This will be the final part of my Tide of Destiny series – it will hopefully pull together all the unanswered questions left from the previous stories. The characters will be known to those who have read the earlier novels, but I have included a list at the end of each chapter to remind you.

The other stories in the series are, in order: Tide of Destiny; Drummer; The Sell-sword and the Prince.

Swan-song

Prophesy Part 1

‘Nooo...! Éomer, no!

 I stood up; my hands over my eyes, trying to shut out the awful sight of my husband slumped over his horse, of his men clustering around with fear grey on their faces. Not since the vision that had warned me of Boromir’s fate had I seen so clearly.  Fright made me gulp for air – I had tried to tell them back then, but no one had listened.

 ‘My lady, I heard you call out.’ Hulde burst into the room, closely followed by Byrde.

‘Lothíriel, what is it?’

The scenes that flashed before my eyes, and my labouring breath, stopped me from answering.  But as the ghastly pictures faded, an icy calm stilled my shaking body: Éomer would not die far from home, not whilst I could prevent it.

‘I have to ride for Minas Tirith, Byrde. Éomer needs me.’

 ‘Ride for Minas Tirith...’

Her pretty face paled with shock. I clutched at her arm.  Surely she would understand: it was no secret that her queen had brought not only a massive dowry, but healing hands and the gift of sight from a distant land.

‘Long have I known I would be called. Mithrandir warned me that Éomer would one day need my skills.’ A pledge made on a bleak hillside so many years ago, to save the one I loved above all others. But at what cost?  Now I understood the compassion in the Istari’s eyes when he’d bid me farewell for the last time.  My racing heart thumped loud in my chest as I made my choice.

‘Tell Déor to make ready for a fast trip, we depart in an hour.’

‘But Lothíriel,’ Byrde protested, ‘you might be away for weeks. What about Elfwine?’

My son, my beautiful son, we had not been apart for more than a few hours. But if I did not leave him now, he’d grow up without a father.

‘Elfwine will be safe with you. And you play his games better than me.’

Dear Byrde, she loved him as her own, her desperate yearning for motherhood focused into caring for my child. ‘Please Byrde, I have to do this. Rohan does not deserve to lose another king. Find Déor and tell him, whilst I say goodbye to Elfwine.’

With a wordless nod she rushed out of the door. I turned to confront my maid’s stricken face.

‘My lady, what are you thinking of? You cannot ride all that way...’

My eyes bored into her. ‘Hulde, you will say nothing. You understand!’ I held her gaze until she too reluctantly nodded assent...

Edoras FA 53

The memory invaded my mind and I gasped as anguish coursed through me – a shaft of despair which robbed me of breath. Just as it had done all those years ago. But I knew why it had come now – in my fragile state the very act of Déor carrying me had reawakened grief long buried.

Shuddering, I shook aside the past. But Déor sensed my distress and his arms tightened around me. ‘What is it, my Queen?’ He stopped, full of concern. ‘Are you sure you are well enough to go outside?’

‘Yes. Yes, of course. It was nothing, merely a memory.’

After a moment Déor continued his march down the hall. I could only be thankful, as my own legs would not have carried me out into the sunshine. 

‘When I asked for a guard to help me outside, I was not expecting my favoured captain to sweep me off my feet...’ my voice broke with emotion, and I blinked back a tear.

Déor’s blue eyes were bright with concern. ‘With Éomer not here you are my responsibility, and I am neither too old nor too feeble to have to pass it to another.’

Loyal and steadfast, he had never let me down.  I laughed to chase away the ghosts.

The great doors opened and the rush of daylight made me blink. I looked up into his face. Like Éomer, Déor carried his age well— standing straight and tall, he made light of his frail burden. Éomer, had he been here, would doubtless have as easily carried an ailing queen. I looked into the far distance, willing him to be on his way home. But here I would wait, for I would not miss the sight of my fair-haired warrior galloping across the plain towards me.

‘He will surely be back by nightfall,’ I ventured.

‘Dependant on where the messenger found him. He could have been deep in The Wold,’ Déor replied, his voice soft with sympathy.

The guard put down the chair; Byrde bustled around with blankets. My illness had frightened them, the rapid descent of strength to frailty surprising all but me. Did they think that I had already paid the price for saving a king? I knew better: one toll for the Valar’s grace had been taken; the other loomed close.

At last they left me, wrapped and cocooned like a baby taking its first outing. For the moment I only had the silent doorwards for company, but as the day unfolded the rhythm of life in Edoras would dictate that many would climb the wide steps to Meduseld. Sounds floated up on the still air: the laughter of children at play; the chatter of the women as they pounded their washing; the excited whickering of the horses being led down to the meadows; the ring of the blacksmith’s hammer. I sighed at the harmony of it all. Rohan had changed since I first came here as a young bride. Over the long years of my husband’s steady reign the Mark had embraced the shifting of power in Middle-earth with enthusiasm, as its people realised those who wished could at last live in peace. To maintain our freedom, their warrior-king had led his eager riders deep into southern lands and chased back the invaders that marched from the East. But the farmers continued to plough, the plainsmen bred their horses and the women weaved their colourful cloths in safety.

Éomer had achieved this, and although I had stood by his side for over fifty years it was Éomer Éadig, the blessed king, who had led his people from dark days to days of abundance and joy. Not now, not then, did I regret the choice I had made.

‘Grandmother, should you be out here?’ The voice of Éadwig, my eldest grandson broke into my thoughts. His very presence eased the memories of my years of despair. I reached up to feel the warmth of the strong hand that landed on my shoulder.  Twenty-four years old, Éadwig looked much like Éomer when I first knew him: tall, with his dark-gold hair falling loose to his shoulders. But no lines of worry and responsibility marred this young prince’s handsome face – he had not battled devastating evil for Rohan’s very survival. But who knew what demons he’d have to face by the time his turn came to rule this land. 

‘I am fine out here, Éadwig, the air is mild.’ I took in the padded leather jacket he wore and the long sword at his side. ‘You get off; it looks like you are on your way to the training grounds.’

‘I am, but if you need me grandmother...’

‘No.’ I waved him away. He dropped a kiss on my head before he strode across the platform and bounded down the steps with the agile grace that marked him as a warrior.

Éomer had passed more than his good looks to his grandson – I had no doubt that if necessary Éadwig would ride off to battle just as eagerly...

I sighed. If I closed my eyes, it was so easy to remember that day – the first time Éomer had ridden to war since we’d wed. I could still feel the exhilaration of the men around me; still hear the snorting of the warhorses as they made ready to depart.

I will not always be there, Lothíriel. You do understand that, don’t you? I’d agreed so readily to those words before our marriage, but as a wife and mother Harad seemed so far.  I'd wanted to cry out, scream my denial, hammer my fists into his chest and plead with him to let someone else take his place. Tell him that he needn’t go, that the Gondorian troops were closer and anyway my father would be sending my brothers with their companies of highly-trained knights and men – but I was a queen, and I held my breath.

Instead, I'd passed our son into my husband’s arms and leant against his shoulder, breathing in the familiar smell of pine mixed with leather and horse. Éomer kissed Elfwine’s downy cheek and blew in his ear, making him giggle. ‘Would you like to ride with me to the bottom of the hill?’

Elfwine’s face lit up, only three he might be, but no treat could be more welcome to a young Horse-lord.

Knowing someone would bring my son back, I'd stayed on the platform, my eyes inevitably drawn to the road.  Praying that my husband would also come back to me.

Near Harad FA5

Why did they have to sit cross-legged on the floor? It was not comfortable for someone with such long shanks. Éomershifted his weight on the plump, embroidered cushion. To take his mind off the cramp in his calf, he studied the dancers, although what they were doing was like no dance he’d ever seen.

‘What I want to know is why they wrap their wives from head to foot in black and one is barely allowed to speak to them, yet these beauties cover only the bare essentials. And no doubt one would be able to do much more than converse.’ Amrothos raised a black brow, smirking over the top of his gold encrusted goblet.

Éomer didn’t answer as the nearest girl moved purposefully towards him.  She wore a yellow skirt so delicate it could have been made from spider silk and through which he could see her legs. Long and shapely, they were clothed only by a tracery of net. Tantalisingly she flicked a wisp of sparkling material in front of her breasts which were held tight in a gossamer thin bodice that ended well above her midriff. Her brown belly undulated in time to the music. As she came close, the low seat ensured that his eyes ended up directly in line with her navel.  Lodged in the secret crevice was a dark stone, which picked up the light from the myriad of lamps around the tent, to wink at him. Éomer dragged his gaze away from the fascinating sight of velvet flesh that rolled and rippled in two directions at once and looked up into her face. Red lips showed through her scant veil; above the scrap of translucent fabric black eyes glittered in unmistakeable invitation.

‘Amroth is right,’ Prince Amal’s smooth voice jerked Éomer’s attention from the dancer, ‘but there are many beautiful girls, you may wish to choose another. And you, Amroth, I am sure we can find one to your taste.’ The prince moved on, sitting himself down next to Aragorn; Éomer met Amroth’s eyes and encountered an amused, sardonic look, which he interpreted as – I will if you will.

Certainly tempting. Éomer took a gulp of his wine, playing for time, but before he could decide if the customs of the country justified him breaking a trust with his wife, Amroth cut into his thoughts.

 ‘A difficult decision, don’t you think? And one of us can’t succumb without the other.’

 ‘Why do you say that?’ It always paid to weigh Amroth’s words carefully.

Amroth made a show of considering his answer. ‘Well, you are married to my sister, who has become a great friend of my wife. We would have to agree to collaborate.’ He stifled a grin when Éomer didn’t respond. ‘For myself I’m not bothered. Such is my vast experience of women, I am doubtful I will find anything new. You, on the other hand, coming from a country where the ladies are not so free with their favours, may wish to avail yourself of any opportunity.’

Éomer stared at him, wondering whether to laugh, or punch him on the nose. ‘Well, I don’t.’ Temptation conquered; decision made. The mischievous mud-stirrer had just wanted to see how he’d react.

‘Very wise.’ Amroth’s lips twitched. ‘Neither would I in your position. It must be inhibiting being married to a lady as fey as Lothíriel.’

‘I am here to fight, and far as I am concerned the sooner that happens and I get back to her the better.’

‘Yes, and I imagine fighting those red-tongued devils will take our mind from thinking of other forms of exertion.’ Amroth mused for a moment before some thought flashed a smile across his face. He leaned closer. ‘Besides, Erchi says their hair smells of mutton fat.’

Éomer spluttered into his wine. ‘He’s already sampled the goods?’

‘Of course. Don’t forget we arrived a few days ago. My brother is never one to waste time.’ Amroth looked over to where Erchi lounged on the other side of Amal and Aragorn, paying the dancers rapt attention. Aragorn, on the other hand, was deep in conversation with the Harad prince seeming barely to notice the swirling girl trying to rouse his interest.

 ‘I think she’s wasting her time,’ Amroth murmured. ‘I have a feeling our high-king is above such carnal considerations.’

‘Or being married to an elf gives him the same trouble as me,’ Éomer shot back. But he knew it wasn’t the fact that Lothíriel was fey that stopped him from succumbing, any more than Arwen being an elf stopped Aragorn.  It was that having sworn loyalty and love, he would try his damndest not to break his vows. As he had once told Lothíriel, risking their relationship for a moment’s stolen pleasure made no sense. He also had a sneaking suspicion that Amroth, in spite of his light-hearted remarks, felt the same

‘Your wife has no second sight, Amroth, and I’ll look the other way.’

Ebony eyes glinted. ‘I don’t think so, perhaps Devoran might not guess, but Drummer would certainly be suspicious. Dogs are so perceptive.’

Éomer laughed. As he’d thought! ‘Perhaps it’s a good job I left Firefoot at home. He always likes to know what’s going on; Firebrand doesn’t care what I get up to.’  A surge of regret choked him for a moment – all horses were special, but some would always be more special than others. It had been hard not to bring Firefoot on this trip, but the horse had given his best during the Ring-war and sense dictated that a long ride south to be followed by days of hard battle on the edge of a desert would not be likely to prolong his life. But however much he missed his old friend now, at least Firefoot would be there when he got back.

---

In the days that followed, Éomer had cause to be thankful that Firefoot was peacefully grazing in the meadows outside Edoras – the heat was like nothing he had ever experienced. And the flies! They buzzed continually around the horses, driving them mad. Even allowing manes and tails to fly loose and covering their heads with makeshift hoods to keep the pests from eyes and ears brought the poor beasts little relief. The thin-skinned Harad war-horses seemed to have some immunity and dealt with them better, flicking their large ears constantly.

For three days they rode south, towards the barren borderlands of Near Harad. Here the dwellings they came across appeared to rise out of the sand and stone of the desert landscape – except for a few trees around the watering holes everything was the same colour. But somewhere here, if the reports were correct, an army waited to attack.

Éomer shielded the sun from his eyes and scanned the vast expanse of scrub and sand; halfway through the morning and already sweat trickled down his face and dripped onto his collar. He could see nothing moving. If this campaign hadn’t been so important he’d have led his men back to the cool fields of the Riddermark. But Prince Amal’s territory stood as a buffer between Gondor and the war-loving tribes of the far south, and a threat to Amal was a threat to the whole west.  If they wanted Amal as an ally, then they could not let the present incursion go unanswered, and had to help him push the invaders back from his borders. Also they had to show that seven years on from the Ring-war, Gondor was willing, and strong enough, to aid and protect its new friends.

‘They must be out there somewhere.’ Éothain swatted a fly against his cheek and wiped his sleeve across his face, studying the resulting stain. ‘The bugger’s had my blood.’

Éomer squirmed in his saddle. When the damn things bit they left great itchy lumps. And they got everywhere.  He turned to the Harad scout. ‘You’re sure. I don’t see a thing.’

The man grinned, white teeth gleaming against his brown skin. ‘They don’t want you to see them, lord. They are waiting for you to get nearer before they attack. Farther on the sand is softer, so they will have the advantage.’

‘But where are they hiding?’ Éomer squinted into the haze. ‘I see nothing but a few bushes and humps of sand.’

‘A wise man, lord, hides a date amongst a bunch on a tree.’

‘Or a blade of grass on the plains of the Mark,’ Éomer murmured under his breath as realisation hit him. He stared hard at the humps scattered over the landscape. At first he’d thought them some trick of the wind...

‘They’re bloody camels!’ Éothain expelled air through his teeth. ‘Hundreds of them, crouching down.’

‘And hundreds of camels mean hundreds of warriors; they must have covered themselves and their beasts with sand.’   Days of Dearth! They were in for full scale mounted warfare! But then that was why he’d been given this section to clear. Éomer gave his attention back to the scout. ‘You say the sand gets softer farther on.’

‘It does, lord.’

‘Then we’ll have to get them to come to us.’  Éomer gave orders for a fake retreat, a pretence to show that not having found the invaders they’d given up. Some of his men dismounted, managing a fair depiction of a force given over to exhaustion and apathy.  The men of the far southlands were still under the evil influence bred by Sauron and had sworn destruction to Gondor and her supporters; as such he was counting on the devils not being able to resist the lure of battle and the chance to strike a blow against their hated enemies.

‘Pass the word to be ready. If they come, they’ll come fast to try to take us unawares.’

‘And if they don’t?’ Éothain muttered.

‘Then we’ll go after them and take our chances with the desert.’

But they came. Silently at first; fooled, perhaps, by the display of lethargy. Only when Éomer gave the order to mount and turn to face them did they charge – red-tipped spears punching the air as they screamed their fury and their hate.

To be continued

Original characters appearing in this chapter.

Hulde                          Lothíriel’s maid. Originally from the Eastfold.

Déor                            Friend of Éomer, brought up in Aldburg. Appointed Captain of the  

                                    Queen’s Guard after Éomer and Lothíriel’s marriage.

Byrde                          Hama’s youngest daughter, married to Déor.

Prince Amal                Ruler of Near Harad. Made treaty with King Elessar after the Ring- war

Swan-song 

Prophesy Part 11

Near Harad FA5

Éomer calmed his young stallion with soft words; all around the horses were edgy – the smell of the camels unsettling them. Firebrand had not braved the horrors of the Pelennor and nothing had prepared him for this. But the young horse was bold and daring and soon picked up on the excitement, joining with others to snort his challenge to the opposing army.

By his side, another youngster was eager for battle, too keen for Éomer’s peace of mind. He spoke harshly to the boy. ‘Éomund, keep behind me and watch my back, but most of all defend yourself.  I don’t want any heroics from you.’

Éomund scowled, but nodded agreement. Éomer hadn’t any more time to give his new esquire as the screaming horde closed on them.

The main force of the Southerners’ attack centred on Éomer and his guard, and his world shrank to a maelstrom of noise and blood.  Amal had instructed them how to deal with the camels, and working as a pair, Éomer and Éothain drove their mounts close to the beasts, so that one could slash at their legs to bring them down and the other dispatch its rider. Any left alive were speared by those coming behind. Firebrand’s fear of the camels was quickly replaced by fury, but he responded brilliantly to Éomer’s commands – horse and man moulded into a killing force that scythed their way through the enemy ranks, scattering all before them. The Southerners fought with guts and determination, but the Rohirrim had the advantage of skill and numbers. They had trained over and over for this: every Rider was a warrior who wanted to be there.  And the camels might be bigger, as fast, and more at home on the terrain than the horses, but as war animals they had three serious flaws – the horses could outmanoeuvre them; they couldn’t be taught to give much aid to their riders in a fight, and they were cowards. Their instinct was to get out of the way of anything they didn’t like. And they didn’t like being slashed and speared.

It ended as so many conflicts had ended – with the Rohirrim victorious, and the battlefield littered with the dead and the dying.  Men and animals.  Thankfully there were a lot more of the Southerners than his own men sprawled on the ground, and many more camels than horses. Éomer stood over one: it stank, and its hide looked like a moth-eaten old blanket. The camel eyed him malevolently, making a guttural noise in its throat. Horrible things, he thought, but he hated to see any creature suffer. At least they only groaned, not screamed like the horses. That was the worst noise of all.

‘Kill the injured ones,’ he ordered, ‘take the harnesses off the others and let them go.’

‘No lord!’ The Harad guide blanched under his brown skin.  ‘They are too valuable. Prince Amal will expect the survivors to be taken back.’

‘Perhaps the Prince ought to come and get them,’ Éomer muttered under his breath. He didn’t relish the thought of herding a load of camels all the miles back to the main camp.

‘A few men can take them, lord,’ the guide put in quickly, picking up on Éomer’s annoyance. ‘The tail of one just has to be tied to the harness of the camel behind and they will give no trouble.’

Éomer didn’t imagine they would – being tied by the tail.  Perhaps they should tie the men by their ‘tails’, if men they were: a lot looked like half-trolls with black skins, white eyes and red tongues.

Grimacing, Éomund poked a body with the end of a blooded sword. ‘Are they as ugly as orcs?’

‘Orcs are much worse,’ Éomer replied, ‘and they stink like nothing you can imagine.’

‘I grew up too late, you’d rid the Eastmark of orcs before I’d the chance to get even with them.’ Éomund picked up a piece of material that had unravelled from the man’s headdress and wiped his sword, slotting it back into its scabbard with a thump. ‘Killing these bastards doesn’t go anywhere near enough towards it.’ He looked Éomer straight in the eye, the grimace quickly changing to a grin. ‘But even just watching your back I managed two.’

Éomer said nothing for moment. He could clearly see Edwick’s features in the boy’s face – and see the big man sitting at the table after supper helping him with his armour and wanting to know how many orcs had been killed. Edwick had hated the creatures with relentless passion, but had had no choice except to rely on others to take vengeance on the filth who had raped his wife.  His youth had meant Éomund had missed his chance to avenge his parents’ death, and Éomer could only hope that he’d never discover what had happened to his mother before his birth. Hatred ate up a man’s soul.

‘I told you no heroics.’

The boy shrugged. ‘There were none, they were so busy trying to get to you that they ignored me.’

Éomer stared at him for a moment, but decided not to pursue it – it would be easier to stop Éothain from talking than Éomund from fighting.  If the lad stayed alive, he would become a formidable warrior. He’d taken Éomund as his esquire because he liked him, and he owed it to Edwick, but he also owed it to Bergit not to let Éomund throw his life away.

‘Come on, there’s work to be done.’  Éomer looked around, deciding where to start – the wounded were already receiving aid, but in this heat the sooner they dealt with the dead the better. Clouds of flies buzzed around every body. The vultures clothed the stunted trees like limp black flags, or flapped inelegantly on the ground, squabbling over the spoils. They reminded him of wizened old crones turning over the goods on market day. The camels they left to them, but occasionally one would make a foray towards a dead warrior, only to be chased away by the living.

A huge task lay ahead: the fallen enemy would have to be left right here, and those alive marched back to the main camp. Éomer supposed they’d be sent back to their own lands in time, but that would be Amal’s problem. He wondered how Aragorn was getting on farther east along the border; there would likely be prisoners from that encounter as well. Maybe not from the west. Amroth might show leniency, but he doubted Erchirion would.

Éomer started giving his orders – they’d take their own fallen back to the nearest village. He had no intention of leaving any of his Riders this deep in the desert where their mounds would get lost in the sand.  They could at least be buried somewhere where women sang and they could lie out the long sleep in the shade. If the villagers objected, he could give them a few camels to pay for any inconvenience. He didn’t really want to leave their horses either, but had no choice other than to set the prisoners to digging holes for those that wouldn’t return to frolic on the cool grass of the plains. Then there was the gruesome job of putting those animals too injured to travel out of pain.     

‘It’s horrible.’ Éomund had tears in his eyes as he watched a white-faced Rider smoothing his hand rhythmically over his fine mare, whispering comforting words. With her trusting eyes focused on her master, she’d gone into a stupor, not noticing the farrier who approached quietly with the poleaxe. The burly man crouched down to measure out the right spot on the mare’s forehead whilst her Rider kept her attention fixed on him.

Éomund turned away before the hammer hit hard iron through bone into flesh and the mare’s life-blood leeched out to stain the sand – the youngster might be nearly as big as his father had been, look older than his years and had killed for the first time, but this was the bit that got to them all. After a while her jerking stopped and liquid brown eyes clouded to milky white. Éomer put his hand on Éomund’s shoulder.

‘It’s as quick and painless a death as we can give them.’

The boy nodded and managed a thin smile. Still with his hand on her neck, the mare’s Rider openly wept, kneeling on the ground and burying his face into her mane.  Éomund wiped his sleeve across his eyes. ‘Have you ever lost a horse, lord?’

Éomer shook his head – plenty of friends, but he’d lost no horse to battle. ‘Only from old age. Luckily for me Fireball died in his sleep.’ He prayed Firefoot would, too.

‘We’ve got our own dead on the horses, and have set the prisoners to deal with theirs.  Not that they seem to care much if the vultures tear them to pieces.’ Éothain interrupted his thought.  ‘And we’re going to get the first lot of wounded away now, the sooner they’re out of this heat the better. Do you want to return with them?’

Éomer eased his collar away from his neck, with the sand and sweat it was rubbing him raw. The thought of cool water and shade nearly made him say yes, but it was not his way to give himself the easy time whilst his men suffered. Not if he wanted their respect and loyalty. ‘No. I’ll stay till we’ve finished. But send a message back to Amal telling him the number of prisoners we’re bringing. I don’t know what his intentions are towards them, but I could just do with some of his hospitality at the moment.’

Éothain grinned. ‘You mean the women?’

‘No I don’t! I was thinking of a jug of their granatus to pour down my throat and a few skins of water to pour over my head.’

‘We’ve only got cold sage tea, no pomegranate juice until we get back to the main camp. But you can have water to cool off.’ Éothain started to shout an order but Éomer stopped him.

‘Save the water for the wounded and the horses.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, we’ve got plenty. Those misshapen hump-backs are much more use as beasts of burden than they are as warhorses. They all carried plenty of full skins.’

‘I’ll fetch you one, lord.’ Éomund hurried away before Éomer could argue any more.

Meeting Éomer’s eyes, Éothain stifled a laugh. ‘A good case of hero worship, I’d say.’

‘He’s just doing his job,’ Éomer retorted. But he knew he’d have to be careful not to show too much favouritism to the lad.

Still, he was grateful for the luxury of a full skin to douse his head, and smiled his thanks to Éomund when he held it out to him.

‘I’ll pour it, lord.’

After a slight hesitation Éomer removed his tunic and unbuckled his mail shirt. The steel, even with a covering of linen, was hot enough to fry an egg. His undershirt might as well stay on: ringing wet with sweat, it could get a wash at the same time.

Hell’s teeth, it was good. The water trickled slowly over his head; Éomer used his hands to rub it into his hair. He stood up straight, pushing the wet mass back from his face.

‘Ahh...’ something hit him in the shoulder, something that stung like a rabid bee. Unbelievingly he stared at the red fletching of an arrow that had burrowed into his flesh.

xxx

As the main camp came into view, Éomer was surprised, but glad, to see the White Tree upon Black fluttering gently over the biggest tent. The messengers must have already given word of his injury, because as they rode past the guards, Aragorn appeared from inside with a frown of concern on his face. This quickly changed to slight amusement when he saw Éomer upright on his horse.

‘I’d have thought you’d learnt your lesson about men playing dead, Éomer. Especially with no Gimli to come to your rescue.’

Éomer acknowledged Aragorn’s jibe with a rueful grin as he slid off Firebrand’s back. He passed the reins to Éomund, and clasped his friend’s arm.  ‘Even without Gimli my would-be assassin didn’t get a second chance.’ He laughed. ‘Young Éomund wanted to tear the bastard from limb to limb, even after someone had sliced his throat.’

Brows cocked in a silent question, Aragorn was obviously expecting him to elaborate.

Prevaricating, Éomer ran his hand through his hair; he needed a long drink before he could deal with any mockery, however friendly. But Aragorn said nothing more, waiting for him to speak.

‘I admit we made a mistake – we should have stripped them all right away, but it seemed more important to look after our wounded. No one expected a man to be able to lie so inert in that heat, and they’re so dried up they look dead when they’re alive. He must have been laying on his bow, an easy task to conceal it under those ragbags of garments they wear.’

‘A lesson learned for us all. But the main thing is that you are all right.’ Aragorn inspected the bandage that had been wrapped around his shoulder, the tied ends poking out from his collar. ‘Just a simple arrow wound, you say. Shall I take a look?’

‘No, there’s no need.’ Éomer fingered his left shoulder: the wound throbbed a bit, but nothing worse than many times before. He’d been prodded enough without bothering Aragorn. ‘Luckily the sod was a fair distance from me, so the arrow didn’t penetrate very deeply. Its fine now, all cleaned up and stitched. I’ll soon be fighting fit again.’

‘Hopefully you won’t have to fight for quite a while, my friend.’ Aragorn gestured towards his tent. ‘Come out of the sun and I’ll tell you what’s been happening.’

After the heat, and the bright sunshine, the inside of the tent was dark and cool. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Éomer saw that the Gondorians had once again managed to install their king in near luxury.  The back of the tent had been curtained off to form secluded sleeping quarters and some poor pack animal must have bent its back to transport the large desk that dominated the rest of the space. Knowing that the absurdities of his courtiers amused Aragorn as much as it did himself, Éomer was able to view the show of pomposity with complaisance. With no more than a twitch of his lips he sank into a three-legged leather chair, hoping it would hold his weight, and gratefully took the large mug of granatus that a servant handed him – he could see the sense of not drinking ale in this heat. In a few minutes he had washed the sand from his throat and heard how most of the enemy had already been pushed back across the border. Prince Amal’s troops had pursued them for a great distance into the Southlands, with the Gondorians mopping up any stragglers.

‘The enemy campaign is in tatters.  Our friends from Dol Amroth are patrolling the western border area where a few odd raiding parties have been reported, but that should be the end of it.’ Aragorn had a satisfied smile on his face, but then it was his turn to look a bit embarrassed. ‘I have learnt a lesson also. We’d agreed with Amal after the war to collaborate in building a line of border forts to keep the buggers out.’ He sighed. ‘But instead, we concentrated on rebuilding Minas Tirith, and Amal on constructing his new port at the mouth of the Harnen. If we’d stuck with our original plan, this wouldn’t have happened.’

Éomer shrugged; who could blame anyone for wanting to improve life for their people after the years of darkness. ‘I don’t suppose I would have thought they’d challenge you so soon either. I was expecting a few more years of peace and family life.’ He darn well knew how much Lothíriel had hated him coming away, however much she’d tried to hide it.

‘There’s nothing to stop you getting back to it now, Éomer. Your job is done. Your men would be glad to get going, you have the farthest to travel.’

Éomer started to protest that there was still a task for him, but Aragorn put up his hand. ‘You are wounded, my friend. Only slightly perhaps, but enough to compromise your ability to fight. I’d rather you survived to aid me another time instead of putting yourself at risk when it’s not necessary.’

‘But you are not leaving yet ...’ Éomer felt disappointment; he’d certainly like to get his horses back to cooler climates and good green grass, but he’d not spent nearly enough time with Aragorn. He always appreciated their meetings, relying on the older man for friendship and counsel.

Aragorn read his thoughts as he often did. ‘I won’t be far behind you; I’ll just wait for Erchirion and Amroth to report back and then I’ll leave a few companies to help Amal clean up. Anyway, I’ll be going back to Minas Tirith by ship, which will take less than half the time it’ll take you. Besides, I am sure you will want to go by way of Emyn Arnen and stay for a few days with Éowyn; with Faramir in the City, she’ll be glad to see you. I estimate that we’ll probably arrive back in Minas Tirith around the same time.’  

Éomer gave in, and two days later led his Riders along the Harad Road to Gondor. He stopped on a high piece of ground and looked back over the vast shimmering expanse that was now Near Harad. All the land between the Rivers Harnen and Poros, land that had been fought over for years uncountable, had been ceded to their new friends. But if it helped keep the west safe, then new alliances had to be made.   Éomer shielded his eyes and focused on where he knew the sprawl of the tented encampment to be – he could see nothing but a purple haze.  Normally he would never leave before the end, but Aragorn was right – him staying would make no difference to the outcome, that had been decided. And he did want to spend some time with Éowyn. Moreover, he also knew that Lothíriel would be counting the days until his return. Taking one last look at Harad, he rubbed his shoulder –if he never went there again it would be too soon. Annoyingly, the wound still throbbed; he’d have thought it would be well on the way to healing by now. His own healer could see nothing wrong, so probably he should have let Aragorn look at it before he’d left. But it could be checked again when he reached Emyn Arnen. And at least he could send Riders back to Edoras from there to say he was well and would soon be home.

To be continued.

Original characters appearing in this chapter.

Prince Amal                Ruler of Near Harad. Made treaty with King Elessar after the Ring-war

Bergit                          Daughter of a horse breeder, she was raped by orcs when they

                                    attacked her camp to capture black horses for Mordor.   She married

                                    Edwick, a wheelwright, but after he was paralysed in an accident,                                                          started a relationship with Éomer. 

Éomund                      Son of Bergit and Edwick. He and his sister were adopted by Éomer’s

                                    cousin, Edyth, after his parents were killed in by orcs during a raid

                                    on Eastfeld.

Swan-song

Prophesy Part III

Edoras

It is true of the old, that whereas the recent past can sometimes be hard to recall, long ago happenings appear bright and clear in the mind and the intensity of feeling can still be sharp and raw.

