one, more than enough for me. “You have tried these before, my lady?” Wilflede asked.

“Yes, we have eaten them a few times at Meduseld recently, it being the season. Mushrooms are a favourite of mine, but these are different from the kinds I am familiar with in Dol Amroth.”

“I don’t think they grow anywhere as well as they do in the Riddermark. That’s why they call them horse-mushrooms. But we have many more kinds that we pick in the pinewoods. You will recognise those, I feel.”

The next course - freshwater mussels - instigated another round of conversation as to the difference between dishes in the Mark and those I enjoyed in Gondor. But luckily for the Lords of the Riddermark sitting around me, a chicken is a chicken, anywhere. This allowed the conversation to turn to the behaviour of wargs. The animated discussion encouraged me to leave the men to mull over the following day’s sport and retire for the night as soon as the apple tart had been consumed.

When I arrived in the bedchamber Aerin was in the process of sliding a warming pan between the sheets. “Oh, you managed to find one, that’s good.”

“I’ve stoked up the fire as much as I can, my lady, but you might as well try to heat Meduseld with a candle. No wonder they wear a lot of sheepskin around here.”

“It’s not even winter yet, but no doubt we will get use to it. Although, surely Meduseld is not so cold,” I said, having thought about it. “Here, it is all stone and the building is in the shadow of the mountain for a large part of the day.”

“I hope it doesn’t get bitterly cold. I’m not sure I will learn to live with that.”

I stared at my maid in surprise; it was unlike her to be so negative, “However cold it gets, Aerin, Léod’s cottage is warm. It is easy to see why they use wood and thatch. And it’s only another six weeks and you will be living there…Aerin, what’s the matter?” Her face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears.

Aerin wiped the back of her hand across her eyes and sniffed, “We had an argument.”

“An argument? With Léod?”

She looked so miserable I was unsure whether to put my arm around her, or laugh. I compromised, “Well, it can’t be that bad. Sit down and tell me.”

 She sat on the edge of the bed looking down into her lap “He is pleased Éomer King wants to take him tomorrow.”

“Of course he is. It shows he is trusted.”

Aerin looked back up at that, eyes wide in indignation. “But he is not a warrior. I do not want to marry a warrior. I did not realise the danger yesterday but now all the men are talking about it. I do not want him to go.”

“And you told him that?”

She nodded unhappily. “And he said he may have to go if Éomer King goes to war again. They always take stable boys and even a stable-master to see to the horse lines. I never thought he would be needed, although with so many warhorses…”she shook her head. “Anyway, I told him that I would not spend months waiting at home, frightened he will not come back. I do not want that kind of life.”

“But you knew that, Aerin,” I stated, somewhat mystified. “You met him during the Ring-War when he rode with Théoden King.”

“I know I did, but I didn’t really think about it. I didn’t think there would be any danger once the war ended.”

“Do you love him, Aerin?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then you will have to learn to deal with it,” I said somewhat harshly, “or give him up. And I am sure you do not want that. He cannot refuse to go with his king because his future wife does not like it. You cannot ask that of him.” 

“I  know.”

The little plaintive voice hardly rose above the sound of her sobs, which prompted me to reach over to the side table to get a clean handkerchief. “Here, dry your tears.”

“Thank you, my lady.” A few sniffs and a swallow accompanied this. “I don’t know what came over me. And he will go off in the morning thinking I’m cross with him.”

“No he won’t. Go and find him now.”

“But, my lady…”

“Go on. I can get myself into bed.”

The door closed behind her, leaving me with an impression of a tear streaked face. Shaking my head, I wondered if my maid now realised the reality of leaving family behind to live in a strange land.

I looked around for my nightgown: my mind still on Aerin. Léod’s position in Edoras meant he could see her for a good part of every day. Absurd, that she would think he always would be there to keep her company, but then, unlike me, the demands of duty did not form the main part of her schooling.  I sighed; staring at the mirror gave me no answer to the question of how easy it would be to manage without my own husband for the next week, or even longer, maybe. His excellent job of shielding me from the more vocal dissenters had helped enormously, but I could not rely on him for ever and needed to fight my own battles. However, from the beginning that prospect always worried me a lot less than being married to a stranger. Well, he was a stranger no longer and my return to Edoras alone would give me the chance to address the other issues. Another look in the mirror told me that Éomer spoke the truth and that, even by candlelight, green suited me.

Amused at my own thoughts, my attention turned to getting ready for bed and, once I located my nightgown: fine lawn quickly replaced velvet and silk. My hair could stay in its plait: it would be quicker in the morning. With nothing else to see to, I shot under the covers, pushing the warming pan to the other side of the bed. I had barely pulled the quilt up around me when the door opened and Éomer appeared, clutching cuirass and sword.  He propped his sword and scabbard in a corner by the fire and dumped the breastplate on top of his hauberk. The tooled leather gleamed in the muted light.

“You cleaned them?” I remarked, glancing at the scabbard and the glowing sun on his cuirass.

“Not me,” he grinned, “my squire. I have to give him something to do, since you like to undress me.”

Some other thought disturbed my mind, otherwise I would have challenged him on that one, “You have not got your full armour with you …”

“Before you start worrying,” he interrupted me, “I do not need it. Wargs to not throw spears and fire arrows, or wield swords…”

“No! They just bite your head off, I imagine.”

“Lothíriel,” the bed shuddered as he sat down beside me, “I will be fine. With what we have planned it will be better to be more mobile.”

“I suppose, but what about Firefoot? I thought you were not going to take him into battle anymore.”

“I’m not, at least not a long campaign, but this is different. I shall be glad of his experience. In fact, I am relieved I brought him. Firebrand is still hot-headed and in this situation his youth could betray him. Hopefully, there will be no major battle before he is fully trained. Don’t worry, I am well prepared.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He already held my hand, but I reached my other over and clasped it on top of his. “I am sorry. I didn’t want to make a fuss.”

“You have every right to question: it is you who will have to explain to the likes of Cereth, why I decided to go.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I would not be so undignified as to answer that. I shall engage all the pride of my lineage and tell him that the king makes his own decisions.”

“Quite right,” he started to grin but then his face altered as some other notion changed the grin to a slight frown. Whatever thought caused the frown also made him hesitate over his next words, “Lothíriel … I did not intend to say this, but…I have put Daegberht in charge of your escort home. He is a very experienced warrior. You will do exactly as he tells you, won’t you?”

“Of course I will.” I promised you that at the beginning of the trip…Éomer, are you trying to tell me there may be some danger?”

“No,” he said with a soft smile and a squeeze of my hand, “if I thought that, you would stay here. If I am uneasy tomorrow I will send word for you not to leave. But prudence commanded me to discuss all eventualities with my men, and that includes the faintest chance of an attack upon you.”

“Tell me what has been decided then. It will be better if I am prepared.”

“There is virtually no likelihood of any wargs escaping our net in the mountains, or Erkenbrand’s vigilance on the plains. But if by any chance a few elude us then you must not worry. Daegberht knows just what to do. He will lead you and the other women out onto the plains.  Wargs are no match for our horses on the open grassland. You must think of nothing else but following Daegberht. Is that clear?”

I said nothing which prompted him to carry on. “Now, I have frightened you. Maybe it is better not return to Edoras. I can send a messenger.”

Tempted, for only a moment, I shook my head. My father had always encouraged his children to meet any fear head on. “No, please don’t, Éomer. I want to go back.”

“I would rather you did, but we will see tomorrow. If there is any doubt in my mind you will stay here.” He gently lifted my hand to his mouth, rubbing warm lips over my knuckles, “Now, I must get to bed,” he said abruptly dropping my hand, before standing up, pulling his tunic over his head as he did so. I settled back against the pillows, hoping that the sight of my husband undressing would thrust fear-provoking thoughts from my mind. Once the shirt started to come off they reduced to no more than a faint unease. Perhaps because I decided that no warg stood a chance against those muscles. He must have gathered that I enjoyed watching him as his lips were twitching and his eyes were on me. A little teasing would not come amiss.

“Of course, if I’d accepted one of my other suitors, I would not have to worry about wargs at all.”

“True.” He dropped the last of his garments and made for his side of the bed. My eyes followed him, not quite expecting such an evident arousal in the circumstances. “And if you’d married that hog’s pudding or the streak of lard you told me about, you would be living in the lap of luxury and not… What’s this?”

 I giggled. He recoiled, horrified. “It’s a warming pan, and you are right: marriage to one of them would have least meant that I would not be freezing.”

The pan collided noisily with the floor and once in the bed his arms pulled me into a wonderfully warm embrace. “I can’t promise the luxury but I can promise you won’t be cold for much longer.”

“Éomer,” I protested, as he relaxed his grip and my nightgown started to come off, “you can’t. Not after this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes I can.”  With a slight struggle the nightgown came deftly over my head with only a little help from me.

I tried once more, “You have to be up at first light, fit for battle.”

“Just you remember you rejected those old men in favour of…”

“A barbarian from the north,” I supplied helpfully.

“The young king of Rohan, I intended to say.”

TBC

Ch 14 – A painful departure

Warmth? My source of warmth had gone. “Éomer…?” The plea reached out into the shadows.

Heavy footsteps came towards the bed.” I am sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you. Stay there, I’ll light the lamp.”

I thrust away the dregs of sleep and heard Éomer fiddling around by the fire. Gradually the room came into focus as the lamp burned brighter. He stirred up the embers and added another log, the blaze chasing away more shadows.

“Surely you did not intend to leave without saying farewell,” I said. Suddenly, coming instantly wide awake at the possibility, I threw back the covers and swung my legs down onto the floor. Luckily they found one of the rugs, but before I had chance to lever myself up, large hands pushed me gently back towards the mattress.

“Go back to bed. I intended to come and say goodbye just before we left. There is no need for you to get up, Lothíriel. We are leaving at dawn.”

Knowing how useless it would be to protest at that moment I tucked my legs back under the covers but refused to lay down. “But I want to see you off.”  

Éomer put his head on one side and placed one finger against my cheek, looking down into my face. His eyes held a tender smile. “That will be nice, but stay for a little longer. I have a bit to do first and then I want a last conference with Éothain and Erkenbrand over a quick meal. There is plenty of time: it’s nowhere near dawn yet.”

“Alright,” I agreed as my hand ran almost unconsciously down his arm, feeling his warmth through the thick wool of his shirt: so little between flesh and razor-sharp teeth. I shuddered. “But I’ll help you with your mail.”

A kiss dropped on my forehead, “No, it’s cold. Give the fire a chance to get going before you dress.” I gave up and sank back against the pillow pulling the covers up as Éomer picked up his tunic, hauberk, sword and breastplate. “Don’t worry if you go back to sleep. I will come and say goodbye.” With a last look over his shoulder he left the room, sending a cold waft of air rushing towards me.

Sinking back under the covers satisfied me for no longer than a minute. Immediately I tried to work out how long it would be before they left, determined not to fall asleep.

***

When I awoke it was with a sense of dread, the gap between the curtains showed a dull grey. Sheer panic made me jump straight out of the bed, stubbing my toe painfully on a small chest. How could I have gone back to sleep? And why hadn’t he come back to say goodbye. I flung back the curtain peering out into the dim light, but could only see a blank stone wall. The first thing that came to hand was the green velvet dress, unsuitable, but it would have to do. Never had I dressed so hastily, blessing the foresight that had told me to leave my hair plaited the night before. Grabbing my cloak and with my heart thumping wildly, I flew down the worn steps arriving in the hall in a flurry and almost bumping in to a group of riders leaving the dining area. Immediately they parted to let me through, bowing good-morning. I slowed, rescued my dignity and passed through into the dining hall.

Lady Wilflede appeared from the direction of the kitchen, she carried a tray laden with small squat wooden cups. When she got closer I noticed they were very similar to the ones we had at Meduseld. Of course, there would be a traditional farewell mead drink given to the Riders. They had not left. The relief made me momentarily giddy and I clutched at a pillar trying to restore my equilibrium before she noticed. The meal must have just finished because a huge cauldron sat on the hearth, its sides sticky with remains of creamy porridge. On the table, only a few lonely remnants of the rich fruity bread pudding, popular as early morning fuel, graced pottery plates. Two serving girls, tongue tied and hesitant at my greeting, started removing dirty dishes and brushing crumbs into wooden bowls.

 “Leave that now and go and fetch the rest of the mead-cups,” Wilflede instructed the two girls as she passed them. “Good morning, my lady,” she said in the next breath. You have just come down in time; they are almost ready to leave.”

When I got outside, the Inner Court was full: of men; of horses; of noise. A few packhorses stood next to the doorway, still being laden and puffing out little clouds of hot hay–sweet breath into the cold air. Shivering slightly, I huddled my cloak tighter and looked around. Firefoot and Éothain’s mount, Helm were amongst a group of horses that included a wild looking beast, almost all black except for one white patch over his left eye. Somehow I knew he belonged to Lord Erkenbrand. As my eyes searched around for my husband a man passed me carrying an armful of spears. I had never seen anything quite like them before, but I knew them for what they were immediately: warg spears. My brothers used something similar for hunting boar, but these were longer and heavier and the stop much broader.  The significance hit me hard in the stomach, how much force did it really need to stop a warg?  At that moment I spotted Éomer, he was surrounded by a large group of Riders but he saw me almost straight away. Instantly he excused himself and wound his way towards me, his face lighting up with pleasure as he approached.

“I was just going to come up. I thought you had changed your mind and decided to stay in bed,” he teased.

 “I wouldn’t do that,” I said quietly, still reeling from my sight of the spears, but not being able to voice my fears. Taking my arm, he drew me away from the press of men that crowded the area. “What’s that you are wearing? I asked, noticing the leather collar of some kind of jerkin protruding over his hauberk.

“Oh, someone lent it to me. The leather is… harder wearing.”

“A bit more resilient, you mean. I saw the warg spears, Éomer. Are you sure you don’t need better armor?”

“I am sure. I need to be able to move. I promise you that we take all reasonable precautions. The spears have proved efficient and we use heavier arrows…”

“Because it takes more to kill a warg than a man or an orc,” I interjected.

He sighed. “Yes, it does. There is no forgetting you are the daughter of a warrior. But because it takes more force that does not mean it is more difficult, just different.”

At that moment a horn sounded. “It is nearly time, Lothíriel. I am afraid I am going to have to leave soon.”

“Of course,” I squeezed his arm and tried to put on my bright mask but now that the moment had come for him to depart, I felt bereft. All too conscious that with him leaving, the anchor that had been holding me fast to my new land, could cast me adrift. He must have guessed at my unease because he pulled me against his chest and tipped my chin up so that he could look directly into my eyes.

“Lothíriel, I hope to be back in Edoras within a week, but if I am delayed you must not worry. All sorts of unexpected things can happen. In this case the most likely is that the quarry may disperse into the mountains and we have to hunt them down individually. If there is any problem you will hear from Erkenbrand, otherwise I am likely to return at any time.”

“Yes, I understand that. I am bound to miss you, but it is nothing I am unable to cope with. In fact, it’s something I need to get used to.” I tried to sound confident, painfully aware just how lonely Meduseld would be without him.

“Well, I didn’t expect something like this so soon, but I have to admit the prospect of you missing me is appealing.” His eyes held mine, full of unspoken declaration.

I swallowed. The words I wanted to say stuck in my throat. There were so many people around. Certainly not the time to say how much he now meant to me, so I just put up my hand and stroked trembling fingers down his cheek, “Keep safe.”

Éomer didn’t seem to care about the audience because he grabbed my fingers and pressed his lips against them. “I will, I promise.”

Knowing I would make a complete fool of myself if I prolonged the goodbyes, I drew away slightly. “I will have to find someone to show me around today. We may not get back here for a while.” The Battle for Helm’s Deep would go down in legend; I had hoped to hear about it first hand.

Éomer, always quick to take my cue, grasped hold of my elbow and looked around the courtyard, breaking the tension between us. “Circumstances stop me showing you myself, Lothíriel, and I regret that, but I have arranged for one who fought alongside me, to take my place.” He waved to an old man who stood a little apart, watching the preparations to leave with an almost wistful look.

“Gamling, come and meet my wife.”

“I have been waiting for the opportunity, my Lord King.”

Lively blue eyes looked out from a face the texture of old leather; wispy, silvered hair hung un-braided past his shoulders, but the aged warrior held himself straight and tall.

Éomer moved away to deal with some query as soon as the introductions were over and I was left in the company of my proposed guide.

“It will be a pleasure, my lady, to show you around the Deep. Éomer King tells me you particularly wish to see the postern gate and stand on the walls of the Hornburg.”

“Friendships, between men, kings and countries were formed here, Gamling. In this place, the battle for Middle-earth began.” I stopped, surprised by my own emotion, but I would not be the queen of this land if it were not for the alliance that started here.

Gamling smiled, his broken teeth at odds with the rest of his neat appearance, “You have the look of him, my lady: the same eyes.”

“Look of who…?” Oh, of course, my father, I did not realise you had met him.”

“Not your father, my lady, Lord Aragorn.”

I smiled. “Yes, I have the grey eyes of the Dúnadan.”

“So have many,” he agreed, “but yours have that certain depth that tells me you will make the Riddermark a wonderful queen.

My mouth opened to chide him for being a honey-tongued old flatterer, but I stopped myself and the words turned to a gulp. His sincerity showed in his beatific smile and I sought desperately to voice my gratitude for his support without succumbing to the sudden rush of emotion that flowed through me. Coming on top of my anxiety at Eomer’s departure, his unexpected comment threatened to have me in tears. Whether he realised or not, he eased my discomfiture by taking my arm, “Come, my lady, let me escort you to the Outer Court. You will want to watch them leave.”

The courtyard gradually emptied, as King, Marshall and the higher-ranking Riders joined the men outside. By the time we passed through into the Outer Court, what I thought all but mayhem had turned into total semblance of order and my overall impression – one of exhilaration. I knew enough about men - and warriors in particular - my brother Erchirion especially - to expect nothing else at the start of what they probably considered not much more than a pleasurable jaunt. But before that moment I had never witnessed such an expression of controlled excitement amongst horses. Too well trained to move from their allotted positions, their enthusiasm for the anticipated fray showed in the restless tossing of powerful heads, the spark of an iron-shod hoof as it scraped the ground and the sporadic, collective snorting.

Wilflede stood near the head of the line, holding the tray of ornamental mead-cups. More trays rested on a low stone wall. When the excited clamour receded into relative quiet she looked up and down the ranks of Riders to check everyone was mounted. Once satisfied, she unhesitantly stepped right up to the side of Firefoot, trusting her king had the stallion under control. Wilflede passed a cup to Éomer, her husband and then the other nobles, speaking the traditional words of fare- thee- well and safe return, with a clear voice that cut right through the neighing of warhorses and the muttering of men. Once the Lords of the Riddermark had tossed back the sweet drink she signalled to the serving maids to bring forward the first of the trays of plain wooden cups that were to be passed around. Now that the ‘Hlafdige’ had fulfilled her role I moved towards her, “May I help, Lady Wilflede?”

Her blue eyes lit up with pleasure and her honest face showed genuine delight,” Of course, my lady, we would be honoured.”   

Quickly we moved amongst the men and horses, passing cups along the lines, knowing that although the ancient ceremony could not be neglected, they were eager to be gone. I saved a special smile for Léod, who sat confidently amongst so many warriors. But when I reached the rear I found someone unexpected. “Eadric,” I addressed the veteran retainer, I did not know you were riding.”

“I volunteered, my lady. I will be running the base camp. They will need hot food in between the hunting.”

“Well, that reassures me,” I said, flashing him a grin. “I thought it was all dried meat and oats.”

“We are a bit more organised than that, my lady and I am skilled in treating wounds.”

“Oh, of course, I forgot. Well,” I said, smiling brightly, “good luck then.”  Wishing he had not reminded me of wounds, I quickly handed out the last of the drink. Once the last cup had been handed back a heavy silence descended throughout the courtyard, even the horses quietened and appeared to be waiting for the signal to move.

At that moment my interest centred on my husband, and I quickly walked back to stand near the head of the column. A look could be interpreted as saying many things, those blue eyes fixed on me for just a short moment, but it was enough to wrap a cloak of reassurance around me and send a hot rush of longing to my very core

Éomer drew his eyes from me and raised himself on his stirrups, looking around at the assembled company. His whole posture now proclaimed the warrior; the leader. He had been a warrior long before he became a king and then a husband. But those new roles sat firmly on his broad shoulders. My journey to this land had regrettably been one of anxiety and trepidation. My arrival had displeased some, but the welcome from the man I had agreed to wed could not be faulted. Perhaps his pride touched, that his two great friends had coerced me to marry him, but for whatever reason, he had put heart and soul into the carefully crafted relationship.  Through him, I had discovered the pleasures of physical love but also the security of having a husband who although appreciated the strength of women, would always stand as a strong post on which to lean. During the first weeks of our marriage loneliness had encouraged me to cling to him, but only now, as he raised his hand to give the order to move out, did I realise that I had come to truly love him.