I remember that during the first few weeks of Éomer’s absence, I pushed aside my worries and concentrated on enjoying my son. Then the dawning awareness that my husband had left behind a precious gift growing in my womb brought more happiness. None but Hulde, my maid, shared the secret with me – only when alone, I hugged my belly, willing Éomer to come home soon. I wanted to share my joy with him.

But long before I experienced the anguished vision which had me riding madly for Gondor, the unease started. At first it gnawed at me in the night, so that instead of enjoying much needed sleep I spent hours staring out at the stars, trying to keep my husband safe by sheer force of will. Then by day, when sunshine should have swept away the lingering fears of the dark hours, I paced my room unable to concentrate on anything other than thinking of Éomer’s return.

Now, in old age, I see the future through a veil. A veil that I no longer have the wish, or the strength, to push aside. But back then, in my vibrant youth, after my father’s revelation that my green eyes spoke of a mystic ancestry, I accepted all that my foresight bestowed on me. Scenes flashed daily before my eyes, as brightly coloured as a new tapestry straight from the hands of its creator – Éomer was in pain, I was sure of it.

But the morning I awoke to find my sheets spotted with blood, unease was chased away – to be replaced by gut wrenching fear. Hulde told everyone I had a slight malady and made me rest on my bed. It did no good for her to say that such scares were commonplace, and if only I would relax, no doubt a healthy child would be born – nothing assuaged my anxiety.  But after a week of keeping to my room feigning a head cold and having Elfwine brought to me to cuddle or play on the floor with his carved horses, it seemed she had spoken the truth.

Cautiously I resumed my duties, and for three days, except for the continued concern for my husband, my fear lessened.

So was it any wonder that Hulde trembled, when after my vision I announced my intention to ride for Minas Tirith? As me, she knew full well the tragedy I risked. But Rohan needed Éomer, and so did I. Unable to persuade me otherwise, she did the only thing she could: she offered to come with me.

‘My lady, you cannot ride all that way with no female to accompany you. Lady Byrde cannot, as you have put Elfwine in her charge, and Lady Welwyn is still nursing her son.’

She was right: a queen, even the Queen of Rohan could not travel the land unaccompanied. I squeezed her hand, grateful for her loyalty. ‘It will be fast, Hulde, and we may sleep with no more than a bedroll.’ Horses would be changed at the waystations, but I knew I’d want to keep going as long as daylight held.

The first smile since I’d made my startling announcement crossed her face. ‘My lady you forget, I was born following the herds.’

In my rush to go I had forgotten: my maid had come to me when I first journeyed with the Rohirrim after Eowyn’s wedding, but her training at Aldburg had smoothed away any roughness. It was now easy to imagine her being brought up in a lord’s Hall and not in the camps of the Eastemnet.

With no more time to waste, Hulde packed my things whilst I said goodbye to Elfwine. He frowned, and hugged my legs, but held Byrde’s hand confidently when I told him I was going to fetch his father home.

Freed at last from the Hall – from the questions and disbelief – I ran along the path to the stables. Each step took me nearer to a certain fate, but any misgivings were winged away by my flying feet. A mind hampered by doubt would flounder at the perils ahead; I could not afford to falter.

The stable yard was thick with activity, many voices greeted me and in none could I sense disapproval. It seemed that the men of my guard trusted me more than friends and counsellors, or perhaps relished the chance of a long ride and time in Minas Tirith. Windshadow, my young gelding, was tethered to a rail, my groom brushing his black coat with long strokes, although it already gleamed brighter than polished jet. I saw tents and provisions being loaded onto spirited pack-horses, Déor having taken me at my word for a fast trip.  But when he came out of the stable leading his fine grey, his eyes were troubled.

‘Are you sure, Lothíriel?’ he whispered so that none other could hear, ‘this is a mighty undertaking. There are those that will not expect you to leave your son.’

I ran my hand down Windshadow’s velvet nose and looked straight into my captain’s eyes. ‘I have learnt to trust my visions; I can only ask you to trust me.’ Orders were one thing of course, but I wanted him to believe in me. A moment’s scrutiny of my face, and he gave me a quick nod.

‘Then we’d better make haste.’

Word had whipped around Edoras like a summer blaze flashing across the plains. The ancient came out of their houses, craftsmen put down their tools and women wiped floured hands on white aprons – all drawn to the roadway to gawp at their queen’s departure. Muttering and murmurings of alarm, a doff of caps and the clouding of faces. But I understood – their king had gone to war to protect a land that in the past had held only enemies, and their queen was leaving, unplanned, unexpected.

Four days to Minas Tirith – if I could keep up the pace of the errand riders whose horses had worn a track in the road over the years since the Ring-war. Peace, and the friendship of two lands, of two kings, had meant communication had increased and hostelries had been built to serve the growing number of travellers. Goods of all kinds flowed across our borders, but best of all the expanding cavalries of Dol Amroth and Gondor craved our superior horses.  The lucrative trade boosted Rohan’s wealth and improved life for its people.

By slowing down only when we met a line of carts on a narrow piece of road across the marshes, the ground between Edoras and Aldburg was covered in three hours. The fortress stood on a low rise and had guarded the Great West Road for five hundred years, its huge, spiked palisade a visible demonstration of its power.  Being the seat of the Marshal of the Eastmark, and thus Éomer’s former home, I had a great fondness for Aldburg. But today I fought against stopping. Our intention was to travel close on a hundred miles before nightfall, and any thought of delay chafed me.  It was during this first day that we were likely to be able to make the greatest distance. Each of us rode the best horseflesh Rohan could provide, and though the horses kept at the waystations were first class, they would be unlikely to be able to match the speed and stamina of our own mounts.  Windshadow, given to me by Éomer after the birth of our son, had the fluid motion that would enable me to ride long and fast. But my protest had no effect upon Déor.

‘It’s wrong not to tell Elfhelm of your plans, Lothíriel. He will be in charge with you gone. A messenger is all very well, but we are going past his door.’

Suitably chastised, I nodded my assent. ‘But I don’t want to dismount. I have no wish to extend our stay.’

‘Very well,’ Déor agreed. ‘In fact it is better for the horses if we keep them moving. And as soon as they have cooled, they will need a drink.’

I did get off Windshadow though, Elfhelm providing a lad to walk him around. Most of my guard stayed in their saddles chewing on pieces of dried meat, whilst merely loosening the reins and letting their horses amble around the yard at will. Elfhelm offered me something more palatable, but the thought of food turned my stomach. Instead, I quickly explained the reasons for my hurried journey, rocking from foot to foot in my impatience to get away again. The Marshal didn’t argue with my decision, maybe because he’d witnessed my healing skills and knew of my reputation for foresight, or perhaps because he would take no chances with Éomer’s safety. Wilflede followed her husband’s lead and made no audible protest, only her eyes registering shock. She pressed a drink of honeyed tea on me and, as I tossed it back, quizzed Hulde as to the amount and content of the baggage we carried. She had a horror of me a arriving in the White City with nothing but one travel-stained riding outfit. 

Clothes were the last thing on my mind, the whole quaking space in my head filled with anxiety over Éomer, but some part of me sympathized with her concerns. ‘Don’t worry, the wardrobes in my father’s house are crammed with Calaerdis’ dresses. She won’t mind me borrowing them.’ I looked round for Déor. ‘But we must leave now.’

The men formed into a line again, and Elfhelm gave me a leg up. Within minutes the gates of the fortress were behind us, but I didn’t look back as we crossed the meadows under the eaves of the White Mountains, taking a short cut that would save a league or two.  Those working in the fields put down their tools and watched, shading their eyes to see who blazed a path through the grass.  But all my attention was focused on the track ahead.

The next few hours passed in a blur of speed, but as the road wound upward through a stand of bright beach, I felt Windshadow’s strength waning. I glanced towards Déor: foam flecked, his grey hung on the reins.

‘We’ll have to slow down, Lothíriel; I’ll not kill the horses. We can change them at the next hostelry; it’s about two leagues along the road.’

We had no choice, but I irked at the slow pace. And I knew that with so many of us, not enough horses would be in the stables, most having to be brought in from pasture. It would take time. The long days meant there was hours of light left, and I was wondering if I would be able to persuade Déor to ride on with me and only a couple of the men, leaving Hulde and the others to follow behind, when Windshadow suddenly lifted his weary head and pricked his ears. He let out a joyful neigh of greeting. Heads turned; horses and men staring at the silver-hued stallion galloping towards us.

My heart raced, blood pounded in my ears. A streak of sliver cleaved a path through the tall grass – muscle and bone, grace and splendor, a horse like no other – Shadowfax! 

Now everything made sense and any lingering doubts I had were blown away by the sight of the legendary horse. He was coming for me – as his master had come to talk to a twelve year old child deep in the wilds of the Tarnost hills all those years ago. Because Middle-earth needed Éomer, and I had made my pledge. At whatever cost.

Shadowfax slowed to a canter, jumped a ditch and trotted up to where we had all stopped, placing himself directly in front of Déor and me. He tossed his head, blew down his nostrils and edged his way between us until his soft muzzle was level with me, his dark eyes conveying a message I could not fail to understand.

‘He will carry me to Minas Tirith, Déor.’

Déor shook himself out of the stunned wonder brought on by the closeness of the magnificent animal, his eyes widening with anxiety. ‘Lothíriel, you can’t. We … I’ll… never keep up.’

But I already had my feet out of my stirrups. ‘That’s why I have to go. Because it’s the only chance for Éomer.’

‘No, Lothíriel, you cannot go off on your own, the road is too hazardous. I have sworn to protect you from all danger … Éomer would never forgive me.’

Poor Déor, he faced an impossible choice – physically restrain me or let me ride off into unknown perils. But I did not think that Mithrandir would have his long made plans upset by footpads, or any other misfortune along the road. From somewhere, I was sure, he would be watching over me. The men crowded round, waiting for the outcome of the argument. Shadowfax stepped back so that I could meet Déor’s eyes, appearing to be waiting to see what fate would decide.   

‘If I don’t go, Déor, Éomer will not be around to censure you.  This was meant to be, you must believe that. Remember what Mithrandir said at my wedding, when Shadowfax permitted Éomer to ride him …’

Déor nodded stiffly. ‘He said the horse would return to the plains to sire a new generation for the Mark, but that no man would ever ride him again…’ He stopped, realizing what he had said.

I smiled, sympathetic to his confusion. ‘Mithrandir prepared for this even though he would not be here. He once said to me that if one takes care of the little things, then the big things take care of themselves. That is why he took time to ride halfway across Middle-earth, he needed to steer a young princess towards the Healing Houses. Now he has sent Shadowfax because every moment counts.’  I leant towards my captain, lowering my voice, ‘All that I have done, all that I have learnt was intended for this. If I turn back now, then I will be going against my destiny.’

Broad shoulders slumped, as Déor wrestled with his dilemma. He had not quite yielded to my persuasive words. But I could not wait and decided to ease his decision. Shadowfax, sensing the determination in me came close to Windshadow and in a moment I had hauled myself onto his muscular back. The great horse moved away, challenging any to stop him with a toss of his head.

‘I am sorry, Déor. But there is no time to debate this.’

Déor took a deep sigh. ‘I can only countenance this because, as Éomer, I have always trusted Gandalf. But you will not be able to keep going all the way to Minas Tirith. Both you, and Shadowfax, will need to rest sometime.’

‘Yes, but I can sleep on his back and he will order the journey to suit himself.’

I’d hardly finished speaking before Hulde, white faced, trotted up and passed me a bag of food, which I slung across my back.

Full of anxiety, my captain’s face was even whiter. ‘Lothíriel, make no mistake, I will be right behind you.’

Tears filled my eyes and I urged Shadowfax near to him again, and squeezed his arm. ‘I know you will.’

Before I could say more, Shadowfax sprang away.  I gasped; he picked up an incredible pace straight off and we hurtled along the road.  He would not let me fall, but I twisted his mane around my hand – needing  the reassuring contact with him.   League after league we travelled, the landscape flashing by as I dropped in and out of sleep. Darkness met us, but Shadowfax never slowed, even when we crossed the Mering stream, its fast waters glittering in the starlight. My body stiff, my muscles screaming, I tried to lose myself in sleep, falling forwards and wrapping my hands around his neck to bury my face into his silken mane. Night passed in a waking dream. After what seemed a lifetime, my eyes opened to a rosy dawn. Shadowfax had stopped. A quick look around showed me we had entered a wooded dell on the edge of the road where a waterfall fed a small pool. ‘You must need to rest and drink boy,’ I said quietly to the horse. His only answer was a whinny, but I cautiously slid from his back, leaning against his side as my legs gave way. They trembled uncontrollably and I stood there a moment not trusting myself to move. My whole body ached with exhaustion. Finally I took a step, reaching out to grab a sapling for support. Shadowfax watched until, when sure I was not going to fall over, he gracefully lowered his head to drink. 

I fumbled for the pack on my back, knowing I ought to eat something – my stomach felt hollow and empty – but I had to force down a honeycake and a few mouthfuls of dried fruit and cheese. Shadowfax ate too, cropping the lush grass with strong white teeth. After restoring my provisions to my pack, I managed to put one foot in front the other and eased myself over to the waterfall, scooping the sweet water into my mouth, heedless of it running down my chin and soaking my shirt. I was just wiping my sleeve across my face, when Shadowfax lifted his head from the grass and swivelled it towards the road. I moved close to him, not sure what had grabbed his attention, but then I heard the unmistakeable sound of galloping hooves. Through the gap in the trees I saw a flicker of black and silver as two horsemen tore past – errand riders from Minas Tirith, I knew their livery well.  The Valar help me, I also knew their mission – Rohan’s King lay dying and they were taking the dreadful news to Edoras.  The haunting fear that I might not be in time gave me new strength.

To be continued.

Original characters appearing in this chapter.

Hulde                                      Lothíriel’s maid. Originally from the Eastfold.

Déor                                        Friend of Éomer, brought up in Aldburg. Appointed Captain of the  

                                                Queen’s Guard after Éomer and Lothíriel’s marriage.

Byrde                                      Hama’s youngest daughter, married to Déor.

Welwyn                                  Erkenbrand’s daughter, married to Éothain

Wilflede                                    Hama’s eldest daughter, married to Elfhelm

Swan-song

Prophesy Part IV

Bruised clouds brushed the peaks of the Ered Nimrais, rolling down the northern slopes to spill over the grassland of Anórien.  Rain hit like me in sharp spikes, destroying the strength in my body and leaving only the power of my will.

Years of riding had not prepared me for the unremitting pounding of league after league at such a pace, broken only by short rest stops when I swallowed a few mouthfuls of food before clambering back onto the tireless horse. Shadowfax flew over the ground with long, smooth strides, and hardly aware of the passing of time or landscape, I clung desperately to the horse. My only sure reality in a daze of vision and dream.  But I was cold, exhausted, and muscles clenched and cramped. Any faint hope that my child would survive this battering was lost in a misery of endless pain. ‘Forgive me,’ I cried out as another raincloud dropped its load, chilling me to my very core.

Jolted awake once more as Shadowfax jumped a swollen stream, I realised that the rain had stopped and the moon tracked across a clearing sky. Silver light swept over dark banks of trees that crowded the road – The Drúadan Forest.  Ahead, the trees thinned, the road running past the Grey Wood as it hastened towards Minas Tirith. We were nearly there. A faint blush washed the eastern sky as dawn reached the Mountains of Shadow that bordered Mordor. No more sleeping. My goal near now, I pushed myself upright, mustering my remaining strength.

Long before I’d thought, the high wall of the Rammas Echor loomed across the road, the arched structure of Forannest, the Northern Gate, black against the paling sky. Only the Pelennor needed to be crossed.

‘Halt, in the name of the King. Identify yourself!’

Shadowfax eased his speed and now I saw dim figures, spears levied. ‘Lothíriel, Queen of Rohan, seeks free passage,’ I called back, my voice croaking with relief as I neared my journey’s end.

A man stepped forward. ‘My lady?’  His look of suppressed horror betrayed what he must have thought of my bedraggled appearance. The devices on my tunic were almost obliterated by mud, and he peered around me before his eyes flicked back to my face. ‘My lady, where is your escort?’

‘Way behind me, for I have ridden in haste on Shadowfax and no other horse can keep pace with him.’

The man gawped mutely as Shadowfax pawed the ground, eager to be off again.  ‘But quickly,’ I cried, ‘let me pass, for Rohan’s King lies mortally wounded and I have come to save him.’

The man came out of his stupor, and shouted an order for the gate to be opened. ‘We are well aware that King Éomer lies injured in our Healing Houses, my lady, and messengers have been sent to Edoras. But how have you come so quickly, for surely they will only be halfway there?’

‘I left before they reached us,’ I replied impatiently, ‘and now I must not linger if my husband is to live. Let me through.’

His eyes widened. ‘I’ll do more than that, my lady, I’ll ride with you. It will be quicker getting the City gate open if I am with you to sound the alert.’ He shouted another order and a man came running forward leading a lanky bay horse.

In spite of wishing to gallop away, I could see the advantage of him accompanying me. And great heart as he was, I could sense Shadowfax’s weariness. ‘Come then, I will be grateful for your escort.’

‘How shall I call you?’ I asked as the man swung onto his horse. Young, I could see now as day chased night away.

‘Hadron, son of Ingold,’ he replied as we swept through the gate onto the Pelennor. ‘My family have had charge of this gate for generations and my father still recounts the tale of Mithrandir arriving just before the Dawnless Day on this mighty horse, with a Halfling clutched before him. And some months ago I saluted the King of Rohan as he led his Riders to battle in the south. But I never thought to see his Queen riding through my gate on Shadowfax.’

‘Well, Hadron, let us hope both King and Queen pause to greet you on the way home, but every moment counts, so no more talk.’ Shadowfax sped away keeping his pace to that of the other horse; even after his great journey Hadron’s gelding was no match for him. But there was still the long climb to the Healing Houses and I knew he needed to conserve his strength.

The City gates were still shut, but as we got near, Hadron took an age-battered horn from his saddlebag and blew two long blasts followed by three short ones. A guard appeared on the wall, bow in hand.

‘It is I, Hadron,’ my escort yelled. ‘Open up! Lothíriel, Queen of Rohan, seeks entrance.’

The guard disappeared, and moments later the huge gates swung silently open, a testimony to the skill of the Dwarves. But I did not stop to admire the craftsmanship that kept the White City safe; instead, l leant over Shadowfax’s neck to ease my weight from his back. Anything to assist a quick assent up the winding way.

As we climbed the City shook itself awake, the inhabitants we passed staring incredulously at the huge, glistening horse with its dishevelled rider. But all my focus was now on Éomer and I hardly heard Hadron clearing a path for us with a string of curt words.

At last Shadowfax wearily turned onto the sixth level. Here the morning had started in earnest, and the neighing of horses as grooms brought them breakfast came loud over the stable walls. The main entrance to the Healing Houses was not far, there was no point in riding further. Shadowfax hung his proud head as I slipped off his back, willing my legs to hold. Ignoring my stiffness and pain, I wrapped my arms around the horse’s neck whispering my thanks, and looked up at Hadron. ‘You will see that he is well cared for, but not put behind any locked doors. He must leave as he wills.’ 

‘Aye, I’ll do that, my lady.’ Hadron dismounted, eying Shadowfax warily.

‘Don’t worry, he’ll follow you. And thank you,’ I called back, already making my way painfully along the road.

But my fears that more time would be wasted gaining entrance to the Houses were put at rest by the sight of a maid scrubbing the steps. I raced up, ignoring her protests, into the familiar entrance hall. The smell of camphor greeted me as it always had. I knew where Éomer would be, in the rooms that looked over the garden, the ones kept for those of high birth. But before I could take one step towards them, a screech halted me.

‘You! Stop there. How dare you come in here carrying the filth of Mordor with you!’

I knew that voice. Age had not lessened Ioreth’s right to be heard. I turned. ‘It’s me, Ioreth.’

Rheumy eyes squinted. ‘My lady?  Realising it was indeed me, her whole body sagged. ‘Oh, my lady, you come in time to say goodbye, but only just. I fear Rohan will lose its king very soon now. We were expecting King Elessar to arrive, but a messenger came to say he had been delayed. He was our last hope...’

 ‘I am the last hope, Ioreth,’ I shut her up quickly. ‘Take me to my husband.’

 ‘I will of course, my lady’, she tutted, with a reproving frown, ‘but not like that. You must wash and change first.’

I looked down: mud caked my boots and splattered my skirt. ‘Quickly then, find me a healer’s gown.’

‘They are in the same place as they always were,’ she muttered as I followed her along the passage.

A maid filled a bowl from the copper as I stripped off my sodden clothes. I retied my hair, splashed water over my face and scrubbed my hands. Cleaner, but shivering, I pulled a gown over my head and thrust my feet into a pair of leather slippers Ioreth pushed near me. I’d changed in this room countless times during the years I worked in the Houses before the war. But never so hastily.

‘Now take me,’ I ordered, my heart thumping with anxiety that it would be too late.

Reaching the right corridor Ioreth indicated which room, but instead of coming in bustled off to find Master Raglan. Then who was sitting with Éomer, I wondered.

‘Lothíriel?’ Éowyn rose from a chair as I entered, her tearstained face grey with fatigue.

My eyes flew from her to Éomer and without a word I went over to him.  He lay motionless on the bed. A partially healed wound showed high on his left shoulder, but there was no visible rise and fall of that muscled chest. Only faint breath emitted from those familiar lips, shallow and ragged.  I felt the heartbeat at his wrist – it raced away heedlessly – and when I ran my hand up his arm, his skin was hot and clammy. He made no response.

 ‘What do they say?’ I looked up from my quick examination, meeting Éowyn’s fear-filled eyes.

‘They think a piece of arrow was left in the wound,’ she answered tonelessly. ‘And it has worked towards the heart, the infection pressing on it. They are afraid to delve so close to his heart as there is no certainty of finding the spot and they may nick one of the big vessels.’ A tear ran down her cheek and she wrung her hands in desperation. ‘If Aragorn were here, maybe he could do something, but it might be days before he arrives.’

‘I can show them where to cut,’ I said. ‘That is why I am here.’

Éowyn gasped, but at that moment the door opened and Master Raglan entered. Warden now, he was an old friend of mine, and his eyes lit to see me.

‘My lady, your presence gives me hope. I hesitate to open King Éomer’s chest, such invasion so close to his heart is on the edge of our skills and we will not know if we are probing in the right place. But as a last resort, if you give me permission...’

I almost smiled, no preamble, the little man as always focused on his work. ‘I am here to help, Master Raglan. The gift I have will show you where you need to make the incision, and I can guide your blade.’

No argument from him, only relief and wonder passed across his face. ‘Of course, I had forgotten your special powers for a moment.’ Resolution firmed his voice. ‘However, with your agreement I will detail my assistant to make the actual incision. Angol has the steady hand of youth.’

He disappeared out of the door as hastily as always. Such a difference from the previous Warden.

‘Lothíriel, can you do this?’ Éowyn’s expression was a mix of doubt and hope. I put my hand over hers, squeezing her fingers.

‘That is why I have ridden league after league on Shadowfax, so that I could save Éomer.’ Quickly I told her of my vision and my wild ride, hardly finishing the tale before the door opened again.

Angol was a tall young man, thin faced with a soft and gentle voice. Immediately I recognised the purity within him. Together we could do this.

Master Raglan had wasted no time. Éowyn retreated into a corner as grey-clad figures glided in, carrying trays of instruments and bowls of steaming water, steeped in cleansing herbs. The smell of myrrh filled the room. I washed my hands again, and knelt down by the bed willing the Valar not to fail me. As I concentrated I heard a roaring in my ears like the coming of a giant wave and the rest of the room receded into a grey mist, until only Éomer and I remained. Desperately I sought to peer through flesh and bone to the damaged tissues below, but all I saw was a red mass of hurt and pain. And then, as I struggled to see clearer, I remembered Galadriel, something she had said to me when my spirit was at its lowest – open your mind and your heart, Lothíriel, and let the light take you where it will. With a shudder I grasped Éomer’s hand, sending out all the love I had for him – all that I was or wanted to be was bound to him. Without him I was nothing, he was my life and my light. Slowly the red cleared and I could see his heart, pumping still, but under pressure from the gathering of fluid and matter that pressed on it. And in the middle of that angry pustule a tiny shard of metal...

I stood up, feeling the first twinges of growing ache deep within me. Angol waited for my instruction, his instruments ready. I dipped my finger into the potent tincture that had been swabbed over Éomer’s chest and drew a line close to his heart, indicating the exact place to cut. ‘You need to slice between his ribs... here.’

The young healer did not hesitate, his scalpel split apart thick muscles. Raglan held the two ribs apart as Angol cut deeper.

‘Slant the blade upward now,’ I told him, gasping for breath. Angol nodded, and suddenly the red blood that ran from the incision turned a putrid yellow.

‘Make sure we have the shard,’ I heard Raglan say through my increasing agony. Doubling over, I clasped my belly as wave after wave of pain clenched my insides.

ooo

‘She still sleeps?’

‘Yes, Master Raglan gave her more medicine to keep her so. It is rest she needs now.’

I heard the words through a cloying fog. But feeling the touch of a cool hand on my brow, I struggled to open my eyes.

‘Lothíriel...’

The face above me came into focus. ‘Arwen?’

‘Yes, it is me.’

Another face loomed over mine... immediately recognisable... Éowyn. I reached for her hand. ‘I lost my baby?’

She nodded. ‘Three days ago. I’m sorry.’

Tears filled my eyes as the emptiness of my dreams grew into reality. ‘Éomer...?’

‘He is weak, but recovering,’ Arwen answered. ‘You came just in time as Aragorn has still not arrived in the City.’

 I turned my face away, whispering into the pillow. ‘The child... do you know...?

‘A girl.’ Éowyn confirmed what I already felt. ‘We have buried her in the garden of the Houses, under that lovely Ash in the corner.’

Ash, the symbol of sacrifice, did she know? However tightly I squeezed my eyes the tears leached out.

‘Lothíriel, look at me,’ Éowyn turned my face gently. ‘Grieve for this child, as we will all grieve. But you have saved Éomer, and that is a mighty gift to the Riddermark that no one else could have made. None will replace the child you have lost, but there will be others to claim your love.’

I looked up, into Arwen’s ageless eyes, catching the shadow in them before she veiled it. No! Desolation swept through me – had I forfeited the chance of other children? I had known it happen to others who lost a babe in such a way as I.  My voice trembled, ‘Éomer, I want to see Éomer.’ I tried to raise myself, but my arms and legs wouldn’t obey me.

‘Lay still, Lothíriel, you are not strong enough.’ Éowyn eased me back onto the pillows.

‘No...’ my voice cracked, ‘I must. I have to see he is well...otherwise it has all been in vain...’

‘I think she’s right,’ Arwen intervened. ‘It will help. We can find someone to carry her.’

Éowyn nodded. ‘I’ll call Hulde first.’

Poor Hulde, she could hardly hold back the tears as she gently sponged me down, arranged my hair and then wrapped me in a warm robe.

‘There, my lady. I’ll tell them you are ready.’

Only moments after she had pulled the door shut, it opened again. Éowyn came back in with Déor, his bright eyes soft with concern.

I blinked back more tears. ‘I am sorry I caused you so much worry.’ Did it bother him that his wife yearned for a child and I had killed mine? His face never betrayed it.

‘Don’t apologise, my Queen.  When Éomer trusted me to protect you, he never said it would be easy. I am only glad to have you within my safe keeping again.’

I tried to smile. ‘And now I am to be another burden to you.’

‘Never a burden.’  Strong arms lifted me, and I inhaled the familiar smell of the Horse-lords. He carried me as if I weighed no more than thistledown, but it was a short journey. They had put me in a room next to Éomer. Éowyn opened the door and stood back as Déor carried me through.

‘I bring someone you will be glad to see, Sire.’

‘Lothíriel...?’ Éomer lay in the middle of the big bed, a swathe of bandages around his chest, but his eyes were alert when they fixed on me.

Déor put me down on the bed, on Éomer’s right, and in no more than a heartbeat I was snuggled against my husband’s warm body. I heard the door close as I buried my face in his hair, soaking it with my tears. All the time I wept, his hand caressed me, soothing my anguish until I gulped out my first words.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Lothíriel, what are you sorry for?’ he whispered close to my ear.

I couldn’t tell him all my fears. Not yet. ‘I wanted to give you a daughter.’

‘You gave me life.’

But I took a life to achieve it and perhaps denied myself the joy of other children.  Others might say I did it for the Riddermark, for the good of Middle-earth. But I knew it was because I did not want to live without this man, and on that I would be judged. I stayed, secure and loved in my husband’s arms as the afternoon grew old. My strength slowly returning. 

The next day I was able to hobble to the room next door on Éowyn’s arm. Arwen stood by the bed talking to Éomer and I caught a look of sorrow fly between them when they saw me.

‘What is it?’ I asked as Éowyn led me over. Éomer held out his hand and I sat down on the bed, his fingers twining with mine.

‘Nothing,’ he answered, ‘the only important thing is for you to get well.’

But there was something: all my senses were tingling and a great dread stole over me. ‘Éomer what are you hiding from me?’

He let out a deep sigh and directed a questioning look at Arwen, who gave a resigned nod.  ‘We didn’t want to worry you yet, as it might be nothing,’ Éomer said softly, ‘but I might have guessed there would be no concealing it from you.’

‘Concealing what ...’ I held his eyes when he hesitated, my heartbeat hammering in my ears.

‘Amroth is missing,’ he said at last.

A cold shiver iced my body. ‘Missing, do you mean dead?’

Arwen shook her head. ‘We don’t know, Lothíriel. The messenger says missing in the desert. That is why Aragorn has not returned’.

Éomer gathered up my shaking body.  ‘We have very little detail. Don’t lose hope, Lothíriel, not yet.

‘Not Amroth,’ I whispered, ‘the Valar couldn’t be so cruel. Not after Devoran has lost so much.’

To be continued.

List of Original Characters

Hulde                          Lothíriel’s maid. Originally from the Eastfold.

Déor                            Friend of Éomer, brought up in Aldburg. Appointed Captain of the  

                                    Queen’s Guard after Éomer and Lothíriel’s marriage.

Devoran                               Daughter of Duinhir of Morthond. Married to Prince Amrothos.

Master Raglan.                Warden of the Healing Houses in Minas Tirith.

Swan-song Chapter 5

Lost Part I

Edoras FA53

Do I still remember the anguish of years spent hoping for another child, the look of sympathy in my maid’s eyes when month after month I had to call for linen? The memories are put away in that part of the mind only visited when dark shadows crowd near.  Éomer accepted his small family easier than me – he had a fine son who grew in stature and wisdom every day – and many times he would hold me close, when disappointment overwhelmed me, whispering words of sense and comfort. A bargain had been made, and Éomer convinced me that it was foolish to chafe at the consequences. No person goes through life without some heartbreak and there were other joys to compensate – the peace and prosperity of the Riddermark under Éomer’s strong rule and the inner knowledge that never again would his life be so threatened, could not but bring happiness. And so I determined to put the guilt and disappointment behind me and enjoy the continuing love of my husband and son.

But I was a woman, and I longed for more children around me. They came of course, as Éowyn had said they would, children to be treasured and loved – my grandchildren.  No grandmother has been more attentive and caring. Perhaps that was why my son and his cherished wife felt they could brood so many – I was never happier than when Meduseld rang with the noise of their games. There were others too, unlooked for, unexpected, that surprisingly helped to fill the void in my life.

But all that was to come, and I only bring those memories out now as I think of that awful time in the Healing Houses.  For as I still reeled with the likelihood that I might have sacrificed, not only the babe I had been carrying, but the chance to have life spark in my womb again, my mind staggered with the knowledge that my beloved brother was missing. And knowing how I had suffered at the thought of losing Éomer, my heart and thoughts went to Devoran, whom I had also come to love.

Dol Amroth FA5

They were so sweet that Devoran itched to pick one up. ‘I won’t hurt him, Avorn,’ she said, reaching for the largest pup who had crawled a short distance from its mother. The hound, still sleek and beautiful, even though swollen with milk and pride, eyed her suspiciously but made no protest.  Devoran cradled the little dog against her chest, dropping a kiss on its velvet head. Puppies smelt so lovely.

Wagging his tail, Drummer edged a bit closer and licked the tiny black and tan pup on the nose. Immediately Avorn curled a lip, warning him to keep his distance. ‘It’s a bit late for that, Avorn,’ Devoran told the hound, ‘you should have rebuffed him when he first sidled up to you.’ But she laughed at Drummer’s affronted expression. ‘No, you are probably right, Drummer, I am sure she would always welcome a fine warrior like you. But I don’t know what Amroth is going to say. He told you last time what he would do if it happened again.’ Not that she really thought Amroth would carry out his threat to take a knife to Drummer’s manhood, but he wouldn’t be pleased with another crossbred litter from his favourite hound.

Devoran got up from her cramped position on the floor and put the pup into the curl of the hound’s belly. It fought its way to a teat, milk immediately oozing around eager pink lips. Relieved to have all her family near again, Avorn laid her noble head back down on the blanket.

‘If he’d been here, it wouldn’t have happened, would it, Drummer?’  Devoran sighed, and rubbed her hand across her rounded stomach. Perhaps the news of a second child to come would distract him from her dog’s misdemeanour. ‘Come on, Drummer, we must leave them in peace.’ 

Devoran checked the water and food bowls were filled before she ushered Drummer out of the door. Avorn didn’t seem to object to her, only Drummer, so perhaps she’d be able to bring little Elenna to see the pups tomorrow. She’d not told her daughter about them yet, so Elenna had been happy to be left with Meren. The lively toddler loved playing with her younger cousins, probably because she could boss them both about – Eldir as he was only just walking, and Elphin because, although older than Elenna, the chubby boy was blessed with a sunny nature.  But Meren would soon be wanting to put Eldir down for his afternoon nap, he got grizzly if deprived of his full amount of sleep.

She started to cross the courtyard towards the main part of the palace, one hand holding onto her hair— a breeze blew off the sea, as happened about this time most days. Inhaling the salty tang, Devoran decided that it would be a good idea to take Elenna down to the beach before supper to work off some more energy. Their firstborn had inherited her father’s love of the sea as well as his dark good looks.   Thoughts of Amroth brought on a deep regretful sigh, and she stopped for a moment to resolutely push down the misery that lay just below the surface of her outward show of acceptance. But she missed him so much, and had only received one letter when he first got to Prince Amal’s camp. It had made her laugh with the descriptions of the strange food, the insects that laid siege to their tents – she would have hated that – and the women – either shrouded from head to foot, or displayed like goods in a market.  But there had been nothing more, although she supposed that if he was busy fighting he’d have no time. Fighting! Devoran swallowed, not yet able to relegate that worry to the back of her mind however hard she tried.

‘Devoran!’

Devoran jumped, and looked up to see Prince Imrahil coming towards her from the direction of his study, an unusual droop to his shoulders.  She smiled, wondering what had upset him. ‘I’ve just been to see Avorn’s puppies. They are so sweet, but Amroth is going to be mad Drummer fathered them again: he wanted a litter of pure-bred hounds.’

Unabashed by his transgression, Drummer bounded up to the Prince, tail wagging. Imrahil pulled at the dog’s ear, sending him into ecstasy. ‘There is no accounting for a woman’s taste it seems.’ His lips twitched but the dark eyes remained grave.

Devoran laughed, but realising her laugher wasn’t being returned, she searched his face.  ‘Father, is something wrong?’

Reaching her, he took her arm and dropped a kiss on her head. ‘Come with me a moment, my dear, there is something I need to discuss with you.’

‘Oh, is there a letter from Amroth? I thought I saw one of the ships coming in.’

‘There is news,’ Imrahil replied. ‘But not here, come to my study.’

Devoran went icy cold; a terrible premonition started her heart thumping. ‘Father, what is it?’

‘Come inside.’ He steered her around, back in the direction he had come from, but she resisted the pressure on her arm, all her senses screaming.

‘No, tell me now. Is it Amroth?’ She closed her eyes. Please no! Not her worse fears come to reality.

‘Devoran, please.’ Imrahil grasped her firmly, opening the door to the passage outside his study and leading her through.

Inside! Would that make any difference? Devoran stumbled along the flagstone floor at Imrahil’s side, her heart beating louder than the click of his boots. He pushed the door to his study open, and she sank into the nearest chair, weighed down by the leaden lining of her stomach. Calaerdis put a hand on her shoulder and, through the sound of her own blood thumping in her ears, she heard Imrahil sigh.

‘We don’t know much, Devoran but it appears Amroth is missing...’

‘Not dead?’ Devoran interrupted, a jolt of relief making her sit up.

He shook his head, and signalled Calaerdis to pour out a cup of wine. ‘We don’t know. At the moment he is missing in the desert. But of course any news we get is about five days old.’

‘Missing? What do you mean?’

‘Drink this, Devoran.’ Imrahil put the cup in her hands. Obediently she lifted it to trembling lips and gulped a mouthful – it tasted sour in her dry mouth.

‘How is he missing?’ She looked up quickly, wanting to know if she was being told the truth. ‘He had hundreds of men with him and guides. He told me in his letter he had guides.’

‘Yes, he did. But it seems he went with a small patrol into the desert.’

 Devoran frowned, her thoughts jumbling together. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘From what I can understand, they came across a camel-herders’ encampment that had been raided. None were left alive: men staked out in the sun, the women and children horribly mutilated. Amroth was so angry that he took off after the raiders without waiting for the rest of his company.’

‘Women and children...,’ Devoran let out the words slowly. Oh yes, there was no doubt Amroth would have been angry. His black eyes would have flashed with fire.

Near Harad, FA 5

‘We cannot follow them any further, lord. They have camels; it is risking death to take tired horses into the Endless Sands. Besides, we have already come farther than I would like, I have no experience of the paths this far south.’

Amroth didn’t answer, but Gidon grimaced and wiped a hand across his sweating face. ‘I hope you can get us back, Karam.’

The guide looked behind, to the direction they had come; their prints were already filling with windblown sand. ‘I have made a picture in my mind,’ he turned and peered south to where the horizon was hidden by a dark haze. ‘But we must go now, as I sense a great wind coming and the dunes change shape when it passes over them.’

‘Lord,’ Gidon moved his horse closer. ‘Karam is right; we shall have to give up. That scum is better equipped to deal with this terrain than we are. We haven’t a hope of catching them.’

‘Damn!’ Amroth dragged his eyes from the vast empty land that stretched away south and looked his captain in the eye. ‘Leaving them alive to commit more atrocities is a hard thing to do.’

‘I feel it was a last vengeful act before they ran for home,’ Gidon said. ‘The border is sewn up tight now; Amal will have no further trouble.’

That was no comfort to the families they had annihilated. Bile rose to his throat as he thought of the scene of carnage and depravity – old women with their breasts hacked off, an unborn child torn from its mother’s womb. He hated to let the filth go on living. But both Karam and Gidon were right: they were almost out of water and he couldn’t put any more lives at risk.

‘Very well, we will return. It wouldn’t surprise me if Erchirion hasn’t already left to go back to the main camp.’ For some reason Erchi couldn’t wait to return. But Amroth found the desert fascinating; probably because it reminded him of the sea: immeasurable and empty. Here, land, horizon and sky merged into a seamless whole. Besides, he had fancied a pot at the unique screw-horned antelope which was why he had joined one of the last patrols to go out. Fingering the great bow tied to his saddle, Duinhir’s bow, he sighed – so far today it had claimed neither man nor beast.

‘Do you think I might get lucky on the return journey, Karam?’ Amroth asked when they started back along their fast-disappearing tracks. Not that he could do much chasing, his horse was long overdue a drink.

The guide was looking uneasy and kept glancing behind him. ‘Maybe as dusk falls, lord, and we near the waterhole. The antelopes prefer the scrublands; they seldom traverse the deep sands until the rains come.’

‘What is it, Karam?’ Gidon joked as the guide stopped his horse and gazed behind him once more. ‘You look like a man who’s being hounded by his wife’s nagging mother.’

Karam ignored, or didn’t understand, the quip, but he stood up in his stirrups and shaded his eyes with a long-fingered brown hand. The fringed ends of his headdress whipped out in the building wind. Hot and arid, it brought a foul tasting dust with it, drying their mouths. ‘We will have to seek shelter, lord,’ he said addressing Amroth. ‘I feel a terrible storm is about to descend on us.’

‘A storm?’ Amroth looked above him at the cloudless sky. ‘Are you sure? I though the rains weren’t due for weeks.’

‘You are looking in the wrong direction, lord; the Desert Death comes from the southern wastelands, not from the sky.’

‘Great Ulmo!’ Gidon mouthed incredulously. And Amroth heard one of the men behind him let out a startled oath. He twisted in his saddle and saw that what he’d thought to be a high ridge of dunes was a moving cloud of sand that had obliterated the horizon and stained the sky a dirty brown.

He didn’t like the look of that at all. ‘What do you normally do?’ he asked the guide.

‘We would crawl into our tents, or if our horses were fresh we might be able to outrun it.’

Amroth bit back the retort he was about to make - since they had no tents and the horses were already struggling, he wondered why Karam wasted his breath. But after the weeks spent with these people, he realised that it was the Harad way of coming up with the right answer.

‘So we take shelter,’ he prompted, ‘and the only place is the leeward side of a ridge.’ They were on an undulating plain of low dunes halfway between two high ridges. Any real shelter was a fair distance away.

‘You can do that of course, lord, but the swirling power of the wind picks up great amounts of sand and tends to dump it at the foot of the dunes. We would be buried alive.’

‘Where then?’ Amroth barked, his patience lost.

‘Just below the top. We must get the horses to lie down and shelter behind them. You must cover your eyes, nose, and mouth.’ Karam pulled on his headdress, bringing the ample folds of material down over his face. He motioned the others to do the same.

Amroth did likewise with his. Already the grit in the air stung his face, and now he saw the sense of their Harad friends virtually insisting on them adopting the local headgear for their patrols.

‘What about the horses?’

‘We must make haste and will cover them as soon as we reach the ridge,’ Karam said, panic in his voice.  ‘The storm is approaching faster than I thought.’

But they never had the chance, as the sandstorm came roaring towards them like a giant wave, blotting out the sun and engulfing all in its path.

‘Keep together!’ Amroth heard Karam shout before his ears, eyes and mouth were filled with choking dust. He slithered to the ground and hung onto Aero’s saddle, trying to get some shelter from the horse’s bulk. But the horse fretted and pulled, striving to snort the sand from his nostrils as he experienced a horror he had never encountered before. Within moments Amroth could see nothing in front of him, all vision blocked out by the churning sand that clogged the air. Fuelled by the incredible wind, the storm sucked strength and heat from his body as the temperature plummeted. He struggled to stay on his feet. His sense of direction lost, he fought to keep the wind behind him, but it seemed to come from every angle. Thinking he saw a dark shape in front of him, he did his best to follow, but when he looked again it was gone. Each step he made was like walking through cloying mud as the sand thickened around his feet. His strength was waning, how long would it last? But after what seemed hours of mind numbing exertion, he reached the ridge, although it gave him no more shelter.  He had no idea of where the others were, but surely they had made it this far.   Suddenly Aero collapsed, the horse’s legs giving way as he gasped for breath. Frantically Amroth tried to claw out the sand from his nostrils, wiping it away with the ends of his headdress. Aero was still breathing, but in great distress, his chest heaving.

At last it seemed the horror was lessening; Amroth could definitely see a few yards. Then the wind died almost as suddenly as it had come, leaving the air around reminiscent of a brown fog. He rubbed his eyes, raw and gritty as they were, looking for his companions. He had crossed the high dunes, but no one was within sight. Ignoring for the moment the fact that he seemed to be on his own, Amroth fumbled for his water skin. It was almost empty, but after taking a mouthful, rolling it around with his tongue, and spiting the sandy mess back out, he poured most of the rest over Aero’s nose, washing out the sand.

‘Come on, boy. It’s over; you’ve got to get up.’ With a little more encouragement the horse wobbled to his feet. Shaky but alive.

‘By all that’s good,’ a familiar voice hailed him, ‘we thought we’d lost you as well.  How did you fare? Blessed Ulmo, I never want to go through that again.’

Amroth looked around to see Gidon and two others, Borinon and Galor, he identified as they materialised through the haze of dust that the storm had left. Gidon’s eyes were red rimmed, his face stained ochre-red. Amroth supposed he must look the same. ‘Lost me as well?’

‘We can’t find the others. I thought I was following Karam,’ Gidon said. ‘But then I discovered I was following Galor here, and he started off behind me.’

‘Well, they can’t have gone far. Over the next ridge, I imagine.’ Amroth stared; the open desert between the ridges looked very different than it had on the journey here, he recognised none of it. The next bit of high ground looked wider and flatter topped than he remembered, but Karam had said the wind changed their shape. ‘Give them a horn blast.’

‘I’ll try.’

Gidon shook out his horn; a clot of sand came out. He blew it, but the noise it emitted would not have woken a baby. He banged it against his saddle and more sand fell to the ground. This time Gidon managed a creditable call. Again and again, he blew. They waited for an answer – but none came.

‘No matter.’ Amroth said at last. ‘If we go north we are bound to find them.’

‘But what if we miss the waterhole, lord. Then we will be in trouble, the horses will not make it.  And I have no idea where in its daily path the sun sits, we may miss our direction by a fraction and be taken leagues out of our way.’

Amroth knew that, as much as Gidon did, but he took his sword out and rammed it into the sand. He marked the end of the shadow with his knife. Now came the waiting part. After what he judged to be a quarter of an hour standing in the blazing sun, he marked the end of the new shadow with his other knife and drew a straight line between the two knives. ‘That’s the East-West line,’ he said. ‘So we go that way.’ He pointed north. They would no doubt reach Amal’s territory, but whether they found the waterhole was in the hands of those greater than himself.

The sun beat on their heads with relentless ferocity. They had given up riding, as the horses were lathered up with thick sweat, panting shallowly in their distress.  Amroth had a horrible feeling Aero wasn’t going to last much longer, no youngster, already his muscles were trembling. His eyes were dull and glazed, the membrane under his lid turning blue. His tongue thick in his mouth, Amroth licked his own cracked lips; the sun was dropping, if they could just find the water hole his horse might make it. If not then none of them, horses or men, would be likely to get through one more day. After a slow weary trudge they crested another dune, eagerly looking around hoping to see the cluster of vegetation that marked the waterhole, or see the rest of their party – but nothing. Then with an agonised expulsion of breath, Borinon’s horse went down. Amroth knew immediately that it would never get up again. The poor animal’s sides heaved, as it took its last breaths. He knew Aero would be next and the thought further cramped his insides. They had been through so much together – not least that Aero had been there when he had first met Devoran and when he and Erchi had rescued her from filthy felons. He put his face close to Aero’s nose. ‘I’m sorry, old boy, I led you into this.’

‘Lord, look,’ Gidon hissed. ‘There’s smoke over there.’

‘It must be them,’ Galor started back down the dune but Amroth stayed him.

‘No wait! Let’s make sure who they are first.’

‘What do you mean, lord. Who else could it be?’ Gidon queried.

‘If they had been friends they would have responded to our horn. ’ Amroth looked around, thinking hard. Something didn’t seem right. Considering the distance they’d travelled, they should have been able to see the start of the scrubland from here. Had he become so disorientated in the storm that he had ended up going totally in the wrong direction and passed their enemy without knowing it? It seemed impossible, but it would explain a lot of things. ‘I think we turned completely around in the storm and the dunes we crossed were those to the south of us, so when we started north we headed back to where the storm hit us.

‘You think so? Everything looks so different it’s hard to tell.’

‘I’m almost sure of it, otherwise the others would surely be near and looking for us. Do you see anyone around that smoke over there?’

‘No,’ Gidon answered, ‘but they have obviously set up camp in a dip.’

‘And if I am right about who they are,’ Amroth mused, ‘they will be hoping we moved off in the opposite direction after we sounded our horn.’

‘I think the Prince is right,’ Borinon chipped in. ‘Karam wouldn’t want to go back without us, he’d be looking.’

‘Maybe they are looking,’ Amroth said, ‘but in the wrong place. I feel we must be miles behind them. And darkness will fall soon, so there is no hope of meeting up with them before tomorrow.’

 ‘The cold of the night will bring little relief. We need water.’ Gidon shook his empty waterskin despondently.

Amroth looked again at the rising smoke. ‘They’ll have water.’

‘But we’re not in a state for any fighting,’ Gidon objected. ‘And we know there were around a dozen of them.’

Amroth cast his eyes over the horses. None were likely to make it and an idea surfaced in his mind, gruesome but perhaps their only chance. Yet before acting on it, he wanted to determine the owners of the camp.

ooo

Amroth and Gidon crept towards the smoke, using the cover of the approaching darkness. Night came swiftly in the desert. Long before they reached a vantage spot they could hear voices, a harsh language unfamiliar to their ears. Silently they topped a dune, crawling on their bellies. One sound, one warning from the camels, and they were dead men. But no call of alarm came.

Amroth peered down on the camp, thrilled and angered by the sight that greeted him – camels formed an outer circle, in the centre of which a fire blazed, giving enough light to see about a dozen black-skinned figures sitting cross-legged around it.  Long odds, especially when they were so weak, but there was no way he would let the filthy crud leave here alive – for a little apart, huddled together, ropes binding their wrists to their ankles, were three young girls.

To be continued.

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Devoran                               Daughter of Duinhir of Morthond – married to Prince Amrothos.

Meren                                  Married to Prince Elphir.

Elphin                                   Second son of Elphir and Meren

Eldir                                       Third son of Elphir and Meren

Elenna                                  First daughter of Amrothos and Devoran.

Lady Calaerdis                   From Sirith in Lebennin. A rich widow, mistress to Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

Gidon                                   Amroth’s Captain

Borinon & Galor               Two Dol Amroth soldiers.

Karam                                   A Harad Guide

My apologies for the incredibility long time it has taken me to post this chapter. I have had health issues over the past months which sapped my energy. Further updates will follow at more regular intervals. LBJ

Swan-song 6

Lost Part II

‘But there’s only four of us,’ Gidon protested. ‘There’s maybe a dozen of them. Difficult if we were fully fit, but in our weakened state, without water ...’

‘That’s the point,’ Amroth interrupted, shushing Gideon before he could raise his voice further. They had moved a good distance away, but sound travelled easily in the desert and he didn’t want any risk of the enemy detecting their presence. ‘Without water we are doomed anyway. They have water, we have to get it from them to have any chance of surviving.’

Gidon pondered thoughtfully for a moment, gazing towards the far dune that rose black against the lighter sky. ‘You obviously have a plan, lord, so are you going to share it will us?’

Amroth looked over to where the three remaining horses quivered in an exhausted group. His insides retched at what he was about to suggest, but it might be their only chance. ‘The most urgent thing is to get some liquid down us, enough to give us a bit of strength.  If we do that I think we can surprise our friends over there, and have a good chance of overcoming them.’ Puzzled faces met this statement, so he explained quickly.  ‘The horses will be dead by the morning, losing some of their blood now will make no difference to that outcome.’

‘Blood!’ Borinon exclaimed. ‘What do you mean, lord?’

But Gidon followed Amroth’s eyes, his baffled expression lifting. ‘Have you ever done it before, lord? I am not sure I can stomach the idea.’

‘I haven’t, but it’s that or to start walking with no certainty of finding the waterhole. Even if we were sure of the direction, we could miss it easily in the night, and by the morning we would probably be too weak to carry on. I like the idea as little as you, but I am prepared to take the first mouthful.’ Amroth knew he had to just shut his mind to the horror of drinking his horse’s blood. Aero had served him well for many years, the horse’s last contribution to their partnership might be his most important.

Realising his intentions, Borinon and Galor had paled under their coating of red dust, but they made no protest and Amroth carried on.

‘With a bit of judicious planning I think we will have a chance. More chance than we would of fighting the desert, anyway. We drink the blood, rest up, and attack as dawn breaks. They will not be expecting us.’ Amroth indicated the bow slung from his saddle.  ‘If we can creep up unnoticed, I reckon I can take out half of them. They won’t know our numbers, so we may be able to pin them down.’

Gidon nodded slowly, a smile of understanding on his face. Confident he could deliver what he promised Amroth matched his smile, though the effort cracked his lips. His friendly rivalry with Devoran since their marriage had turned him into a first class bowman. She said he would never match her brothers, but he could notch an arrow faster and shoot it more accurately than any other in Dol Amroth. And using the bow he had inherited from her father, he wouldn’t have to risk getting that close; he’d be well out of range of his opponents’ weapons.

‘Your job,’ he said to Borinon, the only other with a bow, ‘will be to make sure they don’t break out. Keeping them together will give us the best chance of taking out as many of the bastards as possible.’

                                                                                          ooo

The foul metallic taste of Aero’s blood still clogged his mouth. Blessed Eru, he’d give anything for a drink of water. Amroth prayed that he would never have to do such a thing again. His horse had died sometime during the night, but surprisingly he felt numb about the loss. Too concerned with making sure they all survived. Too determined that he would somehow get back to Devoran and Elenna to mourn even such a fine and loyal friend as Aero. The past four years had been the most joyful and fulfilling of his life, and he treasured every moment of them. He only had to close his eyes to see his wife’s glorious hair, hear her bubbly laugh, feel her soft hands caressing him …

‘It won’t be long till dawn, lord,’ Gideon whispered out of the darkness beside him.

Amroth shook himself fully awake and gazed towards the east. Gidon was right: a faint streak of paler sky glimmered on the horizon. ‘How do you feel?’

‘I’ve been better,’ Gidon murmured. ‘But it stayed in my stomach, and I’m still alive.’

‘That was the idea, although I reckon I could throw up at any moment.’

‘Best wait till you can do it over those filthy sods.’

Amroth grimaced. ‘A good idea.’ He indicated the two inert bodies stretched out the other side of Gidon. ‘Wake those two; we’d better get into position.’

They had used the darkness to move right around the other side of the Southerners’ camp, far away from the dead horses. When dawn came the vultures would swoop in on the bodies, giving the enemy a sure sign of their presence. But hopefully, by their long, exhausting crawl through the night, they would have fooled them as to their position. What he didn’t know was if they’d have lookouts posted. It seemed likely.

They did. One at least.  Creeping towards the camp from the west, they saw him outlined against the grey pale of dawn. Amroth could have taken him out with the bow, but a scream would have alerted his companions and that was the last thing he wanted.

‘I’ll go, lord,’ Galor volunteered.

Amroth nodded. Galor was the youngest and the nimblest of them. He could work around towards the sentry, squirming on his stomach. ‘Keep the dark at your back. Come up to him from between those two low ridges. If I think he’s spotted you, I’ll shoot and then run like hell straight for the camp. I should still be able to down a few before they know what’s happening.’ He looked around at his meagre force. ‘But no heroics, I’ll give the word for close combat.’

Galor moved away, soon disappearing into the undulations of the dunes. Amroth sent Gidon and Borinon into position, away to his right and left.  As soon as they had gone, he started to edge his way towards the sentry, keeping low to the ground and dragging his quiver and bow through the sand. He stayed a good way behind Galor, the soldier rapidly disappearing into the murk. But he needed to be closer in case they were rumbled. Close enough to shoot the sentry if needed and then rain arrows down on the camp in double quick time. Amroth wiped the crud from his lips, his mouth had dried completely. Not enough moisture to even swallow. This had to work. He raised his head slightly and looked around for the others, but the gloom had hidden them from his sight. He could only hope they were in place. Wanting to be aware of any change in the man’s demeanour that would indicate he had spotted Galor or one of the others, Amroth fixed his eyes on the sentry – a hunched shape, still and ominous.

Suddenly Amroth saw a dark shadow a little to the right of the sentry. He strained his eyes. Yes, the shadow was moving. It must be Galor. The shadow moved closer, but the hope that they had got away with total surprise was shattered when the sentry’s head whipped around as he sensed someone approaching him. Amroth gave him no time to shout out – jumping to his feet he loosed an arrow in one fluid movement. He didn’t know if the man cried out; if he did it was not a loud sound, and immediately Galor fell on him. Amroth rushed headlong for the crest of the dune, stumbling in his weakness as the sand slipped from beneath his feet.

He reached the top, hearing the shouts of alarm as the Southerners realised they were under attack. Needing to take advantage of the short time he had before they realised exactly what was happening, Amroth sent down arrow after arrow. For a moment all was panic in the camp, giving him easy targets. A few of the Southerners dived for the camels, which were bellowing at the upset around them, and pulled out their own bows, using the beasts for protection.

Arrows winged Amroth’s way, but he was out of their range and they fell short. The Southerners were aiming into the dark, whilst he could pick them off as they silhouetted against the glow of the fire.

The dead or dying littered the ground below him, but no more Southerners showed themselves. Amroth could see the outline of a hump of bodies he took to be the captive girls huddling together, and waited. He remembered the night before the great battle on the walls of Minas Tirith when he’d been awed by the skill of Duilin and Derufin. The brothers had picked off orc after orc, finding their targets by the glint of fire on a helm or the flash of an unsheathed weapon. He would learn from them, wanting to take more down before he risked any hand to hand combat. They were too weak for serious fighting.

Zing...  the arrow left the bow andAmroth grinned to himself as a cry of pain sounded over the noise of the camels. One less to contend with – the white flutter of the man’s headdress giving him away. But he only had a few arrows left.

Suddenly there was a burst of activity: a couple of camels were dragged to their feet as the enemy decided to make a break for it. Amroth yelled a warning, calling the others into the fray and started running down the slope. Hopefully he could drive them to where Borinon waited. He let loose another arrow, but it hit the rear of one of the camels. The beast let out a mournful bellow and kicked out at the rider trying to shelter behind him. Then the man went down as he got into Borinon’s range, the camel taking the chance to lope off.

Gidon and Galor broke cover. Swords drawn they converged on the remaining Southerners through a rain of arrows. Amroth managed to hit another, which stopped anyone else from fleeing, but within moments he felt into an empty quiver. Flinging his bow aside, he drew his sword, jumped on the nearest camel’s back and down onto the man hiding behind it. He got a fleeting glimpse of a curved sword before he sliced into the black neck. Blood sprayed in his face and he got caught in the tangle of limbs and clothing, landing with a thump on the hard ground. Luckily just out of range of the camel’s teeth. The wind knocked out of him, he lay panting, too weak to get up.

‘They’re done for, lord.’

Amroth focused on Galor, who was leaning on his sword taking deep breaths.

‘Any alive?’

‘There won’t be in a minute.’

Amroth started to protest, but stopped himself. They were in no state to look after prisoners and anyway, he didn’t think he could bear to come face to face with the murdering bastards. He nodded, heaving himself up. ‘Everyone all right?’

‘Gidon’s taken an arrow, but it’s not serious. The girls look unhurt, but frightened to death.’

Was it any wonder? Amroth hobbled over to the trio, pulling his knife from his belt.  Eyes full of fear, they shrank from him, jabbering pitifully. He held up his hand, trying a few words he knew with the hope of calming them. About nine or ten, all were probably orphans. But they were alive and if luck held would stay that way. One seemed slightly less panicky than the others and he pointed to the rope that bound her hands, making a sawing motion with his knife. After a little persuasion – he beckoning with his fingers and smiling – she held out her hands to let him slice through the bonds. Nervously the other two held out their wrists for him to free them, joyfully pulling at the ropes on their ankles as soon as he had done so.

‘Water, lord.’ Borinon held out a skin.

Amroth put it to his lips and gulped down half a dozen mouthfuls before forcing himself to stop. ‘How much is there?’

‘Plenty. They must have stocked up for a long journey home. But you’d better come and see Captain Gidon, lord. It’s only a flesh wound, but he don’t look too good.’

000000

The sands stretched away: endless; desolate. The deep desert had fascinated Aragon since his first visit long ago. It still fascinated him. Men crossed it; lived in it; fought it. Sometimes they won, often they lost. Especially if they were not born to its ways. He could only hope that Amrothos had somehow won against the odds. Although his chances were diminishing fast. With the winds ever shifting the sands, the scouts had found no signs. Why did he think he and Amal had a chance of finding something they had not?

Licking dry lips, Aragorn raised his hand to his eyes, shading them from the relentless sun to look into the distance. Empty desert. No movement, the wind had dropped. Not even a vulture disturbed the heavy air. Hot and weary, he gave a deep sigh and turned to Prince Amal riding beside him. The Harad leader had forsaken his rich clothing for voluminous desert robes that enveloped his body, shielding him from the sun He looked, perhaps, more at home amongst the dunes on his high-bred camel than in the city he was building on the coast. Aragorn sensed that as the ranger still lurked within himself, then the stirrings of the desert warrior would never quite be lost in this fair-minded and far-sighted ruler.

‘It does not look good,’ Aragorn mused. ‘Five days since the sandstorm and not a sign. It is a long time to survive in this heat. ’

Prince Amal eyed him speculatively. ‘You have been this way before; you know that the desert is a cruel mistress.’

Aragorn cast his companion a smile that could have been mistaken for a grimace. ‘I do. The last time I travelled this land I pitted myself against the scorching wilderness, and barely escaped with my life.’

‘But you still came back.’ The Prince returned the smile. ‘Because to some of us the desert calls. Its beauty and magnificence has no equal. For me, I need to remember where I come from. I am grateful that I now rule a land where crops will grow and children have enough water to drink. The cities we are building and the trading ports will bring security to my people.’ He paused, reflecting. ‘You and I are alike in some ways: soft living could easily claim us. Only in vast, empty lands where the enemy is the frailness of our own strength, can we become real men again. Here we battle our own weaknesses, unfettered by the demands and restrictions put on us.’

‘You think that is why I chose to ride with the search party?’

‘It was not?’

‘Partly,’ Aragorn acknowledged, knowing that Amal spoke near the truth. ‘But more that Imrahil and I go back a long way. Also, without him, I would have had more difficulties during the first few years of my reign. I would not want to face my friend knowing that I had not done everything I could to find his son. Although I am expecting you to order the search off at any moment.’

The Prince pursed his lips. ‘No, you are wrong. I will not give up yet. Even if I only have a body to return to his father.’

‘So, this search means more to you as well?’ Not just the warrior retuning to the desert as he’d thought.