The first blush of pink showed in eastern sky as the challenging notes of horns echoed around hard stone walls. The column moved forward and the clatter of hooves grew in momentum, rising to a peak as the bulk of the Riders passed me by before gradually diminishing as the tail reached the causeway. I watched until they cantered across the green gore, disappearing into the early morning murk.  Aerin still stood on the wall with her gaze fixed down the road, every now and then her hand would brush across her eyes. What luxury to be able to show one’s feelings so blatantly.

“You will get used to it, my lady.”

“Oh, Lady Wilflede, I did not see you there.” She moved quietly despite her bulk. I looked down into her kind face and detected genuine understanding. “I imagine all this is quite familiar to you.”

“Unfortunately, yes. But as I said, you get used to it.” A flash of carefully hidden disquietude crossed her face for a brief moment, “But it doesn’t really get any easier. You just learn to deal with it.”

 “That’s just what I told my maid. She is finding this difficult.”

Wilflede glanced towards Aerin who still looked out across the wall. “Well, she’s very young and not very experienced in life, I imagine.”

I smiled; Aerin wasn’t much younger than me. But then, I had waved my father and brothers off to a war I thought they would never return from. “I suppose she is.”

“She’s got nothing to worry about, anyway. They will be back before we can turn around. Now,” she let out a deep breath of…optimism, probably, which I thought better to ignore, “we’d better go and have our own meal, my lady. We can’t have our queen wasting away.”

No, but with concern gnawing at my insides, I did not feel like eating.

***

“‘I hear them, but they are only the scream of birds and the bellowing of beasts to my ears.’  That’s what he said, my lady.”

We stood on top of the Deeping Wall, the massive structure protecting the Hornburg. Reputedly, in the far-off days of the glory of Gondor the sea-kings had built this fastness with the hands of giants. Here, the heir to the throne of Gondor and the future King of Rohan had together defied the evil hordes that spewed from the depths of Isengard. A dwarf an elf and a few hundred men had withstood the power of a once mighty Istar who had become a pawn to black arts of Sauron. My guide’s eyes were bright and clear as he re-lived the moments of glory.

“When I got up here they were both leaning on their swords, resting when they could, you know. And Lord Aragorn, hoping for the dawn to come, he was. But they didn’t despair, not those two. Not once during that long night did either of them think it hopeless. And when I said that dawn was not far off but it wouldn’t help us, Lord Aragorn said – ‘Yet dawn is ever the hope of men.’ I pointed out that the foul spawn of Isengard would not quail in the sun, and couldn’t they hear their voices taunting. That’s when Éomer King said it - as if they were nothing to him,” Gamling shook his head in remembered wonder.

My husband’s fortitude in battle was well known to me – unbelievably, my brothers had used it as one of their arguments to persuade me to accept his marriage offer, but to hear it from one of his own men added a certain poignancy

The old warrior withdrew for a moment, looking out over the wall and seeing- what? He’d returned to that night when the future of Rohan had been balanced on the edge of only a few sharp swords. I said nothing, and presently he smiled and looked back at me again.

“That’s when they used the fire of Orthanc to blast the culvert open. We were pushed back into the Deep as the waters flowed. Lord Aragorn and a few others cut their way back up, but me, the Dwarf and Marshall Éomer - as he was then - we stayed. The women and children sheltered in the caves, my lady. Those filthy brutes weren’t going to get anywhere near them. I don’t know how long it was we fought in the narrows, before we heard the horn. It seemed forever - they kept coming and coming.

His eyes misted so I looked away for a moment to give him time to recover, and then asked, “And Gandalf and Erkenbrand came just in time, didn’t they, Gamling?”

“They did at that, my lady. But not before we lost many good men. Now, let’s go down to the postern gate.”

The gate, where Aragorn and Éomer had drawn swords together and Gimli had saved Eomer’s life, I especially wanted to see.

Gamling showed me everything he could until eventually, just after midday we stood on top of the causeway looking down on Háma’s grave.

“As I said earlier, my lady, they were good men.” He sighed, shaking his head sadly, “And none better than Háma. It grieved Théoden King something terrible to lose his captain, his friend.”

“Yes, I heard something about him from his wife.”

“Ah, Lady Byrhtwyn: a strong woman. I understand she has kept Meduseld together since the Lady Éowyn left to marry that ranger.”

In spite of the sombre conversation a giggle rose in my throat at my cousin, the Prince of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor being reduced to a ranger, by this proud soldier. Luckily, Gamling noticed nothing and had already started walking a little farther down the causeway. I followed him, and we stood looking towards the Dike where the road ran between two mounds. I had only glanced at them as we rode in, but now, after the description I had heard of the battle, my gaze held deep respect. We tarried for a short time whilst he told me a little about the destruction of the orcs, the moving wood and pointed out the Death Down and then we slowly returned back over the causeway and up the ramp.

“You’ll have time for a little rest, my lady, before the evening meal. And I expect there will be a messenger in before dark. Éomer King will want to let us know if it’s safe for you to travel tomorrow.”

“I am sure it will be, don’t you think so, Gamling?”

A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “He won’t take any chances with you, my lady. You can count on that.”

Yes, I knew I could. But I only nodded, keeping the warm feeling that crept into my chest, to myself. But after I had thanked Gamling for his morning’s escort and started to ascend the stairs to my room, I allowed my mind to muse. Not on my husband, but on Byrhtwyn, whose wise words on the behaviour of a Rohírric wife had angered me on the morning of my wedding but, after reflection, had encouraged my response to my wedding night and led to the closeness  I now enjoyed with Éomer. I vowed then, that when he returned I would remember her advice. My heart went out all the women who had no man - father, son or husband - to welcome home. Pray that all would return safely.

***

TBC

Chapter 15 –  A chapter of misfortune.

The cold bit hard. We did not leave until the sun emerged above the low line of clouds that defined the horizon, but as we cut down to the Great West Road the fresh wind whipped under cloaks until they billowed around us like un-sheeted sails on a poorly trimmed ship. Even the warmth from Lyftfætsceadu’s strong body filtered away into the chilly air. I shivered, wondering where Éomer had spent the night, and how uncomfortable it must be to sleep in a bedroll on hard rocky ground.

At the crossroads we turned southeast, and with the wind behind us my face started to feel as if it belonged to me again. The road now took us closer to the mountains. Hour after hour it seemed we cantered east, keeping up a relentless pace that tested strength and stiffened muscles. The Ered Nimrais, which had on our outward journey looked so beautiful, so majestic, now loomed over us hostile and menacing.  Somewhere in that vastness a group of men were battling wits and strength with a pack of vile creatures that thrived on pain and destruction. However, I took my cue from the men of our escort, who, when we finally stopped to rest at midday, joked boldly amongst themselves about the fate of a few wargs. And Daegberht inspired confidence. A tall muscular man, somewhere between thirty and forty summers, who wore his pale flaxen hair in warrior braids. A determined chin showed through his fair beard and the depth in his light blue eyes drew one’s gaze away from his crooked nose.

As soon as word came that we could leave the previous evening, he had he gathered us together, reiterating Éomer’s instructions about heading out onto the plain in the unlikely event of any attack. But we saw nothing, except one of the scouts reported catching sight of Erkenbrand’s company traversing the edge of the plain, where one of the fast flowing streams plummeted down through broken rocks. Even so, he pressed us onward, seeking to reach our refuge well before dark.

At last, with the westering sun, we turned our backs on the open grasslands and wearily I urged Sceadu onto the track that wound up into the Héacoomb valley. Looking behind me as we eased into a walk, I saw Aerin slumped in the saddle, her horse plodding along inline with little help from its rider. The two women from Rohan still sat straight, only a slight tension in their faces betraying their tiredness.

As dusk fell the cultivated fields gave way to clusters of houses and small paddocks, but these were empty. No horses or any other livestock grazed outside. As we moved through the village it became evident that we, or rather me, could be considered to be the object of a great deal of excitement. Virtually every cottage door stood wide open, whole families crowding in lamp-lit porches. Children, who would normally be settling down for the night, peeped from behind their mother’s skirts, or stood, importantly, holding the collars of  barking dogs. But as soon as we passed they were ushered in. Lights went out, shutters quickly fastened together and doors shut tight, the threat of wargs taken seriously by these people who had already suffered much from Saruman’s treachery.

Guided by one of the Westfold men we took a cart track up to where a sturdily built farmhouse stood on a plateau, hard into the cliff-face.  Immediately we clattered into the courtyard the main door of the building opened and three or four figures came out with lamps. The largest one spoke briefly with Daegberht, and then came towards me holding his lamp high so that I could see his face. I beheld a man about the same age, and nearly as tall, as Éomer, with kind eyes and a puckered scar that ran diagonally across one cheek, disappearing into a copious beard.

“My lady Queen, welcome to my home.” He bowed and the lamp bobbed, sweeping light behind him to where a woman waited. I am Eadweard,” he indicated to the woman who moved forward into the glow, “you have met my wife.”

Bathilde bobbed a curtsey and look genuinely pleased to see me.

“Of, course. It is nice to see you again Bathilde.” I smiled, her pleasant face held the same sincerity as her mother’s.

Eadweard looked down on his wife from his considerable height; almost unthinkingly he touched her arm, the gesture one of obvious affection. “Bathilde will show you to your sleeping quarters, my lady. I’ll take your horse. She will be well looked after.”

I knew I had to get off, and I dreaded it. My legs felt like jelly. Carefully, I eased my booted feet from my stirrups, wishing Éomer were here. There was something to be said for the way he would sometimes pluck me from the saddle. I just hoped I would not buckle at the knees when my feet hit the floor. To the side of me I saw one of the men reach up to Aerin. She put her arms around his neck and collapsed against him as he lifted her down. So much easier – not to be a queen.

“Let, me help you, my lady.”

“Oh, Daegberht, thank you. I do feel a bit weak.”

“I am not surprised, my lady. I am sorry you had to endure such a hard ride, but I didn’t want us out there after dark.” Eadweard, went to Sceadu’s head and I brought one leg cautiously over her withers so Daegberht could lift me down, He held on to me for a few moments until my legs began to work. “It will not be so bad tomorrow as we can cut off some of the road.”

I nodded, preferring not to think about tomorrow.

The heat, and the smell of peat, hit me the moment we entered into the large flagged hall. Bathilde led me straight up some worn stone stairs and along a dark corridor, opening the door onto a large room, also blessedly warm. A four poster bed dominated the space and something immediately told me it was her bed, hers and Eadweard’s. The protest that leapt to my lips died before I could utter it. Generosity should not be rebuffed.

“What a lovely room, Lady Bathilde, I imagine there is a wonderful view.”

“Yes, my lady, most of the rooms look down the valley and across the plains. Luckily this house survived the raids.” Now,” she went on, forestalling any further conversation on the subject, “there is a short time before supper, would you like some tea and a bath?”

“Some tea please. I do not need a bath, just a bowl of hot water.” I imagined there would be enough to do with all the visitors, without the extra work of preparing a bath for me.

“Are you sure, my lady? It is no trouble.”

“No, I will be back in Meduseld tomorrow. It’s not necessary.”

She smiled. “Very well, then I will find your maid…” A knock interrupted her before I could say that I rather doubted Aerin would be fit for duty. The door opened to Hroddwyn, the young widow who had come with us from Edoras.

A slight bow to Bathilde and a bob to me brought her into the room. “I have your night things, my lady. With your permission I will attend to you. Aerin is exhausted.”

Just as I opened my mouth to say I could manage, I remembered my mail shirt. It fastened down the back. “Thank you, Hroddwyn. I appreciate that.”

The girl nodded and put the bag she held down on the bed. “Is there a dress in here, my lady?” 

“There is, a red wool one. It’s probably very creased and needs hanging up.”

“Oh, give it to me Hroddwyn. I’ll get it pressed.”  Bathilde said, moving to the bed to peer in the bag.

Hroddwyn, pulled out the dress - which although having been carefully folded and put on the top of the pack, now looked well travelled - shook it out and handed it to Bathilde. My hostess folded the dress carefully over her arm, and looked around as if to check the room one more time. “I will send up the hot water, my lady, and I will add some hawthorn to the blackberry and nettle tea. That will help with the stiff muscles and relax you.”

The door closed behind the little bustling woman and I was left alone with Hroddwyn. I felt slightly uncomfortable as, although we had been travelling together for the past few days, we were still strangers. Our different ranks kept us apart most of the time, but also because she was so obviously unhappy and shunned intimate conversation. But mostly, I admit, because Aerin had told me she was in some way related to Elfgyuu which accounted for her inclusion in the party. However, looking into her eyes now, I saw no hostility, only an underlying sadness.  “Aerin only learnt to ride this summer.” I said, somehow feeling I needed to justify my maid’s exhaustion, or, more probably, make excuses for a Gondorian.

Hroddwyn smiled. The first real smile I had seen cross her face. “She has done well, my lady, for one not born in the saddle. And so have you.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised at the comment, “but I have ridden since I could walk.”

“I didn’t just mean that my lady. I meant how well you have coped with everything. The camping, Éomer King leaving you in the Hornburg to return to Meduseld alone when….” I stared dumbfounded, and her cheeks stained red. “I apologize; I am speaking out of turn.”

“No, no you’re not. You surprised me, that’s all.” I grinned and her face relaxed slightly. “I am getting used to the people of Rohan saying what they think.”

“In that case, my lady, let me tell you that many are coming to think Éomer King chose his wife well.” She turned back to my bag as if she did not expect any answer, “I will find your robe, my lady, and then we can get those clothes off.”

Hroddwyn quickly undid the fastenings at the back of my mail shirt, and then I sat on a chair and she pulled off my boots. Just as she got up the hot water arrived, carried by a servant girl whose hands shook so much that water slopped over the bucket. Bathilde followed, tutting, and carrying a tray with jug of tea and a small pottery pot. “The Queen will not bite you, Adith. Put the water behind the screen.” The girl hurried, catching her foot on the edge of a rug, spilling more water and causing Bathilde’s eyes to shoot skywards.  “Here we are, my lady drink this while it’s hot. I have brought some salve made from thyme leaves; you might like to rub it into your legs. Your dress will be back soon,” she said, hardly pausing for breath.

“Oh yes, that’s good.” Hroddwyn plucked the pot from the tray and took off the lid, sniffing deeply. “I often used this on Ealdred when he came back from a long patrol.”

Bathilde stayed whilst I sipped my tea, asking a few questions about her mother, then remembering something she hadn’t done, she suddenly rushed out of the room. Left alone with Hroddwyn again, I went behind the screen to strip off my leggings and the rest of my clothing. The warmth of the room made it pleasant to wash myself all over and I emerged to find my temporary maid hanging up my dress from the bed post. “Oh, I didn’t hear a knock.”

“A mouse would have made more noise.” 

Gathering that the timid serving girl must have come with the dress, I decided that I liked Hroddwyn, and a thought flitted through my mind – she would make a good maid when Aerin’s three months were up. But maybe she had other plans.

“If you would like to sit down on that chair, my lady, I will massage some salve into your legs.”

“Are you sure, Hroddwyn?” I did not want to upset her, reviving memories of her tending to her husband, but she shook her head, her eyes telling me she recognised my concern.

“I can’t live in the past, my lady. I can only be thankful for the time we had.”

The time we had- the cold clutch of fear made a grab for my heart. What if something happened to Éomer when I had only just discovered that I loved him? And before I had even told him. Suddenly all the reassurances were as nothing: the jokes from the men; Wilflede’s optimistic words; Erkenbrand’s vigilance. Just because Éomer had come through the Ring-war unscathed it did not mean he held a charmed life…and whatever he said – he did not have his full armour….

“Are you all right, my lady? You have gone quite white.”

“Yes…yes, I am fine, thank you.” Hroddwyn took my arm pulling me gently towards the chair.

“Sit down, my lady. You must not worry. Nothing will happen to the King.”

Hroddwyn poured me some more tea and in a few moments I regained my composure enough to continue dressing. Strangely, I felt no embarrassment at my lack of self control knowing that this woman understood my fears.

***

A cheerful meal in the company of my escort, Bathilde’s and Eadweard’s young family and a handful of farm workers restored my confidence. The talk at the meal convinced me that the man, who famously had raised his sword in total defiance at the coming of the Black Ships, was not destined to meet his end through a pack of wargs, however evil and malevolent they turned out to be.

We ate in a large barn, where enough tables had been set up to accommodate all the household and visitors in true Rohírric tradition. Thankfully charcoal braziers turned the semi-outdoor eating area into a warm cosy space. When we entered, Bathilde thrust forward her two young children who were waiting to greet me before going to their beds. The little girl managed a wobbly curtsey and her small son a creditable bow. She whispered that they had been practising all day. Eadweard stood proudly alongside the spit on which a large pig had been roasted to a rich golden brown. Evidently the pig had met its end immediately the messenger had arrived the previous evening with news of my visit. It was impossible not to be heartened by the welcome I received in that house, so spite of my tiredness I did not seek my bed straight after the meal, but stayed for some time listening to stories of the glory of the Riddermark.

With my heart considerably lighter, I took leave of my hosts the next morning and followed Daegberht back through the village. This time the children were out on the road and many times they had to be shooed from our path, but they would laugh and grin and run behind us, shouting to the warriors to – ‘batter, thrash, slaughter’ and just about anything else they could think of – ‘the wargs’. Passing me, they momentarily stopped, honoured me with a quick bow, and then carried on shouting.  We could still hear their excited voices calling as we left the houses behind and headed down the valley.

When we reached the road the wind had eased. The temperature had risen slightly, with a layer of low cloud obscuring the tops of the mountains. Within the hour we reached the place where we had made our camp on the outward journey. Then, the huge boulders gave shelter but now their dark forms loomed menacingly above us and the mountain stretched out onto the plain like an iron-clad hand reaching for an unprotected neck. But we were not unprotected, I told myself, some of the Westfold’s best men rode with us. Almost before I could complete my thoughts, Daegberht swung left and led us out onto the grassland. The horses picked up pace, galloping through the yellowing meadow on a track that cut off a sweeping bend in the road and took us far from the tumbled rocks.

We made our midday break well out on the plain, far from the mountains. But the general feeling from the men was that we were now far past any danger from wargs. The Westfold contingent was leaving us, returning to boost Erkenbrand’s blockade. First though, we wanted to give them a good meal, knowing they would not be joining their Marshall until well after dark. As I helped pass out the food I thought of Eadric, wondering if at that moment he was producing one of his outdoor culinary marvels or tending to a wounded Rider.

***

Our numbers were few now: Daegberht; six men, two leading packhorses; the two Rohírric women, Egelfled and Hroddwyn; Aerin and me. Back on the road and only a few hours from Edoras, but the pace did not slacken. Thoughts of unlimited hot baths pushed away worries about wargs. I blessed my husband and his Gondorian water boiler when I took an opportunity to stretch out first one leg and then the other. Lyftfætsceadu, probably sensing her stable within reach, was content to follow the leaders.

Another few leagues and once more we swung left, taking a track that cut straight across the grassland. Two hours from Edoras and the paths were known well. The wind suddenly returned and with it the sun, picking up the tops of the drying seed heads and turning the plain into a carpet of shimmering gold.  A few times my eyes were in danger of closing. The beat of the hooves and the swish of the grasses proving soporific to a tired body, but then one of the men would lift up in the saddle and scan the horizons.  The slight movement being enough to wake me from my stupor and I would gather Sceadu together keeping her well up to her bit and in the middle of the track. Maybe it was that, or the fact that Éomer had schooled her so well, that she barely faltered when a large group of pheasants took to the air. Their raucous staccato calls, and the peculiar whirring flight they favoured were enough to spook the most reliable of mounts. The warhorses in front of me did not miss a stride but from behind me I heard an anguished cry and a thump. Daegberht put up his hand but I had already sat back and sunk deep into the saddle, easing Sceadu to a halt.