Amal’s eyes were dark and unfathomable. Aragorn waited whilst the Prince deliberated on what to say.

‘I hope I made a friend in Amroth. Out of the three of Imrahil’s sons he welcomed me the most openly.’ Amal paused for so long that Aragorn decided that was the only reason, but then he received a sideways look filled with remembrances. ‘But also I owe a debt that needs to be repaid.’

‘A debt?’ Aragorn frowned, not quite sure what Amal meant.

‘Prince Imrahil’s daughter once did me a service. I have not forgotten it. I would spare her the grief her brother’s death will cause if I am able. Or at least ensure that there is a grave where she can mourn.’

Aragorn shot his mind back to the time when Lothíriel had saved Amal the embarrassment of apologising to a woman.  ‘Ah...I see,’ he said after a moment’s reflection. ‘It is true that every action has an outcome, although some we cannot foresee.’

‘Indeed.’ Amal’s attention was suddenly fixed on a speck that rose into the air behind a high ridge of dunes.

‘Vulture,’ Aragorn cried, torn between fear and irrational hope.

‘Last time it was an antelope,’ Amal muttered. But he waved his hand and immediately two of his men urged their camels into a fast, loping gallop. ‘Let’s see, shall we,’ he cried, taking off after them.

Summoning his own escort to follow, Aragon kept up with the Prince, though he dreaded what they would find. But he wanted closure, so he steeled himself for the worst, already imagining the grief on Imrahil’s face. The men in front crested the ridge, and as they did so, a flock of black-feathered flesh strippers spiralled high into the sky. Aragorn choked back the bile that seared his throat – whatever gruesome sight lay behind that dune had to be faced.

The buzz of the flies was the first thing he noticed as they reached the top of the dune, then the putrid smell of decomposition assaulted his nostrils. Below, there was a mass of bones and torn flesh. Amal’s men had already reached it, one jumping from his camel and surveying the scene of carnage laid out before them. The man, Hassim, scrutinized the bodies, nodded to his companions and shouted out to the Prince who was now halfway down the sand-hill.

Aragorn gasped. ‘Did I get that right? There are only the bodies of horses.’

‘That’s what he said,’ Amal confirmed, ‘but whether it is good or bad I don’t yet know.’

‘How many?’ Aragorn asked when they reach the bloodied remains.

‘Three, lord,’ Hassim replied.

‘But four men are missing,’ Aragorn contemplated the news, trying to work out what might have happened.

‘I am surprised there are three horses in one spot,’ Amal said. ‘It would be far more likely that they died at different times than all together.’

‘True, I have no answer to that. But whatever, Amroth left the horses here and presumably tried to find his way back on foot.’ Aragorn ordered his camel to the ground, and slipped off its back. Covering his mouth against the swarm of flies they had disturbed, he moved towards the carcases. The smell made him retch, as did the sight of torn flesh heaving with fat white maggots. ‘How long ago, I wonder.’

‘It is difficult to tell.’ Amal wrinkled his nose in disgust and moved away. He went into an intense conversation with Hassim who was walking around studying the horses’ remains.   When he turned back to Aragorn his eyes held no hope. ‘Hassim thinks maybe four days.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Aragorn agreed. ‘The carcasses are not fully stripped of flesh.’ He stared down at the heart-rending remains of the horse he recognised to be Amroth’s big grey – it lay slightly protected by being half covered by the body of another. The grey’s eyes and lips had gone; its belly had been torn out, as had its soft throat, but the tougher meal of its strong neck remained untouched as yet.  Something strange caught Aragorn’s eye, something out of place with the vultures’ frenzied tearing. He knelt down, swished the flies away, and ran his fingers over the dead flesh. With sudden clarity, Aragorn recognised the significance of the cut outlined by a ridge of dried blood.

‘This horse has been bled.’

Amal knelt beside him, making his own examination. After a moment he nodded his agreement. ‘So,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that is good news: Amroth kept his head. The blood would have given them enough strength to make for the waterhole.’

‘Yes, and surely that was where he would have tried to head for. But we have covered all the terrain between here and the scrubland and have seen no signs. Erchirion is still there, looking and waiting.’ Aragorn shook his head despondently. ‘I cannot believe that Amroth would go in any direction other than north.’

Amal scanned the haze that glimmered on the horizon. ‘Any other way would lead only to death. ‘But we will look for one more day. Then we ourselves must return to replenish our water-skins.’

Aragorn stared out across the hot sands; hope had left him as well. ‘Which way did you go, Amroth,’ he muttered to himself. Suddenly he blinked, as he thought he saw some movement between some far dunes. But when he looked again he decided it was the sand being blown by a sudden gust of wind.

To be continued.

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Devoran                               Daughter of Duinhir of Morthond – married to Prince Amrothos.

Elenna                                  First daughter of Amrothos and Devoran.

Gidon                                   Amroth’s Captain

Borinon & Galor               Two Dol Amroth soldiers.

Prince Amal                       Ruler of Near harad.

Hassim                                 A Harad scout

Swansong 7

Lost Part III

They might have vanquished the Southerners easier than he’d dared to hope, but the moment Amroth knelt down beside Gidon he knew that they had not got away as lightly as he’d thought.  What ailed his captain was not the result of a simple, clean arrow wound. The skin around the gash in the top of his arm had swollen grossly, the flesh discoloured to dull purple. Sweat ran down Gidon’s face and his whole body trembled. Amroth swore long and fluently under his breath – the devils had poisoned their arrows. Now what did he do? He had no idea what type of poison they might have used, but whatever it was, doubtlessly it would prove fatal. Gidon was probably in for a long and painful death. Amroth knew that he couldn’t leave him to face it alone. But that meant that the chances for the rest of them had lessened.

Gidon doubled up as a wave of pain hit him. ‘I’m done for, lord,’ he whispered when he could catch his breath again. ‘It’s hurting like hell; you’d best make an end of me now and then you’ll have a chance of making it back.’

Shocked into immobility, Amroth stared at him mutely; the awful realisation of what Gidon was asking him to do cramped his insides. He managed to mumble some reassuring words, but Gidon shook his head and closed his eyes.  Getting no further response, Amroth got to his feet, staring down at his Captain who winced with pain. ‘I can’t, don’t ask it of me,’ he whispered under his breath. He might have done some awful things in his life, but killing the man who had fought alongside him since he was a lad, would be the worst. There had to be another way. Amroth raked his eyes over the bodies of the dead Southerners – surely they carried some kind of antidote. They risked an accident when they prepared the arrows and must have taken steps to deal with the consequences of a mistake. Roused from his stupor by the thought that Gidon might not be beyond help, he shouted to Galor and Borinon.

‘Search the bodies, there must an antidote somewhere.’ He leapt to his feet and dived on the nearest corpse, rifling through the stinking folds of cloth. No pockets. The sod had no pockets. But as he pushed the garments away from the man’s neck he saw a leather thong disappearing down towards his chest. Amroth tugged at it, pulling out a tooled leather bag. Impatiently he shook out the contents onto the sand – a few coins, a small rolled up parchment and a twist of cloth which looked promising, until he opened it up. It contained a dark, sticky substance which he was sure was the stuff some of the Harad men chewed around the fires at night to send them into a dream world. It had an unmistakable smell.

‘What exactly are we looking for, lord?’ Galor called over.

‘Not sure – anything. Herbs, liquid...’

‘I’ve found some kind of plant...’ Borinon walked towards him holding out a leather purse, open to show a thick wad of dried green leaves. ‘They smell funny, like a remedy I smelt in the Healing Houses after the war. But I can’t remember what it was used for.’

Amroth grabbed the purse and took a sniff. Yes, they smelt medicinal, but that didn’t mean it was what they were looking for. ‘We could try. We’ve got nothing to lose.’

‘But what do you do with them?’ Borinon questioned. ‘Put them on the wound or get Gidon to swallow some?’

Amroth had no idea, and he was just going to say they would do both when he was aware that the girls, who had up to now been silent, were excitedly chattering together, obviously interested in what he was doing.  He strode over to them, holding out the purse of leaves. ‘Is this what he needs?’ he asked, pointing to where Gidon lay moaning. ‘Come on, tell me,’ he coaxed. But they didn’t understand him.  Trying to smile and not show his impatience, Amroth made another series of signs, pointing to his arm, the leaves and one of the Southerners’ discarded bows.

The girls flashed looks between them, their darks eyes fearful and wary, but after a moment the one who seemed to be the least scared and the eldest, nodded hesitantly. Amroth let out a sigh of relief and beckoned her over to Gidon. Another series of gestures when he tried to find out if they put the stuff on the wound, or in Gidon’s mouth. But he received an emphatic shake of the head for both. Instead, the girl waved her hand towards the remains of the fire, which still smouldered in the middle of the camp. Amroth frowned, not knowing what she meant, but seeing his confusion she jabbered something and ran to the nearest camel. The girl started tugging at the waterskin tied to the saddle. Realising what she was trying to do, Amroth followed her, but by that time she had got it off. Within moments she had poured some water into a metal pot and put it on the fire, poking up the embers with a stick. Once the fire blazed up, she held out her hands for the leaves. Amroth gave them to her, but she took only about half, mixing them into the water with the same stick she had poked the fire with. He could only hope she knew what she was doing. He didn’t, so he had to trust to her knowledge, probably gleaned at her mother’s knee from bitter experience – the tribes had been warring for years. He hoped the stuff would work. If the smell was anything to go by it had to be potent. 

The other two girls chattered together quietly, watching Galor and Borinon searching the remaining Southerners for anything that might be useful.   The elder girl concentrated on what she was doing, her big black eyes focused on the brown liquid in the pot. She let it boil for a few minutes and then reached out to take it off the fire, but Amroth grabbed her arm, thrusting a small blanket into her hand.

She looked up and grinned sheepishly, before wrapping the end of the blanket around her hand to lift the pot off. Putting it down on the ground, she started making signs that it should be given to Gidon to drink. Amroth looked around - no cup or mug in sight - but Borinon passed him another pot. He poured some of the liquid in, with the girl watching intently.  When he had poured in about half, she caught hold of his arm and made signs than he needed to keep some for Gidon’s wound.

It was too hot for them to do anything with at the moment, but Amroth carried it over. The girl trotted after him bringing the other pot. When he knelt down beside Gidon again, the poor man was shaking uncontrollably.

‘You’re going to be all right,’ Amroth said more confidently than he felt. ‘We’ve found the antidote. As soon as it cools you can drink it.’ Gidon mumbled something unintelligible, convulsing with pain. Amroth blew into the pot, impatient to get some of it into him, but it was still too hot. The girl blew into hers as well, testing it with the end of one finger.  Then she fished into the pot with the stick, twisting it around to pull out some of the boiled leaves. She pointed towards Gidon’s arm, indicating that she wanted to put the leaves directly on his wound.

The cut was not deep, Gidon had probably pulled the arrow out himself, but the patch of purple skin around the injury had got bigger than when Amroth had last looked. The girl flashed him a hesitant smile and squatted down beside Gidon. He was hardly aware of her until, with no hesitation, she took some of the cooling leaves from off the stick and pushed them into his wound. He screamed out, but undaunted she held her small brown hand over the wound to keep the leaves there.

‘Borinon, get a bit of cloth, as clean as possible,’ Amroth shouted. He guessed the leaves needed to remain in contact with the wound.

Whilst Borinon wrapped a bandage around Gidon’s arm, Amroth lifted his head and tried to get him to swallow the liquid. The poor man was shaking so much, some of it spilt, but eventually half a dozen mouthfuls went down.

Was it his imagination or had Gidon’s shaking eased slightly? He lowered the man’s head back down on to the sand and Gidon closed his eyes, falling into what Amroth hoped was a natural sleep. The girl nodded, looking pleased and pulled the pot towards her. She sat crossed-legged beside her patient, indicating that she was prepared to take some responsibility, for which Amroth could only be grateful.  He still didn’t think it would be wise to move Gidon far, but they needed to get him into some shade and they all would be better off away from what would soon become a vulture’s banquet. None of them had the strength to bury the dead Southerners, but even though they were despised enemies, he had no wish to watch their bodies being torn apart and devoured as carrion. Besides, if they couldn’t start back for a couple of days the smell of decomposing flesh would become unbearable.

The other two girls had crept over to join their friend, probably thinking there was safety in numbers. Amroth had no way of telling them that they were in no danger from him and could only put them at ease by his actions. There was a lot needed to be done, but he made himself sit down by the girls with what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. He tapped his chest.

‘I am Am...roth..os.  Amrothos,’ he repeated. ‘You are...,’ Amroth invited the elder to reply first.

There was a flurry of chatter and discussion between the three of them before she responded by placing her hands together in front of her chest and inclining her head.

‘Soraya,’ she said giving him a shy smile.

Feeling he had achieved something, Amroth bowed his head. ‘Soraya, I am pleased to meet you.’

Soraya’s face lit up at his courtesy, her dark eyes sparkling. She swiftly introduced the other girls ... ‘Najiyah ... Barika.’

Najiyah and Barika went into a fit of giggling, before the smallest, Barika, pointed to Galor who was examining the contents of a sack he had taken off one of the camels.

Amroth smiled. ‘Ga...lor,  and over there is  Bor...in...on’.

Introductions over, Amroth knew he could waste no more time: the cool of dawn would soon give way to the scorching heat of the day. He wanted to get them all out of the sun and put some food in their stomachs.

Gidon was stirring again, and let out a muffled groan. Amroth jumped to his feet and made signs to Soraya that he was leaving him in her care. Soraya nodded reassuringly, and said something to the others. Najiyah went to Gidon’s head, lifting it, whilst Soraya encouraged him to sip from the pot. After a moment watching to ensure himself that he could do no better, Amroth went over to Galor and Borinon to see what they had found.

‘There’s some kind of meal and dried meat, oh, and plenty of dried fruit and nuts.’ Galor told him.

Borinon grimaced. ‘No, we won’t starve, but we might cook if we have to stay here for long.’

‘We certainly can’t stay here,’ Amroth agreed, shuddering as he saw the first of the vultures making a foray to the nearest body. The flies had already started their attack. ‘But there’s no attempting the journey back until Gidon improves a bit. We’ve enough water for a few days so it’s a case of making the best of it. The first thing is to get upwind of here and organise some shade.  That lot,’ he indicated the bodies around them, ‘must have some bedrolls we can use to rig up makeshift tents.’ 

Galor frowned. ‘There’s no wood, trees or anything, though, lord.’

‘But each of those sods had a spear, didn’t they, and we can cut their clothing into strips to make bindings.’ Amroth grinned at the astonished looks he got – did they think he was a useless nobleman with no skills other than with sword and bow? ‘Get going, we’ve got the camels so we’ll take anything we might need.’

Moving Gidon was a problem: it seemed the antidote had arrested the progression of the poison, but he was far from recovering and unable to do much himself.  With little to make a stretcher, the only way to move him was to use a camel. But camels had a reputation for obstinacy and they would probably have failed miserably at getting one to position itself right next to Gidon, had it not been for the three girls. Used to the animals from birth they knew the right commands and Najiyah especially proved fearless to the threat of angry teeth, poking and prodding the smelly beast they had chosen until it obeyed her and sat down.

He must have been in great pain, but Gidon bore being thrust onto the camel’s back with no complaint other than a few groans.  The rest of the beasts they tried to get into a line, their efforts provoking much bellowing and commotion until Najiyah insisted that a big animal, slightly darker than the rest, go in front. Amroth realised that it must be the leader and, sure enough once they had driven it to the front of the line, the others ceased their hollering and calmed down, happy to follow behind.

They couldn’t go far, Gidon wasn’t up to it, and so Amroth led them to the next ridge of dunes. Getting upwind meant they were going in the opposite direction to the inhabited areas they needed to get back to, so he only wanted to go far enough to get away from the smell, and the noise and sight of the vultures.

‘This will do,’ he called out. ‘Get the camels in a half circle, and we’ll make our camp against the slope of the dune.’

The camels seemed happy to sit back down and Amroth wondered how long they could actually go before they needed food and drink. Hopefully the Southerners had fed and watered them well for an expected long journey home.

‘Get Gidon under cover first,’ Amroth ordered as soon as they had got the camels into order and started removing the blankets and spears they had loaded on them. Soraya had nursed the pot of medicine during the short journey, cradling it against her chest as she sat atop the baggage on one of the camels, and as soon as they settled Gidon, she resumed tending the ailing man, encouraging him to sip at the murky looking liquid.

They built a shelter over him, digging the spears deep into the sand and using the torn strips of cloth to fix the blankets – it would be enough if the wind didn’t get up. A bit of deliberation convinced Amroth that with limited materials it made sense to extend Gidon’s shelter into one big one: they could keep an eye on him and anyway it was better that they keep close together through the night. He doubted there was any real danger, but it always paid to be cautious. The structure took shape quickly – not high enough for them to stand, but by the time they had finished all seven of them would be able to sit under it or lay down to sleep. The next thing was to attend to their stomachs, they had had nothing but water since drinking the blood. Amroth pushed that thought from his mind, too horrible to want to spend time remembering. The camels were still loaded with a fair amount of thin wood, no doubt gleaned from the scrublands by the Southerners for their journey home. But better to keep that for the evening - the desert, scorching in the day, became bone-chillingly cold after dark.

With their crude shelter erected, they made a meal of fruit and nuts and then dozed in the heat, even the man on watch struggling to stay awake.  Amroth felt he could do no more for the moment, the  heat had robbed him of what energy he had left – the sandstorm, a night of planning the attack on the Southerners, the attack itself, and the effort of setting up a camp had taken its toll.

He woke much later – he had slept a good deal of the day away – to find Borinon lighting a fire and the backdrop of the desert dulled to a muted purple.  Night fell quickly, no lingering twilight out here, the stars shining out of an inky blackness. He would have enjoyed the beauty more if he was exactly sure of the way back to the waterhole, but worrying about it would achieve nothing and at least they had transport, water and food, so had a good chance of getting out of their predicament alive. And there was always the possibility that they would meet a search party, he couldn’t believe that his brother would stop looking quite yet.

Amroth stretched. ‘How’s Gidon?’

‘Asleep,’ Borinon answered. ‘Young Soraya has been clucking over him all afternoon. He’s certainly no worse.’

Well, that was good news. Amroth smiled when he saw that the girls were curled up together next to Gidon, all three of them asleep, thin arms and legs in a loose tangle. They looked younger in sleep. During the past hours he had almost forgotten they were merely children, their knowledge of the desert and the camels, ingrained from birth, had been invaluable. So far they had shown no anguish or signs of grief and he wondered how much of the attack on their village they had actually witnessed and whether they would react more when they started to head home. Children were notoriously resilient and being in the middle of what would seem an adventure could have pushed the horror from their minds – but when the adventure ended and they went back, maybe to find themselves orphans and homeless...? Amroth sighed, he would think on that one. But whatever their future might hold, it was likely to be a lot better than being dragged to the slave markets of the south and a life of abuse.

Amroth got to his feet and shivered; already the temperature had dropped considerably. They needed something hot to eat. The food store had been put in a pile in one corner of the shelter to keep it out of the sun. It was enough to sustain them for a few days, but not very exciting. ‘Time we thought about getting a meal,’ he said to Borinon.

‘Already underway, lord,’ Galor answered. He came over carrying a large pot, a big grin on his face. He jerked his head towards the sleeping girls ‘The little one, Barika, has been following me around like a orphan lamb and when I went to check over what food we had she made me put some beans and dried meat in here.’ He held out the pot to show Amroth. ‘They have been soaking all afternoon, I reckon if we cook them up now we’ll have a tasty stew.’

Their conversation had woken the three girls; Barika immediately jumped up and rushed over to inspect the pot. Smiling happily she pointed to the fire nodding her head vigorously.

‘Put it on to heat then,’ Amroth said. ‘No doubt she knows how long it takes.’

Galor put it on the fire, but Barika went to the food store and rummaged around for a moment until she found a large leather pouch. She opened it up and laid it on the floor. Amroth saw that it contained many smaller pouches fastened by ties. Barika didn’t open them but sniffed each one to discover its contents. After she had checked all of them, she selected four and brought them over to the fire. Into the pot went a few pinches of a dark-gold coloured powder, followed by two lots of aromatic smelling seeds. The final addition was some dried oval shape leaves, which she crumbled up, sprinkling them over the surface.

Already the stew smelt much more appetizing. Spicy and fragrant.

An hour later all except Gidon sat around the large pot scooping up meat and beans with pieces of unleavened creamy-coloured bread made from the meal they had discovered in the sacks. Barika had happily taken on the roll of cook and had baked it on a flat plate over the fire, the men watching fascinated as she slapped the dough between dainty brown hands, before smacking it down onto the sizzling hot plate.

By the end of the evening the three girls had lost all their shyness, laughing and giggling at the efforts of their rescuers to master a few words of their language. Gidon, after another dose of medicine, had gone to sleep. He seemed to be holding his own and Amroth fervently hoped he would recover enough for them to start the journey back soon. They were safe for the moment, but he had no wish to encounter another sandstorm and the quicker they returned to the main camp, the happier he would be.

The next morning, weak but much more alert, Gidon was able to suck on a piece of fruit. He continued to improve over the next couple of days, albeit slowly, managing to eat more and to take a few steps.

On the forth night since they’d become stranded, Amroth went over to talk just before he settled down to sleep.

“I feel we need to leave tomorrow. I’m not entirely sure of the way back and want to have plenty of water in reserve. Will you be up to it?”

Gidon nodded. ‘I’ll make it. Get me onto one of those beasts again, tie me on, and I’ll be fine.’

‘Good. Then I’ll tell the others we’ll break camp in the morning. Try and get as much rest as you can now. It will be best to leave early before the sun heats up.’

‘I’ll be ready; I’m not going anywhere tonight,’ Gidon replied with a half smile. Amroth laughed and turned away, but Gidon put a hand on his arm preventing his departure. ‘Thanks for not giving up on me, lord, many would have done so.’

Only the moon and the dying fire gave them light, but it was enough for Amroth to meet his eyes in the dark. He well remembered how his Captain had supported him unstintingly during his courtship and pursuit of Devoran. ‘I never considered doing anything else.’

ooo

It was the fifth day since they’d become separated from the rest of the patrol in the sandstorm and at last they were loading the camels to try and find their way out of the desert.  But preparations for departure took longer than Amroth had wanted, the camels being particularly belligerent. Maybe they were bad tempered because they needed water and food, he had no way of telling.

Galor was struggling with a particularly obstinate one, trying to get it into line and tie it to the one in front, but it didn’t want to cooperate. ‘We don’t need them all, lord,’ he shouted out, exasperated. ‘Why don’t we just let the real pig-headed ones go?’

‘No,’ Amroth answered, going over to give a hand. ‘We are taking them all with us, I have plans for these beauties.’

To be continued

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Gidon                                     Amroth’s Captain

Borinon & Galor                     Two Dol Amroth soldiers.

Soraya, Najiyah and Barika    Three young Harad girls rescued from raiders by Amroth.

Swansong 8

Lost Part IV

Seeing no point in hanging around a scene of butchery, Aragorn and Amal led their men away from the dead horses, gratefully leaving behind the noisome smell and the sound of tearing beaks.

But Amal glanced back thoughtfully. ‘You know, I have just realised that the horses have been stripped of saddles and tack, everything in fact. Amroth would have been struggling anyway, why carry extra weight?’ 

‘I am not sure; it certainly does not make any sense.’ They crested the next rise and Aragorn stopped – there it was again.

‘What can you see?’ Amal asked, shading his eyes. He looked in the same direction as Aragorn –  towards a passage between two high dunes, as yet still in shadow.

‘I’m not sure I can see anything,’ Aragorn replied. ‘I thought I did earlier, but then wondered if it was a trick of the wind and sand but...’ he stared into the distance, gasping when he saw the unmistakeable shape of a camel emerging into the sunlight.

‘You were right first time,’ Amal murmured, ‘we’ve got company.’

Aragorn’s hand immediately went to his sword. ‘Friend or foe, I wonder.’ He could see more camels now, a long line of them, probably roped together.

‘I can’t believe enemies would be coming this way,’ Amal answered. ‘Traders maybe, although I find that unlikely with the fighting barely over.’ He shouted something to Hassim; the scout had moved forward and was staring intently at the line of camels.

Aragorn waited to see if Hassim could make out the identities of the travellers. Maybe Amal was right, but he didn’t completely trust that they were not enemies and signalled to the Captain of his escort to be ready. But soon he could see that there were riders only on top of some of the camels, although the distance was too great to discern who they were. The rest of the beasts looked to be pack animals only.

Suddenly Hassim turned back to his prince and let forth a tirade of words with much gesticulating, too fast for Aragorn to make out. He saw Amal frown and look hard at the camels which were getting ever closer.

‘What is it?’ Aragorn prompted.

Amal rubbed his chin. ‘Hassim says that those that ride the camels are not men of the desert. They do not move in unison with their animals.’ He chuckled. ‘In fact they ride very much like your men ...’

‘Are you saying that they are Gondorians ... Amrothos even?’

The Prince shrugged. ‘Maybe. But soon we shall see. They must have spotted us, and perceived that we are a superior force – and yet they are still heading in our direction with no show of wariness.’ He smiled.  ‘So let us ride to meet them.’

Could it be Amroth? Had he somehow managed to catch up with those raiders – overpowered them with only himself and a few others? It seemed highly improbable, but then, on the other hand, he was Imrahil’s son, so anything was possible. But if that had happened why hadn’t he returned days ago?  Realising that conjecture was useless, and very soon now he would be given the answers, Aragorn rode quietly and thought instead of going home and seeing his wife again. Something that couldn’t happen soon enough. If Amroth had not gone missing he would be on his way now, because besides missing Arwen, he’d told Éomer he would meet him in Minas Tirith for a few days’ relaxation and conversation. Hopefully his friend would wait, but perhaps he would want to get back to Edoras and Lothíriel...

‘Merciful One!’ Amal suddenly exclaimed, abruptly breaking into Aragorn’s reverie. ‘It is Amroth.’

Aragorn stared at the lead camel. Was that Amroth on its back? Difficult to tell with the headdress, but then the rider raised his hand, and at the same time Aragorn indentified the outline of boots and breeches, not robes.  Unbelievable! Amroth had survived!  Thank the Valar that there would be no watching Imrahil’s proud face crumple with grief.

Tingling with relief, Aragorn allowed himself a smile. ‘A story here, I think.’

‘It seems so,’ Amal agreed, his eyes twinkling. ‘Do you see that on the third camel there are three children? Girls, by the look of them.’

‘So there are,’ Aragorn nodded. About a dozen camels, all laden, three girls probably rescued from the raiders, and the missing men. He had a hard job not to laugh out loud – far from being in danger it looked as if Amroth had pulled off a remarkable victory. Although as they got closer, Aragorn realised that the man on the second camel was having some trouble, injured by the look of it. A few moments later he could see that the injured man was Gidon, Amroth’s captain, and he mentally went through the healing remedies he had with him – not many, although he always carried the basics.

The two groups met, Amroth drawing his camel to a halt right in front of Aragorn and Amal. Gidon seemed to heave a sigh of relief, the three girls gazed wide-eyed at Prince Amal, nudging each other and whispering under their breath. Amroth looked thinner, days of scraggly beard growth marred his handsome face, but his black eyes glittered with amusement. He bowed his head to his King and the Prince of Harad. ‘Salaam alaykum’.

Peace be with you, the traditional greeting of the desert. Aragorn shook his head in amazement, not able to stop laughter spilling from his lips. ‘Never underestimate a prince from Dol Amroth,’ he said when he’d stopped chuckling. ‘This is certainly a story I am looking forward to hearing, but first I see that Captain Gidon needs help.’

Amroth nodded. ‘Poisoned arrow. We found the antidote on one of the raiders and it seems to have stopped him from getting any worse, but he’s far from recovered.’

‘I may have something that will help.’ Aragorn pulled a satchel from behind him and ordered his camel down. He slid off its back and went to Gidon’s side, calling to one of his men. ‘Help me get the Captain off his camel.’

Already Aragorn had fixed his mind on his patient, and Amroth knew that Gidon now had the best chance possible of making a full recovery. He turned to the Prince.

‘I am glad to see you. I’m not entirely sure of the way back, although I think I would have found the waterhole eventually.’

‘I am sure you would have, Amroth, you have certainly surprised me.’ Amal’s eyes flicked over him to the girls and to the shuffling line of camels. ‘Not only have you rescued yourself and your men, but brought back three of my subjects. I am grateful. And the camels, they look fine beasts.’

‘I have given most of them to the girls as a reward for helping us,’ Amroth cut in quickly. He wanted that said right from the beginning. Already the Harad men were assessing their worth, whilst the Gondorians ignored the camels and were clustering around Borinon and Galor wanting to hear how they had managed to capture them. ‘Three apiece for the girls, and one for each of my men,’ Amroth announced, having given the matter considerable thought over the previous days. As much as he wanted to ensure a future for Soraya, Najiyah and Barika, he couldn’t forget that soldiers were entitled to a bit of prize money. ‘I do not know if the girls are orphans, but it seems likely. If that is so I don’t want them to struggle, but be able to live comfortably and make their own decisions about their future life.’

Amal raised his black brows and gave Amroth a stony stare. ‘I would not let them starve, Amroth. They will be looked after.’

‘I know that.’ Amroth smiled to show he had meant no offence. ‘But with camels as a dowry they will have a say in who they marry. And for Soraya, the eldest, the time for choosing is not far off. This will ensure that she does have a choice.’ Amroth knew that most Harad girls were promised at twelve, although Amal had assured Lothíriel, during his own private apology for Umar’s behaviour, that they did not live as a wife until nature said they were ready. Amroth would have liked something different for them, but reluctantly recognised that to alienate them from their culture would do no good at all.

He fixed his eyes on Amal. ‘You will let them select their own husbands. Not give them away for favour or reward.’

Amal laughed. ‘What is it about your family? You have the knack of bringing out the best in me. I will take a special interest in their future and give you my word that they will be well cared for until it is time for them to marry. The camels will be enough to pay for a good living and allow them to make a fine match to whom they wish. Is that good enough for you?’

Amroth relaxed. ‘Of course your word is good enough. It’s just that having rescued them I feel responsible.’

‘Then don’t any longer. I will ensure that any relatives are sought out, but if there are none, or they are unsuitable, then your protégées will be fostered to a good family. And with such a dowry they will likely be a first wife to a young man.’ Amal flicked his reins and moved his camel over to the three girls. Amroth wasn’t sure what he said to them, but whatever, their awed expressions lasted for no more than a few moments. Amroth saw grief cloud their faces, but then open-mouthed wonder and he guessed that Amal was outlining their future.

With that settled there was one more thing to face. ‘Did you find our horses?’ Amroth asked Amal when he had finished talking to the girls.

‘Yes, we could not work out quite what had happened. Surely you didn’t carry the saddles and tack with you, and I can hardly wait to know how you managed to attack and overpower the men who rode those camels.’

‘Well, first of all we didn’t carry our saddles anywhere. We took them off the horses and made a pile about one hundred yards away, over the next dune.’ Because he knew he wouldn’t want to do it once the horses had been attacked by the vultures.

‘Strange, we didn’t see that, but they are probably covered by a layer of sand by now. And then Aragorn spotted your dust, so our attention was taken.’