I turned my head to look over my shoulder, barely able to stifle my own cry as I saw Aerin lying motionless in the grass to the side of the track. Before I could react further, one of the Riders jumped down beside her. Swiftwind, the gelding she rode, had come to a halt. He looked unhurt but embarrassed, shaking his head and neighing softly. Rohírric horses did not usually lose their riders. I turned Sceadu and trotted back, removing my gloves and wiping first one hand and then the other on my cloak – shaking hands, clammy with the sweat of fear.

When I reached Aerin she was unconscious. Egelfled knelt down bedside her before I had the chance to dismount. Unsure what to do, only having bathed the odd family injury, I slipped off Sceadu but hesitated for a moment. “Leave it to Egelfled, my lady; she has had lots of experience.” Daegberht said as he trotted up beside me and jumped from his horse in one easy fluid movement. I nodded. Of course, a long-time warrior’s wife, one would expect her to be used to injuries. One of the men took Sceadu from me and I moved closer to the awful tableau.

After an anxious time, during which Egelfled ran her hands gently up and down Aerin’s limbs, whilst Hroddwyn bathed her forehead, my maid’s eyelids began to flutter. “Good,” Daegberht murmured, “she’s coming round.”

Aerin awoke groaning with pain, immediately trying to clutch at her shoulder. Egelfled reached into her saddle bag and pulled out a small leather bottle, then tipped some of the contents into Aerin’s mouth. My maid spluttered a bit but most went down.

“Come and sit down, my lady. Rest when you can. It will be a while before we can move her.” Daegberht took my arm and led me to a small hump where he had spread a cloak. I sat down thankfully and he offered me a drink of watered wine.

“Just a little,” I said, smiling gratefully and taking the cup from his hand. “It’s funny, Daegberht, one expects trouble from one direction and it comes from another.”

“It often does, my lady. But it’s my fault, I should have realised how tired she was.”

“No, Daegberht, not your fault. A combination of circumstances: her lack of experience; the birds…”

“My lady…”

“Oh, Egelfled,”I got up quickly, “how is she?”

“Could be worse, my lady. She seems to have broken a bone in her shoulder.  She landed on it, but she also hit her head on a small rock – they lie all over the plains. I don’t think it’s serious but sometimes people are ill a few days after they’ve hit their heads. She must rest. I have strapped up her shoulder but,” she looked towards Daegberht, “we need to discuss what to do.”

 I stood quietly waiting, catching only the odd Rohírric word from the conversation between Daegberht and Egelfled and making no attempt to offer my opinion. I might be Queen, but in these circumstances I happily relinquished such decisions to those who had intimate knowledge of this land.  Finally, with a sharp nod of agreement to Egelfled, Daegberht came towards me and Egelfled returned to her patient.

“My lady,” Daegberht’s firm voice had inspired confidence from the beginning. Éomer had chosen my protector well. Whatever decision had been made, I would not argue. “We are still a two hour ride from Edoras. My first duty is to you and I wish you to be safe behind the city walls before dusk. Egelfled says that Aerin will be put in danger if she is tossed about on the back of a cantering horse. She must be transported slowly. If we take her back to Edoras at a walk then it will a few hours after dark before we get there.”

I nodded slowly, wondering if he meant to camp. Hours in the cold would do her no good either.

Putting an end to my musing, Daegberht pointed back the way we had come “There is a village not far from where we left the road. I am sending her there, with Egelfled and an escort of two. The rest of us will carry on with all speed. The horses have rested and we should make good time.”

I knew Egelfled had children waiting for her to return, but could see no other way, unless we all went to the village and that would serve no useful purpose as well as causing a lot of upheaval. But a selfish thought intruded into my concern for her: I would be the only Gondorian in Meduseld. I pushed it aside. “Yes, that sounds sensible, Daegberht. I imagine a cart can be found to bring Aerin back to Edoras as soon as she is well enough.”

With nothing much else to say, I walked back to where Aerin lay propped up against a pack and covered by a Rider’s cloak. Crouching down, I gently pushed some stray hair from her eyes. She had regained total consciousness, but her face showed her pain. “I am sorry, my lady.”  The tiny voice bore no resemblance to her normal chirpy tone. 

“There’s no need,” I tried to reassure her. “Just concentrate on getting well. They are taking you to back to that village we passed. It’s not far.” 

“Don’t worry, my lady. I will look after her. Hopefully we can return in a couple of days.”

“What about your children, Egelfled?” I asked standing up and smiling appreciation to the Rohírric woman. “They will be expecting you?”

“Don’t forget my lady, we were returning a day or so earlier than expected. My mother enjoys having them.”

***

We stayed long enough to see Aerin safely tucked up in the arms of one of her escort. The manoeuvre caused her many grimaces, but, once settled, Egelfled administered another dose of White-Willow and assured her they would go slowly.

Cantering Sceadu back along the track, I tried to keep positive. Aerin would mend; soon she would be back in Edoras. Léod would be home along with Éomer and there would be a wedding at Yule-tide. I just had to spend the next week or so trying to prove my worth to the people of Edoras. I eased my mare alongside Daegberht’s stallion.

“Are you sending someone ahead, Daegberht, to let them know we are coming?”

Before replying Daegberht looked west to where the sun just touched the peaks of the mountains. “No, my lady. I will not diminish our numbers any further, even this close to home. If the clouds keep away they will pick us out, and someone with keen eyes will see the flutter of the banner.”

I looked up, and over to my left: it was the first time I had ridden under the hooves of the White Horse of Rohan without Éomer by my side. Memories stirred of other times when the liveries were Blue and Silver and the Swan of Dol Amroth flew high in the salt air: and to those days when I would perhaps return with my father from some visit to a welcome of trumpets and a guard of smart soldiers.

Smiling to myself at the vision of Gondorian pageantry I fixed my eyes ahead. The last rays of the winter sun brought Meduseld into relief for a short moment. A brief glimpse of the gold of legend before the roof became a black shadow against the sky behind.

Edoras loomed up before us. A hill to climb and a challenge I needed to face. Well, this swan may have temporarily lost her mate but she still ruled the pond.

***

Someone must have run up to the hall from the gate because by the time Daegberht and I emerged from the path to the stables and ascended the first few steps, Elfgyuu arrived in the doorway with the welcome mead-cup. Her usual cheery self, I observed as she greeted us with the traditional phrases. The words maybe convivial but her face was pinched so sharp it would crack an egg.

“Thank you Elfgyuu,” Taking the cup from her hand, I acknowledged her slight bob with a smile and put the cup to my lips. My other hand petted Hasopad who, although excited to see me, still looked anxiously in the directions of the stables. “Your master will be back, soon,” I soothed the dog. “We will have to keep each other company until he returns.” A few drops of mead went down before I had to turn away in order not to choke. The outraged expression on Elfgyuu’s face only wanted to make me giggle.

Daegberht tossed off his drink – probably noticing nothing or maybe used to her way – and put the wooden cup back on the tray. “If you will excuse me, my lady, I will return to the stables.”

“Of course, Daegberht,” I said, touching the warrior on the arm briefly to convey my gratitude. “Thank you for your care.”

“It has been a pleasure, my lady.” Daegberht bowed and with a nod to Elfgyuu turned and strode purposefully away. Leaving the housekeeper and me staring at one another.

Sipping slowly at the sweet liquid, determined not to be intimidated by her antagonism, a thought suddenly struck me, “Is Lady Byrhtwyn not here this evening, Elfgyuu?

“No, my lady, she’s not.”

“Not here, then where is she.”

“She went to Aldburg yesterday. Her eldest daughter has given birth a few weeks early Lady Byrhtwyn has gone to tend to the other children. I imagine she will be away some time.”

“Oh, I see.” I swallowed, trying to hide my anxiety. I would miss her unbiased counsel, and although it always been expected she would move to Aldburg when I got in the way of things, I did not expect to cope without her and Éomer quite so soon.

“Well, there are things I need to discuss, I must go and talk to Lord Bertwald.”  

“You can’t do that my lady, Lord Bertwald is ill.”

“Ill?”  No, I could not believe it. “Oh dear, I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“As to that my lady, it’s not my position to say, but it does not look good. He had some kind of seizure this morning and can neither speak nor move.”

A jolt hit me somewhere between my breastbone and my stomach: not only did I very much like and respect the elderly man, but he had been my staunch ally from the beginning. Allies were retreating fast. If I had known this, then would I have been so compliant with Éomer going off to hunt wargs? I thought not. “I imagine Lord Bertwald is receiving all care, Elfgyuu?”

“The healers are with him, but there is little they can do. Lord Cereth is in charge now. At least he was,” she said eyeing me disfavourably.

I sighed at the hostility in her eyes. But I could live with it, since she had no say in anything other than the domestic arrangements, her authority coming only from long service. It was a pity her loyalty to Éomer did not extend to her treatment of me. A shudder ran through me at the thought of the next week or two without, not only him, but also Byrhtwyn and possibly Lord Bertwald, to support me. As though she read my thoughts Elfgyuu’s eyes searched my face.

“Why have you come back alone, my lady? Where is the King?”

I might have been more sympathetic if I suspected she thought something had happened to Éomer, but I could not really believe she imagined that. I would hardly be standing around trying to make polite conversation if it had.

“If you send a message to Lord Cereth, I will explain the matter to him,” I said, intending to step past her and put the cup down on the tray, but as Elfgyuu’s thin lips compressed together in response to my snub, her head moved slightly to look over my shoulder. I turned and saw Lord Cereth hurrying up the steps towards me.

TBC

Chapter 16 – A day of judgement

Cereth had always reminded me of a magpie – the black and white garments he favoured, his beak of a nose – but now, with his black cloak flapping, he looked even more like the predatory bird.

His uneven gait up the steps didn’t help either. He could be hopping up a tree, branch by branch, hoping to pluck a baby bird from its nest. I reminded myself that he had earned his limp from service to the Riddermark. Hard to imagine that this silvered-haired, white- skinned man had once ridden guard to Théoden King.

He stopped on the top step, breathing heavily. “My lady, I have just heard of your return. Where is Éomer King?”

“Good evening, Lord Cereth,” I said, allowing, for once, some ice to creep into my voice. He had the grace to look guilty and bowed his head quickly before carrying on.

“The King, my lady. Why is he not with you?”

“Perhaps we should go inside; I am extremely tired and also hungry.” Without waiting for any answer I swished my cloak and turned on my heel, giving a good impression of an affronted queen. The lessons I had learned when ruling Dol Amroth during the war were not forgotten. Showing weakness preceded a fall.

Motioning Cereth to follow me I thrust my cup towards Elfgyuu, “Perhaps you would make sure the boiler is lit, Elfgyuu, I am in dire need of a bath. And I will not eat in the hall tonight. Kindly have my supper taken to my chambers.”

“Aerin…”

“Aerin met with an accident. She will not be back for a few days. I have made alternative arrangements”

“My niece, Æscwyn, would be happy to serve you, my lady.”

Oh yes, Æscwyn, the girl who had delivered the cold porridge. Glad I had forestalled that possibility, I smiled. “Thank you, Elfgyuu, but Hroddwyn has confirmed her willingness to stand in. She will be along with my things later.” Once again the housekeepers face froze into a mask of resentment. Did she really think she could order everything to suit herself? Ignoring her totally unnecessary indignation.  I turned again to Cereth.

“Éomer King suggested I use his study while he is away, Lord Cereth. Perhaps we should adjourn there and I will explain why he has not returned. I do not think we need the full council at the moment.”

“Yes, of course, my lady. May I suggest some wine? You do look tired.”

For a moment I was sure some sympathy showed in his eyes. This made me drop my guard slightly. “It has been a hard two day ride to get back here, Lord Cereth, but please be assured that when I last saw my husband he was in the best of health.”

Elfgyuu visibly relaxed, allowing my feelings towards her to soften. I knew she all but worshipped Éomer and for that I could forgive her much.

“I will bring some wine to the King’s study, my lady. And supper will not be long.” She bowed and retreated towards the door to the kitchens.

“Shall we go, Lord Cereth?”

Hasopad kept close to my side, the lurcher’s long nails clipping the tiles as I led the way across the hall.

***

“Wargs! You let him go off to fight wargs!” All sympathy for my tiredness was forgotten as soon as I told him the reason for Eomer’s absence.

“Lord Cereth,” I tried to keep my voice reasonable. His eyes were bulging alarmingly and I didn’t want another advisor to suffer a seizure. “I may offer my opinion to the King, as may you, but in the end he will make his own decisions.”

Probably to gain time to control himself, the acting head of council strode to the window and peered out into the dark garden, before turning back to me with his face set into a mask of equanimity. “My lady, we have told the King many times that he must not put himself in danger until he has an heir.”

I clamped my lips together, only just refraining from pointing out that he certainly could not accuse Éomer of doing anything other than making every effort for that cause. “It is early days for that, my lord, and please tell me, did the King agree with the council’s edict?”

An irritable sigh and a return to the window told me Éomer had done no such thing.

Elfgyuu arrived with the wine at that moment. “My lady,” she blurted out as she put the tray on my husband’s desk, “the men say Éomer King is leading a warg hunt.”

“Yes, Elfgyuu, that is true.”

She poured me a goblet of wine, passing it with noticeably shaking hands and looking into my face almost pleadingly, “But he didn’t take his full armour.”

For just a moment her concern made me wonder if Éomer had been fooling me, but Cereth waved his hand impatiently. “It probably doesn’t make much difference as they may end up tracking them on foot. The point is,” he glared at me, obviously apportioning blame, “that the King should not have gone in the first place.”

“Whether you think he should or not, Lord Cereth, he decided to go and there is no use in discussing something we cannot change. There are other things we must talk about, one of them being Grievance Day, but if you have no objection we will meet in the morning. I would like to retire now.” The day had taken its toll, all I could think of was a bath my bed. Cereth had no option but to agree to postpone the rest of our discussion and both him and Elfgyuu bowed goodnight.

I reached my chambers to find that Hroddwyn had already prepared the tub and, as I soaked in it, she went to fetch my supper. By that time I was almost too tired to eat, managing only a little soup and bread. My temporary maid proved extremely efficient and very soon she ushered me into the bedchamber.

Lonely, I felt so incredibly lonely without him. I knew I would have to get used to it, but I could have done with more time. More time to be accepted; to feel as if I really belonged. After being so tired the urge to sleep had left me and I lay quietly, listening to the crackle of the fire and. watching the flickering shadows making patterns on the bed hangings. My thoughts naturally centred on my husband and our marriage but as I mused over the proceeding weeks in my mind an unusual noise startled me from my reverie. Holding my breath in some slight trepidation I heard a soft scratching at the door, the perpetrator growing more insistent as I hesitated.  Then, laughing to myself, and more pleased than I would admit, I flung back the bedclothes and padded across to the door.

“Now, what would your master say to this?”

Hasopad pushed his head into my hand, encouraging me to pull at his ears. Assured of his welcome, he then strolled elegantly across to the rug by my side of the bed, folded his legs and curled into his customary ball, regarding me soulfully with his large liquid eyes.

With the comfort of his regular breathing and Eomer’s pillow clasped in my arms I must have quickly drifted off because the next thing I knew, my stomach was aching and light streamed through the window.

Not the wake up call I wanted: that familiar dull pain that meant Rohan would not be getting its heir quite yet. A little soon, of course, but that no consolation when I knew eyes would be upon me. I would have to face Cereth knowing Éomer had ridden into danger without a successor.

***

Cereth launched the attack almost before rising his head from a bow. “We will have to postpone Grievance Day, my lady. Éomer King will not be back in time.”

“No, I agree, he won’t be, Lord Cereth. But tell me, why do you think we should abandon something of such importance to the people?” His mouth opened and shut a couple of times. Trying to choose his words carefully, I guessed.

A deep sigh preceded his statement, “My lady, I do realize you were sworn in as Under-king, but that could be considered to be a formality only. We were not expecting the King to be away so soon…”

“Lord Cereth, I know my relative youth may give you cause for concern, but I assure you I am not so full of my own importance that I cannot take advice. I would rely on you in particular, especially on aspects of Rohírric law.” Pointing out my upbringing and my experience in deputizing for my father during the war was a waste of time— that fact had been brought out during the marriage negotiations. He must have some deep rooted objection to me and until I found out exactly what, I could not address it.

“But…. your lack of experience, my lady. These things need a certain sympathetic understanding of….the common people, the people of the Mark.”

Was that what this was about: my rank; my race? Not convinced, I said quietly, “Just what have you got against me, Lord Cereth? I understand the majority of the Council were in favour of my marriage to Éomer King. Why did you disagree so vehemently?”

“Because…” he shook his head, unable or unwilling to explain his antagonism.

“We are alone, Lord Cereth; I would prefer to sort his out between us.”

“Well then, my lady, if you really want to know then I will tell you. I saw through all the diplomatic presentations.” His voice rose, “They might have fooled the rest of the Council, but they did not fool me.”

Unsure why he had such strong feelings, I took a step backwards and retreated behind the desk, hoping to gain some strength from my absent husband. “Fooled you, who fooled you?”

“King Elessar and your father, of course.”

King Elessar? My father? Surprise made me drop down into the chair. “I am sorry; you will have to explain, Lord Cereth.”

“They duped you too, did they? Or just didn’t bother to tell you of the great Gondorian plan to take over the ruling of the Riddermark?”

He drew up his chest and smirked at me. A look probably intended to make me think I was no more that a dim-witted female, a pawn in the hands of powerful men. Sweet Elbereth, did my father know what he was doing: sending me to deal with men like this? And Éomer, leaving me to cope alone while he went on — what I angrily labeled in my distress — a hunting trip. But suddenly, I heard my mother’s gentle voice. I gripped the edge of the chair, so clearly I could hear her speaking to me. ‘Don’t let them get the upper hand, Lothíriel my dear. Say your piece quietly, with the voice of a woman but the strength of a man.’

“Lord Cereth,” I stood up to emphasize my answer, “I do not have any idea where you got such ideas, but I can assure you that, far from Gondor wishing to take over the Riddermark,  I am here to strengthen Éomer’s reign.”

“Pssst…” both of his arms went up in the air and he moved to face me across the desk but took a pace back quickly as a low growl came from the rug. Hasopad curled his lip in warning. Sensibly, Cereth moderated his voice slightly, to something approaching affability. However, the tone did not change the words. “That’s what they told you. But I imagine you are already receiving instructions from Gondor. The messengers are to and fro all the time.”

“How dare you insinuate that I take my orders from Gondor!” I almost shouted the words which caused Hasopad to rise from the rug and growl menacingly at my antagonist. Cereth stepped right away from me, eyeing the dog with disfavor. The lurcher sank back down with a sharp command from me, but continued to rumble a threat. With my normal composure in danger of being lost, I deliberately and carefully lowered my voice,   “I will have you know I am here to help ensure unity in the Riddermark. By marrying me instead of a woman from his own land neither the Westmark nor the Eastmark are given prominence. If Éomer King is away, then I can represent all factions. You, my lord, with your ridiculous suggestions and insinuations are undermining your King’s rule.”

“I would never do that!” His chin pushed up and eyes widened in shock. “The sovereignty of the House of Eorl is all important to me.”

“Then let me speak bluntly, my lord. Blunt speech is something the people of the Mark respect, is it not?”

“The truth is always treasured, my lady.”

“Then listen to this truth, Lord Cereth: I had to be persuaded to come here. How easy do you think it was for me to travel to a land of strangers to marry a man with whom I had exchanged no more than a few words?” Staring straight at him and speaking firmly but softly, I sought to convince him. “Yes, I did come at the request my King but not to act as some infiltrator, my lord, I came to assist Éomer in ruling his people. It was thought my upbringing and experience fitted me to the role of Queen of Rohan.”

“That is certainly true, my lady, but…”

“But nothing, my lord! In spite of the far from warm welcome I received from some here in Meduseld, Éomer King made it clear he valued our union. In a few short weeks our marriage has gone from strength to strength and my husband asked me to return to cover his absence. If you are not prepared to recognize my right to rule and give me your support, then you are questioning the authority of your king.”

Cereth drew himself up to his full height, his pride visibly shaken. “Our King has absolute rule, I do not question that. It needs to be so because the Lord of the Mark is commander of the Éorlingas and in battle there can be only one leader. But I have made my feelings known to Éomer King on this matter of marrying outside our people. He chose to disregard my counsel, as is his right. I concede, my lady, that what I have heard here this morning somewhat reassures me. I could have been mistaken and will reserve my judgment.”

Wanting to take advantage of the slight thaw in his manner, I walked around the desk and touched his arm, “I need your help, Lord Cereth. My job will be very difficult without it. The people of the Mark need all our best efforts and that means cooperation between those that rule. Perhaps if you get to know me better than you will come to believe that my heart and my loyalty now belong here.”