‘Understandable,’ Amroth agreed. ‘But as much as I don’t want to go near the horses, I need to recover our stuff on the way back.’ He hated the thought of going anywhere near Aero’s remains, knowing it would be easier to put the horse’s cruel death from his mind if he didn’t see its mutilated body.

Amal shook his head. ‘There is no need for you to do that; I’ll send someone to collect your things.’

Slightly embarrassed by the surge of relief that flooded through him, Amroth didn’t say anything but met Amal’s eyes and nodded. Luckily Aragorn came back over to join them at that moment.

‘How’s Gidon?’ Amroth asked quickly.

‘Gidon is a lucky man,’ Aragorn replied. ‘Had you not found that antidote, there would have been no hope for him. I am still not sure he will ever be as strong as he was. Those kinds of poisons are virulent and may leave him with some muscle weakness. Not enough to stop him enjoying life, but I doubt he will be going to war with you again.’

‘At least I will be taking him home with me, and he will still be valued. There are plenty of young soldiers who will benefit from his tuition. And I doubt his wife will complain if he never has to leave Dol Amroth again.’ Home! Suddenly Amroth felt very tired. Home sounded wonderful.

ooooo

Imrahil wished he’d never had to tell Devoran that Amroth was missing.  And would never have done so had he not thought she would have heard the whispers anyway – the wounded soldiers who had come home being unlikely to have kept the knowledge to themselves. Even had he given orders, nothing much remained a secret in Dol Amroth.  Not that the information had been much, only a garbled account of Amroth’s pursuit into the desert. Now the trader that had brought the men and the news had long gone – leaving spices, dates and despair – with no other ship arriving from Harad since. Devoran tried to keep cheerful for Elenna’s sake, but Imrahil couldn’t miss the desolation in her eyes. He’d do anything to put back the joy; to see her sparkle and laugh as she had done so readily since her marriage to Amroth.

‘Devoran, you must eat.’ Imrahil heard Calaerdis say in her soft persuasive voice. ‘You must not starve yourself or your unborn child will suffer.’

‘I know, I’m sorry. It won’t seem to go down.’ Devoran put the piece of bread aside and picked up a date, nibbling the end of the sweetmeat.

‘Eat some cheese with it.’ Calaerdis passed her a plate of diced goat cheese. ‘It goes well with dates.’

Obediently Devoran popped a piece of cheese in her mouth and smiled. ‘You are right: the tastes complement one another.’

She seemed to gather herself and ate some more, encouraging Elenna to try the unusual mixture. Imrahil knew that Devoran was strong, she had to be, having lost her family in such awful circumstances, but he wondered how she would react if the news was bad. No doubt she would hold herself together for Elenna’s sake, but whether she would be resilient enough to go through the coming legal battle with her cousin Alhael and confront him face to face if Amroth wasn’t there to support her.  He hoped she would, as she deserved her inheritance. It had taken long enough for the City archivists to look back through the ancient records to find and prove that the Blackroot had only been ceded to the Lords of Morthond. Then even longer for the City Elders to agree that there was a precedent that legacies could be overturned and that land and titles could go to a female in direct line. But Alhael was not giving up without a fight, and it still remained for the case to be heard in person before the King. But Aragorn had gone off to war before the judgement, and now all the work might be wasted. Imrahil hoped not, such a crud as Alhael didn’t deserve to be Lord of Morthond, following in the footsteps of such a brave man as Duinhir.

The door opened, breaking into Imrahil’s reverie. He looked up to see his Steward, Ephrem, shuffling towards him. Really the man should have long retired, but it would break his heart – a whole life devoted to serving the Princes of Dol Amroth couldn’t be set aside easily.

‘My lord,’ Ephrem whispered, ‘there is a ship in sight. The word is that it comes from Harad.’

But Ephrem hadn’t spoken quietly enough; Devoran made a strangled sound in her throat and stood up. Calaerdis immediately clutched at her arm. ‘It may be nothing, another trader only. Stay here until we find out.’

Devoran shook her head. ‘No, I’ve got to go and see.’

‘I think Elenna might like to come with me and see the new litter of kittens in the kitchen outhouse.’ Meren wiped Eldir’s mouth; her youngest had smeared his face with jam.  ‘Cook said they opened their eyes this morning.’ Meren lifted Eldir down and ushered the other children to the door.  All except Alphros, who shrugged disdainfully at the invitation to join his younger brothers and cousin.

‘I’m going to the wall to see the ship. It might be Uncle Amroth coming home.’ Elenna swung her head back round, but Meren distracted her with the promise she could hold a kitten.

‘Well, done Alphros.’ Elphir glared at his son.

‘Devoran, don’t get your hopes up, at the best it will probably only be news.’ What news, Imrahil wondered – good or ill.

A gentle breeze greeted those who made their way to the battlements, the hazy blue sky promising another warm day. The family, from long habit, clustered at the foot of the watch tower, eyes looking seaward to where a three-master had rounded the point.  Imrahil schooled himself to remain where he was and not climb up the tower – the lookout had younger eyes and would tell him anything he needed to know.

‘Is it a Harad ship?’ Imrahil called up.

‘Yes, lord, you can tell by the shape of her sails,’ the Captain of the Watch answered. ‘But she’s too far away for me to see which one.’

‘It’s Desert Wind, Prince Amal’s own ship. I’d recognise her at twice the distance.’ A breathless voice came from Imrahil’s left.

Imrahil turned and smiled at Oríon who had just run up the steps. Desert Wind had been built in their own shipyard, to Oríon’s plans. ‘I expect you would.  But who is she carrying, can you see.’

Oríon stared for a moment. ‘Not with my naked eye, but I might be able to see more...’ From an inner pocket he took a rolled tube of leather and two glass lenses. Imrahil watched fascinated as he fitted one lens each end of the leather tube.

‘It makes things appear nearer,’ Oríon explained. ‘Mithrandir told me all about them at Lothíriel’s wedding, but it’s taken me years to get the shape of the lenses just right.’ He put the tube up to his eye, and trained it on the incoming ship.

‘I’m pretty sure she’s flying a Dol Amroth standard as well as her Harad device. But I won’t be able to make out whose it is yet.’ With a quick nod Oríon put his foot on the first rung of the ladder that went up to the watchtower. ‘I’ll see better from up there.’ He quickly climbed up and disappeared.

‘Did he say the ship has one of our standards flying?’ Devoran asked in a trembling voice that betrayed her hope.

Imrahil put his arm around her, feeling her shoulders shake. ‘It could be Erchirion coming home.’

She looked up quickly, big honey eyes glistening. ‘But he wouldn’t come back without Amroth, would he?’

He would if there was no hope, but Imrahil kept the thought to himself and squeezed her comfortingly. ‘Let’s wait and see.’

‘It’s definitely a Dol Amroth standard,’ Oríon called down. ‘But I can’t make out the device yet.’

Imrahil screwed his eyes, and stared at the ship. He could hardly make out the standard, let alone work out if it carried Erchirion’s Crossed Swords or Amrothos’ Snorting Horse. They would just have to be patient.

Devoran shivered, although the sun was already warming the grey stone around them. Imrahil pulled her closer, dreading what would happen if the news was bad. He caught Calaerdis’ eye, and she smiled reassuringly.  Then, fortunately, Luineth, Oríon’s wife, appeared on Devoran’s other side, took her hand, and gave Imrahil a tight smile.

‘I will be fine, you know.’ Devoran said, her voice steadier this time. ‘Whatever the news, you don’t have to worry that I will collapse from grief or shock. I have my daughter...,’ she rubbed her stomach gazing at the ship that was getting ever larger, ‘... my children to consider.’

Before Imrahil could say that he would never expect her to behave other than with dignity, a shout came from above.

‘It’s Amroth. Its Amroth’s standard.’

Devoran swayed, a tear splashed on her cheek, and she took great gulps of air.

ooo

Dol Amroth seemed to rise out of the very cliff on which it stood – its foundations moulded into the grey stone, its walls towering above the surrounding landscape. A myriad of windows stared out to sea. In the evening they glowed with the fire of the setting sun, but the morning shadows would cloak them for a few hours yet.

Amroth loved this view of his home, loved sailing in on the tide and seeing the detail of harbour, palace and city becoming ever more discernible as the water changed from deep blue to aquamarine.  A warm flush of satisfaction and relief washed over him: it hadn’t been long ago when he’d thought he might never see Dol Amroth again.  Admitting how glad he was to be alive was surely normal. At one time it hadn’t seemed to matter too much whether he survived a battle or not, but now, with a beautiful wife and child waiting for him, life was precious. He could see that there were figures on the battlements, and wondered if Devoran was amongst them. Probably, he couldn’t imagine she’d come down to the harbour to meet him. Far too public.

But he guessed someone would be there; they would recognise Desert Wind and possibly indentify his standard, so should send a welcome party. As he thought, just as they passed the breakwater and the sails came down he saw his brother on the quayside. Amroth leaned over the rail to wave.

Elphir returned his wave, grinning from ear to ear. But had to rein back out of the way as the heavy mooring ropes snaked down onto the quay. Spare horses, Amroth could see spare horses amongst the escort, and a couple of carts. Of course, they hadn’t known what to expect. ‘Are you going to be all right to ride?’ he asked Gidon.

‘I’ll manage. I’m not letting the wife see me lying on a cart. She’ll fuss like an old nanny.’

Amroth laughed, not that he minded if Devoran fussed a tiny bit.

‘Thought we’d got rid of you,’ was Elphir’s first greeting. He made a few comments about bad pennies always turning up, but the warmth in his eyes told another story.

‘How’s Devoran?’ Amroth asked as soon as he was mounted on one of the horses his brother had brought with him. He pushed aside the twinge of grief – a good horse, but it would take a while before he found another like Aero. Perhaps sensing what had happened, Elphir hadn’t mentioned him.

‘Relieved. She has been holding her feelings in check since we heard you were missing. But I imagine you might get a tearful reception.’

It wouldn’t surprise him. Amroth knew full well that Devoran always kept strong through a crisis and only gave way when it was over. ‘I wish that you had never found out. There was no need for messages to be sent.’

‘Not a lot of choice, really,’ Elphir replied. ‘Men came home, they had heard about your patrol getting lost and were hardly going to keep quiet about it.’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘So, are you going to tell me what happened? And why hasn’t Erchi come back with you?’

Amroth didn’t want to answer that. At least not at the moment. ‘I will, tonight at dinner. It will save me repeating myself.’ Right now all he could think about was seeing his wife and child.

She was waiting just where he thought she’d be – on the steps outside the Palace. His father too, and the others – Sergion, Oríon, Meren, the children, with Alphros standing slightly apart. But Amroth only had eyes for his wife. Devoran had Elenna in her arms, his daughter’s dark hair and complexion contrasting against her mother’s chestnut tresses and fair skin. As he swept through the gate Devoran left the steps and started walking across the courtyard, her steps getting faster as she got nearer. Amroth rode right up to her. He jumped off his horse and let go the reins, relying on someone to grab them.

A moment later his arms were full of woman and child; he hugged them against him tightly until a small voice protested.

‘Papa, you’re squashing me.’

Laughing, Amroth took Elenna from Devoran and hoisted her to shoulder height looking down at his wife. She was smiling, but her big eyes were wet with tears. So beautiful, so loved. His eyes raked over her only to stop abruptly in the vicinity of her stomach. Devoran’s face turned a pale pink.

Amroth reached out a hand and placed it on her rounded belly. ‘Devoran, is there something of mine in there?’

To be continued.

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Devoran                                  Daughter of Duinhir of Morthond – married to Prince Amrothos.

Meren                                     Married to Prince Elphir.

Eldir                                             Third son of Elphir and Meren

Elenna                                         First daughter of Amrothos and Devoran.

Lady Calaerdis                           From Sirith in Lebennin. A rich widow, mistress to Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

Gidon                                            Amroth’s Captain

Borinon & Galor                         Two Dol Amroth soldiers.

Soraya, Najiyah and Barika      Three young Harad girls rescued from raiders by Amroth.

Prince Amal                                  Ruler of Near Harad.

Hassim                                            A Harad scout

Swansong  9

Celebration Part I

Edoras FA 53

All these years later I still remember the relief I felt at the news that Amroth had been found, and my  pride in the reports detailing his triumph over the raiders.  I would have loved to have journeyed to Dol Amroth to see him myself, and to hug Devoran. She must have gone through hell waiting at home without news. But there was no possibility. I could not drag Éomer away from Aragorn – they had so little chance to spend time together in peace, just talking and enjoying one another’s company. So many of their meetings had taken place on a battlefield. Also, duty and motherhood called me. I had left Elfwine for the first time since his birth, and had flown from Edoras on a whim, with barely an explanation to advisers and citizens, leaving fear in my wake. I needed to return to Meduseld, not go haring off to Dol Amroth.

We started the long journey as spring gave way to summer, a departure reminiscent, Éomer said, of him leaving Minas Tirith after the Ring war. The city streets were lined with well-wishers – Gondor’s greatest ally had lain dying in the Healing Houses whilst his queen rode to the rescue on Mithrandir’s legendary horse.  The unusual happenings would provide the citizens with a good tale to tell their children by the fireside on winter nights.

Shadowfax, his job done, had set more eyes goggling as he descended from the stables to the city gate – riderless and unbridled –  before  galloping across the Pelennor on his way back to the plains of Rohan. A city of stone was never a good place for such a free spirit.  We followed many days later. Aragorn and his guard came with us as far as Forannest, the Northern Gate, where Hadron saluted with a big grin on his face. Éomer and I paused and thanked him, as I had promised we would do if Éomer survived, before waving goodbye to the royal escort. Immediately I turned my mind towards home. Impatient, now the journey had actually started.

Edoras waited for us: the relief of the people that lined the way up to Meduseld palatable amid the joy. Elfwine had grown in the short time I had been away and I hugged him to me. Such a precious child, but I knew that I would leave him with little hesitation if Éomer were ever in danger again.

Life resumed at a more peaceful pace than it had for years. It seemed that Éomer’s brush with death had made him extra appreciative of family life and he spent as much time with Elfwine and me as his duties allowed. One of the most noticeable things was that he no longer rushed out at first light to ride or go to the training fields, but lingered under the sheets enjoying the warmth and closeness of that special time before a new day claimed his attention.

Which was why we were still in bed when the messenger came from Dol Amroth.  My father’s errand riders always seemed to arrive at dawn. I often wondered if they waited outside the city gates to catch us still wiping sleep from our eyes. Did they feel that the messages they were carrying were of such importance that it warranted Éomer being dragged from his bed? This time, however, the letter was for me. As soon as that was established, Éomer mumbled something indiscernible, and snuggled back under the sheets.

I struggled to sit up. Hulde, having pulled back the curtains and placed some blackberry and nettle tea by my side, plumped up the pillows and handed me my letter to read.

Many thick pages – my father’s neat hand flowed across the parchment like ripples on the sand. I read with growing astonishment until the dam burst and my laughter flowed out. I laughed so much my chest hurt.  Éomer stirred, grumbling, as I concentrated on the letter. Poor father, he’d always had much to bear with his offspring’s wilful ways. But ... never ... I gasped, hardly believing what I was reading. It looked like we would be going to Dol Amroth after all.

‘Lothíriel, whatever is it?’

Éomer had finally woken up properly. He brushed the mass of hair from his face, and, laughing quietly, I handed him the letter to read for himself. Surprise; shock; even joy, it was all there.

ooooooo

Dol Amroth FA5

Evasive. That was the only word for it. Imrahil knew that his youngest son found it difficult to lie, so when Amroth didn’t want you to know something, he had an annoying habit of expertly changing the subject. Which was why Imrahil’s umpteenth enquiry into what might be stopping Erchirion’s return, resulted in a lecture on the hierarchy and idiosyncrasies of Harad camels.  All very interesting, but not what he needed to know.

‘Fascinating, Amroth. Quite fascinating, but you still have not explained why your brother did not travel on the same ship as you and presumably is still in Harad.’  Imrahil watched with increasing exasperation, tinged with more than a little amusement, the range of emotions crossing his son’s handsome face. What would he come up with next?

‘He feels it’s important to immerse himself in Harad culture.’ Amroth ventured at last. ‘The Haradrim are great allies now and perhaps he thinks it best that one of us completely understands their  way of life, their thinking even, in order that we might work more closely together.’

‘Hogwash!’ Imrahil stood up slapping his hands down on his thighs in pure frustration. ‘I could believe that of you, but Erchirion?  That really is pushing the boundaries. Since when has your brother shown any interest in our allies other than how they fight, what type of ale they brew and the availability of their women?’  Women! Imrahil stopped abruptly. Was that what was keeping Erchi? ‘Is it a woman Amroth? Is that why he’s still there?’

Amroth had taken the opportunity to sidle to the door. ‘There are plenty of available women here father; I doubt he has to stay in Harad to fulfil those needs. But I must go; I promised Oríon I would ride with him this morning.’

The door opened and closed and Imrahil was on his own, none the wiser and with only suspicion to sustain him. He sighed loudly. His children might have grown up, but they still stuck together better than chicken-glue.  Even the few years when Erchi and Amroth had often been at daggers drawn trying to best one another had came to an end when Erchi had aided his brother’s pursuit of Devoran. Perhaps he should do as Calaerdis kept suggesting – forget about it. Erchirion would come home eventually, and probably nothing would have changed.

But the reason continued to nag at him, which was why ten days later Imrahil rode down to the harbour to meet the second Harad ship flying a Dol Amroth standard. He did not ride alone, both Amroth and Elphir wanted to be there. That roused his suspicions further. It certainly brought out a crowd: old men put down their torn nets and fishwives left their chores to drag their offspring to the side of the dock, the youngsters gawping at the Prince and his sons. The ship was still a way out and to pass the time Imrahil spoke to everyone who came into his range, knowing most of them by name. The people of the port fulfilled a vital role and he liked to keep a good and easy relationship.

‘Here she comes,’ Amroth drew his attention back to the incoming ship.

The fresh wind kicked up white horses across the bay and the tide was running in fast, so sensibly the captain dropped his sails outside the harbour entrance. Tide and oars brought the ship in, but it all took extra time, fuelling Imrahil’s impatience.

Eventually he saw his second son on deck. Erchirion came to the rail and waved before shouting something down to Amroth which Imrahil couldn’t quite catch.

‘What did he say?’

Amroth grinned. ‘That it’s nice to be missed, but he never expected a family gathering.’

‘Humph...’  It struck Imrahil that his son looked different, and as Erchirion turned to talk to some of his soldiers, he realised that his normally straggly hair had been cut neatly.  Also, far from looking his untidy self, he wore a very smart tunic decorated with his crossed sword device as well as a silver swan-ship. An obviously new dark-blue cloak swung from his shoulders, the rich material having a sheen that caught the sunlight.

‘Who tidied him up? There must be a woman involved.’

Elphir had taken the words out of his mouth. Imrahil firmed his lips ready to quickly question Amroth again, but was forestalled by the commotion of the gangway coming down and Erchirion appearing at the top.

Imrahil closed his eyes ... he must have been seeing things. But when he opened them again, she was still there. He saw Erchirion take her arm and steady her as the walkway moved slightly under their weight, and then lead her carefully down to the quayside.  He glanced at Elphir: his eldest son’s mouth was open in astonishment, but a moment later he had closed it firmly and his shoulders started to shake.

Amroth had sensibly moved out of range of his father's accusing stare.

Praying to Ulmo for tolerance and understanding, Imrahil slid off his horse and started to walk towards Erchirion and his...woman. She was tall, but that was as much as he could tell about her because, as all the Harad women he had met, she was shrouded from head to foot in black. As he got nearer he could see that the robes were made of a fine material that glinted with silver thread. It matched the silver veil.  Of her face, only her eyes showed: they were black as well, but soft as velvet, glowing with unfathomable depth.

Dragging his astonished gaze away Imrahil looked at his son. Other than a suggestion of amusement, Erchirion betrayed nothing but pride. He inclined his head slightly and then indicated to the woman whose hand he held with a possessive grip.

‘Father, may I introduce my wife, Inayah.’

Wife! Imrahil reeled...  and he’d thought that after withstanding the ride to the Black Gates nothing could unnerve him. But he managed through long training to plaster a smile over his face.

‘You are very welcome, my dear.’

Another woman appeared, but less richly dressed – in plain black and carrying a bag, she bowed her head. ‘My wife’s servant, Luja.’

Imrahil smiled, all he was capable of doing. Luckily Elphir and Amroth had joined them by then and further introductions had to be made. He heard Elphir ask if they should call a wain for the ladies – yes for Luja, but Inayah would ride with her husband – and caught Amroth giving his brother a wink.

Elphir managed to get close and whisper under his breath, ‘A greater shock that when I arrived with Meren, I feel.’

That didn’t even come near it.

ooo

Perhaps it was his age. Imrahil had always prided himself on being able to deal with anything life threw at him, but Erchi’s unheralded and unexpected marriage had totally unsettled him. Inayah had been here for days, but he still found it difficult to converse with her. He loved his family, and his extended family, and valued his relationship with Meren and Devoran, loved them immensely and treated them as if they were his own daughters. But how did you form a relationship with a woman whose face you couldn’t see?

‘She does remove her veil to eat when the family dine together.’ Calaerdis came up behind him and leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing softly. With pleasure at the contact, Imrahil hoped. He turned and took her in his arms, bending his head to whisper in her delicate ear. She smelt delicious: her perfume always sultry and inviting.

‘How do you always know what I am thinking?’

Calaerdis chuckled, low in her throat. ‘It’s not difficult. I have never seen you otherwise than in control of every situation. But you do not seem to know how to deal with this.’

‘I don’t,’ Imrahil admitted. He let her go and paced moodily towards his desk, picking up a paperweight and fingering the rough glass. ‘Erchirion is a grown man, well capable of making his own decisions. I respect that. But I never expected this.’

Shapely eyebrows rose in question. ‘Did you expect him to come home with a buxom barmaid on his arm? Everyone else seems to have been waiting for years for that to happen. Surely this is better, Imrahil. You cannot fault Inayah’s lineage.’

‘No, as a half-sister to Amal, I cannot. But...’

‘And what about your first wife’s ancestors. Didn’t you tell me one was a Harad princess?’

Imrahil frowned. ‘That was eons ago. And anyway, I can’t believe Sawda wore a veil all the time from what I read about her.’ He dropped the paperweight back onto the desk; it landed with a thump. Imrahil ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. ‘I have no problem with the marriage really, it’s just so unexpected. And Amroth keeping it from me hurts a bit.’

‘In all fairness, Imrahil, Amroth explained that did not really expect Erchi to marry her, so thought it best to say nothing.’

‘Rubbish. Amal would hardly allow him to mess with his sister and not marry her.’

‘No, I suppose not. Men can be unbelievably priggish when it comes to their sisters.’ She laughed wickedly. ‘It’s a good job I have no brothers.’

Her eyes flickered a challenge, but he didn’t rise to it, just sighed once more. He had asked her to marry him often enough and had just about given up. He doubted a brother could have made her either, Calaerdis would always go her own way. He had vowed some months ago that he would not mention the subject again, having a horrible feeling that any try at advancement would only lead to retreat.  But he supposed that when it came to irregular relationships, he had not set a good example and could hardly blame Erchirion for not doing the conventional thing by marrying a Gondorian noblewoman.

‘I wish Lothíriel was here,’ he said suddenly.  ‘She might be able to talk to Inayah. Persuade her that she would fit in a lot better and feel more at home if she adopted our ways. If she did that, she would soon lose her shyness.’

‘I am not sure that Lothíriel would achieve anything if Erchi hasn’t.  And aren’t the Harad woman supposed to obey their husbands?’

‘He says it’s up to her,’ Imrahil answered.  ‘But Lothíriel got on well with Amal, she might know what to say.  And she’s had to adjust to a very different way of life, it would give them common ground.’ But of course Lothíriel seemed to have adapted to living in Rohan with no problems at all. Thinking of her brought on an urgent need to see his daughter; they didn’t meet nearly often enough, even though Edoras wasn’t that far away. ‘It would be nice for Elfwine to come, to play on the beach and go sailing. He was only a baby during their last visit, but he would have a fine time now.  Can you think of any excuse to get them here?’

Calaerdis turned abruptly and went over to the window, looking out at a leaden sea. Unusually for the season, the weather had turned foul; the wind moaning in the turrets and the harbour obscured by grey mist. She didn’t answer him for a moment and he became distracted by admiring the way the cut of her soft-blue day dress showed off her slim waist. And her hair, he wanted to pull out the silver-headed pin that held the thick knot against the nape of her neck and ... but that would get him nowhere, so he prompted again. ‘I doubt they would come just to meet Inayah at the moment, with Éomer just back from war. But is there anyone’s birthday coming up? One worth celebrating that might persuade them?’

She shook her head. But Imrahil didn’t want to give up, although he guessed Éomer would prefer to stay at home for a while. But still. ‘There must be something I can use to draw them here.’

‘Would they come for a wedding?’ Calaerdis answered at last.

‘Wedding!’ Imrahil exclaimed. ‘Don’t tell me Erchi hasn’t actually married her yet. He hasn’t stolen Amal’s sister, has he?  Are you saying I can expect Harad war-ships on the next tide?’ He wouldn’t put anything past his middle-son and Amroth had said he wasn’t anticipating them to marry.

Calaerdis turned away from the window, eyes crinkling with amusement. ‘Of course Erchi married her, he would never have been allowed to leave otherwise.’

‘Humph...’ Imrahil let out, slightly mollified. ‘Then whose wedding are you talking about?’ He ran his mind through the list of possibilities, but could think of no one important enough to induce a visit from Éomer and Lothíriel. The last time they had come was when Sergion married Marin, and that had been timed to fit in with their visit, not the other way around.

‘They would come for our wedding.’

Imrahil stared at her. She was trying to keep her face expressionless, but a little tell-tell smile tweaked the corners of her lips. ‘That’s if you still want to marry me.’

Stunned, he didn’t move. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel elated, more numb.  Did she mean it? ‘Why now, Calaerdis, why now?’

She shrugged her shoulders and dropped her eyes momentarily before facing him again. ‘I don’t know why now, maybe because I sensed you might not ask me again and I realised that after all this time I could have left it too late.’

He took the few steps towards her, pulling her into his embrace. With a little laugh she melted against him, and Imrahil dropped his lips into her fragrant hair. ‘I had made up my mind not to ask you any more, but only because I couldn’t stand further rejections. I love you, and I was sure you loved me, but have never quite understood your reasons for refusal.’ He could feel her heart beating, see the pulse at her throat quicken as he held her. ‘What frightens you about marriage, what has held you back for so long? I desperately want to be able to call you my wife, but I would like to know.’

She started hesitantly. ‘I think we have something special. And I didn’t want that to change. From what I have seen, it is so easy for husbands to take their wives for granted....’ Imrahil opened his mouth to protest, but she laid a finger over his lips to stop him. ‘You needed a mistress for Dol Amroth. I preferred to be your mistress, not just valued for my social graces and my organising abilities.’

‘Calaerdis, that’s plain stupid. If I had only wanted someone to preside at banquets and dispense the bed sheets, I could have married any number of women, enough of them hung around like hungry wasps after Aearin died.’

‘I know. But also I have never liked the idea of being a man’s possession. I had enough of that with my first husband.’

‘Surely you know me better than that.’  But he could only admit to himself that she had a point, not a possession exactly, but a man liked to be able to call his wife his own.

 ‘I do.  I think I always did know you would never treat me like that, but it still bothered me. In the end I told myself I was being ridiculous, and I would have married you some time ago, but you haven’t asked me for ages. I’ve been plucking up courage to mention it, but you have only just given me the opportunity.’

That made him laugh, and he squeezed her against him. ‘Pluck up the courage! I have never known you not to say what you think or not to ask for what you want.’

‘Maybe, but a woman doesn’t normally ask a man to marry her,’ she said, burying her face in his chest.

Imrahil put a finger under her chin and lifted it up so that he could look into her eyes. ‘Calaerdis, I love you, will you please do me the honour of being my wife?’

‘Yes.’

At last. That was all he needed to know.

To be continued.

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Hadron                                 Keeper of the Northern Gate of the Pelennor. Son of Ingold.

Devoran                                  Daughter of Duinhir of Morthond – married to Prince Amrothos.

Meren                                     Married to Prince Elphir..

Lady Calaerdis                       From Sirith in Lebennin. A rich widow, mistress to Imrahil of Dol Amroth.

Oríon.                                      Childhood friend of Amrothos’. A shipbuilder.

Sergion                                 Imrahil’s closest friend, once his captain and Lothíriel’s bodyguard. Father

                                               of Oríon. 

Aearin                                   Imrahil’s first wife.

Marin                                       A war-widow now married to Sergion

Prince Amal                           Ruler of Near Harad.

Sawda                                     A Harad princess and ancestor of Aearin.

Inayah                                     Amal’s half-sister. Married Erchirion.

Luja                                          Inayah’s servant from Harad,

Swansong 10

Celebration Part II

FA5

As we came down from the mountains, the plains opened up before us – the Morthond River showed as a silver thread snaking its way through the lush lowlands towards the coast. I inhaled deeply, imagining that I could already smell the sea. Éomer had Elfwine sitting on the saddle in front of him – the lively toddler had at last fallen asleep against his father’s chest, thumb jammed in his mouth.  At three and a half he was still a baby, but I guessed that when he woke again he would be clamouring to ride his pony, something we had not allowed him to do on the steep mountain road, even tied to a leading rein.

‘Another scorching day,’ Éomer remarked, pushing his hair back from his face. ‘It’ll be even hotter later.’

I nodded agreement; already I could feel trickles of sweat running down my back.  We’d had days of cloudless skies, the bright blue of spring long given way to the deep, warm azure of summer. It would be better once we were in Dol Amroth where the sea breezes and the thick stone kept the palace reasonably cool, but we still had another three day’s travel through the baking landscape.

‘It will be lovely to cool off in the water; Elfwine will so enjoy it. And Amroth will take him out in his boat, which will be real fun.’

Éomer raised his brows. ‘If you say so.’

I laughed. Éomer didn’t quite share my love of the sea, although I remembered an interesting time the morning after our wedding that he’d certainly enjoyed.  ‘You like a dip occasionally,’ I murmured giving him a coy look. He must have caught my drift for his eyes crinkled and he winked.

‘I’m darn glad we’ve brought the tents,’ Éothain interrupted our little flirtation by riding between us. ‘I wouldn’t fancy crowding into those inns: they’ll be as hot as the Harad wastelands.’

I agreed with him. I’d loved Rohírric camping since the first time I had tried it before my marriage, but it meant a lot of trouble for the servants and involved many packhorses. Yet worth the effort for the relaxing informality and also because we would probably be able to dip our feet in a refreshing stream tonight and be lulled to sleep by its bubbling song.

‘Why couldn’t your father wait, and get married in the autumn, Lothíriel?’  Éothain grumbled on. ‘It would be much more pleasant travelling then.’

‘I think he wants me to meet Erchirion’s new wife, sooner rather than later. At least that’s what I read between the lines of his last letter.’

‘Hmm...’ Éothain twisted his lips sceptically. ‘Strange thing for Erchirion to have done if you ask me?’

‘Why strange?’ I retorted. ‘I understand she’s a beautiful-looking woman and a sister to Amal.’