His brows drew together as he contemplated my words and I waited for him to sort out his thoughts. “I …I .., maybe I thought wrongly, my lady. It has never been my intention to make things more difficult for the King. It is just…,” he stopped, words failing him again.

“That after the troubles you had in Théoden’s last years you find it difficult to trust an outsider?”

 “Yes, my lady. That’s it exactly.”  He managed a half smile looking warily at me over his beaky nose.

“Your loyalty was not in question then, my lord, or at the moment. Rather…, I would say it is …misguided.”

“No-one, my lady, no-one will be happier than me to see a strong partnership between our King and Queen. I accept that I may have been hasty and I truly hope that my reservations are unfounded. But I have only ever wanted the best for the Riddermark.”

“In that case, my lord, I suggest we put our differences aside and work together over the coming days.

We had finally reached some kind of agreement, but the confrontation left me shaken and feeling weak. On top of that as soon as the door closed behind him my stomach cramped viciously – a painful reminder that total acceptance might not happen until I fulfilled my most important role. Pushing aside my usual inhibitions on drinking spirit during the day, I reached for the wine jug, still on the desk from the previous evening, and poured out a large measure of Gondor’s best. The rich wine revived my nerves; hopefully I had made progress with solving my main problem, now I had to find a way to gain Elfgyuu’s support. As so often is the case it came in the most unexpected manner.

******

A girl, born after three sons, would always create a stir. A princess, following on from three princes, ensured I never lacked attention. In Dol Amroth, a fortified city with its fair share of soldiers, learning to live with eyes upon me became a necessity.  But to mount the dais that morning without Éomer by my side, I had to draw on all my reserves. More crammed than on my wedding day, the hall was filled with a great mixture of people: Lords, townsmen and women, farmers, all were there. Some had managed to get a seat but most crowded around the sides and some even in the anteroom, peering through the doors.  Only in front  of the dais had any space been left.  I couldn’t say the atmosphere felt completely hostile, but nobody needed to tell me why this particular Grievance Day caused so much interest, it was written on a hundred faces – just how would a Gondorian, one who was not much more than a girl – make judgments over the Rohírrim? 

Cereth sat beside me, taking the place Lord Bertwald would have occupied, and another council member, Lord Eadwig acted as steward. He wasted no time in calling the first case which involved two men: Olgerth, a simple shepherd and the other, Godéad, the owner of many flocks. I listened attentively as it was explained that Olgerth claimed he had lost some of his sheep. Even with the difficulty of the translation – Olgerth could not speak Westron and my Rohírric not good enough to follow his guttural accent – I realised he was accusing Godéad of seizing the opportunity afforded by a thunderstorm to deliberately appropriate a dozen of his sheep. Why such a rich farmer should want to do so did not strike me as strange as I had found, during even my limited years, that those that had invariably wanted more. No proof though, sheep are often dispersed by thunder and lightening, just a feeling. A difficult case as the breeds were the same and the brands very similar. So similar they could have been easily altered to look almost identical, but this time of the year they tended to become obscured, anyway. Olgerth swore he could pick out his sheep, given the chance, but could not explain how, just shrugging his shoulders and saying –‘he knew.’

Almost certainly the decision to face me with a dispute about sheep right at the beginning, came from Cereth. I could feel his smirk.  Should I tell him of the numbers of flocks we ran on the saltmarshes of Belfalas, almost insight of my home? Drumming my fingers on the table feigning indecision, I swept my gaze around the spectators; all eyes were fixed on me.  I stared everyone into silence — one could have heard a feather flutter to the floor, let alone a pin drop — before bringing my eyes back to focus on the plaintiffs and letting them wander unhurriedly between the two very different men.

When I did at last speak those nearest the dais visibly jumped. “Master Olgerth, when did you last shear your sheep?” 

The right question invariably brought about the right answer and from there it became a reasonably easy task to find a solution. Different shearing times meant differing thicknesses of wool, and besides that, Godéad had sheared twice to Olgerth’s once. Either Godéad allowed Olgerth to pick out the dozen sheep he thought were his and no more would be said, with the thunderstorm taking the blame. Or, he risked forfeiting a dozen more and a fine if an independent judge found a difference in their fleeces.  I could not deny my own smirk at the murmurs of approval that rumbled around the hall.

I am not sure whether they thought to fluster me with the next case: somebody's stallion getting away and covering their neighbor’s mares, but I applied the same principles as I would have done in Dol Amroth, asking only for advice on the size of the payment. At home, though, the problems arose not with stallions, but with bulls. The type of white bull we bred in Southern Belfalas being amazingly virile and resourceful. The Rohírrim naturally took the matter of unplanned breeding very seriously, but then, so did owners of pure-bred herds in Belfalas. The nods of agreement I received at the announcement of my decision gave reassurance that I judged fairly: with the deed done, recompense could only be limited.  Even the gravity of the situation could not stop laughter erupting at the poor man’s embarrassment in trying to make excuses for his stallion’s misdemeanors to a young queen. It eased the tension and did no harm at all. 

My successful start enabled me to suffer no qualms about asking Cereth for help with the next problem: something entirely outside my experience. A widow of a man killed in a brawl was not happy with the wergild she had been offered?  Immediately I knew I had done the right thing: Cereth bristled with importance and made a sound judgment. Perhaps realising I really did wish to work in harmony with him; Cereth helped me out with the next problem: the blacksmith had an unwilling apprentice.  Apprenticeships could only be dissolved by mutual agreement and a payment of compensation. The blacksmith proved stubborn and intractable but when Cereth added his voice to mine the man agreed that a reluctant worker boded ill for business. 

A few more common and easily solved dilemmas and then came the last case to be heard that day. Did I imagine the renewed tension and the air of expectation? I looked around the hall searching for some clue as to the source of the charged atmosphere. Two groups of people were making their way towards the dais. Both groupings – they must be two separate families – contained an older man and woman but whilst one also included a young girl, the other had a young man.  If I had not been watching so closely I would have missed the exchange of glances between Elfgyuu and the young man. She definitely gave him a nod of encouragement. 

“What’s this about?”  I asked Lord Cereth, knowing he had organized the proceedings. “Everyone looks expectant somehow.”

“I think they are all wondering on the outcome of this, my lady Queen. It is a difficult case and has caused a lot of bitterness. The young man, Leofric, and his family are popular and respected. Leofric wants to marry the baker’s daughter, Cynelufe. Her father, however, has made it plain he thinks Leofric not worthy of his daughter, which means that unless they get permission to marry…from you, they will have to wait until Cynelufe comes of age in eighteen months time.

“Oh, in Gondor, the King could not gainsay the father.”

“No, my lady, but here the King can give permission for those in the Folde. The two Marshalls of the Riddermark also have that right over their own people. It has always been like that. Of course, you are not much older than Cynelufe, my lady.”

He did not actually say that I had no experience in this area, but the implication lurked in his eyes. I would have liked to have retorted that my experience of a father’s will in relation to a daughter’s marriage could be considered great, but, as usual, I held my peace.

The Meduseld cook made all the bread we needed, so I did not know the baker, Gearwost, personally. He ushered his wife and daughter to stand in front of the dais but then maneuvered them around to stand slightly behind him, throwing an angry glance at his daughter when she tried to get near Leofric.  Cynelufe clutched at her mother’s arm. Rather an arrogant man, the baker, I thought. In contrast, Wynsang, a saddler, once a tall man but now stooped from his trade, stayed back with his wife, encouraging his son to get closer to the dais.

From Leofric, I found out that he had been given the opportunity to join his uncle in the Eastmark, breeding horses. He and Cynelufe had been sweethearts for some time but in spite of him asking permission to take her with him many times, Gearwost had refused. Leofric could not understand why: he had prospects and his uncle had offered them a home. He had made his petition to the King because he felt Gearwost was withholding his consent unfairly.

“She’s too young my lady,” Gearwost’s predicable first words when I called him forward. He stood defiantly, his protruding belly proudly proclaiming his love of his own wares.

“But many girls are married when they reach sixteen. Master Gearwost,” I answered him. “Cynelufe is nineteen years of age.”

“In my experience, my lady, they do not know their own mind. She will not be happy living in isolation. She is used to the bustle of Edoras and will be lonely.”

A fair point, I conceded. A girl brought up to town life may not settle to a more restricted existence on the plains, but there was something about his reasons that did not ring true with me. Maybe the elven blood from my ancestors did make me unusually perceptive, or, more likely, it was that I observed his eyes wandering more than once to Wynsang’s wife, but whatever, I felt there was more to his refusal. I smiled, looking over towards Cynelufe, “Thank you, Master Gearwost, would you go and stand with your wife. I would like to talk to Cynelufe.” I beckoned to the girl indicating her to come up onto the dais and her mother gave her a little push. Stubbornly, Gearwost stayed where he was, within earshot. “I would like to talk to your daughter privately, Master Gearwost.” His face tightened with controlled anger but he had no choice but to move away.  

“Lord Cereth, would you mind?”

“But of course, my lady.” Cereth got up from his seat and I motioned Cynelufe to sit down. Alone with me on the dais, she relaxed somewhat. A quick glance towards Leofric from whom she received a smile of reassurance, enabled her to meet my eyes. Luckily, although I had suffered a qualm when I dismissed Cereth, the bakery had long served travelers to Edoras, so she spoke reasonable Westron.

“You are sure you will be happy living a more rural life, Cynelufe?”

“Oh, yes, my lady, I am looking forward to it. I want to run my own home and I like growing vegetables. I can take them to the market in Aldburg. There is not enough room here to grow any to spare. And we will be made welcome: Leofric’s uncle has lost his wife, his only son was killed in the war and his daughter lives a good few miles away. He’s a nice man and will divide his house so we get a bit of privacy but I shall cook for him, of course. It’s such a good chance for Leofric but I don’t want him to go on his own: he will be working hard and will need a bit of comfort.”

It all sounded well to me but I needed to get at the root of Gearwost’s objections. “You work in the bakery, Cynelufe; do you think your father will miss you?”

“He will, of course, my lady, but if we do not get permission I will go to Leofric as soon as I come of age. He will have to pay someone to do my job then, anyway. I’ve told him he will not stop me whatever he says. I love Leofric and he will be a good husband.” She stopped a moment and then blurted out, “It’s not his fault.”

“What’s not his fault, Cynelufe?” I asked softly.

“Oh, my lady, Leofric wouldn’t say because we didn’t want to upset, well my mother mostly. I don’t know if she knows.”

“Tell me, Cynelufe. I need to know if I am to make a judgment. Don’t worry, I won’t divulge any secrets.”

Another glance at Leofric before she could answer. “My father wanted to marry Leofric’s mother. It was all long ago but caused a lot of trouble at the time because he would not accept that she preferred Wynsang. They had a fight, a bad fight, and my father had to leave for a while. He did not come back until my grandfather became too ill to run the bakery himself. When he did return he had my mother and me with him.” She hesitated, “Wynsang thought Leofric and I should know but nobody ever told my mother.”

I found it hard to believe the gossip had not reached the woman’s ears but that was not the issue here. “Alright, Cynelufe, you can go back to your family while I think on this.”

Cereth sat back down. “Did you know the history of the two families?” I asked immediately. He nodded, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “And when were you going to tell me?”  I did not need his silence to confirm what I expected. “But you would have told Éomer King straight away, I imagine?” 

His whole face sagged. “I am sorry, my lady. You did well to pick up on the undercurrents.”

An apology of sorts but I did not have time to dwell on it with the whole hall awaiting my judgment. Not a lot of thought needed — the problems of the past should not be loaded onto the present, at least not as far as two young people were concerned. Leofric’s family had more reason to be against the match but they had put any resentment aside for the sake of their son’s happiness.

I stood up and announced what proved to be a popular decision with the majority of the audience, although the black look given to me by Gearwost reminded me to avoid the bakery.

The meeting came to an end with refreshments being passed out from the Meduseld kitchens. Sharing a tray of tea with Cereth and Lord Eadwig I pondered on how long it would be before I received full cooperation. However, later, my irritation with Cereth became buried by my surprise when Elfgyuu sought me out after the hall had finally cleared.

“My lady.”

“Elfgyuu,” I took a deep breath to steady myself. I really didn’t want to deal with anything else that day. “Is it something urgent, I am quite tired?”

“I just wanted to thank you, my lady.”

“Thank me, Elfgyuu?” I don’t know if I looked as surprised as I felt, but the woman actually smiled.

“Leofric is my nephew, my lady. He is a good lad and will need a wife where he’s going. It caused trouble in the family, him wanting to marry Cynelufe, but… well, we could all tell how much he loves her and the other is best forgotten.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize Leofric was your nephew. His mother is your sister?”

“Yes, my lady, my younger sister.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I might not have found out all the facts.”

“That wouldn’t be right, now would it, my lady, taking advantage of my position?”

Of all the…”No, Elfgyuu, It wouldn’t. I am just glad it turned out in your favour.”

“You made the right decision, my lady. The young ones shouldn’t have to suffer from the goings on of their parents.”

Our relationship did ease from that moment. I could not say there was complete capitulation on her part, that came later, but she never treated me with open hostility again. Tiredly, I made my way to the door that led to my chamber but a commotion near the outer doors made me turn. I could hear Aerin’s chirpy tones all across the hall.

TBC

Chapter 17 –  A waiting game.

For a short while Aerin revelled in being the centre of attention. The serving girls crowded around wanting to hear the story from the victim’s lips. From their merry conversation I gathered that she was looked upon with envy— not many maids returned to Edoras with their own escort. In the end, Elfgyuu shooed them off enabling me to talk to my maid and Egelfled.

Luckily, Aerin had not broken her shoulder but her collar bone, less serious, but painful none the less. After the excitement of the welcome she soon sat down on a nearby seat, tired and hurting from the day’s travelling.

“It will heal quite quickly, my lady, but she needs to keep her arm supported.” A long piece of cloth had been wound around her shoulders to keep the broken bone in position.

“Thank you, Egelfled. You have done well. I hope that you were received courteously in the village.”

“Oh, yes, my lady. And they provided a cart to bring her home, but it took all day.”

“Well, you will want to see your children so I won’t keep you now but I would like to have a little talk tomorrow.” I had a little proposition I wanted to put to Egelfled, hoping that she would agree to pass on some simple healing skills. Rohírric wives looked after their men; I did not want to be any different. Not wanting to discuss it in the hall, I agreed a time for her to see me in the morning before speaking to Aerin.

“You will have to be excused your normal duties for a while, Aerin. That bone will take time to mend.” She looked exhausted but started to stand again using her good arm to push up from the bench. I waved her down and she sank back onto the seat, sighing audibly.

“I am sorry, my lady, I don’t think I can see to you one handed.”

“There’s nothing to stop her helping with the table laying and such like. She can carry a few things with her good arm.”

Elfgyuu’s softening towards me obviously did not extend to my maid. I controlled my giggle but Aerin glared at her, tiredness and pain forgotten – war about to break out.

“I have never shirked my duty and don’t you accuse me of that! It there’s anything I can do for, my lady, then I will. And I’d even do something to help you if you took that sour look off your face…”

Elfgyuu drew herself up but I stepped in, not wanting any more discord. “Aerin will do what she is capable of. She needs to rest for the next day or two but then I have a special task for her. Don’t worry, Elfgyuu, she will not be idle.”

Two days passed before she could take on the job I’d planned for her: looking after Egelfled’s children whilst their mother spent time with me. I would have liked to have kept my mission secret but Egelfled could not teach me everything and needed to introduce me to others with greater expertise. Elfgyuu sniffed a bit when told of Aerin’s absence, but nodded her approval when I explained my wish to learn the Rohírric ways from those who knew best. Sensing that my relationship with Elfgyuu had reached a turning point, Aerin willingly made herself available for laying tables and managed to redeem herself for her previous rudeness. Telling me that the woman ‘only had to go halfway’ and she would do the rest.

 What with Cereth’s new attitude – embarrassment over his failure to fully support me over the under age marriage dispute along with his grudging admiration for how I had handled the whole day, making him more willing to cooperate with me – the first few days of Éomer’s absence were peaceful and pleasant.  

The coming of winter meant a lack of travelers, both those who wanted to trade as well as messengers from Gondor, so I spent some time on my translation work, something I had hardly looked at since my marriage.

But on the forth day Lord Bertwald died, and I soon found myself standing on a windy hillside in slanting, sleety rain. Never having attended a Rohírric burial I could only leave it to others to order the honoring of a man who had given his life to the service of the Riddermark. First he had served as a warrior, then an advisor to Théoden, and finally to Éomer, easing the first months of my husband’s kingship and welcoming his wife when other’s held back. I knew Éomer would have wanted to be here but he still chased wargs somewhere in the Ered Nimrais. The final shovelfuls closed Bertwald’s barrow, I raised my eyes to the clouded tops of the mountains, and shuddered.

Perhaps Eomer’s absence from the burial, or even the burial itself started the mutterings. Whatever, both Elfgyuu and Cereth stared to plague me about the date of his return. What could I tell them? I don’t think I fully realized until that week exactly how much Éomer meant to the Rohírrim. Not just him personally, although even Cereth, for all his irritating ways, was devoted to his king, but as the heir of the House of Eorl. Elfgyuu would know there was no chance of ensuring the sucession until Éomer returned and with secrets difficult to keep in Meduseld I suspected Cereth and most of the servants did as well. Common sense told me that failure to conceive after six weeks of marriage could not be held against me and in spite of the whisperings I held my head high, refusing to show other than my most gracious and self-assured front. But common sense does not always quieten those niggling, stomach churning thoughts that wriggle their way into an otherwise sensible disposition. One day soon Rohan would have its heir, the alternative too horrific to imagine.

Willing myself to ignore  the undertones  and tittle-tattle of the servants I carried on normally, managing to even going out for a ride on a couple of fine mornings but six days after I had returned to Edoras Cereth officially requested that I send out a patrol to check on my husband.

“He rode out of the Hornburg eight days ago, my lady.”

“But, Lord Cereth, you surely cannot expect me to send a patrol. For a start it could not be large. Do not forget the King took double his normal guard with him including many of our best warriors. With that and with our commitment to the farmers of the Folde it would leave Edoras poorly defended.”

“We are in a time of peace, my lady. Edoras is not under any threat.”

He gave me that look again, as though I were some stupid female with no concept of keeping a city safe. I tried to speak with confidence, more than I felt perhaps, “I cannot believe that if Éomer King has encountered any problem he cannot handle we would not have heard about it. The possibility that a pack of wargs have annihilated the Royal Guard and two éoreds of Westfold Riders is highly unlikely, don’t you think? Someone would have brought the tale to us.” When I received no response to this I carried on, “Let me put this scenario to you, Lord Cereth, just say that for arguments sake the wargs were a trap to draw the King and his forces into greater danger, farfetched I know, but do you think it right to send more men and leave Edoras open to attack?”

“If we lose Éomer King, my lady… the Éorlingas will not survive anyway. There will be no Riddermark without the House of Eorl.”

Really, these people were obsessive! Perhaps they would be happier locking their king in a cage. “Lord Cereth, I really do not think I can justify ordering a search party after just eight days.”

He didn’t agree with me and went off mumbling about getting the council together. A good idea, I thought, sure that my decision would be upheld. That night at the evening meal I tried to catch any talk of unease from the wives of Eomer’s guard. Mutterings, I heard, but nothing directed at me, only at their men and the care they would need when eventually they returned.  Reassured a bit, I tried to put Cereth’s suggestion out of my mind when he made no mention of calling a council meeting, seemingly accepting my judgment for the moment.

With many of the men away with their king the hall tended to clear quite quickly after the meal had finished. I stayed for awhile listening to the bard strumming quietly, softly singing the long ballad of Brego. But soon I sought my bed, wondering how many more nights my sleeping partner would have four legs.

-----------------------

The huge claws tore at Lyftfætsceadu, ripping her hind quarters and forcing her down. Desperately she struggled, screaming her agony as her flanks ran dark with blood. Slowly, as if performing some new equine trick, her forelegs crumpled and her chest hit the ground. Too late, much too late, to drag my leg from her crushing weight as she toppled. Heaving myself backward, elbows scraping rough stone, I strove frantically to pull the mass of splintered bone and mangled flesh from under her twitching body. And all the while the creature watched me.  Exhausted, I ceased my efforts, looking madly around for some weapon to use against this evil being, but when it finally moved towards me – leisurely, teasing, licking lips with purple tongue, yellow pointed teeth still dripping my horse’s life-blood – I reacted in the way any woman would… “Éomer…!”

The sound of my own voice must have woken me and I sat straight up in the bed – my heart thumping wildly, rivulets of sweat running down my back and with my leg still trapped. Disorientated, unable to make sense of the heaviness on my lower limb I reached forward, finding a warm hairy body. But my hand touched no warg, only Hasopad. The relief took my breath away.

A warm soft tongue licked my hand before he nestled his muzzle under my fingers, encouraging me to scratch his bony head. Grateful for the contact, I spent a few moments rubbing at his ears before sinking back down against the pillows, wondering if I would sleep again. Fearful that the dream had been some awful prophesy I lay for a long while as vile imaginings chased through my mind. Cereth had started a notion that I now could not shake. Rational thought compelled me to believe the dream no more than a mix of my feelings of being besieged by adversaries coupled with a natural dread of the creatures my husband faced in the mountains.

In the time Éomer had been away no more than normal anxiety had stalked my thoughts However, many uncertainties are born of loneliness and in the dark hours of the night my fears raged wildly as my mind plays tricks and the worries of the sunlight hours were magnified tenfold.   Pitifully, I huddled under the blankets of a bed whose dimensions increased for every day my husband stayed away. Never had I felt so bereft. Even Hasopad, who in my distress I allowed to stay on the bed, failed to comfort me.

------------------------

Cereth caught me again on my way out of the hall in the morning, but I pushed his concerns aside. In spite of my nightmares I could not countenance going against my husbands commands.  My only solace came from remembering my father’s advice, given freely during my betrothal period: ‘There will be times, Lothíriel when you will have to rely on your own judgment. Listen to others, but sift their advice, for they may have different objectives.’

The worst part was having no one to discuss it with. Or rather, no one whose opinion I valued. I considered talking to Daegberht. He might not be a councillor but he had vital experience as a combatant. Éomer himself had told me so. But I did not really want to involve him in a disagreement.

With no answer to my problems the next morning I woke with my insides twisting in torment, the agony of self-doubt like a knife probing a festering wound. These people had far more experience than I of battle and war, and of wargs I knew barely anything. Was Cereth right to be anxious and fearful?  Knowing that I would be pressured again as soon as my chief advisor made his regular morning visit and unable to face eating, I wandered out onto the platform intending to gaze over the plain to see if, someway, I could connect with my husband. Maybe, I would somehow receive some confirmation of the rightness of my resolution.

A sunny morning welcomed me, with the fresh wind lifting my hair as I stepped outside. The two Doorwards immediately rose to their feet, but I waved them down, answering their respectful greetings and strolling to the edge of the steps. Oh!  I went no further, my appeal for help about to be answered in the nicest way. A tall, blonde warrior bounded up the steps towards me, braids swinging, and a smile on his handsome face. He almost skidded on the top step and I thought he would bump into me such was his momentum, but at the last moment he stopped suddenly, just managing to jerk his head in a bow.

“Aelfric!”

“My Lady Queen, you look pleased to see me.”

More pleased than he knew. I counted him and Helwing as real friends, and there were not many of those in Rohan. An audible sigh of relief escaped me as he took my hand to his lips.

“I am always pleased to see you, Aelfric you know that, and you have come at a very opportune moment.” Strong fingers squeezed my hand allowing a brief moment of pleasure at the physical contact from one I was fond of. Comfort had been rather lacking for the past week. Aelfric released my hand and instead took my arm, reaching down to fondle Hasopad’s ears, as we headed for the door.

“You are worried about Éomer; I can see it on your face.”

“No… well yes,” I stumbled over my words. “You have been told?”

“I saw Daegberht in the stables, and I am not pleased.”

“Oh…?” I shot my eyes up to his face to encounter that cheeky grin of his.

“I am not sure I will ever forgive my King — sending me to sort out the guarding of the Dimholt, whilst he rides off into the mountains chasing wargs!”

In spite of my worry I couldn’t help laughing as his grin altered to a look of chagrin. Not all feigned, I knew. But then his expression changed again, this time to one of compassion. “But I must not joke, my Queen. I imagine you are worried. Let’s sit down and we can talk.”

Entering the hall, I signalled to one of the girls. Most of the tables had been cleared so we sat down at one of them. “You must have left Harrowdale early this morning, Aelfric. Have you eaten?”

The girl disappeared to fetch bread, cheese and a tankard of ale, and not wanting to talk of my worries until she had returned, I asked the next thing I wanted to know, “How is Helwing?”

Even before he uttered the words, the smile on his face confirmed what I had thought the last time we met, “Helwing is with child.”

Did all men exhibit that special pride, I wondered, immediately trying to envision how Éomer would react. Aloud, I confirmed my genuine pleasure at the news. “That’s wonderful, you must send her my best wishes and as soon as Éomer is back I will ride over to visit her.”

“She will like that, my lady. You must stay a few days.”

Aelfric’s meal arrived at that moment. I waited until the girl had gone, and he had slaked his thirst after the morning ride, before I started to unload my problem onto a pair of broad shoulders. “It is not that I am overly worried about Éomer,” true in the daylight I wasn’t, “but Cereth thinks I should send out a patrol to check up on him and also a letter asking him to come back.”

His brows drew together for a moment and then he let out a sigh, “Oh, I see.”

“You do not seem very surprised.”

“I am not surprised that Cereth wants him safely back in Edoras.”

“I suppose not. But I can hardly call him home as I would an errant child.”

“No, I do not think our king would appreciate that.” Aelfric chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bread for a moment, before venturing a half smile, “The thing is that Éomer still has the wildness in him, and Cereth, once a warrior himself, knows that.”

“Wildness, that’s what you call it, is it?”  A good name for the exhilaration I had witnessed in my husband’s eyes the morning he had ridden from the Hornburg.

 “He has been warring since his sixteenth birthday, my lady. One cannot change a way of life in so short a time.”

“I understand that. It must be the same for many of the Riddermark’s warriors; he was not alone in his excitement.”

Aelfric laughed. “I freely admit, my lady, that if it were not for Helwing’s expanding belly, I would be riding to join them.”

“Like you, there are probably a few here who would relish my order to go, but I confess I never thought of it until Cereth stared plaguing me. Now I don’t know what to do.”

“What is your instinct?”

“My instinct, Aelfric, is to do nothing. Éomer said not to look for him before a sennight but he may be longer and I would probably hear nothing until he returned.”

“There you are then, and if he wanted reinforcements or supplies he would first look to Erkenbrand. I doubt he would send to Edoras. From what I learnt from Daegberht he is much closer to the Hornburg than here. They may even have gone over into the uplands of Gondor. If Éomer thinks he will be back in a reasonable time he will not send a messenger. In the old days a patrol could be away weeks.”

“That’s what I thought. I think Cereth is panicking. Éomer is so important to him, to all the Riddermark. He just can’t bear the thought of anything happening to him. I can understand that, but I know Éomer would resent us checking up on him.”

“I am sure he would. He knows what he is doing, Lothíriel. Look,” Aelfric put his tankard down and picked up my hand from where it rested on the table, rubbing my knuckles, “If he is not back at the end of two sennights, send word to me and I will go. I shall want to know what’s going on myself by then and he will not be surprised to see me.”

Truly grateful, I leant toward him, put my other hand over his and squeezed, “Thank you.”

I sat back almost immediately, as we were sitting in full view of any who passed through the hall and I did not want to give any cause for gossip, not quite sure how the Rohírrim would view a queen’s physical contact with an unrelated male, however innocent. A moment later Cereth came in, and Aelfric, Lord of Harrowdale, Council member, warrior and Eomer’s friend gave him a forthright opinion on leaving their king alone.

Cereth could have resented the fact that I had obviously discussed the issues with Aelfric, but if nothing else he was fair and recognised my right to seek advice from others, thus he accepted Aelfric’s offer to seek out Éomer in due course as a compromise and peace reigned again.

Peace it might have been, but the ensuing days brought no relief from my nightmarish dreams. Many times I woke cold and sweating. Strange, my marriage to Éomer had rid me of the painful images of my mother’s body moving lifelessly to and fro amongst the scavenging crabs but now, with him gone, I nightly wrestled strange creatures or watched helplessly as my husband fought with demons. Hasopad took up permanent residence on the royal bed.

Only my acceptance by some of the women of Edoras, made up for such a time of anxiety. My little trysts with Egelfled became the way I gained approval by the ladies with whom I would have most contact over the coming years. Having met me as a queen, coming to know me as a wife seeking to learn the practical ways the women of Rohan cared for their husbands succeeded in breaking down the perceived barriers of race and rank. The whole experience reassured me that one day I would feel totally at home.

Slowly, the days passed. Most afternoons I sat at my desk pretending to write whilst, in reality, I spent a great deal of time staring up toward Harrowdale wondering if I should send a message to Aelfric. Then late on one particular afternoon, almost two sennights after I had returned from the Westfold my deliberations were interrupted abruptly by Hasopad uttering a series of short high-pitched barks. Swiveling around in my chair in surprise, lurchers being normally silent, I saw him leave the rug in front of the fire and trot to the door. Reaching the solid oak barrier, he turned his head back to me, clearly asking to be let through.

Heart hammering, I deliberately and carefully placed my quill back in its stand, smoothed my hair and got up. Hasopad waited for me again at the door to the hall, shot through when I opened it and raced across the hall toward the main entrance. I continued at a measured pace, hoping, but not quite believing, that the dog had not made a mistake.

Aerin, a few serving maids laying tables, all stopped their chatter. Their eyes fixing on Hasopad as he scraped and scratched on the outer door until, attention gained, the door swung inwards.

Just then, I heard it. We all heard it – the sharp, sweet sound of Rohírric horns.

The sudden smack of earthenware hitting tiled floor, startled the listeners. The break of silence provoked an outburst of excited prattle only to be cut short by Elfgyuu’s crisp voice as she emerged from the door to the kitchens, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sweep that up, Aerin and pull yourself together.”

“It is them, isn’t it, Elfgyuu,” said Aerin eyes wide ignoring the broken shards of pottery.

“Aye, it is the King’s call. Now pick that up.”

Ignoring her, Aerin turned to me, near panic on her face. “I must get down to the stables, Léod might be injured.”

“That is precisely why you will not go, Aerin. There may be many injuries and the healers will already be on their way. The duty-guard will see to everything, if fact all the men will offer their help. The women are not wanted there, so I suggest you pick up that mess and then go and wait with Léod’s mother. Léod will come as soon as he is able.”

“But what if he is injured, my lady. I want to see him.” She took a step toward the door but a hand firmly grasped her arm.

“Listen to the Queen, Aerin.” Elfgyuu said in her voice of steel, “Men may be hurt; they will not want a young girl seeing them like that. The tradition is that those who are not seriously injured will be taken to their homes or here, to the hall, if they have no families. Any gravely wounded will fall under the care of the healers and their loved ones will be fetched. Is that clear?”

Chastened, Aerin nodded and bent to pick up the broken plate. Feeling sorry for her —having already found out the way of things from Egelfled – I spoke quietly to try and reassure her. “Léod will probably not be long, Aerin. He will have no duties tonight as others will see to the horses. I expect his mother will appreciate some company while she waits.”

“Yes, my lady. Sorry, I have been so worried.”

“Understandable, now go on, we do not need you here.”  

I encountered Elfgyuu’s sardonic look as Aerin rushed out the hall, her eyes met mine and her lips twitched. “That one has a lot to learn.”

“She has, Elfgyuu, but she will,” I said knowing my own panic hovered just below the surface and only pride, rank and what I had learnt from the Rohírric women stopped me rushing to the stables to see if Éomer had returned unhurt. “Now,” I announced, in a voice that owed more to training than to inclination, “I will go and make sure everything is prepared for the King and then come and assist you here.”

“I gave orders for the fires to be stoked at the first strain,” she said, turning to give orders to those who had already come to help.

Hroddwyn, Eru thank her, had already opened up the fire under the boiler by the time I returned to the Royal Chambers. She eyed my preparations but said nothing, whether because she expected naught else or because she knew how I had been spending my time, I did not ask. Optimistically, none of it would be needed.

A well ordered routine ensured that by the time I returned to the hall preparations were well in hand. Cauldrons of water hung over the fire, and in one corner tables had been cleared and baskets of linen bandages piled on seats. Hopefully they would not be needed either, but as I overheard two of the women saying: after a prolonged fight with wargs to have no wounded men, would be extraordinary fortunate.

Dusk had overtaken day by the time I stood in the entrance, a tray of mead cups in hand, trying to make sense of the voices that wafted up on the evening breeze. Shadowy figures crossed the main way between the houses but I could discern no one on the path from the stables to the hall. With nothing else left to do Elfgyuu joined me, her eyes searching the path as mine had done. But, in spite of the vigilance of two women, it was the slight stiffening of the posture of one of the Doorwards that first alerted my to my husband’s return. Two men were coming slowly, along the path in the direction of the hall. Easy to discern Éomer by his height, but I peered through the gloom to recognize the other. As they got nearer I realized the second man, now discerned as Éothain, had his arm under Eomer’s shoulder giving him support. Coming into full view of those of us standing on the platform Éomer shrugged off his friend and limped heavily toward the bottom of the stone stair, pain in every movement. I remained motionless for just a moment before I thrust the tray of cups at Elfgyuu, picked up my skirts and flew down to meet him.

TBC    

 Chapter 18 – A time for healing

“Lothíriel, no! I am filthy and stinking.”

Éomer’s hands caught both my wrists, holding me away from him.  Stopped from flinging myself against his chest, I raked my eyes over my husband. Filthy and stinking described him accurately enough – tawny hair hung in grimy clumps, once-colourful garments now the overall colour of mud, enhanced by dark parches of what I guessed to be gore. Looking down at the hands that held me fast brought no change; they were caked with dirt. As for the smell – I deduced a mixture of long-unwashed male, horse, woodsmoke and an overwhelming stench of, presumably, warg blood.

Involuntarily my nose must have wrinkled because, beside him, Éothain sniggered. “Orc blood smells worse, my lady.”

“Never mind that!” I snapped. “Give him your arm again. He’s hurt.”

“I don’t need….”

“Yes, you do! You can hardly put that foot to the ground.”

“Better do as she says, my lord. Women get very funny when their men are hurt.”

Ignoring Éothain, who could make a joke out of anything, I concentrated on my husband. He looked so weary that I wanted to reach up and touch his cheek, smooth away the tension I saw there, but he held me firmly away from him so I just whispered softly, “Let him help you, Éomer.” Blue, red-rimmed eyes met mine and somewhere amongst an ill kempt beard, familiar lips smiled. He dropped my wrists and with no more protest Éothain shoved his shoulder back under his king’s arm. I walked the other side which left Hasopad to tuck in close behind. The dog appeared determined not to let his master out of sniffing distance.

“What have you done?” I asked as the first step up caused a grimace of pain, quickly hidden.

“Nothing much. I just got clawed.”

Clawed! I stared down at his lower leg. Under a grubby piece of linen wrap I could see the tatters of a leather boot. “Under your boot?”

“No, my lady, through his boot. Their claws are…”

“Will you clamp your mouth!” Éomer barked at his hapless crutch, taking another painful step upwards.

“Oh…right. Well sorry, my lady. But it didn’t look much at first. This only started yesterday.”

“Then it is obvious the wound must be infected, don’t you think?” Sometimes I wondered if grown men had the sense of children. Experience of my brothers had certainly never convinced me otherwise.

“It just needs a soak. I will go to the bath house and…”

“You will not! Hroddwyn is preparing your tub. When you are clean I will look at your leg and decide if you need a healer.” The two men exchanged a wry look and concentrated on getting up the rest of the steps. Eru, did I sound like a fishwife? But a quick glance at Éomer showed that he was far from offended. Indeed amusement showed in the twitch of his lips.

Elfgyuu hurried forward when we reached the top of the steps, hovering until Éomer got into the anteroom. I thought she might be censorious of my loss of control and subsequent headlong dash to greet my husband, but she almost looked approving. “Let’s get him straight in the hall, my lady.”  

Éomer groaned and put up his hand forestalling any fussing, “I am fine, Elfgyuu. I have a small wound which must have become infected. Save your concern for the others who will need your help.”

Her shoulders went back as she noticeably braced herself, “How many, my lord?”

Tossing back the mead I had passed him, Éomer wiped his mouth with the back of a grimy hand before he answered. His voice sounded deliberately neutral. “Five will be coming to the hall. Swidhelm is badly injured, the rest are relatively minor. We left two with Erkenbrand, but they will recover.”

The gasp came out before I could stop it. Swidhelm? The scout who gave early warning of the wargs presence. Then I remembered Léod. “Is Léod alright, Éomer?”

His brow furrowed, “Yes, Léod is fine. But we lost Eadric.”

This time the gasp came from Elfgyuu, her normally strong face crumpling in sorrow. “Eadric?”

I shared her surprise and distress and could not imagine why Eadric had been put in danger. “I thought he would stay at the base camp?”

“Most of the brutes were taken easily in the first few days but then the mist came down and that hindered us. That’s why it took longer than I hoped. We decided to put a cordon well above them and make a second camp in one of the high valleys. Of those that were left one escaped our net. I think it must have known it wouldn’t get away but it was old and cunning and backtracked, making for our camp. Swidhelm was already injured and by the time Oeric picked up its tracks again ….” He sighed, his hand tightly gripping the cup he still held. “Éothain got there in time to save Léod but not Eadric. Léod said Eadric pushed him out of the way and got between him and the warg.”

Put himself in front of Léod? Eadric was not even a trained warrior, just a brave man. I would always remember him as a gentle Rohír who treated me with great respect. Lord Bertwald! Another gentle man. How could I have forgotten him? Disregarding the dirt I clutched Eomer’s arm. “Lord Bertwald…”

Éomer put his hand over mine and squeezed lightly. “Yes, I know. Cereth told me. He’s down at the stables.”

“He is coming now,” Éothain stated, helping himself to some more mead from the jug.  

I looked back down the steps. Cereth, in spite of his own limp, supported a Rider in much the same way as Éothain had helped Éomer. A number of men, injured and uninjured were coming along behind, amongst them two men carried a stretcher. Sidgweard, the chief healer in Edoras walked alongside it so I guessed it must be Swidhelm they were bringing to the hall. As they started to negotiate the stair they were joined by a small group of women who had been hurrying up the main way.

“We are going to be busy here so you might as well go and get cleaned up, my lord and then your leg can be attended to.” Elfgyuu looked Éomer up and down. “Are you going to the bath house?”

“No, he’s not.” I answered before my husband could say anything. “You will need all the water you can heat. I will attend to the King.”

Reluctantly, and only after sharing a thirst quenching mug of ale with his men, and a few quiet words with Swidhelm’s wife who stood white-faced whilst Sidgweard started work on her husband, Éomer left the injured to the care of the women and healers. He limped painfully across the hall, refusing any help. I had a niggling suspicion that he was not going to make an easy patient.

Hroddwyn had both tubs down on the floor when we entered the bath chamber. Steam rose from one, but the other stood next to the boiler, still empty. Her eyes took in Eomer’s appearance and her mouth quirked in a half smile. “There is a basket there, my lady. Perhaps you would like to put all the King’s clothes in it and leave it outside the door. I will take them to the washer woman and see if anything can be salvaged. I have left the bath as we agreed.”

She dropped a quick curtsey and left us alone. Suddenly I felt shy and did not know what to say. I desperately wanted to embrace him, something he wouldn’t let me do whilst he still had filth over him but more than that I wanted him to hold me. Painfully aware of my new feelings for him, I still had no idea if he felt remotely the same.

Éomer had already unbuckled his sword and had started to tug at his tunic, leaning against the heavy washstand to take the weight from his leg. I chastised myself for wondering about our relationship when there were more important things to do. “Where’s your breastplate?” I asked pushing his arm up to get at the laces. The putrid odour of warg hit me and I just stopped myself from taking a step backward.

“In the stables. Someone will bring it up later with the rest of my stuff.”

I nodded. Trying to wiggle my finger into the blood encrusted knot achieved nothing except to transfer some of the crud to me. I told myself to be thankful the blood belonged to a warg and not my husband. “I think I am going to have to use a knife. Have you got a sharp one?”

“Of course. Did you really think I wouldn’t?” Éomer reached down and produced a well polished knife from his undamaged boot.

“I imagine your sword is just as clean,” I quipped. Knowing where a warrior’s priorities lay.

“It is, but I am far from clean. In fact, Lothíriel, I am in a disgusting state and you don’t have to do this.”