‘But they’re not the same race are they. They have different ways.’

‘Well, if an elf can marry a man, I don’t see the problem. In fact, I am slightly different than you. And Éomer’s ancestry is all mixed up.’

Éothain sighed. ‘None of that is the point. There’s not much to choose between us, but the Harad women have been brought up differently...’

‘Too true,’ Éomer interrupted. ‘They walk behind their men and don’t speak until they’re spoken to. It sounds wonderful to me.’

I glared at him, before I broke into giggles at his innocent expression. ‘You wouldn’t want me to be a timid little mouse.’

He laughed, grinning at Éothain. ‘I’d be willing to give it a try for a while.’

‘Meduseld wouldn’t be the same without your spats,’ Éothain joked. ‘Seriously, though’ – he couldn’t leave it alone – ‘it must be pretty odd married to someone who keeps themselves covered from head to toe.’

‘I don’t think they do that in private, do they?’ I looked at Éomer, him more likely to know than me.

He shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.  We only saw a few ladies of that class and all were covered up.’

‘Plenty more of another class though,’ Éothain guffawed. ‘And they certainly weren’t covered. Far from it.’

‘How interesting, do tell me more?’

Éothain spun guiltily in the saddle at the sound of his wife’s voice. ‘They danced for us, that’s all,’ he said quickly, before appealing to Éomer for confirmation. ‘Just the normal hospitality wasn’t it?’

I let my horse fall back to ride beside Welwyn; her two, Leofcwen and Eadred were asleep in a wagon so she was enjoying a little peace. ‘I don’t think you have to worry. Éomer said that they were either plied heavily with wine and arak, or they were out in the desert fighting.’

Welwyn smiled at her husband indulgently. ‘Oh, I am not worried. If there was a choice between women and drink, the drink would win every time.

Éomer turned and caught my eye, but he didn’t have to say anything because trust existed between us, and I had heard all about the scantily-clad dancers. One thing did puzzle me though – if the noble ladies were kept so hidden and protected how on earth had Erchirion barged through the defences? Father certainly hadn’t said in his letter, but no doubt I would find out when we got to Dol Amroth.

ooo

Leofcwen and Elfwine chattered excitedly when at last we could point out the ramparts of the fortified city, trying to extract promises of visiting the beach that very evening.  Although Elfwine couldn’t possibly remember what it was like to play on the sand. Eadred, too young to anticipate the fun he might have in the coming days, slept contently against Welwyn’s chest.

 Hewn out of the rock on which it stood, Dol Amroth dominated the flatlands around and the children stared wide-eyed as the towering edifice got ever closer.  The rest of us were just glad the journey was nearing its end, and clean sheets and cool water would welcome us tonight. But for now we had to make some effort to ensure an orderly and reasonably ceremonious entrance into the city. My father, not a great one for being overly pomp, would certainly have the trumpeters out and no doubt a guard lining the way from the city gate to the palace.  Some formality would be expected until we were hidden behind the closed doors of the family quarters.

The welcome party on the steps certainly seemed to get larger every time we came, and looking at Devoran’s stomach it was obvious it would carry on that way. Three nephews and one niece for me to greet now, I just couldn’t hug everyone at once. I managed Devoran, Amroth and my father, plus a quick congratulatory kiss on Calaerdis’ cheek.  So much to say to them, but it would have to wait. Elfwine looked a bit awed at being surrounded by cousins and held on to my hand, but Leofcwen showed no such concerns, already attaching herself to Elenna, who would probably be glad of her girlie support amongst so many boys. In the end, my father picked Elfwine up, and Éomer and I were able to be introduced to Inayah.

I had been expecting her to be covered – I remembered making sure I wore a modest outfit with long sleeves when I first met Prince Amal – but I was not sure that I had expected the veil. It made her stand out as totally different from every other woman around her. Both Meren and Devoran dressed becomingly without a huge expanse of flesh being exposed, but their faces and feelings were on show to all.  Which I suppose, when I thought about it, was why noble ladies were trained to hide their thoughts and desires behind schooled countenances.  I found the veil a little disconcerting, even though it didn’t mask her eyes, where emotion was more difficult to hide.

Inayah’s eyes were black. Not the deep, bright black of Amroth’s, but big and velvety soft. I immediately sensed confusion there and my heart went out to her. A strange land, surrounded by people of a completely different culture, it couldn’t be easy. And although I could see the pride in Erchirion’s face and recognised with some amazement the depth of love he felt for her, my big, rollicking brother was not renowned for his sensitivity.

I was a little relieved that she removed her veil when we sat down to supper – the family eating quietly together that night after the arduous journey. Certainly a beautiful woman, she had replaced the black robes for dark blue garments shot with gold embroidery. The headdress that covered all her hair framed a high-cheek-boned, heart shaped face and a flawless complexion, not that much darker than my own. If she dressed like that all the time I couldn’t see any problem and I was sure her shyness would gradually ease. But father had whispered that she would veil herself again at the end of the meal and every time she left the family quarters she shrouded herself in black, which caused all the citizens to point and stare. Even if it was behind Erchirion’s back.

I had the distinct feeling father expected me to do something to change this; I could understand that he didn’t like such behaviour. Meren and Devoran had slotted straight into the close and supportive family life my father liked. He treated them as his daughters and I knew it must irk him to have Inayah so much on the outside.

Talking it over with Éomer that night, he admitted that he had been slightly concerned I would not immerse myself in Rohírric culture, and find the intimacy of Meduseld difficult to deal with. He could certainly understand my father’s feelings and suggested that I use my experiences to form a common ground between us.  But I had never been all that easy in other women’s company and tended to have a few close friends whom I valued, finding it difficult to talk trivialities with strangers. Still, for my father’s sake I set myself a challenge – the wedding was a week away, I had to persuade Inayah to attend it without her veil.  

Obviously I had to work on getting to know her, form some kind of relationship before I could even attempt to persuade her to give up a tradition her people had followed for years. And besides the mystery of her meeting my brother, there was another point I felt puzzled about – Inayah must have been about my own age, so why had she not married until now as custom dictated? They were all things to discover, but I had to gain a little trust before I could hope to learn anything.

The next day the whole family went down to our private cove, the servants carrying baskets of food and drink which they spread out on the rocks. I would normally have gone straight into the water and already had breeches under my skirt, but I knew that there would be no way Inayah would do this.  She had gone to sit near the food, removing her black outer garment to show an all enveloping overdress of pale blue with matching veil.  Devoran might have swum also, but in her condition she settled for taking her shoes off to wade. So did Meren; like Calaerdis, she never went deeper than her ankles.  The water beckoned me, but it might be better to talk to Inayah before I got soaking wet, so after making sure Elfwine was happy with his father and the other children, I strolled back up the beach to join my new sister. I could swim later when it would be even hotter.

Disconcerting, only to see her eyes. But it didn’t stop the jolt of awareness that rocked me as I sat down – she was pregnant!  With my insight I had no doubt, even though she might not even know herself.  It shouldn’t have surprised me, but somehow I had never imagined Erchi as a father. I pushed the knowledge to the back of my mind, a far too intimate thing to discuss with her yet.

‘Have you ever been in the sea, Inayah?’

‘No I haven’t.’ She looked towards the water. Everyone was in, even my father, and Devoran was up to her knees, holding her skirt out of the water. Only Calderis and Meren waded on the edge of the sand. Was it a wistful look I detected?

‘It looks fun, but...I’m not sure. This is the first time I have been to the cove.’

Her voice was deep and melodious, the accent giving it an attractive lilt. She spoke Westron quite well, but then I would expect her to, being Amal’s sister. I smiled. ‘I bathed in the sea as soon as I could walk, but I imagine it might be a little overwhelming for others. However, you have plenty of time to get used to it. Maybe you’d be best to go with Erchi on your own and just dip your feet in to see how you like the sensation.’

‘Perhaps,’ she replied, giving nothing more away. ‘But you are not enjoying the sea with the others. Why is that?’

I shrugged. ‘I thought I would keep you company.’

‘That is...kind.’

I laughed. ‘Not really. To be honest I wanted to get to know you. I am only here for a few weeks so thought I had better make a start. And I was going to ask you how your brother is.’

‘Amal?’

‘Yes, I met him some years ago, and he came to my wedding.’

‘He is fond of your family...’she hesitated; her eyes guarded... ‘He told me that you had not been treated well by his cousin, Umar, but none of you held that against him.  And your brothers did not seek revenge.’

‘Why should they? He was not responsible for his cousin’s behaviour.’

‘That is...I do not know the word...generous of them. Is that right?’

‘It will do. But let’s not say more about it.’ A culture difference best left alone. I changed the subject. ‘Did Erchirion tell you that way back on our mother’s side we have an ancestor from Harad?’

‘No, he didn’t.’ She frowned, thinking, and fixed her gaze on me as if discovering something. ‘You have the emerald eyes of a seer.’

‘So I understand, and Sawda, my ancestor, was a seer...’ I told her about my mother’s books and what I knew of the history.  She showed considerable interest in Sawda and I wondered about offering her one of the copies to read, but as the books stressed Gondor’s victory over Harad, albeit a long time ago, I thought it might not be wise quite yet.

‘And you have the gift?’ she asked when I had finished.

‘I am what we call fey. With a seer on my mother’s side and an elf way back in my father’s linage, I suppose it’s not too surprising. Mostly my gift comes in the form of healing, but I see other things as well. I knew when Éomer was badly injured for instance, even though I was hundreds of miles away.’

‘It must be strange to know things like that, not always easy.’

‘No, it’s not. But there is one thing I would love to know that my sight won’t tell me...’

Her head tilted to one side as she waited for me to speak. I plunged in. ‘How did you meet and get to know my brother?  From what I can understand about your culture, men and unmarried high-born ladies do not have much contact.’

She dropped her gaze to her lap and said nothing.

‘I am sorry, have I offended you? Don’t answer if you’d rather not.’

‘No ...’ Light brightened her black eyes and beneath the veil I was sure she smiled. ‘We are sisters. I am happy to tell you...’

ooo

Fazia had been weeping for hours; why Amal had to bring his young wife to a soldier’s camp Inayah couldn’t understand.  The poor girl was petrified that he would never come back from battling the Southron invaders and she would have to return to her father in disgrace because she was not yet with child. 

Inayah could have cried herself; Fazia’s fears brought back disturbing memories of another time, the preparations for another battle and a husband who had not come back.  Barren – the word had haunted her. Even when her husband had taken another wife and no child had swollen that one’s belly, the stigma still clung, like thick brown resin on a damaged levonah tree.

By the end of the Ring-war she had no husband and no child. But Amal had been good to her so she didn’t really mind nurse-maiding his delicate little wife, pretty thing that she was. But being in the camp was even more restricting than her usual life – the women’s quarters were small, there was no library, and it was impractical to bathe properly every day.  It was almost impossible to even stretch one’s legs – there was no scented garden where she could enjoy feeding the colourful little serins – and leaving the tent risked a meeting with one of the commanders from Gondor who moved freely around the camp.  She had seen most of them by peeping through the folds of cloth that lined the big pavilion where they dined with Amal. Some were swarthy and black-haired much like her own people, but some had light hair and skin and looked most odd.  She certainly didn’t want to come across one of those. 

But if she went around the back of the tent where the wine and arak was kept and approached the healer’s tent from the side, she should be able to get the calming herbs she needed for Fazia and return with little risk.

Pulling her headdress right across her face, Inayah emerged from the women’s tent warily. The armoury was not far away so she had to be careful. Seeing no one she took a few steps out onto the hot sand and stopped, not daring to move. Unnoticed by her, a man had been standing in the shadow. As he came out into the sunlight she saw it was one of the Gondorians, the big handsome one who drank a lot and enjoyed the dancers.  Luckily he had his back to her for she had already felt his eyes on her when she stood behind Amal and Fazia during the welcome ceremony, and had encountered him again when he’d entered the pavilions early and she had been supervising the presentation of the feast. But this time he hadn’t noticed her, so as he walked away she flitted quietly behind the storage tent, slowing down when she was safely shielded by the large canvas structure. Her heart was still beating fast from her narrow escape, last time she’d had to bow quickly and leave when he tried to engage her in conversation. Maybe she should have sent one of the servants to fetch the herbs, but the urge to get out of the confines of the tent had won over caution. 

Inayah paused for a moment, her nose picking up the fragrance of bay and the oily eucalyptus that edged the camp. She would have loved to walk through the trees, but there were too many men about to take the chance. Perhaps when the bulk of them had ridden off to war...with a sigh she bent to smell a struggling rock rose. Sweet and fragrant, its seeds must have blown in from the coast. Straightening up again, something flickered on the edge of her vision. 

She stood like a statue, fear choked her throat, numbed her muscles.  But if she moved it would be all over: the Black Naja had fangs that could pierce thick linen. It would bite through her light raiment like a poisoned dagger ripped through padded leather.

Sweat ran down her back and trickled between her breasts – the snake was well within striking distance, its evil hood spread menacingly as it sized her up. Not like the dull Bitis that only struck when you trod on it, this serpent was evil and deadly.  It cared not that it had been chosen to decorate the Haradrim banners – friend or foe, it killed without favour.

Could she risk a step backwards, if she inched slowly...but the snake fixed yellow eyes on her, daring her to move. Giving up hope, leaden feet sunk heavily into the sand.

Swiss...sh, her robe fluttered in a draft of air as something whistled past, before she realised what was happening a dagger pinned the serpent to the ground. The snake thrashed and writhed and Inayah screamed out in horror.  She heard running footsteps and a split second later a flashing sword slashed off its ugly head.

‘Are you all right?’ The Gondorian took her arm; she tried to pull away but he held her firmly. ‘Calm down, you’re safe now.’

But it was too late; two guards arrived alerted by her screams. Through her panic-stricken haze she heard the Gondorian explain what had happened, pointing out the corpse that stained the sand.

They would call her brother and she knew exactly what Amal would do...

ooo

‘What did Amal do?’ I prompted when Inayah dried up, wondering why she had still sounded so terrorized after the incident was over.

‘What any brother would do.  He gave me to my rescuer.’

‘What! He gave you to Erchirion?’ I couldn’t believe it.

‘Of course, Erchirion saved my life, therefore I belonged to him.’

I sprung to my feet, looking wildly around for my brother. He couldn’t have.  Surely even Erchirion wouldn’t take a wife in such circumstances.  I was so furious I could hardly speak. ‘It might be your way, Inayah, but it is certainly not ours.’ Too late to change anything perhaps, but Erchirion would feel the depth of my anger.

Inayah stood up and put her hand on my arm. ‘Lothíriel please, it’s all right...’she stopped, dropping her head as Meren and Devoran came smiling towards us. Good, that gave me a chance to go in the water and talk to Erchirion. The way I felt I would probably drown him.

To be continued.

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Welwyn                                    Daughter of Erkenbrand married to Éothain

Leofcwen                                  Éothain’s daughter

Eadred                                      Éothain’s  son   

Devoran                                    Daughter of Duinhir of Morthond – married to Prince Amrothos.

Meren                                       Married to Prince Elphir.

Lady Calaerdis                          From Sirith in Lebennin. A rich widow, mistress to Imrahil

Elenna                                              Daughter to Devoran and Amrothos

Prince Amal                              Ruler of Near Harad.

Sawda                                          A Harad princess and ancestor of Aearin.

Inayah                                            Amal’s half-sister. Married Erchirion.

A short chapter, but more soon. LBJ

Swansong 11

Celebration  Part III

Impatiently I tore off my skirt and flung it down in the sand, wading into the water near to where Erchirion was floating on his back a fair way from the shore. Luckily Elfwine was involved with the other children in trying to splash their grandfather, with Éomer and Elphir looking on amused; otherwise he would no doubt have tried to claim my attention.  Just about to dive under a wave, my legs were grabbed and I lost my footing to fall with an inelegant splash.

‘Amroth!’ I spluttered as I regained my feet. ‘Do you have to behave like an idiot!’

‘My my! What’s got into you?’ Amroth stood up and pushed his sodden hair back from his face, smirking like a sleek cat. ‘You were marching down the beach as if you intended to murder someone; I thought you’d better cool off quick.’

‘It might be you I murder,’ I flashed back angrily. ‘It strikes me you must have known!’

The realisation made me lash out in an attempt to push him over, but he was too quick for me and dived out of the way, splashing water in my face. ‘Am I in trouble? What should I have known, little sister?’

His engaging grin only incensed me further. I wiped the salt from my eyes and advanced towards him again. ‘That your friend Amal gave his sister to Erchi just because he saved her from some damn snake!’

‘Whoa, Lothy,’ Amroth held his hands up in submission. ‘I didn’t know that, I promise.’

 ‘Are you sure? If you stood by and let Inayah be treated like a... a...chattel... a reward...I’ll never forgive you.’

 ‘I swear it’s news to me.  For some reason Amal must have kept that quiet.’ He drew his brows together thoughtfully.’ Although, it certainly explains a lot.’

Amroth appeared to be a bit shocked, so it didn’t look as if he was lying, and it would be very unlike him. I took a deep breath. ‘What does it explain? And don’t try to hoodwink me.’

‘I wouldn’t, and I can see why you are angry if that’s true about Inayah being handed over like a prized camel. I just assumed Erchi had got fed up with what was on offer and thought to try his luck with someone a little classier.’

‘About time he got some taste.’

Amroth chuckled. ‘I did laugh to myself when I spotted them on a couple of occasions before we rode out, sitting close and talking outside Amal’s tent. But both times that servant of hers was there as well, sitting just out of earshot. I admit it amazed me that he was allowed to talk to her at all. He wouldn’t say anything, however much I teased him. And I remember him being mighty keen to get back to the main camp after the fighting was all over. My little adventure delayed him a bit, but he rushed off as soon as I returned. I guessed he had something going, although at that stage I never really thought he’d bring her here. Still, looking back, I suppose it was to be expected.’

 ‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t imagine he would have been anywhere near her if Amal hadn’t agreed to them meeting. When it did cross my mind he was serious, I deliberately kept well clear. Then I couldn’t give anything away to father. Much more fun that way.’

Fun! It might have been, if Inayah had been a willing participant. I glared him, before turning away to disappear under the next wave.

Long strokes took me quickly out to where Erchirion was still floating. Amroth had been right; the water had cooled my anger, at least enough for me to behave rationally. Erchi heard me coming anyway, so no chance of drowning the big hulk. As I came up alongside him, he dropped his feet and started to tread water, staring at me a bit bemused.

‘What’s the matter?’ You look as though a crab’s caught your toe.’

Not the best place to start an argument–bobbing up and down out of my depth – but I wasn’t prepared to wait. ‘I’ve been talking to Inayah.’

Erchi frowned through a curtain of wet hair. He pushed it away irritably. ‘Didn’t you get on? I was sure that you would.’

‘Oh, don’t worry, I got on with her, it’s you I have the problem with.’

‘Why? What I have I done to upset you? I would have thought you’d be pleased to see me married.’

‘Not married to a woman who was given no choice in the matter. Handed over like a bag of coins just because you did no more than chop off a filthy serpent’s head!’ I spluttered as water went up my nose; shouting not being conducive to staying upright.

Erchi grabbed my arm, holding me up. ‘Before you berate me anymore, let’s go where we can at least stand.’ He started to tow me, but I shook him off and kicked my legs, striking out for the rocks that edged the cove.

The water shallowed suddenly, and I waded the last few yards, wringing water from my hair. Most of the rocks were rough, barnacles and limpets making them poor seats, but there were a couple that had been avoided for some reason. I clambered on top of one, sitting with my feet dangling in the water.  Erchirion stood facing me, his eyes level with mine. I had often seen his characteristic belligerent look, but until now it had seldom been directed towards me.

‘So, what did Inayah actually tell you? Not everything, I presume, or you wouldn’t be hurling flaming barbs my way.’

I opened my mouth and closed it again quickly, suddenly wary that I could have got it wrong, ‘She said you saved her from a snake and so Amal gave her to you.’

‘That’s it? That’s all she told you? She didn’t go on to say anything else?’

‘Well...well.’ Guiltily I realised that I had given her no chance, being so cross that I’d rushed off. But instead of being contrite, I raised my chin defiantly.  ‘What else is there to say? It sounded pretty clear to me.’

‘You mean, Lothy, that you jumped to conclusions.’  Erchi folded his arms, standing in front of me as solid and unyielding as the rock around us. When I didn’t say anything, he fixed me with fierce dark eyes. ‘You’ve a pretty poor opinion of me, haven’t you?’

Glad I was his sister and not his enemy, I sighed. ‘Well, if I made a mistake I apologise.’ I gave him a hesitant smile. ‘So what is the truth?’

He still had a mulish expression and I thought I’d annoyed him so much that he wouldn’t tell me more, but then I noticed a glimmer of amusement start up in his eyes. ‘It was just like Inayah said – I chopped off a snake’s head and was given a wife as a reward.’

But I knew him too well to react to that. And now that my temper had abated somewhat, I brought to mind my first thoughts on their marriage. ‘Come on big brother, tell all.  I did think initially that Dol Amroth’s consummate warrior had fallen in love at last. So there must be more.’

Unusually embarrassed for a moment, he visibly relaxed when I smiled encouragingly, the stiffness leaving his body.  ‘I don’t know why I should tell you,’ he grumbled. ‘Not after your poor treatment of me.’

I made room on the rock and after an initial show of reluctance Erchi came and sat down beside me. He might be the toughest of my brothers, but he was also the most malleable, and I had always been able to manipulate him. ‘Did Amal really give Inayah to you?’ I prompted after a few moments’ silence.

He nodded. ‘But before you get all mouthy again, let me tell you that I tried not to accept his incredible offer. But in the end I had no choice.’

‘Do you mean he forced you to marry her?’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’ He raked through his hair with long calloused fingers; a gesture I recognised, as Éomer often did exactly that when he didn’t quite know what to say. ‘Look Lothy, let me start from the beginning.’

‘A good idea,’ I agreed.

‘Well, I first saw Inayah at the official welcome. She was standing behind Amal’s wife. And I don’t know why even now, but there was something about her that attracted me.’

‘What, all covered up and veiled?’ I interrupted.

He twisted his lips. ‘That just shows what you know about men. It was something about the way she moved and held herself. And she has lovely black eyes.’

Amazed, I stared at him for a moment. He gave me a sheepish look. ‘Go on,’ I said, stunned that after all these years my usually insensitive brother could surprise me.

‘I saw her again later when I went into the pavilion. I went a bit early on purpose,’ he admitted, giving me a self-conscious smile. ‘But I got absolutely nowhere; she wouldn’t even talk to me –mumbled something innocuous and disappeared into the folds of the tent. By then I’d realised she was Amal’s sister anyway, so thought I’d better go easy. There were plenty more women thrown in front of us, no need for anyone to go short.’ He threw me a sideways look.

‘I know. Éomer told me.’

Erchi chuckled. ‘Smug idiot.’

‘Never mind Éomer’s morals! How could you justify sampling every available woman around, and then marry another only a few weeks later?’

‘I didn’t know I was going to get married, did I?  Had no intention of it, actually.’

That was certainly true. I couldn’t help grinning at him. He’d always made no secret of his preference for casual relationships.  But the thought that Inayah had no choice still festered. ‘So what changed?’

Erchi shrugged. ‘I saw her a couple of times, flitting about, trying to avoid being seen. As I said, I was attracted. To be honest, the easy meat was beginning to choke me, so I decided to try and get a word with her.  I hung around near the armoury, where I had a good view of the women’s tents, for a couple of mornings hoping to catch her on her own. That last morning I decided to give up. I told myself I was a fool to even try and get near her and stalked off. But some instinct, a tension in the air maybe, made me turn around and that’s when I saw Inayah mesmerised by that snake. Luckily I had a clear line to it.’

He looked down at the water swirling foam around our feet. ‘I wondered at first why she was so panicky even after the thing was dead. Of course, when Amal spoke to me I realised. Poor girl! What a prospect – to be pushed into a marriage with me.’

‘It’s a disgusting practice. I hope you told Prince Amal that.’

‘No, not in those words, I didn’t.’ He raised black brows. ‘I am surprised at you, Lothy. I’m not notorious for my tact, but even I know better than that.’

Erchi was right of course; my anger had pushed away rational thought, as it often did. ‘But you’re not a woman, are you.’ I sighed; exasperated by customs I had little hope of changing. ‘Arranged marriages in Gondor are bad enough, but at least the woman gets some say. To be given away like a ...’

‘Hang on! I didn’t say I accepted.’

‘Then what did you say?’

‘That I needed to talk to her. I made it plain to Amal that it wasn’t our way and I couldn’t consider taking a wife against her will. But if we got to know one another, and she was agreeable, then of course I would be honoured.   You have to realise how insulting it would have been for me to have totally refused. She’s Amal sister.’

I shrugged, sure he could have got out of the situation had he wanted to. But obviously, he had been quite happy. More and more it became clear that Erchi had followed the tradition of the males in my family and fallen in love almost instantly. I would have found it funny had I not still been concerned for Inayah. But my suppressed mirth made me flippant. ‘So you had to woo her? What did you do, flex your muscles?’

‘I talked to her,’ he shot back. ‘In spite of what you think, I can hold a conversation on something other than war!’

‘I know, I am sorry,’ I said, putting my hand on his arm. ‘But it’s such a strange situation.’

‘You’re telling me! That old crone sat in on every meeting. And I bet she’s not as deaf as she makes out.’

I didn’t think Luja was at all deaf, but I kept my mouth shut. The thought of Erchi being able to do nothing more than talk to a woman to try and persuade her to marry him was so incredible that I could hardly stop from laughing out loud. ‘So you talked to her. Watched over by her maid. I’m fascinated to find out how you persuaded her to marry you.’

‘I don’t know what I said, I just talked. I explained how we lived here, what her life would be like. I told her that I was attracted to her and if she would do me the honour of becoming my wife, I would try and be a good husband... That’s the normal thing, isn’t it?’ he sputtered out when he saw the scepticism on my face.

‘And she said yes, just like that?’

‘Not really,’ he admitted. ‘I had to convince her...’ he hesitated...’not that the idea horrified her or anything, but she didn’t want to deceive me.’

‘Deceive you. What about?’ Although I had a pretty good idea. It fascinated me that she had actually discussed it with him.

‘Well, she was a war widow. From what Amal said, I reckon her husband got shafted by one of Amroth’s lot. I kept that quiet. But that’s not the point – she’s got no children although she’d been married for years. That’s a big stigma out there, and it embarrassed her a lot. But I didn’t tell her that Amal had already filled me in on that. He apologised for her barrenness in the same breath he offered her...’

But...’ I stopped, jamming my teeth together to stop me from letting out what I knew. Then the anger came back. ‘I suppose a woman’s not worth much if she can’t breed.’

Erchi sighed. ‘Look, I’m not saying I agree with it, but it’s their business, not ours.’

I took a calming breath, imagining what would have been said of me had I not produced an heir for Rohan.  And what still might be said if no more arrived, as I feared. Éomer couldn’t even take a second wife. ‘You told her it didn’t matter if she couldn’t have children?’

‘I wanted her, not children. I made that plain. She had difficulty believing it, but agreed to marry me.’

‘You don’t think you’ll regret not having your own family?’

‘Not at all. From what I can see children are nothing but trouble. Imagine having a little pest like Alphros to deal with.’

I turned away so Erchi would not see the glee on my face. He was in for a big surprise.

To be continued.

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Prince Amal                           Ruler of Near Harad.

Inayah                                     Amal’s half-sister. Married Erchirion.

Luja                                          Inayah’s servant from Harad,

Swansong 12

Celebration Part IV

When I came out of the water, Inayah had Devoran sitting one side of her and Calaerdis the other, so I had no chance of hearing any more revelations about her relationship with Erchirion. She seemed happy, and her eyes smiled at me, so I pushed curiosity aside, my worry being slightly eased by Erchirion’s assurance that she had agreed to wed him.

However, at dinner that night, seeing her looking so different from the other ladies, I resolved to continue my mission to persuade her to embrace a little more of our culture. I didn’t think she needed to dress like conventional Gondorians, of course – after all I preferred to follow my own style – but I still thought it would be better if she dispensed with her veil. 

It was mid-afternoon the next day before I had any time to myself.  I had spent the morning with Amroth, Elenna, Éomer and Elfwine.  Amroth had kindly given one of Drummer and Avorn’s pups to Elfwine. Any foreboding I had of the havoc Drummer’s offspring might unleash on Meduseld was tempered by the thought of the protection the pup would offer to my small son. That was if the dog showed an ounce of Drummer’s loyalty. It was already apparent the pup would grow into a big, rangy animal by the length of its legs and the size of its feet. One with the tenacity of an errant jackdaw, as trying to stop the young thug from running off with any unattended article of clothing was proving nigh on impossible. But Amroth was convinced the pup only needed training to turn it into the ideal companion for a young prince, and had decided to take this upon himself, whilst instructing Elfwine how to manage a dog at the same time.

So Éomer and I had spent an amusing morning watching Amroth imparting his knowledge to a precocious three and a half year-old who thought he knew better than his uncle. Elfwine called his new dog Scar, owing to it sporting a slight blemish near its ear from a run-in with the kitchen cat. Little Elenna sniffed at this choice of name, and took no further interest in the proceedings, plonking herself down in the grass to play with the flowers.

After a while, seeing that Elfwine was engrossed in the difficult task of persuading Scar to lie down, I sat with her, enjoying the sun on my face and the constant murmur of the waves way below us. I realised that I missed the sound of the sea, whether it be a stormy day when the breakers crashed against the rocks, or a day like today when the surf sang a quiet lullaby that could easily have me closing my eyes. The noises I heard in Meduseld were sharper and more immediate – the ringing challenge of the doorwards, the neighing of horses, or the clash of weapons rising from the training fields.  True, birds sang in our small garden and when outside I could hear the tinkle of water as the spring poured into the stone basin beneath the terrace, but it wasn’t until I rode away from Edoras that I heard the soft sigh of the grasses as the wind rippled their seeded heads. Very different was my new home from the place of my birth, which made me sympathetic to any disquiet Inayah might feel living so far from her own lands.

So, after the noon meal, when the men settled around the table to discuss the possibilities of any further problems with Gondor’s enemies, and Devoran and Byrde had taken the children to draw in the library, I made my way to the garden. Calaerdis had told me that Inayah liked to spend a quiet hour beside the carp ponds, watching the bright fish and feeding the little birds that came down to bathe. It promised to be an ideal location to continue my talk with her.

Care had been lavished on the garden since the war, as it had on all the green places around the palace and the city that had been a bit neglected during the black days. It seemed right to celebrate the downfall of darkness by embracing the joy of nature and allowing the beauty of flowers and plants to soften hard stone. The arched entrance to the formal garden dripped white jasmine, welcoming visitors at dusk with its heady, sweet scent. But in mid-afternoon it was the showy oleanders lining the pebbled path that filled the air with fragrance.

I could see Inayah sitting on a bench shaded by a large Tamarisk tree.  There were many small birds at her feet and she was breaking off pieces of cake and sprinkling them around. With a flurry of colourful wings, the birds took off at the first scrunch of my footsteps. Disappearing into the bushes that surrounded the pond, they scolded me from their safe perches. Inayah jumped, and looked up, fingers reaching for her veil that she had pushed aside. But when she saw it was me she smiled, letting her hand drop to her lap.