I took the knife from him and stared to carefully cut through the laces, sticking the point behind them and pulling, whilst he held his arm high up in the air. “Don’t you want me to? Perhaps you would rather have your squire.”

He grinned, acknowledging his preference for dispensing with his squire’s services since our marriage. “Undressing me is normally very different. I am not usually so unwashed and smelly.”

The last lace fell apart and I stood upright, stepping back so he could take the tunic off. “Éomer, my feelings towards you will not alter because you having been living in the mountains for two sennights and are covered in warg blood!”

The tunic stopped halfway over his head. I waited for some comment but it resumed its journey silently.  Emerging from under the soiled wool he fixed his blue eyes on me. The tunic landed in the basket with a sideways flick of his wrist but his gaze never moved from my face. “And are you going to tell me what those feelings are?”

No I wasn’t, not then anyway. I dropped my eyes from his and lowered my head shaking it slowly from side to side in refusal. “Turn around so I can unbuckle your hauberk.” He didn’t. Instead he stepped toward me, forcing me back against the wardrobe.

“Later, Lothíriel. Later we will acknowledge how much we have missed each other.”

The low velvet voice and his slow smile had its usual effect on my pulse rate but I pushed my hands against his chest, “Yes, later.” The weight must have gone back on his leg because he flinched. “You are hurting. We must get you clean and your wound dressed.”

One eyebrow rose in amusement, “I won’t forget, Lothíriel. I want clarification of that statement.”

Annoying, that he could look so attractive plastered with muck and grime. I retreated into practicality, “Turn around.”

The mail didn’t go in the basket it went over the back of a chair. So did the leather jerkin. But his shirt he took off and held at arms length, holding his nose and grinning before tossing it to join the tunic.

His deeply muscled chest looked as good as it always did but I resisted the urge to walk into his arms. However much I might want comfort after the difficulties I’d experienced during his absence, I needed to concentrate on the immediate issues. “You had better sit down so we can get your boots off.”

One came off easily. It went straight outside the door, disturbing a waiting Hasopad. The other would take much longer. I knelt down and cautiously started to unwind the linen that held the ripped leather together. “How did it get like this?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, your boot seems to have been ripped apart.”

“Hmm…,” he looked down, taking a piece of torn leather in between grimy fingers, “I think it might be past repair.”

“If it is not now then I am sure it will be when I cut it away. The boot will not come off without a lot of tugging otherwise.” Picking the knife up again I started to saw through the remaining stitching, “Well, what happened?”

“It was in the first week, when we were still on the horses. We trapped a group in a corrie and then started to flush them out by firing from above. The plan was for a few of us to pick them off individually, but they made a break for it and it turned into a proper skirmish. My spear got stuck in one and another must have thought I made an easy target. Firefoot spotted it and swivelled round as the thing launched itself. So it landed short. Its foot connected with my leg just above the top of my boot. It dragged its claws down ripping the leather…”

“And flesh.” I finished for him shuddering at the image my mind conjured up. Gently easing down the mutilated boot I couldn’t see much flesh, just a crusted mess of linen wrap, blood and something that I guessed to be the remains of a herb.

“Yes, flesh,” he agreed sucking in breath as I eased the heel off.  “It didn’t look too bad so we packed it with yarrow, wrapped it up and shoved the boot back on. I had to wind something around the outside to keep it all together.”

Boot or leg, I wondered. I stood up to get rid of the remains, outside the door the only place I could contemplate for it. When I returned Éomer had the end of the bandage in his hand, tentatively pulling, his face screwed up in pain as he did so. I slapped his hand away, earning myself a wry grin. “It will have to be soaked in the bath, Éomer. The bandage is stuck so badly to your skin that I risk doing more damage if I try to remove it. Anyway, you would not be able to stand the pain.”

“If I close my eyes and you pull it off, I…”

“I will do nothing of the sort! Just get the rest of your clothes off whilst I see to the tub.” I moved to the bath and felt the water. Steaming hot when it had been poured in, it was now just about right. Looking back over my shoulder my mouth must have dropped open in surprise.

“It is only my lower leg that is injured, Lothíriel; every other part of me is working perfectly.

I let my eyes linger for a moment; there was not the slightest doubt which part Éomer referred to. It stood proud and tall, rather like its owner. My lips twitched, but with a determined effort I managed a nonchalant reply. “It certainly looks undamaged but if you don’t mind I would prefer not to examine it thoroughly until after you get out of the bath.”

“Examine it! That’s not quite what I had in mind.” His face crumpled with laughter and he lunged toward me only to be stopped short by the pain from his injured leg. “Ouch! Damn leg. It was just a few scratches.”

“Come on, lean on me. You really must not put your weight on it.” I put my arm around him, enjoying the contact with warm muscle. Something I had missed. “A few scratches can cause a lot of problems. Now stop fooling and get in the bath.”

 “Fooling am I?” Lips delicately brushed my ear and one hand roved up across my midriff, ending up covering my breast. “If you can’t imagine what it’s like to come home to a warm and willing wife…”

His other hand caught mine, pulling it down towards his groin, but I resisted, trying to squirm out of his grasp. “I’ll be more willing when you are clean and your wound has been attended to.” I doubt I deceived him with my protest, my desire as evident as his. Grinning, he let me go and carefully stepped into the bath.

“It’s not very hot.”

“Well, you took so long.” I reached for a jug and opened the spigot on the boiler. The water spluttered in. “It will be quicker next time if your squire attends to you.” I said tongue in cheek, not having any intention of letting that happen.

“You‘re probably right, he certainly has never had this effect on me.”

“Never mind the effect, move your legs whilst I pour this in,” I said, trying not to giggle and keeping the jug well away from my husband’s still prominent arousal. “Is that hot enough?”

He nodded; relaxing back in the water. Only to sit up straight again as I threw a handful of herbs into the tub and a pungent smell immediately filled the small chamber. “What are those for? I don’t want to smell like an apothecary.” 

“Anything would be preferable to what you smell like now,” I retorted. They are just to help cleanse your wound. It is mostly sage.”

“Oh,” he sank back down again. “I didn’t know you knew anything about herbs.”

“I didn’t, but I have not been wasting my time whilst you have been away.” I picked up a bar of sandalwood soap that Éowyn had sent; at least his hair would smell good.

His eyes were closed but a smile lifted the corners of his mouth, “I know that, Lothíriel. Cereth pounced on me almost before I had dismounted to tell me what a good job you have done.”

“Cereth did?” Surely I had misheard. He had certainly not given me that impression.

“Yes, he told me I had made a very good choice for Queen. I couldn’t disagree with him.”

So stunned, that Cereth now thought it let alone was prepared to say it, I let the bar of soap drop from my hand into the water with a loud plop. Eomer’s eyes opened. “That’s a fortuitous happening. Are you going to fish it out?”

“No, I need to wash your hair. I know you; if I start searching around in the water you will have me in there with you.”

Grinning profusely, he lifted his hands right out of the tub and held them high in the air, “Promise I won’t. I’ll keep them up here all the time and you can try and find it. I think it fell between my legs.”

I couldn’t help it, I burst out laughing. That innocent look he had perfected enough to send me into giggles. But the thought that he would return tired, wounded and probably hungry and then joke around trying to get me to fish out soap from between his legs, staggered me even more. Then, remembering something Egelfled had told me about the men coming home from the wars and wanting more than anything to play with the children and return to simple family life, I realised that he probably needed this: light banter and fun after the killing and death of the previous days. So, kneeling down by the side of the bath, I let my fingers explore between his muscled thighs. “You promised to keep them in the air,” I murmured as a wet hand caressed my hair.

“Keep that up and I will have you in the bath.”

“Not with that painful leg you won’t,” Finding the soap I stood up quickly and dodged out of his way.   Leaving him grinning, I pulled up the empty bath to catch the water when I washed his hair and then made a neck pad from a drying cloth. ”Lean your head back but keep your hands soaking in the tub. It’s the only way they will get clean.”

Hroddwyn had left some buckets of cold water so after mixing it in the jug with the hot from the boiler I poured it over Éomer’s fifthly hair. Normally shining, his tawny locks were dull and matted. “It’s going to need more than one wash and I am going to have to tug the comb through.”

“I could lie here all night.” With eyes closed again, the deep sigh spoke of satisfaction, “Just carry on kneading your fingers over my scalp …Ahhh! Lothíriel!”

“Keep still. I have to get the knots out.”

He sat up rubbing his head and pulling clumps of hair around to the front of his face to examine the tangles. “I think I’d rather cut it off.”

“Concentrate on scrubbing your hands,” I suggested passing a brush. “You won’t notice so much.”

Éomer looked down at his dirt engrained hands, made a disgusted face and started scrubbing. I continued to wrestle with his hair. Eventually, after a lot of effort on my part, a lot more protest from Éomer, and more hot water being put in the bath, the comb ran easily through it. Starting to give it a final rub dry, I picked up a sponge and tossed it in the bath.

“You next! Start on the bits you can reach and I will do your back.”

“Well, I would enjoy it more if you did the front.”

“Don’t be so sure. I might use the brush rather than the sponge.” Shaking his head with laughter he gave up and started to wash his chest. Resisting the urge to grab the sponge from him and do it myself – the bath would never end if I started that – I found another and attacked his back. Nearly as distracting—hard muscles sliding under my soapy hands. Which is why once his back was clean, I slid one arm down over his shoulder, rubbing my finger through the light dusting of hair on his chest. The other pushed his hair aside and I placed my lips against the warm smooth skin. Instantly an arm whipped up and trapped mine.

“Come around the front so that I can kiss you.”

“Perhaps it would be better if you just got out.” I didn’t want to wait any longer, the only thing I could think of at that moment was to have his arms wrapped around me, wet or dry. Sense won though, and I passed him a cloth as he stepped out of the tub. But his upper body only got a cursory rub before the cloth was thrown aside and his lips were on mine. One large hand cradled my face; the other grasped my buttocks pulling me hard against him. Realising that the embrace I had wanted was likely to lead to full-scale lovemaking, I pulled away. Instigating an indignant protest.

“I must look at your wound, Éomer. We cannot leave it.”

Lips nudged into my neck, “My wound has waited a week already.”

With his hands roving my body and the evidence of his desire pressed hard into my belly, my resolve wavered, but then we had the rest of the night. “The bandage will dry again. I must get it off now.”

A deep sigh, accompanied a kiss planted on my forehead, “Come on then, let’s sort it out and then we can go to bed.”

Nodding, I disengaged myself from the circle of his arms to find his robe. “You had better sit down.”

My determination to be a proper Rohírric wife had led me to seek basic instruction in wound care whilst Éomer had been away but even so I had to steel myself to remove the remains of the field dressing, he, and probably Éothain, had applied. Soaking had been the right thing to do but I still needed to bathe away the inner dressing with its crust of dried blood and yarrow. Finally, I exposed a large area of wound in various stages of healing. The sight of the damage brought back my nightmares of huge beasts tearing my husband apart.  Two claws must have dug in above his boot causing deep puncture wounds and then ripped and raked the flesh in their downward tract. One looked to be healing reasonably well but the other entry point had swelled considerably

My stomach clenching, I prodded the area gently with just two fingers but even my careful touch caused him to wince and draw his leg away. “An abscess has formed, Éomer. It will need to be lanced.” I did not like the look of the red streak that extended from the half-healed wound down into his calf. It could mean the infection was travelling down his leg. The whole area of skin looked shiny and tight.

Éomer surveyed his leg for a moment and then pointed across the room, “Pass that dagger over and I will do it now.”

My eyes swivelled to the washstand where I had dumped the weapon used to cut of his tunic and boot. The previously gleaming blade was now dulled and streaked by blood.

“No Éomer, I will fetch a healer. Everything needs to be kept dirt-free.”

“They have enough to do. The dagger will be fine, just dip it in some hot water. I must clean it anyway.” He half stood up, reaching for it but I grabbed it quickly stepping well back out of his reach.

“No! And don’t you dare touch your leg before I get back.”

Still carrying the weapon I retreated backward out of the door, but pulled up short as he called to me.

“Lothíriel!”

He half smiled, his face turning serious with concern. The look he shot me far removed from the teasing ones of the previous hour. “Find out how Swidhelm is doing.”

Holding his eyes for a moment, I nodded. With the door open Hasopad slipped into the chamber past me, but Éomer waved at me to leave him so I hurried to the hall.

TBC

Chapter 19   - A question of postponement 

The heavy door swung open to reveal a crowded hall and I realised it must be nearly time for the evening meal. A whole group of Eomer’s Riders were gathered around a large table, some enthusiastically pushing the plates and dishes around on the wooden board. Lots of hand gesticulating made me wonder what they were doing for a moment. But, with some amusement, I decided that that those who had been on the hunt were explaining battle strategies to those that hadn’t. A few wives stood with folded arms, in all likelihood waiting to put the crockery back to rights. Those who caught sight of me acknowledged my presence with a slight bow and a smile. I thought they had probably not seen their queen looking quite so dishevelled before, and certainly, I did not usually appear with a near soaking dress. But apart from the odd stare, no-one commented. After replying briefly to a few questions about Eomer’s health, I headed towards the far corner where the healing position had been set up. The cold hand of dread clutched at my heart as I saw that the screen that had shielded Swidhelm, now rested against the wall. His poor wife! But not only that, I knew how much Éomer would hurt if the scout had lost his fight for life.

One man sat with a bandage around his head and his arm in a sling, drinking a mug of ale. But there was no sign of any other of the injured, just Elfgyuu and a few girls clearing up. The housekeeper had her back to me and jumped when I called her, turning around quickly. She stared at me for a moment before her eyes dropped down to my hip level.

“Is every thing alright, my lady?”

I followed her gaze. No wonder she sounded surprised, the dagger in my hand must have looked a bit odd. “Éomer King wanted to stick it in his infected wound. I thought it prudent to fetch a healer, Elfgyuu.”

Her lips twitched and her voice held the barest hint of amusement, “Very wise, my lady. And I see he has had his bath.”

Heat flushed my cheeks. Did I imagine that twinkle in her eyes? I knew I had not when the corners of her mouth lifted in response to my embarrassment, but I managed to keep my voice level, “Yes, Elfgyuu, he is ready to have his wound dressed, but first, tell me…” my gaze swivelled to where the screen had been moved to the wall, “…Swidhelm, Éomer King asked me to…”

She must have read my look because she interrupted swiftly, “It’s alright, my lady. He has been moved to one of the empty chambers. We did not think you would mind as it will be quieter. There are three young children at home and not much room. He has lost a lot of blood but Sidgweard is hopeful.”

“Oh,” I breathed out a sigh of relief, I am glad. And of course I don’t mind.” I looked around but could see no one. “Is there a healer free to see to Éomer King?”

“Sidgweard will be back in a moment, my lady. He has just gone to instruct the novice who will sit with Swidhelm tonight… ah, here he is.”

The tall thin man entered from the south-eastern tower, his progress across the hall became sporadic as various Riders waylaid him to ask about their comrade. But then the healer saw me waiting and determinedly made his way toward me.

“My Lady Queen, have you persuaded the King to let me tend to him? He was most dismissive of his injury but I could see the pain on his face.”

“Yes, Master Sidgweard he is in a lot of pain. I am sure there is an abscess deep in the wound. You probably have an instrument more suitable than this.” I held up the soiled dagger for inspection.

He shook his head in resignation, “They are all the same, my lady. If they paid as much attention to themselves as to their horses….still,” he shrugged his shoulders, “I am gradually educating them. Since I went to Gondor …”

“The King is waiting, Sidgweard.” Elfgyuu interrupted rather rudely, cutting short his discourse.

“What? Oh yes, of course.” A slight glare for Elfgyuu and a smile for me, “I will be right there, my lady. I will just put together a few things I need.” Huffing a bit, he went over to where some instruments lay soaking in a bowl.

“He’d talk all night if you let him, my lady, but he’s a good healer.”

“I’ll remember that, Elfgyuu,” I said, hiding a grin. She was never fussy whom she offended. “I will get back to the King. Perhaps you could arrange to send in some supper after Sidgweard has finished. We will not eat in the hall tonight.” Éomer had looked tired enough to drop when he had first got back and I didn’t want him to have to face any questions from Cereth or anyone else. Well, if I was honest I wanted some time alone with him.

“I will send Hroddwyn later, supper is a bit delayed anyway.” I turned to go but the housekeeper called me back, “You may need this, my lady.” Elfgyuu passed me an earthenware bowl of very mouldy bread. “We use it for packing wounds. It seems to have wondrous powers.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It is used in Gondor, also. Thank you, I will take it with me.”

Delayed by a conversation with the wife of one of the men left in The Hornburg, Sidgweard caught up with me as I entered the Royal Chambers. Éomer started and stood up quickly as I opened the door; I guessed he had been dozing. The sudden movement must have hurt him because he clutched the back of the chair for support. Hasopad, curled up by the boiler, raised his head to check out the intruders and, satisfied, closed his eyes again.

Sidgweard launched right in, hardly bothering to bow, his mind already on the job in hand. “Ah, my lord, the Queen says you have an abscess.”  He fixed his eyes on Eomer’s leg, “It does not look too good. If you would sit back down and put your leg up on that stool I can disinfect the wound and examine it probably.” Already he turned to lay out his instruments on the washstand.

Éomer waved his hand dismissively, “Never mind me, Sidgweard, how is Swidhelm?”

“Eh! Oh well, my lord. It is a very nasty wound and he has lost a lot of blood. But he is strong and no vital organ has been touched. We will know by morning, I imagine.”  He picked up a wad of cloth and a stone bottle. “Now just sit down, my lord and I can make sure all the skin around the wound is clean…”

Instead of sitting down Éomer reached a long arm over to where a slender, lethal looking knife made from one complete piece of metal, had been laid on a piece of clean linen. “That looks like it will do, Sidgweard. Just stick that in it.”

“No, my lord!” The healer nearly knocked Eomer’s hand away. “You must not touch it. When I went to Gondor with Théoden King, I learnt a lot. Men survived the battles that I thought would be lost to us. One of the most important things is to guard against infection. And, besides that, I am certainly not just going to ‘stick it in’, my lord. It has to be done carefully. I need to open the wound enough to let all the infected matter escape, but if I probe too deeply and my knife cuts sound flesh beneath the abscess, the pus may escape inward and poison your blood.”

My husband looked as he was just about to protest so I thought it best to intervene and put my hand on his arm soothingly, “Just let Master Sidgweard do what he needs to do, Éomer, it will only hurt for a moment. Once the pressure is released you will feel a lot better.”

“Lothíriel!” His eyes blazed for a moment, “I am not afraid of it hurting. I merely don’t see the need for all this fuss.” He looked and sounded extremely affronted but sat down on the chair and rested his leg on the stool, still glaring at me.

I said nothing and watched his face gradually relax into a sheepish grin as he realised how neatly I had got him to sit down. Smiling in response, I moved to stand behind him, resting my hands on his shoulder. One of his reached up to grasp mine and he leant his head back against my chest. This encouraged my free hand to play with his newly washed hair.

Sidgweard looked up from cleansing Eomer’s leg and I jumped guiltily but he seemed to approve, “That’s right, my lady, hold his hand. It always helps when things might be a bit painful.”

Stifling a giggle, I waited with bated breath for Éomer to react angrily, imagining that comment would normally be the sort of thing the healer might say to a mother and child, but instead my quick-tempered husband burst out laughing.

“Just get on with it, Sidgweard. I am getting hungry,” he said when his laughter subsided.

Not quite realising what was so funny the poor man looked a bit bemused, but Éomer signalled for him to proceed.

I had to admit he was very thorough, and, far from blindly sticking the knife in the wound, he took a long time probing to find the exact site of the abscess. Éomer said nothing, but I could tell that the slightest touch caused considerable pain. In fact the swelling looked even larger than when I had first removed the dressing.

“The wound is half closed, my lord, and the abscess deep in your flesh. I am going to have to cut a bit, I am afraid. I will give you something for the pain.”

“I don’t want anything, the pain won’t last long.  And I don’t want to be here all night.”

Sighing, the healer bent to his task, but just before he used the knife he seemed to remember something and reached to pull the empty bucket nearer, “If I hit the right spot the pus could spurt out a long way. Hopefully this may catch it.”

Catch it? A bucket? Suddenly I hoped I would not do anything stupid like passing out, my experience with wounds being very limited. Once he had started though, I found I could not draw my eyes away.

I could feel the tension in Éomer as first the knife sliced through recently healed flesh to open the wound, but nothing other than a hiss from tight lips betrayed the pain he must be feeling.  Blood gushed out, quickly mopped up by Sidgweard and then he held the skin apart with a pair of forceps. “Ah, there it is. The worst is nearly over, my lord.”

The knife dug into the wound. Éomer drew in breath, let go my hand and grasped the side of the chair so hard his knuckles went white. I think my hands squeezed into his shoulders with nearly as much force. Hasopad raised his head to see what was happening and a slight splutter preceded a jet of greeny-yellow fluid that followed a perfect arc to land right in the centre of the strategically placed container. Sidgweard had done this before.

“I think I got it,” the healer said, examining the mess in the bucket with interest.

Éomer had sagged slightly, not surprisingly – the pressure in his leg must have been enormous, but he took a deep breath and said. “Right, now just get it stitched up, will you.”

“Oh, no, my lord.” Sidgweard looked horrified. “I have to put a wick into the wound. It must not be allowed to close over until all the poisonous matter has leached out. The cavity will need repacking and bathing twice every day for about a week if you do not want any complications.”

“I will take care of that if you show me what to do, Master Sidgweard. I am sure if you show me how, I can manage.” No one would be able to say I was not prepared to look after my husband.

Packed with a wick made from boiled linen, a dressing of mouldy bread and a handful of herbs, the wound disappeared from sight under a clean bandage. As soon as Sidgweard had finished, Éomer stood up, wincing as he experimented to see if he could take his weight on the injured leg.

“You must rest, my lord. It will take time to heal.”

“I will make sure he does, Master Sidgweard ….” At that moment I heard a noise from the direction of the solar. I pushed open the door and the appetising smell of a something savoury teased our nostrils. “Is that you, Hroddwyn?” I called.

“Yes, my lady. We thought you must be about ready to eat now.” A clatter of plates told me she had put our supper down on the table.

“We are, Master Sidgweard has just finished.” 

------------------

Éomer went straight for the wine, I could hardly blame him. I felt the need of a sustaining draught myself.  “Where’s Aerin?” he asked, as Hroddwyn left the room, closely followed by Hasopad. The dog knew where to go for his own meal.

He raised his eyebrows when I told him of Aerin’s misadventure, but he didn’t say much, concentrating on making inroads into a very tasty rabbit pie. My appetite seemed to have deserted me, so, between sparse mouthfuls; I gave him an account of the happenings in Meduseld during his absence.  

He nodded agreement at my decisions on Grievance Day, shook his head in disbelief when I recounted the basis of Cereth’s initial distrust of me and then looked troubled when I described the pressure I had been put under to send word for him to come back.

“Aelfric was right; we used to be away for weeks without sending tidings. I should have done so, Lothíriel, I am sorry.”

“Two sennights cannot be counted as overly long, Éomer and I did not worry until they started putting doubts in my mind.”

Éomer put down his fork and picked up a napkin, wiping his mouth with the linen cloth.

He looked tired, even more so now than when he had first arrived back, understandable with all the pain, but he smiled and picked up my hand, rubbing his fingers gently across my knuckles. “There are always going to be times when I have to leave you, Lothíriel, I hope they will be few, but your father was right: you will always cope admirably.”

“That is what persuaded you to offer for me, was it? My father convinced you I could rule in your absence?” I stopped, surprised at my own words. Why did I want to know this now? I had managed the previous weeks without questioning him, but suddenly it took on new importance. I needed to understand his reasons and accept them. Perhaps because I had fallen in love with him. If I had not, then maybe it would not matter. We could have carried on in our marriage of state, circling around each other, not saying anything of importance. For me, at least, it had gone far beyond that.

He didn’t answer for a moment more but then his lips quirked in that familiar way that I cherished, “Lothíriel, I distinctly remember telling you the day before our wedding that nobody persuades me to do anything. I make up my own mind.”

“But my father and King Elessar helped you make up your mind,” I persisted.

He chuckled, and sat back in his chair, goblet in hand, observing me intently. “Lothíriel, it wasn’t like that. I sort of suggested it. Oh, I admit they nearly shook my hand off, but I mentioned it first.”

“Why did you do that?” I asked, rather abruptly.

“Why shouldn’t I? Men do normally ask a woman to be their wife.”

“You didn’t ask me though, you asked my father. And why should you ask me anyway, we had only spoken a few words to each other.”

He sighed, and I am sure he looked slightly embarrassed. “Lothíriel, do we have to talk about this now? I am very tired, let’s leave it until tomorrow.”

I didn’t want to leave it and I am sure he could see that I did not, but at that moment Hroddwyn returned as she had promised to clear up the clutter left from the bath.  “I’ve put Hasopad in the King’s study,” she called through the door. “And your bedchamber is all prepared, my lady. Will you want me to help you undress?”

“No, I will manage, thank you, Hroddwyn. If you just see to the wash room.”

We sat silently looking at each other while she busied herself with the bathwater. The interrupted conversation hung between us, but Hroddwyn’s presence the other side of a partly open door made it impossible to say anything. However, after she called goodnight and left, Éomer grinned and whispered, “At least let’s talk about it in bed.”

Not proof against that smile or those eyes, I nodded, “Go on then, I will need to spend a few minutes cleaning myself up.”

He stood up, dropping a kiss on my head, “I’ll just go and see if Hasopad is alright and then go straight to our bedchamber.”

Watching him limp away, I realised how tired he must be. Unfair of me to demand explanations tonight, I supposed, but he could surely manage a few words.

It took me a while to undress and wash and Éomer was already in bed when I entered our chamber. He must have been exhausted because none of the candles or lamps had been doused and the fire needed another log. I picked up the snuffer and quietly circled the chamber before seeing to the fire. Stirring the embers inevitably started a blaze and the hump in the bed moved slightly.  An arm appeared; pulling the covers higher but nothing else disturbed the peace. With just my nightlight left burning, I hung up my robe and stood by the side of the bed looking down at my husband. The repose of sleep made him look younger, easing out the lines of duty, but then he moved and his face contorted with pain. A wave of love and concern shot through me. Trying not to jar the mattress, I slipped under the covers, meaning to keep well to my side of the bed but he muttered something inaudible and reached out, snaking a proprietary arm around my waist. Being pulled roughly against a hard chest and having to remove soft strands of hair from my mouth, a small price to pay for the warmth and the prospect of a night without bad dreams. I carefully wriggled to get comfortable without disturbing him but need not have worried because the deep steady breathing told me Éomer already slept. He deserved his peace tonight but tomorrow I would be unmerciful.

-----------------------

TBC

A quick update because I want to post the Epilogue this week before I go off on holiday next Sunday. Hope you enjoy. LBJ

Chapter 20    A surprising confession. 

Without opening my eyes, my mouth curved in a smile and I languidly stretched an arm up over my head, pushing against the headboard. Not wanting to emerge into full consciousness, I drew my arm back under the covers and turned on my side, enjoying the cosy warmth that only another body in such close proximity could give. Something – fingers – slid along my chin and up to my ear, pushing strands of hair away from my face. I shivered, sighing slightly with a light exhale of breath. The fingers came back, skimming gently over my lips.

“I have been waiting for you to wake up,”

“You have?”

“Yes. I have been waiting to ask you; what is my dog doing sleeping on the rug?”

“Oh!” My eyes flew open. Éomer nonchalantly leant on one elbow with his eyes fixed on my face, his grin just discernable in the semi-darkness. “I had to! He would have scratched the door down and I didn’t want you to be disturbed.” Guilt made me a bit sharp but he looked even more amused. 

“Do I gather you missed me so much that you encouraged Hasopad to sleep in our bedchamber?”

On the bed actually, but perhaps I could keep that quiet. The bad dreams too, I didn’t want him knowing about those. “I didn’t need to encourage him,” I excused myself. “He scratched on the door the first night I returned. Having sensed I needed company, I imagine. And, yes, I confess I made him welcome. His presence eased some of my loneliness.”

The backs of those large fingers stroked down my cheek, “Were you so very lonely, Lothíriel? I hoped you would begin to feel at home. But I admit if I had known Byrhtwyn would not be here I would have thought twice about sending you back.”

Moving closer to him, I reached my hand up, slipping it around his neck between skin and hair, rubbing that smooth spot just below his hairline. Unable to deny the difficult first few days, I aimed to reassure him, “It bothered me a bit at first,” I admitted, “but maybe it worked out for the best. I made a real effort and I am starting to make my way here, making friends. The worst is over; it won’t be so bad again.”

“I am glad. I always hoped you would be happy. With me and with living in the Riddermark.”

He may have hoped I’d be happy, and he had done his best to make me so since our marriage, but he had taken no steps to ensure it before we were wed. And I wanted to know why. Right now. “I am happy, Éomer. And I have every confidence about the future. But I still want to know what prompted you to speak to my father after such a brief acquaintance with me.”

Instead of answering he reached for my hand which still lingered on his neck, drawing it around to his mouth.  Firm lips pressed against my fingers, his beard, uncommonly long, brushed against my palm. With no words forthcoming I pulled my hand away from his mouth. “Éomer?”

“Éomer!”  I protested as in a flash, he moved to lie half over me, a hand capturing my breast and his mouth nuzzling near my ear.

“After, Lothíriel. I will tell you after.”

“No!” Using my heels and elbows to try and gain some purchase on the mattress I attempted to push myself up out of his grasp. “Tell me now. It won’t take a moment.” Struggling to get myself out from under him proved a waste of effort, and giving up I sank back into the bed. Quivering lips hovered just above mine.

“You wouldn’t be so cruel, Lothíriel, not when I have been away for so long.” The lips lowered onto mine and a thumb rubbed gently against the pulse-point in my neck.

“You can wait a bit longer,” I murmured, moving my head to avoid the kiss I knew would weaken my resolve.

The lips ended up right on top of my ear. “I don’t want to. There’s plenty of time to talk but right now you are warm, sweet smelling and utterly desirable.”

“Did you think me desirable in Minas Tirith? I swear you scarcely noticed me.”

A loud groan, right in my ear, and he collapsed on top of me. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”

“I am going to expire if you do not move.” My hands pushed against his shoulders, not that they had any effect. He heaved himself off me and onto his elbow again, his expression one of amused resignation. He had a last try. 

“You could at least take pity. I am a wounded man.”

“It’s only your leg that is injured, Éomer. Your voice sounds fine.” Recognising my jibe at him after his comment of the evening before, he started to grin, but ignoring his mirth, I pressed on, “Certainly well enough to tell me why you thought it a good idea to marry me.  You were barely aware of me. Is it any wonder I cannot understand it?”

The grin changed to a look of disbelief. “Not aware of you!” He flung himself back on the bed, breathing deeply and then returned to his previous position, his intense eyes focusing on me. “Lothíriel, do you seriously think that I would be unaware of the daughter of one of my most valued friends.”

“Unaware enough! You spoke no more than a few words to me!” I persisted.

“Gondorian dances are not conducive to conversation and at every meal we sat apart.”

“So, having had the minimum of conversation with me you asked my father for my hand.  And, after that, without one word to me, you rode back to Rohan.” As I said it I knew that it was what really bothered me – him not waiting one day, but there were other issues “What’s more, the only communication I received from you sounded like a cross between a treaty and a trade agreement with an enquiry about my family thrown in.”

“Lothíriel, it was not like that.”

“Then what was it like?” I knew my mind had dwelt on other things back then but could not believe I had misread the situation so drastically.

He answered my last question first. “After I got back to Edoras from my meeting your consent arrived and the whole thing was rather taken out of my hands. The council did not all agree and rather than argue myself I left it to Lord Bertwald to sort out. I made it clear I considered my decision final and …”

 “And what?”

“He, Bertwald, drafted the letter because, knowing everything was settled, I decided to take a trip to the East Emnet. The herdsmen needed support and I wanted to see the new foals.”

I suppose I would have been more stunned it I hadn’t been saddled with three brothers. But knowing how quickly their priorities moved from women to horses, hunting and in Erchirion’s case, fighting, I let out a long sigh of resignation. “You still have to explain why you requested my hand in the first place.”

His turn to sigh, “It’s is difficult to explain, Lothíriel. I rather said it without thinking.”

“You said you wanted to wed me without thinking about it?”

“No…Yes.  It’s difficult.”

“Try going through your reasons slowly,” I said, not letting up at all. “Because to be honest I would never have suspected you of looking for a wife at Eowyn’s wedding. I know better now, but most of the time I thought you decidedly ill-tempered.”

“I admit to being ill-tempered, but not to looking for a wife. That came as a surprise.”

“To us both, then,” I muttered. His eyes dropped from mine and suddenly I relented. He looked so uncomfortable. Not his usual assured self at all. “Firstly, tell me why you were so cross.”

“Not really cross,” he said lying back on the bed and putting his hands under his head. “Overwhelmed, weighed down with it all, I suppose.”

“Being King, you mean?”

“Not particularly being King, more with the continual fight.  Against the remnants of orcs proved bad enough, but against starvation and the cold, even worse. We had women and children whose homes had been burned to the ground and in many cases their men folk lay under mounds of earth on the Pelennor Fields.”

I put my hand on his arm in sympathy, understanding the depth of his gloom at that time, but it still did not explain his actions.

A half-smile acknowledged me and he carried on. “Supplies came from Gondor but they had to be moved to the remote villages in sometimes treacherous conditions. At the end of the winter, even after all the aid, we were left with so little that I had a hard job to provide Éowyn with the farewell feast she deserved. I thought we would never get through it, but of course we did. And when I arrived in Minas Tirith, there was so much. So much splendour, so much food. A seeming excess of everything. I wanted the Riddermark to be able to celebrate like that. I wanted my people to enjoy the peace and plenty.”

“But now you are selling horses again…”

“Yes, I know. But at the time I found it difficult to believe we would have ample again. And, if I am honest, as much as I wanted happiness for Éowyn, letting her go was not easy.”

“No,” I agreed, “it could not have been. Is that why you looked for a wife?”

Those mobile eyebrows rose in denial. “Lothíriel, I did not set out to seek a wife. I noticed you because of who you are. I could hardly overlook Imrahil’s daughter, however wretched I felt. The long discussions and advice from Aragorn and your father, the promise of more aid until the crops ripened, restored my humour but by then it was my last evening. I had no choice but to leave when I did if I wished to reach the meeting point with the Dunlending chieftain on time. My decision on that has proved itself. We have not had a raid since.

I nodded. I suppose I could allow him that but we still hadn’t got to the point. “So, why did you speak to my father?”

He grinned, his face lighting up after the previous more serious expression. “They started on me. Oh, ever so gently. Suggesting I look to the future, secure the succession. Told me how much better it would be if I had a wife to discuss the problems of government. I tried to change the subject but they can be very insistent. Anyway, to get away from the unrelenting looks they were giving me, I gazed around the hall and my eyes fell on you, dancing with Aelfric. You are a very beautiful woman, Lothíriel. But more than that I suppose there must have been some response to you deep within me, because I remember thinking how graceful you looked, and, of course, I had noticed how you behaved so graciously during Eowyn’s wedding.  The dance ended and you came straight over and excused yourself. You passed a few polite remarks, gave us an elegant curtsy, a smile and were gone.  I watched you as you left the hall and then for some reason I do not know I turned back to your father and said that it was a pity I did not have more time to get to know his daughter because at the present time you were the only one I could contemplate making my queen…” his voice subsided and he turned his head to look straight at me.

Astonishment made me interrupt. “And… what happened next?” If I understood him correctly he had spoken from pure impulse.

“I encountered two very stunned expressions. And when your father recovered he asked me if I seriously would like to consider making an offer. I said that I fully intended taking a wife but there were few choices open to me. What I had seen of you made me wish to pursue the matter but with my commitments there would be no opportunity. Imrahil explained that in Gondor the father had the right to decide on his daughter’s husband, although he would never enforce that. He assured me he would put any request to you but the final decision would be yours. So I formally offered for your hand.”

Still mystified and more than a little peeved, I chose my words carefully, “Éomer, did you really think that I, or any other woman for that matter, would find it easy to say yes after so short an acquaintance?”

He paused and eyed me cautiously, “My intuition led me to broach the subject to your father so I decided to leave it to providence. So much has happened to me that I did not anticipate. I did not expect to be King, and would have much preferred to support Théodred in the role, but there I was.  My fate determined for me. Fate would probably take a hand again.”

“Leave it to providence, whether I said yes or no! Let fate decide!” Indignation made me sit up.

“Now that’s why I didn’t want to say. I thought you might get angry,” he said pushing me back down. “But my instincts were right, so there is no need berate me.”

I said nothing, but lay flat on my back starring up at the hangings of the bed. Did I really believe he would decide such an important a matter on a whim? No wonder Éowyn couldn’t understand it. But then she had said he was impulsive and went his own way.

A jolt on the mattress told me he had turned on his side again. A hand landed on my midriff, the thumb caressing the underside of my breast. “Don’t you agree my instincts were right?  I have always relied on first impressions, in fact…”

Roughly pushing his hand away I succeeded in sitting up; easier to shout at him. “Éomer, don’t you dare compare choosing a wife with choosing a horse!”

His face was only inches from mine, certainly near enough for me to witness that innocent look he had perfected. “I wouldn’t do that, Lothíriel, there is no comparison. Choosing a horse is a very serious matter.”

Enraged, I opened my mouth to issue an angry retort and then closed it again. What was the use of continuing with this? But I kept staring, wondering which one of us would break first. His face remained expressionless with just a glint in his eyes portraying amusement. As usual, my sense of humour won over my outrage and my lips started to quiver – which he took as capitulation and a signal for one of his slow smiles. “Lothíriel, why don’t we just admit that whatever the reason I acted as I did, we are both happy with the way it turned out.”

Happy yes, but not prepared to wholly give in, I said nothing. Getting no response, he lovingly stroked my face, again pushing a few wayward strands of hair back behind my ear. “I told you at the Hornburg that you have made me happier that I could ever have thought. You are the woman I desire, the wife I want, however it happened. I realised how much I love you on a cold mountainside sometime last week. My mind insisted on wandering back to Edoras, imagining what you were doing, how you were coping. We spent a lot of time waiting around and most of that time I spent thinking of you.”

Emotion made it impossible for me to answer for a moment. Instead, putting out my arms, I leant against him, burying my face into that hollow between shoulder and neck. My lips contacted with warm smooth skin smelling vaguely of sandalwood. All the anxiety of the prelude to my marriage, the difficulties in mastering a new language and understanding a different culture, now pushed into insignificance by my love for this man. For a moment I lost myself in the bliss of being loved. The pure physical pleasure of having his hard body pressed against mine and a hand, which could be so harsh, caressing me tenderly. Wonderingly, I remembered thinking in the months before our marriage if I would ever want to hear him speak endearments, and now they filled my heart with joy.

His velvet voice whispered somewhere close to my ear, “I haven’t forgotten those feelings for me, Lothíriel, the ones you mentioned last night.”

Slowly I lifted my head, gently disengaging myself until my eyes met his directly. I raised slightly trembling fingers, leisurely tracing them across one eyebrow down the side of his strong face. I scratched lightly amongst the hair of his beard, reaching his mouth and playing with his bottom lip for a moment, before I spoke. And all the time our eyes remained locked. “I knew I loved you at the Hornburg, Éomer, when you rode away. Standing with Gamling on the wall I learnt about the man I had married, and my heart filled with pride.”

The next moment my back collided with the mattress and my head with the pillow and demanding lips met mine. A wave of desire took my breath away, involuntarily my body arched against him, my hands clutching at his shoulders and sliding down the taut muscles of his back.

“Where are you going…?” A protest escaped from my lips as he broke from the kiss, and pushed himself up onto one elbow.

“Stay there. Right there. Hasopad will have to go. I don’t think he will approve of what I intend doing to you. He moved away to sit on the edge of the bed, before getting up and testing his leg. A grunt, a click of his fingers behind him, and he headed for the door, limping badly. The dog never moved. Éomer stopped, his hand on the door handle, and looked back over his shoulder, glaring stony-faced at the lurcher. “Just because I am grateful to you for looking after your mistress does not mean I will put up with disobedience. Out!”  He opened the door and pointed.

Hasopad, unimpressed by his master’s tone, lethargically unfolded his long legs, struggled up and ambled toward the door.

That set off a fit of giggling. Seeing a naked man ordering a reluctant dog from the bedchamber brought me close to tears. The relationship Éomer, an acclaimed and ruthless warrior, had with his dog, had amused me from the very beginning. I followed Hasopad’s slow progress, trying hard to suppress my bubbling laughter. But once he had shut the door on the recalcitrant animal, concern replaced mirth. “Éomer, how much pain are you in?”