I made my way towards her, thinking that she really was a lovely looking woman, with her almond shaped eyes and dark skin as smooth as satin. She had thrown off her outer garment and wore a vibrant sapphire robe embroidered with silver thread. Stopping just before I reached her seat, I stood looking down into the clear pond. The fish were huge – some golden, some bright yellow, others white with blotches of black and gold. I caught her gaze fixed on me, and laughed. ‘When I was a child, egged on by Amroth of course, I put soap in the fountain in the courtyard. The suds spilled everywhere, but worse, I had no idea the fountain fed the ponds.’

‘Oh...’ Inayah frowned. ‘Were the fish hurt?’

‘Luckily the gardener was in here working. But it was a frantic rescue operation. I am not sure if my grandfather ever forgave me.’

She laughed. ‘I am sure he did. And I am sure you never did anything like that again.’

‘No, but I have done other stupid things.’ I sat down beside her and sighed. ‘I sometimes act without thought, especially when my ire is up.’

‘Ah, are you trying to explain why you rushed off to confront Erchirion about marrying me? He told me that you were swift to come to the defence of downtrodden women.’

I was inordinately glad that he had discussed it with her; to me that spoke well of their relationship. ‘He said he gave you the choice, and you were happy to marry him. That’s true isn’t it?’

Her slight hesitation caused a cold feeing to well up in my stomach. Maybe I had been right all along. ‘You had no choice, had you?’ My voice sounded hollow, reflecting my disappointment.

‘No, but I would not like Erchirion to know that.’

I pushed down my anger. It would get us nowhere and nothing could now be changed. ‘I find it difficult to comprehend that a woman could be given away just because a man did something so simple as to cut the head from a threatening serpent.’

Inayah put her hand on my arm. ‘Lothíriel, you must understand that it could have been different. If my rescuer had been from Harad, my brother would have offered me, but in all likelihood the man would have refused...’

I gasped... ‘But Erchirion said it would have been insulting to refuse Amal’s offer.’

‘It depends how it is done. Most would not presume to take their prince’s sister in that way.  A high-born man from my country would know exactly how to phrase his refusal without causing offence, using a lot of flowery words about not being worthy of the honour of taking me for a wife, with much bowing and obeisance to my brother. Amal would reward him in some other way. A poor man would probably grovel on the floor saying he was unworthy, and my brother would instead pay him with coin.’

‘But Erchirion did not know this.’

‘No.’

‘Amal didn’t tell him, and neither did you.’

‘No, he never knew.’

‘But why...’ I gasped again as suddenly the answer hit me. ‘It was because it suited your brother to have even closer links with Dol Amroth.’

Inayah bowed her head, not meeting my eyes. ‘My brother has been good to me; I could not go against him in this. The support of Gondor and your father makes his rule more stable.  It is for our people’s sake that he wants a peaceful Harad with no more fighting amongst the tribes. I am with him in this.’

‘You sacrificed yourself.’ I shook my head; angry, sad and stunned all at the same time.

But Inayah laughed. ‘I don’t consider it a sacrifice. Oh, it is true that at first I was full of panic when I realised that Amal would offer me.’ Her lovely face coloured slightly. ‘I could not fail to notice that Erchirion was interested in me. In fact my brother had already pondered over it.  Fate delivered me into both their hands, but once I had talked a while to Erchirion and got to know him, then I began to think that fate had grasped me firmly, leading me towards a better future.’

‘So you were not displeased.’

‘Your brother is a worthy man, a renowned warrior, which gives him much status in my land. The stigma of barrenness hung over me, which meant that if I wanted to marry again, Amal would have had to pay much for any high-born man of my country to take me as a wife. But Erchirion said it didn’t bother him.’

I choked, turning it into a cough. Inayah caught my eyes, but then carried on when I said nothing.

‘I love my country, but for a woman such as me, especially being widowed, life is very restricting. Erchirion told me what it would be like here and the freedoms I would enjoy. So no, in the end I was not displeased.’

‘You are happy?’ I could see that she was, and knew that Erchirion revelled in his marriage. It would be better for all if the devious way he had been caught did not become known. Anyway, who could blame Amal for taking such an opportunity?

Inayah smiled, her eyes alight. ‘I am. Erchirion is a good husband and I care for him deeply. I think I will be even happier when I get better acquainted with your family and more familiar with the way of things here. It still seems very strange to mix so freely with men. Although none have treated me with anything other than respect.’

‘Is that why you keep your veil on, because you are nervous with all the men you are likely to meet once you are away from the family quarters?’ I had to bring it up somehow, and hoped I’d chosen the right time.

Her face coloured again. ‘True, it is tradition, but also I feel slightly uncomfortable at the thought of going without it when there are men I don’t know around me. I have taken it off when I am with just the family; perhaps in a little while I will be able to do so at other times.’

‘I hope you will, because I believe that you would be accepted more by the common people. Keep your head covered by all means, but hiding one’s expression can be seen as a little furtive to those that do not understand.’ 

‘I see, I did not realise that.’

‘I married into another culture, and there were things I found daunting. When Edoras became my home, I had to get used to living much closer to people who were not family members. I found the lack of privacy quite difficult at first. Éomer lives with his guards and their families and even the servants in one big hall. Only a few rooms are separate and private, and we hardly ever eat alone. The people would not understand if we shut ourselves away.’

She nodded. ‘I do realise it would be better if I did gain courage to remove my veil, but I would still like to keep close to my way of dressing. And Erchirion likes it; he says our clothes are elegant and colourful.’

‘They are, once you remove your black outer garments. It might be best not to shroud yourself quite so much.’

‘I would like to do as you say, but as a woman in Harad I have had little contact with men other than my father, brother and husband.  I think I would feel exposed without robes when I walk in the city. It was difficult the first time I ate in the Feast Hall, I thought everyone was watching me.’

‘I imagine they were if you had to push your veil aside for each mouthful, they would have thought that very strange.’

Her lips twitched. ‘I suppose they did. It’s very awkward, which is maybe why Harad women do not eat in public.’

‘It is not up to me to tell you how to conduct yourself, but from my experiences I would say that it would be easier to become established in your new home if you conform a little more to expected convention. I am sure you will get used to it, and no man here would dare offer Erchirion’s wife anything other than the greatest respect.’

Inayah laughed. ‘I imagine that is true, but I will have a fight with Luja; she will say that I have given up my heritage, especially if I remove my veil.’

Blow what the servant thought! ‘But what would your brother think, seeing that he wanted you to strengthen relations with Dol Amroth? Surely he would wish you to do everything you can to be accepted here.’

‘Yes, you are right, he would. And I have no wish to appear strange. I do not want to give up all my traditions, but if removal of my veil and a little adjustment to my dress would make me look less different, even though the thought makes me nervous, I am willing to do that.’

‘I am sure it would be worth considering.  A slight alteration to the style of your garments will make a big difference. You will still look like a lady from Harad, but not as far removed from the other wives as you do now. Calaerdis would help you; she has a real knack with clothes.’

Inayah laughed. ‘You are very persuasive. But I think you are right. To be honest I have been thinking about this very thing and wondering what to do. If it wasn’t for Luja I might have arrived without my veil, as Erchirion suggested. But once I arrived with it on, it felt even more difficult to take it off and change my way of dressing. But I will give the matter great thought and try and ignore Luja.’

‘You will have to be firm, even if she grouches. If Erchirion is on your side then you can say you are just obeying your husband. I am sure he will soon make it plain to her.’

‘Luja disappears when he’s around. She is appalled that he does not consider my rooms to be private.’

I must have shown my surprise, because Inayah raised her brows in amusement. ‘I know it seems odd to you, but in my country men and women lead separate lives for a great deal of the time.’

I giggled inwardly – maybe that was why she had been barren. Trying hard to show no trace of my wayward thoughts, I brought up another subject that confused me. ‘There is something I am curious about. I hope I don’t offend you with this, but Éomer told me about the dancers. I find it odd that some women can appear scantily dressed in front of men and the rest have to cover themselves completely.’

 ‘So do the dancers when they are not working. It would be improper for any woman to appear uncovered in public.’

‘But not improper to...please the men.’

She looked strangely at me before she answered, as if I had said something bizarre. ‘For others, yes, of course, they would be ostracised, banished from their families. But for the women of the Abayas, it is their role, their birthright. And there is no shame in what they do. It is a skilled profession.’

Aware I was staring at her with my mouth open, I firmly shut my lips together. Was she telling me that these girls were born with no hope of being anything other than a harlot? I tried not to show my shock. ‘That is indeed astonishing to us.’

Her eyes opened wide. ‘But you have women who fulfil the same role, surely.’

‘Yes...but they are considered to be loose women and are shunned by others.’  

‘And you think that is fair?’

I found that difficult to answer; my sense of right was shaken by a completely different view on something I had thought so clear. ‘Our traditions are far different on this point. It is hard for me to change ideas I have grown up with.’ I smiled. ‘Perhaps I am wrong asking you to change some of your customs.’

‘No, I have heeded your words. They have helped strengthen my resolve. I am happy in my marriage, Lothíriel. Happy to live closely with your family.’ She stood up, her hand going fleetingly to her stomach. ‘I hope...’ But she shook her head. ‘It would please me to give Erchirion a child, perhaps the gods will be kind to me.’

‘You think there is a possibility?’ I probed.

For a moment longing flashed across her face, then she gave me a tepid smile. ‘It is too early to tell, perhaps I am imagining it. When one wants something so much...’

‘Inayah,’ I jumped to my feet and squeezed her arm, ‘I think you will have good news very soon now.’

                                                                        ooo

I had done all I could, it would be useless to keep on at Inayah; she understood the need to integrate herself and only had to find the courage. It couldn’t be easy, and I tried to imagine how I would feel in her position. My mind naturally went back to my childhood run-ins with Umar, not anywhere near the same, of course, but the thought of men leering at one could be daunting even as a grown woman. Not that I thought anyone would leer at her, not in Dol Amroth anyway. Then I giggled to myself – Erchirion had lusted after her, in spite of the concealing robes.

A good few days’ relaxation followed my talk with Inayah whilst Éomer and I concentrated on Elfwine, introducing him to the fun that could be had on or near the sea and making sure he was confident in the water. A visit to one of the islands was therefore a must, and a small flotilla carrying family and friends set sail one fine morning. My father and Calaerdis stayed behind, finalizing the arrangements for their wedding, and so did Devoran as the hot weather made her very tired. But the still airs persuaded Meren to come, the thought of being rowed across flat water being more pleasing to her than an exhilarating sail that some of us enjoyed. Unusually Elphir left his duties behind, keen for his two eldest sons to brush-up on fire-making and the rudiments of camp cookery. No reason he could not teach them if he stirred himself, and Amroth took them out a lot, but Elphir was quick to take advantage of the presence of Eóthain and Déor. The Rohirrim were acknowledged as being masters of living in the wilds.

I didn’t think Inayah would join us. But she arrived at the quayside arm in arm with Erchirion and, without giving her any chance to protest, my hulking great brother swept her into his arms, robes and all, depositing her towards the middle of one of the boats so that she would not get wet.

‘I wish she’d let herself go a bit more,’ Byrde whispered as we gathered the children together. Welwyn nodded her head; she had left baby Eadrid with young Eldir under the care of Meren’s nursemaid, and looked intent on enjoying the day.

‘Inayah will in time, I’m sure.’  

Byrde shrugged, and concentrated on keeping hold of Elenna whilst Amroth brought one of the boats close to the steps. Seeing my friend hand in hand with the lively little girl brought on a stab of sympathy – Bryde’s failure to conceive was a still a raw wound. My own anguish surfaced for a moment, but I squashed it firmly as Éomer had told me to do. Maybe I was wrong and I had not lost the chance of having more children.

The island as always provided a perfect place for a bit of respite from our formal lives and I was content to let the men take charge of Elfwine, Amroth teaching him how to rig a hook and line and cast it into the water. Alphros, however, confident of his skills with rod and fire, preferred to spar with Erchirion, using some of the driftwood as makeshift swords and spears. Inayah watched them intently and I wondered at her thoughts, hoping that she would soon be aware of the joy to come to her.

Then the next day I found out that my suggestions to Inayah had not gone unheeded. She took me aside after the noon meal saying that she wanted a word, so we walked together up onto the battlements to try and get a breath of wind, the day being hot and humid.

I wore a lightweight green linen dress with loose sleeves, Inayah had on a flowing robe in dark blue that covered her head to foot. And of course she wore her veil.

We moved well away from the guards and stood looking out to sea; the water shimmered in the heat, the fishing boats not moving in the still air. A haze hid the islands, the far horizon merging into the summer sky. She hadn’t said what she wanted to talk about, so I waited for her to voice her thoughts. When she remained silent, I sighed.

 ‘I love looking out to sea, and I miss it. Just as I imagine you miss the desert.’

‘They are both empty spaces that can be beautiful, but also cruel. Today the sea looks benign, but I imagine it can rise up as an angry monster when the storms come.’

‘True, but I love the wild days when the waves crash against the rocks and the spume blows high over the palace.’

‘That will be something else for me to get used to. Our storms bring different dangers.’

‘As Amroth found out.’

‘He was lucky. I have only ever seen one sandstorm and it was horrible. They are usually only a problem in the deep desert.’ She turned towards me, her velvet eyes unfathomable. ‘Our way of dress evolved because of where we lived. Covering one’s body and face is only sensible to keep it protected from the searing heat of the sun and the abrasive effects of the blowing sands.’

Ah, had she reached a decision? I smiled. ‘That makes total sense; the accepted dress for ladies in Rohan is very different from that in Gondor. It would be stupid to insist that women always wore skirts and petticoats for a life spent around horses.’

‘Of course, and I have given the problem of convention a lot of thought these last few days. When we went to the island, I was envious of the freedom your clothes gave you to move. I decided that I must fully embrace my new life whilst not losing who I am. So I spoke to Calaerdis as you suggested and she gave me some good advice.’

‘Did she, I am not surprised. She is very wise.’ And discreet because she had said nothing to me. ‘What did she say?’

‘She understood my discomfort, and also that I now felt awkward about altering my style of dress, having worn my own clothes since I arrived here. She suggested that I make the change at her wedding, because it represents a new beginning here, a substantial alteration in the way things are. Also, people’s eyes and thoughts will be concentrated on their prince and his bride. I will be only a small player that day and what I do will not be important.’

‘An excellent idea. And many of those coming for the wedding you will not have met; they will accept how you choose to look on the day. Did Calaerdis give you any help in what to wear?’

‘Yes, she took me to the seamstress’ this morning, who have luckily finished all the other wedding outfits. I am having some clothes made that will not overly show the form of my body, but look nearer to the styles worn in Gondor.’ She smiled, her eyes shining. ‘I think they will be lovely.’

I clutched her arm impulsively. ’Oh, I am so glad. Calaerdis designed a whole new wardrobe for me before my marriage. I loved the riding skirts the best, but I don’t suppose you would consider wearing anything that resembles trousers.’

‘Now in that you are wrong, I wear them a lot whilst in my private quarters. I could not wear the same kind in public of course, as they are made from semi-transparent material, but I have talked to Calaerdis about adaptations.’

Semi-transparent trousers! I bet my big brother enjoyed that.

                                                                             ooo

The talk on everyone’s lips on the morning of the wedding concerned our chances of getting through the day before the weather broke. No one could doubt that the stifling heat would soon be eased by the clash of thunder and the deluge that would follow. Luckily the guest list was a lot smaller than my own wedding and everyone had a place in the Great Hall. Many nobles of Gondor were here, including, of course, Aragorn, Faramir and their families. But Prince Amal had declined, feeling that with his country not long recovered from war, he had duties at home. I wondered if this pleased or saddened Inayah.

The sky darkened as the time approached, and I thought it fortuitous that father had decided against taking Calaerdis to the tower for their wedding night. Instead they were staying in the palace for a short while before they took a trip to Ithilien and then to Minas Tirith.  I could understand his choice, carrying off a second bride to the tower would only awake bittersweet memories.

Ready early myself, and wearing a traditional gown in the deep-red popular in Rohan, I was impatient to see how Inayah would look. I couldn’t help being more interested in her outfit than in Calaerdis’ dress, which I had no doubt would be elegant and eye-catching.

When she came in, with Erchirion holding on to her possessively, there was an audible gasp from those around me. She might not be the centre of attention once the bride appeared, but at that moment all eyes were on her.

Her face was unveiled, although part of her hair was covered by a gauzy net sparkling with tiny stones. She wore a full-length garment reminiscent of Gondorian surcoats, but cut with more material to mask her curves. The sleeveless surcoat, made from a deep peacock-blue silk, had been put over a shimmering long-sleeved dress of a lighter shade, embroidered lavishly with the silver thread she favoured. I guessed that this was from her own wardrobe, and that Calaerdis had designed the surcoat to blend with it, combining Harad and Gondorian styles into an attractive whole. Modest but beautiful. I could tell from the murmurs from the family around me that all approved.

I caught her eye as she walked past me to her place; she smiled but I could sense the strain of being under such scrutiny from so many. Luckily, within moments, the trumpets sounded and attention turned to the big doors that would open to allow entrance for my father’s bride.

To be continued.

Original Characters appearing in this chapter.

Prince Amal                           Ruler of Near Harad.

Inayah                                     Amal’s half-sister. Married Erchirion.

Luja                                          Inayah’s servant from Harad.

Umar                                     Previous Prince of Harad who tried to kidnap Lothíriel.

Calaerdis                     A Gondorian widow, mistress to Imrahil.

Meren                                  Married to Elphir.

Eldir                            Third son to Elphir and Meren.

Devoran                      Daughter of Duinhir of Morthond, married to Amrothos.

Elenna                         Daughter of Amrothos and Devoran.

Déor                               Friend to Éomer, Captain of Lothíriel’s guard.

Byrde                          Married to Déor.   

Welwyn                      Daughter of Erkenbrand, married to Eóthain.

Eadrid                         Youngest child to Welwyn and Eóthain

Swansong 13

Confession - Part I

Edoras FA 53

‘I’ve brought you a hot drink. Are you sure you will not get too cold out here, Lothíriel?’

Byrde’s voice jerked me from my reverie. ‘I am sorry, Lothíriel. Were you dozing?’ She handed me a steaming mug, and fussed with the shawl, pulling it closer around my shoulders. I sniffed. Honey and milk, they must think I needed building up. 

‘I wasn’t asleep, just thinking.’ I smiled, still immersed in my memories. ‘In fact I was remembering my father’s wedding.’ I took a cautious sip from the mug – so sweet.

Byrde sighed and sat down on the stone bench nearest to me. ‘That was a long time ago, but I still remember what a lovely day we had. Calaerdis looked wonderful. Her dress was so tasteful, but rich and luxurious: the pearl encrusted collar, cuffs and belt just enough with the silver-grey silk.’

A few sips of the milk and I gave up, cradling the warm mug in my hands. ‘She certainly looked stunning, and my father visibly blanched with awe when the door opened and she came towards him. I am glad they had many happy years together.’

‘Yes.’  Byrde smiled. ‘Strangely the details of the wedding are so clear after all this time. My other memory is of Inayah. She looked striking too, and definitely turned many heads. I know you had a hand in that.’

I laughed, remembering my feeble efforts. One would think a queen would be more of a diplomat, but I had always been impulsive. ‘I tried, but I cannot claim all the credit, Inayah was halfway there herself. Do you remember the next evening when she could hardly stop from smiling?’

Byrde nodded.  ‘She had finally realised she was carrying Erchirion’s child and the barrenness had not been her fault at all.’

‘No, her joy overflowed. Everyone in the palace was affected by it. But I think the most surprised was Erchirion. I have never seen my tough brother so stunned.’

‘It was definitely an unforgettable visit.’  Byrde grinned. ‘There must have been something in the Dol Amroth air that summer. I conceived Caedda, after all that time. Perhaps I have the power of the waves and the wind to thank for it. At least that is what I have always thought.’

I could understand that. Her only child had been conceived within sight and sound of the sea. My heart lurched, so glad for her happiness, but I dismissed with a shake of my head the surfacing of remembered anguish – all my hopes that the Valar would listen to my pleas and I might bear another child were dashed over and over during the long years. But that did not temper my joy for Byrde as she relished her motherhood. Though the sea had drawn Caedda back, as it often does. He had asked to be fostered in Dol Amroth as soon as he was old enough, our many visits through his growing up fuelling his love for the coastal lands. In spite of her misgivings Byrde had let him go. Caedda had become a Swan-knight and married Amroth’s youngest daughter.

‘You have been amply repaid for letting him follow his heart,’ I said, guessing what was going through her mind by the wistful look on her face.  Byrde smiled, deep in her own thoughts. ‘Yes, it’s funny, isn’t it? Caedda wanted nothing more than to live by the sea and yet Osmund couldn’t wait to come here and work with the horses.’

Osmund was Caedda’s second son; he’d come to Edoras and now Byrde had a grandson settled close by, with the hope of great-grandchildren to come.

So many children had run in and out of Meduseld over the long years. My brothers’ offspring visited regularly – Elphir’s boys to improve their skills with horses, Erchirion’s beautiful dark-skinned daughters to spend time with me, his warrior son to learn all he could of mounted battle.  And Carafin, Amroth’s eldest boy, who had inherited his grandfather’s love of the mountains and had gladly taken up his place as Lord of Morthond when he came of age.

Lurking deep within me might be the longing for more of them to have been mine, but Elfwine had married young and produced five, so in the end there was no fear that the House of Eorl would wane. And of course, unexpected and unforeseen by those who had tried to shape the destiny of this land, fate contrived to make certain Éomer’s line would not falter.

I leant back in my chair and closed my eyes. Byrde took the mug from my hand and slipped quietly away and I let myself return to the incredible day when Éomer had discovered something that rocked him to his very core.

ooooo

Meduseld – FA9

Smooth flesh slid under my fingers as I massaged the unguent deep into Éomer’s shoulder. As much as I nagged my husband about overdoing the bouts at the training fields, I enjoyed easing his sore muscles and tight tendons.  He lay on the bed naked to the waist, which was a joy in itself as the sight of his sculpted, powerful back and mane of thick tawny hair never ceased to thrill me. Kneeling astride his buttocks could easily make me forget the primary reason we were on our bed in the late afternoon, but giggling inwardly, I pushed aside temptation and worked my knuckles along the edge of the big flat bone that supported his shoulder, applying enough pressure to release the tension without causing any more pain. Once the flesh had softened there, I concentrated on the point where the shoulder met the arm. Here I used small circular movements intended to ease the stiffened joint beneath.

After a while my fingers started to ache. As I brought the treatment to a close, I heard the first rumble of thunder. It had been threatening all day, the air hot and humid, sucking energy. But still the warriors of Edoras had battled each other. Leaning forward, I kissed Éomer on the back of his neck, letting my lips linger on his firm flesh. ‘That’s enough, I think. How does it feel?’ I sat up straight, looking towards the window, eager to welcome the relief of the coming storm; the room had darkened whilst I had been concentrating.

A murmur of pleasure came from underneath the mass of hair that had been pushed aside to allow me access. ‘Wonderful as always.’

I laughed. ‘I meant the pain, not the treatment.’

Éomer waggled his shoulder experimentally. ‘Well, that’s much better too.’

‘For how long, Éomer? I have told you to be careful, that shoulder is always going to give you trouble.’

‘But worth it, don’t you think? I can always be sure of your undivided attention when I am in pain.’

Chuckling, I leant forward again, this time covering his body with mine, relishing the feel of his hard flesh through my thin dress. ‘I must get up and light a candle,’ I murmured without any real intention of moving, ‘it’s getting quite dark.’

‘Not yet.’ Éomer heaved up, and I toppled over, sprawling inelegantly onto the bed. A moment later he had pinned me down, his lips inches from mine. ‘Now what shall we do? It’s ages before supper will be ready.’

I giggled, half-heartily struggling to push him off. It was like trying to shift a Mûmak. ‘You will undo all the good I have done if you carry on like this.’

His lips brushed mine, their warmth sending a tingle down my spine.

‘As I said, well worth it.  And anyway, it will be a good excuse for you to work on my shoulder again.’

At that moment lightning flickered across the room, and with it came a flash of awareness that made me gasp aloud. The words were out before I could stop them. ‘Éomer, who was the woman who used to massage your shoulder?’

 Éomer froze, looking down at me with guilt all over his face.  I thought I had really upset him, but then he laughed.

‘Talk about spoiling a mood. Whoever she was, I knew her way before I met you.’

‘I don’t doubt that,’ I said, looking deep into his guileless eyes. ‘And I am not bothered by your past relationships at all. Just interested. I know about Bergit, and I’m sure that whoever I sensed, it wasn’t her.’ Éomer had told me all about Bergit and Edwick and the guilt he still carried deep within himself. But he had done all he could for their children over the years, even when his favouritism had caused talk. Talk I cut dead whenever I caught furtive whisperings muttered behind mischievous hands.

‘Go on,’ I prompted. ‘Who was she? I get the impression she might have been skilled.’

Éomer sighed and rolled off me. He smiled indulgently, and reached out to gently push a lock of my dishevelled hair back behind my ears. ‘There are no secrets from you, are there?’

‘Not many,’ I agreed.  I fixed him with my eyes, my lips twitching at the uncomfortable look on his face.

‘Do you really want to know?’ he asked when I continued to stare at him. The uncomfortable look changed to one of patient resignation when I nodded. ‘I suppose I will have to tell you, as you will keep on until you wear me down.’

How true: he knew me well. ‘I am intrigued, because I somehow I feel an empathy with her. Although I have no idea why.’

‘Probably because she was a healer.’ He cast me a sideways look.  ‘But it beats me how you can so easily pick up on her at all.’

‘Because I have been using my skills a lot during the recent outbreak of summer fever.’ Luckily, after months of argument and conflict when I first came to this land, Master Éofor had reluctantly conceded that my skills should not go to waste. In the end a clash with remnants of scavenging orcs, who came down from their hideaways in the Misty Mountains to raid the herds, had been responsible for him coming to see that a woman and a queen did not necessarily flinch from hideous injuries and bloody gore. Now uneasy mutual admiration existed between us. But using my gifts had repercussions. ‘Always I am shown more when I work with the sick and needy, or when life is quiet with time for reflection. If I spend my days dancing and having fun I see little.’

Éomer laughed. ‘I’ll remember that.  It will pay me to make sure that Meduseld is always filled with noise, I might keep my past to myself that way.’

Did I spot a little wariness in his eyes? I wound a length of his hair around my fingers, snuggling closer. ‘If you really don’t want to tell me, I will understand.’

His arm went around me, strong and secure. We often talked like this, lying next to each other on the bed, stealing a few moments of peace in a hectic life.  ‘No, I have nothing to hide. Guleth was a healer I met at Cormallen. She treated my shoulder in the same way as you have done. Which is maybe why you were able to sense her.’

‘A healer?  How extraordinary. I can’t envisage any I worked with in Minas Tirith climbing into your bed.’

Éomer laughed again. ‘No, most were ancient, and if they weren’t, wearing those grey smocks made one forget they were women.’

‘That’s the idea, I imagine, with hundreds of battle-weary men to deal with.  But Guleth was young?’

‘Yes, and she wasn’t a fully trained healer. She came from the mountains with her husband to the City; he wanted to be a soldier. Guleth assisted in the Healing Houses. But her husband was killed on the Pelennor and since she had skills with herbs and potions, she worked throughout the war. All help was needed.’

‘Understandable that anyone with ability would be welcome. So who taught her the skills?’

‘Her mother. I remember Guleth saying that she was one of the gifted ones. If I am being honest, Lothíriel, it was because of my previous relationship with Guleth that I accepted your gifts so easily. At one time I would have been uncertain of marrying a healer. And in fact when I heard that Imrahil’s daughter worked with the sick, I thought that she...you...must be odd.’

 ‘Hmmm...interesting.’ I smiled; it must have been a bit of a shock for him. ‘I remember asking you once if my being a healer bothered you. But you were very sure that it would cause no problems.’

‘Yes.’ His brow creased in thought. ‘I recalled that Guleth once told me that her father had totally accepted her mother’s way of life. She said that to stop her mother using her gift would be like cutting off her arm. Her father understood that. I knew that I would need to be as understanding if I wanted you. And once I had seen you deal with your guardsman’s broken leg it became obvious that you should not give up your calling completely.’

‘So I have Guleth to thank you were not shocked by my unusual traits.’ 

He chuckled, and turned his head to kiss my cheek. ‘I suppose you have.’

I found myself becoming more and more curious about this woman who’d had such an effect on my husband. ‘What happened to your Guleth?’

‘She went home to Lamedon.  Not at my suggestion, I might add. In fact, I admit that at the time I was sorry to see her go, although I respected her decision. I was torn between wanting to carry on our relationship and knowing that I could not really take her to Edoras and make her my queen. She knew that, and made the decision for me.’

‘That was noble of her.’

Éomer sighed.  ‘Yes, more noble than I deserved. Although I will say that I did not set out to seduce her, she made the first approach, although I gratefully accepted. After the horror of the Pelennor and the terror of the march to the Black Gates, she healed more than my shoulder.’

I squeezed his arm. ‘Then I am even more grateful to her – the men that came home to Dol Amroth were battle-scarred in mind and body. If she eased your nightmares then she has my thanks.’ I wondered for a moment exactly how much of Éomer’s heart she had held, albeit briefly.  But maybe it was best not to know. ‘You say she went back to Lamedon, and that was that the last you heard of her.’

‘Yes, I gave her a horse as she intended to take on her mother’s role, travelling through the mountains dispensing herbs and medicines to the villagers.’

‘A horse? That was kind of you to let one of Rohan’s horses go to Lamedon, but I am surprised she could ride.’

‘She had ridden a pony and evidently her brother had horses. She said he owned a vineyard and the horses pulled the carts to deliver the casks of wine. She was sure he would be happy to look after the mare I gave her.’

‘But you never checked up.’

‘I thought it better to lose all contact. She seemed to want that.’

‘I wonder why?’ A noble woman indeed to give up a king so easily, but perhaps she knew there was no hope. ‘Maybe she found it difficult to walk away from you and thought the only way to cope was to cut you out of her life.’

‘That might be true. But whatever, I was grateful in the end. Eóthain persuaded me that it was better for us all.’

At that moment there was a great flash across the window, followed seconds later by a loud roll of thunder.  Éomer turned his head, as we heard shouting outside. ‘They are going to douse the stable roof; someone must think it’s going to be a bad storm.’

 He started to shift from the bed, but I grabbed his arm. ‘You don’t need to go. Your shoulder needs rest for a few days; there are plenty of others to supervise. Stay there, I will look and see if the storm is likely to pass over.’ I knew that if he left the bed he would be gone and, king or not, would most likely end up carrying buckets of water.

Thankfully he sank back down onto the coverlet. ‘You’re right. I have to learn to hand over responsibility a bit more, I know. Firebrand is an old hand now, and Firebolt is not bothered by thunder, even though he’s young. He’s been out with me in quite a few storms.’