He stopped halfway back to the bed and flexed his leg, “I’m not.”

Slowly, my eyes wandered upward from his bandaged leg.

He chuckled, in that wicked way of his, “At least not enough to affect any other part of me.”

Well, wound-care could wait.

---------------------------

---------------------------

Two months later.

Illness delayed Aerin’s wedding by a few weeks as Léod’s mother took to her bed with a virulent fever that settled on her chest. Luckily she recovered, but the near tragedy had an unforeseen consequence. Aerin’s popularity rose considerably. Her devotion to nursing the ailing woman sealed her acceptance into the seclusive Rohírric community of Edoras.

Added to that, all welcomed such a festivity in the middle of winter, and with two other couples choosing to share the day, the celebrations promised to be lively indeed. Of course, when I realised the literal translation from the Rohírric word for wedding feast was Bride-ale, I understood why weddings were so popular, and with Éomer donating a few barrels from the store at the hall, none would go short. I had missed the drinking bouts at my own wedding, although the custom of imbibing of large quantities of ale had spilled over to the Harvest celebrations the next day. 

Éomer and I walked out of the doors to be greeted by cheers from the huge crowd that covered the dais, steps and the open space below. I did not really think they applauded me, and possibly the show of appreciation belonged more to the barrels of ale rather than their king, but for the first time I really felt included in the general well-wishing.

I looked up into a sky the colour of cornflowers, across which a few large fluffy clouds sailed liked majestic full-rigged ships.  How different from my own wedding when the grey leaden day had matched the weight in my heart and the heavens had cried my tears. No tears around today, unless the brides cried with happiness – two blonde and one dark-haired maiden, who grinned at me with a mixture of shyness and glee.

Gazing around the faces in the crowd I relished my new feeling of belonging. At my wedding I had looked out onto a sea of strangers but now smile was met with smile or a respectful nod of the head. Most I knew, some were friends, such was the difference in a few short months.

Gradually the noise and chatter subsided and Éomer let go my hand and stepped forward to make his opening speech. I waited with Byrhtwyn who, happily, had returned from Aldburg the previous week.

“Aerin looks lovely,” Byrhtwyn whispered.

“Yes,” I agreed, my gaze roamed over the three couples who were waiting for us to hear their vows, “the colour suits her.” Aerin had no family to support her today but a dress had arrived from her parents in Minas Tirith. Deep-raspberry looked good with black hair. She also wore my contribution: an embroidered Rohírric girdle made by the craftswoman of Edoras.

“Éomer King will be getting used to this,” Byrhtwyn said under her breath, “we had a rash of weddings last summer…my lady, are you all right?”

Nodding, I clutched at one of the door pillars. Suddenly my stomach had clenched and a wave of nausea hit me. The tang of roasting pork wafting up from the main square was probably responsible, charred pig-skin never my favourite aroma. “Just the smell of pork, I think.” She kept her eyes on me for a moment but I smiled to show my recovery.

Éomer started speaking then, his rich voice easily reaching those standing at the back of the crowd. I feasted my eyes on him. Dressed in his velvet finery, he looked much like he had on our own wedding day. But now he was achingly familiar, and warmth stole through my body every time my eyes raked over his tall powerful frame. Today, in his beloved dark green, the golden crown topping his mass of tawny hair, he appeared made for the role that had been decided for him. My heart filled with love and I could only be grateful to the Valar, and maybe my father and Elessar, that we had found each other.

Watching Éomer so closely my thoughts had naturally returned to my own wedding. It should have been a wonderful day but instead of enjoying the music and the singing, I had been consumed by anxiety.  Rather than looking on my husband with joy and love, my heart had held only trepidation. With the up-welling of my present happiness filling my mind it must have been catching sight of adoring look that passed between Aerin and Léod that started it – my outpouring of emotion. Somehow I felt cheated and perhaps that is why the tears started rolling steadily down my cheeks.

Gulping frantically, I ran my hand across my face, desperately hoping all eyes were on Éomer. Useless to tell myself Queens did not cry, this one had cried on her wedding night, but at least in front of no one other than her husband. Now she was crying before the whole of Edoras.

A hand took my arm and soft words were spoken close to my ear, “Come, my lady, just step back a little and we will be through the door.”

I retreated into shadow as Byrhtwyn guided me into the anteroom. I swayed slightly, until a hand grasped my other arm firmly.

“Sit her down here. I will fetch some tea.” Elfgyuu’s voice permeated my hazy perception and the pressure on my arm ceased as she hurried away. So it had been Elfgyuu the other side of me. Somehow though, breaking down in front of the Meduseld housekeeper did not bother me as much as it would have done only a few weeks before.

“Just sit quietly, my lady. You will feel better in a moment and Elfgyuu will be back with some tea.” A clean handkerchief came out of Byrhtwyn’s pocket and I took it gratefully.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, sniffing to stop any more tears. “I am sorry; I don’t know why I did that. Whatever will the people think of me?”

She smiled, her deeply-lined face showing only support, “I doubt many noticed, my lady and anyway when they realise the reason, they will understand perfectly.”

“Reason? What reason?” How would they know my thoughts on regretting my own loveless marriage ceremony?

Her smile deepened, “Your condition, my lady. Elfgyuu told me she suspected as much as soon as I returned.”

Immediately flushing, I put my hands to my warm face, trying to hide the flicker of certainty she would see there. No secrets here. They would know that twice, the time of my monthly flow had passed without the call for linen, but I muttered something almost inaudible about it being too soon.

Byrhtwyn sat down beside me so we would not be overheard, “Yes, my lady, too soon to say anything to others but not too soon to know. And Elfgyuu has always had a shrewd instinct for these things. She usually knew mine were on the way before I did myself.”

Instinct or nosiness, my first thought. But I dismissed that as being unfair especially when the housekeeper reappeared smiling and carrying a tray with three earthen cups.

“I won’t look so strange if we all have one, my lady,” she said passing a steaming cup to Byrhtwyn and me, before sitting down on the wooden bench herself. 

I sniffed, expecting blackberry and nettle but the unmistakeable aroma of hibiscus rose from the cup. “Your favourite, my lady but I did add some rose-hip, it’s very good for keeping one in good health and we don’t want you to take ill, now do we.”

No point in denying their suspicions so I drank the tea and murmured my apologises for causing a fuss. “Not surprising,” Elfgyuu said in her usual caustic manner, “all those people and that stink of pig. We will have to make sure you are kept a bit quiet for the next few weeks. Once the babe quickens you will feel less nauseous, and happy rather than weepy.”

Her tone might be a bit cutting but once I grasped it was directed at the citizens and the unfortunate hog, I realised her words were kind. Only protecting a possible heir to the throne, I suspected, but she smiled and patted my arm and the smile showed in her eyes.

“Lothíriel!”

Éomer appeared in front of us, his tall form towering over me, “Lothíriel, what is it? Are you ill?”

Before I could answer Byrhtwyn got to her feet. “Now don’t make a fuss, my lord. We do not want everyone wondering what is going on. The Queen felt a little faint. She will need to be a bit cosseted over the next few weeks. We cannot take any chances.”

Éomer stared at me as realization dawned.  His mouth opened and closed, before a huge grin covered his face. Thrusting my cup at Elfgyuu, I stood up and stepped right into his open arms. So much for not making a fuss.

“Are you well enough to come back out for just a short while?” he whispered after a few moments. “Everyone will be disappointed if you do not take part.”

“I am fine now, Éomer, but don’t you dare say anything yet.”  He made an effort to take the look of elation off his face, but did not quite succeed. Yes, all men did exhibit that special pride.

------------------------

To be concluded.

Just the epilogue to go when we find out why Lothíriel was crying in the first chapter.

Well, we are at the end. Aerin is happily married and Swidhelm has recovered—he will not fight again but his scouting skills mean he will always be valued. Lord Cereth has mellowed, and Helwing and Aelfric have a baby girl.  

As for our favourite two…..

Epilogue - Edoras August 3021

The lash of heavy rain against the window interrupted my reminiscing and brought me back to the present. I had heard rumbles of thunder in the early hours and now the sultry weather had finally broken. The rain sounded almost as fierce as that on the day of my marriage. Perhaps I should take it as an omen – a good omen. I had cried on my wedding night and yet marrying Éomer, something that had filled me with dread at the time, had turned out to be the best thing I could possibly have done. Almost a year had passed since I had come to Edoras as an outsider, but now I felt truly at home. And my husband? He had become my friend, my companion, my lover. My lover! How much I loved him and this should be the happiest morning of my life. I struggled up onto one elbow and looked at the cradle which stood close to the side of the bed. Sleeping soundly, snuggled amidst a soft woollen blanket, lay our baby son, the culmination of that love. I squeezed my eyes together, but although I tried to stop it, another tear escaped and slid slowly down my cheek.

The faint squeak of the outer door opening made me hurriedly wipe the tears away and I stuffed the handkerchief back under the pillow just before the door to the bedchamber quietly swung inward.

Tawny-gold hair appeared around the door, “Lothíriel?” The familiar voice was unusually hushed.

“It’s all right,” I whispered back. “He’s asleep.”

The door opened a bit more but Éomer held on to it with one hand to stop it banging back, whilst balancing a large tray in the other. “I intercepted Elfgyuu and got a lecture on not making a noise and a dressing down because there is no hibiscus tea left. She seems to think I should have sent a Rider to Dol Amroth to get some…Lothíriel,” a frown furrowed his forehead as he stared at me, “what is it? You’re crying.” 

I swallowed and shook my head, unable to answer. He abruptly dumped the tray on the large chest at the bottom of the bed and covered the short distance between us in a few hurried steps. “I am sorry,” I managed to get out as I was pulled gently but firmly against my husband’s chest.

“Are you in pain, my love?”

“No. No, I am not,” I assured him. He stretched up and looked over my head towards the cradle.

“The baby’s all right, isn’t he? There’s nothing wrong?”

Naturally he sounded slightly anxious and I immediately felt guilty and hastened to reassure him. “He’s fine.” I sniffed. “There’s nothing wrong. I am just being silly.”

“So…you are all right and so is our son. Then are you mad because I had too much wine and ale last night?”

Startled, I looked up at his face. His eyes showed his concern but also a gleam of humour. I shook my head, “Of course not. If a man can’t celebrate the birth of his firstborn son, when can he? Besides, I doubt if you had much choice.”

“No,” he agreed, “It would be easier to count the sober ones by the end of the evening, and my normally restrained brother-in-law was the worst of them. In fact Éowyn eventually went to bed in a huff.”

“Yes, she came to say goodnight and told me the only other time she has seen Faramir the worse for drink was on his last visit to Rohan.” 

“Well,” he bristled, “it’s no good her blaming me for that. For some reason Éothain and the rest of them seem to think it behoves them to get as much down the worthy Steward’s well-bred neck as possible.”

“They see it as a challenge. At least that’s what Éowyn thinks.”

“Does she? She’s probably right. Anyway, they did not restrict their attention to Faramir last night. I can’t remember when last I woke so woolly headed.”

Feeling better now his strong arms were wrapped around me, I put my worry aside and grinned, saying softly, “What did you expect? A male heir on the first try! They are proud of you.”

“They are proud of you also,” he murmured dropping a kiss on the top of my head, “and I am proud of you. I distinctly remember telling you so last night.”

“You did,” I agreed, remembering a very loquacious Éomer. His guards had tapped a barrel the moment I had admitted to the first pains.

“And did I tell you that you are the best wife a man could have and….”

“Yes, you did. You also announced, as you held your baby son in your arms, that he was the first of many and that you considered making them the best part of the whole thing!”

“Oh. Did I? I am sorry.” His eyes dropped from mine, but he made no denial. “Is that why you were crying?”

He looked uncommonly contrite so I put my hand in his, “You announced it so loudly the whole of the Meduseld must have heard, before you were ordered out. But that is not why I was crying. I expect it’s just a reaction.”

“That would fit with you, my love. As soon as we announced you were carrying our child I was warned that you would be impossible to live with. Everyone delighted in telling me that you would blame me for everything, throw things at me, even. But you were your normal sweet self throughout. Even during all that hot weather when you must have been so uncomfortable. The midwife said you were full of pluck and made no fuss yesterday, so it doesn’t surprise me to find you tearful now it’s all over and you’ve produced the next Son of Eorl.”

I swallowed, gulping down air, determined not to cry again. “What’s on the tray?” I asked to divert him.

“Oh, just about everything…except hibiscus tea, that is.” He stood up from the bed and stared at me for a moment, probably wondering at the change of subject.

“I don’t mind what tea it is. I am thirsty. I was brought buttermilk in the night as it’s supposed to be easy to digest, but I am not very keen on it. I have drunk all the cordial they left me.”

He frowned. “You should have rung and not lain here thirsty.”

“I knew someone would be in soon,” I said being deliberately evasive, not wanting to admit to my prolonged bout of recollective musing. Éomer said nothing, but plumped up the pillows to help me sit up before going to the tray and pouring out some tea.

“Can you manage?” he asked sitting down on the bed beside me and handing me the cup.

“I am not an invalid,” I reminded him, smiling at his concerned expression. I sniffed the tea: blackberry and something. “At least it’s not raspberry leaf. I’ve had enough of that for a while.”

“I suppose you have,” he slanted me a wry look. “Did it work?”

“The midwife reckons so. I’ve nothing to compare,” I shrugged, “but Éowyn said I had a reasonably easy time of it.”

“You mean they are all surprised at the fortitude of a princess from Gondor?”

“I heard that mentioned, but only in the nicest way. I think they feel that a year in the Riddermark has had its effect on me.”

“You’ve certainly had your effect on the Mark.”

“Have I?”

“You know you have. And on a few in particular. Which reminds me, you must eat your porridge before it gets cold.”

Éomer fetched the tray and put it down on the small chest by my side. Besides scones, bread and a selection of fruit there was something wrapped in a cosy. He removed the covering and took the lid off a small earthenware pot. “It’s still quite warm,” he said, ladling in honey and cream.

I passed him my empty cup and took the pottery dish. It was nice and warm but not too hot to cradle in one hand.

“You’d better eat it. I was given orders not to let it get cold.” He stood over me for a moment awaiting the verdict.

“Its fine,” I assured him having tasted the first mouthful.

“Good, I’ll just get a chair. I won’t wake him will I?”

“I don’t think so, as long as you’re quiet. He fed well just before dawn so we’ve probably got another hour.”

When he tip-toed to the fireplace to fetch one of the leather chairs I  stared at him realising that he had no boots on.

“Elfgyuu made me take them off.” He said in answer to my look. “She said the longer he sleeps the more rest you will get and so recover quicker.”

I grinned. “So far, each time I have fed him he has just gone back to sleep, but I am sure that won’t last.”

As I finished my porridge, Éomer sat gazing at the small bundle in the cradle but as soon as I put the spoon down he got up to fetch a scone. He spread it with butter and jam, passing it to me with a grin. “I have orders to make you eat.”

My appetite was not great but to please him I nibbled at the scone. Once he saw I had started to eat it he stood over the cradle looking down, his face expressing all the joy, relief and satisfaction one would expect. I wanted another cup of tea but hesitated to break into his moment of fulfilment. He let out a long sigh of what sounded like contentment and turned his head slowly to look at me.

“Lothíriel, I never did take you to Dol Amroth in the spring as I promised, did I. It…”

“Why should you think of that now!” I hissed in a low voice that sounded harsh even to me. But I knew why: he had noticed too, otherwise he would not have mentioned Dol Amroth. My heart started to thump wildly and tears filled my eyes again. Éomer stared at me, a look of bewilderment on his face as the first tears trickled down my cheeks.

This time he got right on the bed enfolding me in his strong embrace and pulling my head down to rest on his shoulder. “Is that what is bothering you? I know I promised, but you agreed it was best not to travel when you felt so nauseous, and afterward the heat became intolerable. Éowyn has had no problem travelling with a young baby so…”

“No.” I nestled my head into his shoulder so I did not have to look at him. “It’s not that. It’s something Éowyn said.” 

“Éowyn, what did Éowyn say? She speaks without thinking. If she has said something to upset you I will …”

“No, no,” I interrupted, “she only spoke the truth. She did not mean to upset me.”

“Lothíriel,” he said his voice firm. “Stop crying and tell me.”

I sniffed, gulped and finally got the words out. “She said our son looked like my father.”

He sounded as if he had to choke back a laugh. “Your father is a handsome looking man, distinguished, I don’t see …”

“He’s a Gondorian, Éomer. Your son is going to look like a Gondorian.” I almost shouted in his ear and then had to pull away to wipe my eyes.

Éomer went still for a moment and then answered enunciating every word slowly and deliberately. “Lothíriel, are you telling me you are crying because our son might resemble his mother?”

Mother? Of course no one seeing us together would doubt I was Imrahil’s daughter; however that did not change anything. “But the people, if he does not look like a Rohír they won’t love him, Éomer. I don’t want him to feel ostracised.  I had to put up with it, but he is so little.”

Drawing me back against him again, Éomer started to smooth his hand over my head until gradually I relaxed and the tears ceased. “Lothíriel,” he said when I had calmed, “our son may resemble his mother more than his father. That does happen. There is no reason to upset yourself over it. Believe me, most will only be too pleased that the continuation of the bloodline of Eorl is assured. If he is dark-haired and more akin to his mother than his father, it will matter to no more than a few.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure. You are regarded as one of our own now. And even if our son looks like a Gondorian, he will speak, ride, fight and act like a Rohír. He will grow up amongst his kinsmen, learning the history, the legends and the ways of the Rohírrim. The colour of his hair or the features of his face, will be of no account.”

The warmth of his arms around me and his deep, confident voice convinced me of the sense of his words and my tears dried. “I’d like another cup of tea,” I said in a small voice.

A kiss on the top of my head and Éomer let me go, easing himself off the bed and moving quietly to the tray. “I have thought of a name for our son,” he said when he passed the cup and sat back down on the edge of the bed.”

I took a few big gulps of the tepid liquid before looking at him over the rim of the cup. “What have you decided?”

“I haven’t decided, Lothíriel, but my suggestion is Elfwine.”

“Elfwine…Elfwine…Elf…friend,” I rolled the name around my tongue for a moment. “Yes, I like it. And it’s very appropriate for the Fourth Age, when the Elves that are left are the friends of men.

“And his mother reputedly has Elves for kin.”

“In the distant past,” I said, pleased.

The first little mews of discontent came from the cradle, causing us both to swing our heads. Almost before Éomer could even rise, the mew became a demanding wail. “Lungs like his father,” I remarked, “and just as determined.”

Éomer flashed me a grin and stood over the cradle hesitating for a moment. “Go on,” I said.

“He’s so tiny, I am afraid I will hurt him.”

“No you won’t and everyone will come running if we don’t stop him yelling.”

Ever so gently, he pulled back the blanket and scooped one large hand under the now angry little bundle, using the other to support his head. I made myself comfortable against the pillows and pulled at the lacings on my gown before he passed Elfwine into my eager arms. The yelling lessened to a pitiful whimper.

“Can you manage, or shall I call someone?” he asked, watching me intently.

“They helped me the first few times but I did it myself in the night with just supervision. I’d like to try alone now.”  Carefully, I put finger and thumb each side of my nipple and spread them out, as I had been shown. My nipple stood erect, and Elfwine latched on after only a few impatient little nuzzling movements.

“There,” I said, full of a deep satisfaction quite unlike anything I had ever experienced in my life before. “They say my milk will come in properly after a few days. What’s there now is enough for him.”

Elfwine suckled contently for a few moments, his little mouth moving in a sweet rhythm. I glanced at my husband who had pulled up the chair and sat watching me with what I could only describe as a smug expression on his face. “What are you thinking?”

The smug look changed to one of contentment, “I am thinking that I cannot imagine any better sight for a man than that of his beloved wife feeding their precious son.”

Those awful fears that had turned me into a gibbering goose vanished completely as I locked eyes with my husband. The demands of duty had made Éomer as he was, as it had shaped me, and duty would call our son. The bond between mother and child could never be sundered but I knew that Elfwine, growing up in a harsh land of fierce people would have the benefit of his father’s protection, advice and unconditional love. He could ask for no more.

The End.

His kinship with Éomer of Rohan, though distant, was recognized by Imrahil, and great friendship grew between them. Éomer wedded Imrahil's daughter [Lothíriel], and their son, Elfwine the Fair, had a striking likeness to his mother's father.

 From Unfinished Tales by J. R.R.Tolkien.