‘I am sure they will all be fine,’ I said as I swung off the bed.  Not many Rohirric horses were worried by the violence of nature, living out their youth as they did on the vast open plains. I padded to the window, the floor cool to my bare feet. The temperature had dropped and it had darkened even more in the time we had been talking. I pushed the open window wider and looked up at the sky: the thunderclouds had piled together right above Edoras and I knew that the stable-master was right to take no chances and order the roof to be wetted. The storm looked like being ferocious and I doubted I would be able to hold Éomer here much longer. He would want to be with his horses. Suddenly there was a great bolt of forked lightning that tore through the black clouds, quickly followed by an almighty crack of thunder which seemed to shake Meduseld to its foundations.  I heard running feet and much shouting, but I could see no fire.

As it often did, the thunder opened doors in my mind and I grabbed the window ledge as a vision so vivid played out its staggering message. Reeling from the shock of what my vision showed me, I could not move for a moment. Dimly, as if far away, I heard Éomer’s concerned voice.

‘Lothíriel, what is it. What’s the matter?’ I slowly turned to face him, wrapping my arms around myself to stop the shaking.

He was off the bed like he was fleeing from fire himself, bounding across the floor to grab me. ‘You’ve gone white.’  He peered over my shoulder to look out of the window. ‘What did you see?’

For a brief instant I considered not telling him – the knowledge I now held might well change our lives.  But to keep it to myself would be dishonest, and trust had always existed between us. I shook my head. ’Nothing out there, Éomer. All is well in Edoras. I had a vision; they tend to come when the air is full of fire and storm.’

‘Oh.’ He looked relieved. ‘I thought for a moment we’d had a strike. What was your vision?’

I hesitated; aware that once I said the words there was no going back. Éomer pulled me against him, smoothing his hand over my hair. ‘You seem to be shocked by it. Are you going to tell me?’

I looked up into his face, wondering quite how he would react to what I was about to tell him. I took a breath. ‘Éomer, you have another son.’

To be continued.

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Byrde                          Hama’s youngest daughter, married to Déor.

Bergit-                        Daughter of the horse-breeder, Egbert. Raped by orcs when her family’s camp was attacked. Later married Edwick a wheelwright. Mother to Éomund. Became Éomer’s mistress when her husband was crippled.

For info.

Families:

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfwine:

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Swansong 14

Confession - Part II

Edoras FA 9

All thought of storms, horses or in fact anything else except his wife’s astounding pronouncement left Éomer’s mind. He let go of her arm, and stumbled back to the bed. Sitting down on the edge with a thump, he sunk his head into his hands.

‘You give me incredible tidings, wife.’ But however astonishing the news she had imparted to him, he was inclined to believe the truth of it. If one had a fey wife like Lothíriel, who had an elf for a distant ancestor on her father’s side, and a long line of seers on her mother’s, then one would be a fool not to take notice. Anyway, she had proved herself when she brooked no counsel and relying only on the strength of one of her visions had ridden frantically to Minas Tirith to save his life. No, he had to consider that she had read this portent correctly.

‘But you are not denying that it’s true?’

Éomer looked up; suspicion had clouded Lothíriel’s eyes. ‘I admit it is possible, but I swear I had no idea.  I never considered that Guleth might be carrying my child.’

‘It does happen, Éomer!’

‘She was a healer! Skilled with herb and potion. Couldn’t she have...’

‘Dosed herself to get rid of it?’ Lothíriel tossed her head angrily, her eyes flashing a warning.

‘No! That’s not what I meant! I would never expect any woman to take that course. You must know that.  But surely she could have prevented it; I know some of our women take things to try and stop more children coming when they already have many.’

‘Maybe after years of marriage, but I would have thought it was up to a man to be careful in other relationships. To my knowledge even Amroth never...’

‘I was careful,’ Éomer retorted, glaring at her. ‘At least, as careful as I could be.’ 

Suddenly the belligerence left her face. Lothíriel dropped her shoulders and sighed; she came over and put her hands on his shoulder laying her head against his. ‘Bickering will get us nowhere, what’s done is done, even though I might wish it otherwise. I do not doubt what I saw, but are you sure Guleth never gave you a hint, never said anything before she left?’

Éomer gathered her close to him, aware that she would be feeling vulnerable. ‘Surely Guleth would not have gone had she known...’He stopped as he thought back to that parting. She’d decided so suddenly, in fact changed her mind about following her mother’s path. Why was that?

‘You’ve thought of something,’ Lothíriel prompted.

‘Well, I remember thinking she had decided to go in a hurry. It certainly surprised me at the time that she was so eager to leave, and I now recall she said something strange.’

 His wife moved back from him, lifting her head quickly in anticipation. ‘What was that?’

‘If I remember correctly she said that she was grateful for the precious gift I had given her. I suppose at the time I thought she meant the mare. But on reflection...would she have meant a child?’

Lothíriel looked to be thinking, and he waited. Eventually she gave him a wry smile. ‘I can only surmise that she wanted a child, and with her husband dead took the opportunity. Whether by design or accident.  Surely most women, if they knew they were carrying a king’s progeny, would seek support and recompense. But perhaps with her husband newly dead, she wished to pass the child off as his.’

Éomer sighed. ‘It could be, I suppose, but we are surmising. If you say there is a child, then I am more than inclined to believe you, but I think we need to find out for sure. Maybe she has passed him off as her husband’s, but I would like to be prepared for any unheralded disclosures in the future.’ Did he really have another son? Deep down he knew the thought thrilled him. But if he did, he could hardly go riding to Lamedon to claim him without proof. And anyway he didn’t think Lothíriel would be happy for him to do that even with irrevocable evidence. He couldn’t disregard her feelings in this. However understanding she might be, the news wouldn’t please her and he had no wish to jeopardise the solid bond they shared.  And what about Guleth? If she had wanted to keep her son hidden from him, shouldn’t he respect that? Possibly, but he needed to know for sure.

‘Someone is going to have to go to Lamedon and find out. Without causing any suspicion. We might have this all wrong.’ Éomer stood up, drawing his wife hard against his chest. ‘I need to know for certain, my love.’

                                                                              ooo

The storm blew itself out in the night, causing nothing worse than damage to a few roofs and some toppled fences. But even once the wind had dropped and the night became quiet, Éomer tossed and turned, unable to sleep. At one time, sensing that his wife also lay awake, he drew her to him, whispering of his overwhelming love for her and assurances that nothing would affect Elfwine’s position as heir to the throne of the Riddermark. She murmured her love and trust into his chest, but still he could not sleep. Éomer pondered long on the implications of what had been revealed to him, and by the time the first glimmer of dawn could be seen through the curtains, had decided to discuss his next course of action with his two great friends. He called them together the next day, Lothíriel too, not wanting her to think that he would hide anything from her.

Déor and Eóthain listened in silence while he explained that Lothíriel had seen his son in a vision. Both men glanced towards Lothíriel, probably wondering about her reaction to the probability of an illegitimate royal offspring. So far she had shown remarkable restraint. Éomer wasn’t expecting censure from his friends – these things happened and men tended to admire virility. Not that he was proud of himself, but he had not been the only Rohir to have left his seed growing in Gondor after the war.  Once he had finished his explanation, Eóthain spoke first, always quicker to voice his opinions than Déor, who tended to use more thought before he offered his judgement.

‘I think you are right to want to find out for sure, Éomer.’ He looked towards Lothíriel again. ‘But don’t worry, my queen, we Eorlingas are a loyal lot. Elfwine was declared heir at his birth and should a score of Éomer’s bastards appear at the gates of Edoras, nothing will change that.’

 ‘Thank you, Eóthain.’ Éomer threw him a wry look. ‘But I am not expecting any more to turn up.’

Déor smiled, he had been deep in thought. ‘I don’t think anyone expects that. However, Eóthain is right in one thing – although I do not doubt Lothíriel’s reading of this, we need to find out for certain. Someone will have to go to Lamedon.  And quietly, too. We do not want the whole of Edoras picking up on this before it is confirmed.’ He pursed his lips, considering. ‘You say, Éomer, that Guleth’s family own a vineyard. Do you know any more than that?’

Éomer thought, trying to recall everything that Guleth had said about her family home. ‘She lived somewhere between the Rivers Ciril and Ringló. But apart from that I only remember that the wine they produced was called Two Rivers...’

‘Two Rivers!’ Lothíriel broke in. ‘I know that wine. Arwen is fond of it, and I have drunk it many times in the Courts of Gondor. It is potent, but light and fruity, a favourite with her ladies.’

‘The vineyard should not be too difficult to find if we have that information,’ Déor said. ‘But we need an excuse to go there.’

‘That’s no problem,’ Éomer said with a laugh. ‘The Queen of the Mark, having sampled the wine in Gondor, wishes it supplied to Meduseld. That’s a totally believable story. Someone trustworthy can go to the vineyard to negotiate a contract and discover the truth of the other matter.’

‘Do we know any trustworthy traders?’ Eóthain threw in, with a scornful toss of his head.

‘I am not sure it needs to be a trader,’ Déor mused. ‘Surely the queen could send a personal representative on such a mission. I suggest that we want to keep this thing between us. Since Éomer has no plans to leave Edoras for a while, I could go. Moreover, I have met Mistress Guleth, which might make conversation on a difficult subject easier.’ 

Éomer nodded his head. ‘I agree, but not on your own. Although I would be loath to let both you and Eóthain be away at the same time.’

‘Then if you don’t mind another knowing, my father would go with me,’ Déor replied. ‘He’s not so ancient that a ride to Lamedon would overtax him. And he’s tight-lipped and loyal, Éomer. Loyal to you – as his king and also because of his long friendship with your father. You could find no better.’

‘I agree,’ Éomer answered, not really needing to think more. ‘If Eorllic will go then I can only be grateful.’

‘So you will send for your father to come here and then take the Dimholt road?’ Lothíriel asked. ‘That would be the quickest way to Lamedon.’

‘Not necessarily,’ Déor answered. ‘I could go to Aldburg taking Byrde and Caedda – Caedda doesn’t see enough of his grandparents or his cousin. Father and I can go on to Lamedon for the entirely plausible reason to buy wine for our queen.  There is a narrow path that winds over the shoulder of the mountain behind the fortress and meets the uprising of the Ciril that flows down into Lamedon. It’s rough, only passable in summer, but men and horses can travel in file. The way is not used much, but those that have dwelt in Aldburg know of it.’

‘It would be much better to go that way,’ Éomer said. ‘And incorporating a family visit will help explain why you have gone on this mission to buy wine and not some lesser member of our household.’

Eóthain nodded. ‘Sounds good to me, just make sure you don’t pay too much for the wine. And you’ll have to order a fair bit to make it worthwhile transporting casks of wine through the Dimholt.’

‘Let’s hope you like the stuff, Eóthain,’ Éomer quipped. ‘I doubt Lothíriel will be able to drink all of it on her own.’

Laughing, Déor slapped Eóthain on the arm. ‘If it’s wet and potent, he’ll drink the lot.’

ooo

Sensing how impatient Éomer was to find out the truth, Déor persuaded Byrde that they could leave three days later. She didn’t see the need to hurry just to order wine, but Déor told her that he was afraid all the barrels would be allotted to various customers unless they got there before the grape harvest. He didn’t like concealing things from her, but agreed with Éomer that until there was proof, then the fewer people who knew, the better. However, just before he left, Éomer handed him a letter.

‘This is for Elfhelm; I would not want you to have to struggle to avoid telling a lie to such a noble man. Anyway, Lothíriel is seldom wrong in these matters, so if the results of your visit are as I suspect, then he would have to know.’

Déor tucked the letter under his tunic. ‘And have you any instructions if it is proved that Guleth has birthed your son?’

‘I have given that a lot of thought these past few days, and discussed it with Lothíriel. If Guleth wants to keep the secret and pass him off as her own, then I shall have to respect that. But if she wished me to acknowledge him, then I would do so.’

‘You would have the right to claim him regardless of her feelings.’ Déor hesitated to say that whatever the boy’s ancestry on his mother’s side, he would be a Son of Eorl and there were few enough of them in existence.

Éomer shook his head. ‘Maybe, but I would not do that to her. I could not bring Guleth here, so would not rob her of her child. Still,’ Éomer slapped his friend on the shoulder, ‘we are counting the score before the arrow has left the bow – there might be no son, or if there is, he may have black hair, Gondorian features and obviously be her late husband’s. I trust you to make the necessary decisions either way.’

Having had first-hand evidence of Lothíriel’s foresight, Déor had little doubt what they would find. And when he reached Aldburg and discussed it with his father and Elfhelm, he found that they were also inclined to see their queen’s avowal as the truth. Elfhelm because he was well acquainted with Lothíriel, and his father because anyone remotely connected to an elf was bound to be fey.

Luckily Byrde asked no awkward questions when he and his father made to leave, happy to be left with Elwyth, his mother, and his sister Æbbe. Déor was relieved to see Æbbe so happy. Her surprising marriage to one of the Riddermark’s top scouts, a dour man ten years older than herself, had shocked him. His vivacious sister had flirted her way through her growing years and could have probably chosen from a good number of handsome Riders. He couldn’t understand why she had accepted such a man as Godric, who might be loyal and skilled, but was only passably good looking. But as Déor watched them with their young son, and saw the pride and love in Godric’s face, and the fulfilment in his sister’s, then he realised that not all relationships were easily explained.

‘Æbbe looks happy,’ he said to his father as soon as they had left the gates of Aldburg behind.

‘She is. I know you were surprised by her choice, Déor, but some women need a strong hand. She would have led a wet-eared youngster an almighty dance. Godric indulges her, but stands no nonsense. It has worked out well, and they both dote on little Wilmund.’

They discussed the other news from Aldburg until the path started to climb steeply up the mountain and they had to ride one behind the other. A few times his father stopped to search out the way.  The path was not always obvious— beaten out by the travels of long-dead men, discovered when Eorl the Young had made his home in Aldburg, it was kept open by the wild goats who recognised no boundary between Gondor and the Riddermark. But as the sun climbed high in its arc, they reached the ridge that ran down from the summit – the border with Lamedon. Below, the land of Gondor stretched to a purple horizon, the River Ciril a silver thread, disappearing into the afternoon haze. A hunting eagle circled high above them, but otherwise they were the only beings that moved in a hard, stony landscape.

Déor had reckoned three whole days to make the journey from Aldburg to Calembel, and so it proved. The first night they spent bivouacking under an overhang of rock, the second on the banks of the Ciril, and the third more comfortably in a well-appointed inn in the middle of the town. Here they hoped to find directions to the Two Rivers vineyard, so rather than asking for a private parlour, they ate their supper in the big common room. As expected, questions were soon asked as to why two Rohirrim were travelling in Lamedon, but the explanation of buying wine for the courts of Edoras was accepted with no more than a nod and a shrug. Soon they had the directions they needed – the vineyard nestled in a sheltered valley halfway between Calembel and Ethring. The track to it could not be missed as it went off to the right, just after a bridge, made from granite slabs, crossed a wide stream.

Rising early the next morning, they reached the bridge way before noon and found the track that descended gently between two hillsides. Rows of vines marched up and down the slopes for as far as they could see. Many people were working on them, but were too far away for it to be discerned what they were doing. Otherwise they met no one on the track, eventually coming to some stone arched gates, which had the words Two Rivers in an ironwork scroll across the top. All looked neat and prosperous and they glimpsed the rooftop of a substantial looking house farther on around a bend.

As they went on, they heard a loud whinny and the sound of galloping hooves. Déor’s stallion answered, letting out an excited shriek. The horse started to prance about, tossing its head and generally giving its rider a hard time.

‘Must be a mare,’ his father snorted when Déor had got his wayward beast under control. ‘Not what we were expecting to find here.’

Déor laughed. ‘Probably a carthorse. He’s not fussy, any mare will do.’

But as they rounded the bend, they saw that it wasn’t a carthorse – a fine grey mare skittered the length of a paddock, came up to the nearest fence and welcomed them by blowing down her nostrils.

Déor let out a whistle of appreciation. ‘There’s no doubt where she comes from; my boy can’t take his eyes from her.’

‘I don’t think there’s much doubt where he comes from either.’ His father jerked his head towards the far side of the paddock.

A boy had jumped down from his perch on the rails and was making his way towards them. About ten or eleven, Déor judged, tall with dark-gold hair. The boy called something to the mare, clicked his fingers and waited.  She gave the admiring stallion once last huff of greeting before trotting over to nuzzle into her young master.

To be continued

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Guleth                         Had a relationship with Éomer after the Ring-war.

Byrde                          Hama’s youngest daughter, married to Déor.

Déor.                              Childhood friend of Éomer, now the captain of Lothíriel’s guard.

Eorllic                          Déor’s father.  Elwyth – his mother. Æbbe – his sister

For info.

Families:

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfwine:

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 15

Confession - Part III

Lamedon FA 9

The boy waved a hand of greeting and started to usher his mare through a gate into another paddock. Wingrider made smacking noises with his lips whilst pawing the ground with one big hoof. Then seeing the mare being taken away, he let out a long shriek of frustration, sidling round to try and break his rider’s control.  Déor calmed him patiently; his stallion always took an interest in any mare that came his way, but if this one happened to be anywhere near her sweet-time, then he would be impossible.

As soon as the mare was behind the gate, and looking forlornly over the rails, the boy started to walk towards them.  Déor couldn’t take his eyes from him; it was like looking at Éomer when he was a child – the same square chin and intense blue eyes. Those eyes were not focused on him, however, but on his horse.  As he got closer, the boy dragged his gaze away from the horse and focused on the two men. He stopped just short of them and bowed, uttering a formal greeting.

‘Good morning, lords. I am called Halmir. My uncle is the master of this vineyard. Have you business here? Shall I take you to him?’

Déor introduced himself and his father. ‘We came from Rohan to buy wine, so would be pleased if you would lead us to your uncle.’ At the mention of Rohan, Halmir’s eyes sparkled with excitement, the point about buying wine invoking only a slight acknowledgement.  Déor got the impression none of that interested him, but Halmir answered politely.

‘My uncle is up the hillside checking on the vines, but will be back for the noon meal very soon. I will take you to the house to wait for him.’  He led the way, walking by the side of Déor’s stirrup, bubbling over with talk of his horse. ‘You might have noticed how fine and spirited my mare is. She is pure Rohirric bred.’

Déor nodded, concentrating on subduing his own feisty bit of Rohirric breeding who would have preferred to be heading for the paddock. Halmir gabbled on, unaware of the amused interest of the two men.

‘My mother came back from the war with a mare as reward for her work with the injured Rohirrim, but she didn’t know that Aéfre was in foal.’

Déor chuckled to himself – that didn’t surprise him. In the aftermath of the Pelennor, with all the injured, and many horses having lost their riders, it had been difficult to keep the stallions and mares separate. Only Rohan’s nobility had tethered their horses in or out of the stables on the sixth level, the others were put in makeshift paddocks outside the city. But from what he remembered, the mare Éomer had given Guleth had been on the small side. She had obviously been covered by a well-found stallion to produce the beauty he had just seen.

‘You are lucky to have her, Halmir.’

‘I know.’ The lad nodded furiously. ‘Aéfre gave birth to Dreamcatcher not long after my mother birthed me. We have grown up together. She’s had two foals.’ He looked proud at that, but then sighed a little despondently. ‘Both have gone to Lord Angbor, as stallions from the castle covered her and the warriors covet her foals. But...’his eyes met Déor’s in a silent plea...‘if she were mated to a pure bred Rohirric stallion like yours, then the foal would be beyond compare and I would not part with it.’ His shoulders dropped a little, but his proud gaze never wavered. ‘I suppose the price would be high.’

‘That depends.’ Déor caught his father’s wry look, but ignored it.  ‘I would not necessarily charge you much, but I cannot hang around too long waiting for your mare to be ready.’ 

‘It will only be a couple of days at the most. I am sure she is not far off and the presence of your stallion is bound to stimulate her.’ Halmir almost danced along in his excitement. ‘And my uncle had a good harvest last year and this one looks as though it will be prolific, too. He should be willing to help me.’

Déor agreed that the arrival of his stallion might bring the mare on early. That often happened. But anyway, he might be glad for an excuse to stay awhile, as he had no idea how Guleth was likely to react to his coming here. There would possibly need to be negotiations on more than buying wine. Although Éomer had been very adamant that if the boy knew nothing of his paternity and Guleth wanted it that way, then the matter would end here.

Halmir looked at him expectantly, so Déor put his thoughts aside, touched by the lad’s enthusiasm. ‘You would not have to pay until it is sure the mating is successful anyway,’ he reminded him.

Halmir frowned. ‘Yes, but I would have to honour my debt and you will be back in Rohan by the time I know.’

‘So I will. In that case I might think of some other way for you to pay me?’

That seemed to please the boy, as he was still smiling at the possibility when they approached the first of the buildings – a long stone barn, held up by massive timbers.  Halmir said it stored the aging barrels of wine. The house rose tall behind it and an assortment of other buildings clustered around an open yard. Chickens pecked outside a stable door, and Déor could see a sty with a litter of spotted piglets. Beyond the house a row of thatched workers’ cottages straggled down the hill. The cloying tang of fermenting fruit hung in the air, overriding the odour of horses, pigs or anything else. As the harvest had not been picked that year, he imagined the smell must be ingrained in the buildings after years of winemaking.

‘I’ll just tell my aunt you are here, and then I’ll show you where you can put your horses. There’s plenty of room today.’  Halmir ran into the house, reappearing in just a few moments. He took them to the well-built stables where an old servant appeared and fussed about filling water buckets. When the horses were settled, Halmir escorted them back towards the house. This time a man waited by the door, dressed in brown breeches and a leather jerkin. He was of medium height, thin and wiry, with mid-brown hair; weathered skin showed he spent a good part of his life outdoors.

He came forward smiling profusely, introducing himself as Olthor. But Déor thought he caught a hint of wariness in the man’s eyes, quickly hidden. ‘My wife said you have come to buy wine. I don’t sell any to Rohan at the moment; most of my output has previously gone to the big city. But I planted more vines a few years ago and they came into full production last year. I expect a good harvest from them this season, so will have some to sell elsewhere.’

Déor explained how his queen had sampled the wine in Gondor’s Court and wished it supplied to Meduseld. Olthor’s smile widened and full of promises of hospitality, he led them into the house, insisting that they eat before any more talk of buying wine.

Déor and Eorllic joined the family and a few other members of the household around a long wooden table loaded with breads, meat and cheeses. Olthor’s son, a couple of years older than Halmir, came in? He spoke politely, but seemed a quiet lad with none of the lively disposition apparent in the younger boy. Halmir had already broached the subject of mares and foals to his uncle, who smiled at him benevolently.

‘We may be able to come to some agreement, Halmir, but it will mean you taking a full share when it comes to the harvest. You will have to do more than just drive the carts if you want me to fund you.’

‘I will, I will,’ Halmir promised. ‘I will work from dawn to dusk if it means I can mate Dreamcatcher with a Rohirric stallion.’

‘Then you must hope she is receptive before I leave,’ Déor said.

Sympathetic to the lad, who had no doubt inherited a love of horses from generations of ancestors, and confident Wingrider would entice the mare to come into heat, Déor had made up his mind to stay near at hand until the mare was ready. But he didn’t tell Halmir that.

As the meal progressed, the conversation moved to other things pertaining to Rohan and Gondor.  Déor waited for an opening to ask about Guleth who had not been mentioned. He had somehow been expecting her to join them, but the meal was served by Olthor's wife, another quiet soul, and their eldest daughter. An old lady sat at the other end of the table. Déor had missed her name in the general introductions, but surmised she was Olthor’s mother. She didn’t join in the conversation, but every time he glanced that way, pale, farseeing eyes were fixed on him.

Eventually realising he would have to ask, Déor tried to approach the subject nonchalantly. ‘Halmir told me that his mother was given a horse after the Ring-war as a reward for her work in helping to heal the Rohirrim. I am sure she must be the same lady that treated a friend of mine. I think she was called Mistress Guleth.’

‘That’s my mother.’ Halmir nodded proudly before anyone else could answer.  ‘Do you know her, lord?’

Déor carried on eating his meal, aware that Olthor had put down his knife and was looking intently at him. He ignored it.  ‘I met her a few times. Does she live here?’

After a stiff silence Olthor answered. ‘My sister lives with us, but she was away from home last night. She takes her healing to the mountain villages and every so often stays the night at Cirlion, as it’s too far to travel there and back in one day.  She will return in time for supper tonight.’

Good, then he would make sure he was still here. Déor had a feeling that Olthor might have some suspicions of his motives for visiting the vineyard.  But whether he did or not, the lure of a prestigious contract with the Royal Courts of Edoras must have pushed any other concerns aside. Olthor offered them a bed for the night, saying he would show them the process of winemaking that afternoon and hopefully conclude the negotiations before they all sat down for supper.

They saw big rollers that crushed and pressed the grapes and the huge vats where the fermentation took place – all empty now waiting for the next harvest. Olthor explained that he made his best wine from the first fermentation of the must; he then made a further batch from the remaining solids, which he sold to a few locals or gave to his workers to drink. The residue returned to the fields as fertilizer, so nothing was wasted. The wine stayed in the barrels for only a year, which kept it light and palatable for the ladies.

Déor found it all fascinating, recognising the efficiency and skill involved in Olthor’s operation which even had its own cooper. At the end of the tour, Olthor tapped a barrel he said would be ready to be drunk in about three months and could form part of a consignment for Rohan.

Déor perched on one of the trestle tables in the wine store, sipping at his goblet – the wine tasted fruity but still a bit thin, although Olthor said it would be up to standard by the autumn. He then gave them a sample of an aged wine he kept for himself; rich and red it packed a mighty punch. Déor drank half the goblet and then put it aside: if he had to negotiate on price then he needed a clear head.

But his father had been buying goods for Aldburg for years and took over, coming to a fair deal pretty quickly. The rest of the wine went down well – the goblets topped up again before they emerged back out into the sunshine.  Olthor suggested they might like to wash up before supper, but as they walked towards the house, Déor heard the clip clop of hooves.  Into the yard came a grey mare followed by a chunky piebald. Déor recognised the mare, and the woman riding her. The powerfully built man on the piebald looked like he might be a guard. Guleth hadn’t spotted them, her attention taken by Halmir, who appeared from the stables and belted across the yard to welcome his mother. Guleth dismounted, passed the reins to Halmir and untied a colourful bag from behind the saddle. She said something to her companion, but Halmir pulled at her arm to get her to take notice of what he was trying to tell her. She listened to her son for a moment and then her head jerked up and her attention flew across to the two men standing on the other side of the yard. She fixed her eyes on Déor and, even though there was a distance between them, he witnessed the colour draining from her face.  

Halmir never noticed his mother’s reaction to seeing Déor, but Olthor did, looking between the pair of them with eyes narrowed by suspicion. Luckily Halmir’s excitement at his mother’s return, and anticipation of the future possibilities for his mare, covered an awkward moment. It gave time for Guleth to compose herself and she greeted Déor and his father politely, if without a lot of enthusiasm.  A moment’s conversation and she excused herself, saying she needed to change before supper. Déor wondered if in fact she would appear again that evening, but she did, slipping into her seat just as the meal was about to be served. Déor thought her still as pretty as when he had first met her. Tonight she had let her brown hair down; still a little damp from washing, it framed her face and curled on her shoulders becomingly. He could certainly understand why Éomer had succumbed, and possibly why he did not want to upset her.  But when Éomer had decided that, he had not met his son. Had he done so, he might well have felt differently. Déor chewed a piece of bread thoughtfully – there were likely to be difficult decisions ahead.

Conversation during the meal first centred on Guleth’s two days away, as she gave messages to Olthor from friends and some of the farmers who supplied goods to the vineyard. But her mother wanted to know about the various injuries and illnesses she had dealt with, and listened closely, adding suggestions and advice, but generally agreeing with what her daughter had done.

Taking advantage of a lull, Halmir, who had not taken any part in the talk so far, looked up and addressed a question to Déor. He had obviously been deep in thought about his future. ‘Do you think there would be work for me in Rohan when I am older? With the horses, I mean?’

No chance to answer, because Guleth beat him to it. ‘It would surely be better to seek work in Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth, Halmir. Your skills would be highly prized there, whereas I imagine there is no shortage in Rohan. But it is far too early to make any of those decisions.’ She immediately told Halmir to help carry some dishes, averting her eyes from Déor.

So, she had made her position plain, but unfortunately for Mistress Guleth that would not be the end of it. Whether she liked it or not, they were in for some serious discussion. Not that evening though, as she excused herself once the meal was cleared, saying she’d had an exhausting couple of days. But as Déor contemplated her retreating back, Olthor nudged his arm, murmuring in his ear.

‘Come and share a goblet of wine with me; I think we need to talk.’

Déor nodded and got up, following his host. He felt eyes boring into his back; he didn’t need to look around, aware that Guleth’s mother was marking every move.

Olthor steered him to the back of the house. The room he entered was small, dominated by a huge, age-worn desk. Shelves on two of the walls groaned with piles of ledgers and in the middle of another, a large window looked down the valley onto a darkening landscape; a few lights twinkled in the workers cottages. Standing against the third wall was an ornate coffer on which lay a tray holding an earthenware flask and two silver goblets. Olthor indicated for Déor to sit down and picked up the tray, carrying it over to the desk. He poured ruby-red wine into the goblets, passed one to Déor, took the other, and sat down himself.

Déor sipped at his wine, waiting for Olthor to open the conversation. The vintner took a mouthful of wine, rolled it around his mouth and swallowed before he spoke.

‘I think you have come here for some other reason than to buy wine.’

Déor didn’t deny it; he looked Olthor straight in the eye. ‘If I have, then I assure you that the order for wine still stands.’

Olthor nodded, cradling his goblet thoughtfully. ‘I would be a fool if I did not notice the anxiety my sister showed when she saw you. Or her forced politeness tonight. This leads me to think that the suspicions that have grown on me over the years are correct. For some time I’ve had doubts that Faeldor fathered Halmir, and I know my mother believes the same as me.’

Déor sat back in his chair, not giving anything away. ‘And what do you believe?’

Olthor gave him a dry look. ‘When Guleth came home, I accepted that the child she carried was her husband’s. Many men died without knowing their offspring. And for the first few years there was nothing to make me think otherwise.  True, Faeldor was swarthy with black hair, but we as a family are much fairer, so Halmir’s colouring did not seem out of place. It was when he started to grow – tall and long-limbed – so unlike his supposed father was he in looks and temperament. It became obvious that he had a natural skill with horses, which started me mulling over the mare that Guleth had been given, and made me think that perhaps it was a mighty gift for a healer to receive. I considered the possibility that maybe Halmir’s paternity could be contributed to some man who lived over the mountains in Rohan. I fear that you coming here confirms my suspicion.’

‘You have challenged Guleth with this?’

‘No.’ Olthor shook his head. ‘It is accepted that Halmir is Faeldor’s son, but he is my blood-nephew whoever his father. So believing it her business, I have kept my thoughts private. Although, as I said, I know our mother has come to think the same as me. Now I am worried that seeing you here others may make the connection. Guleth is respected, loved even, all along these mountains. Many country people have strict morals, and my sister is precious to me. It would pain me if she lost her good name, and her reputation became smirched by grubby insinuations. You see, I owe her a debt that I can never repay.’

Déor never said anything; just raised his eyebrows in enquiry, and Olthor went on. ‘When my son was born, both mother and child were ill. They had a fever that I thought was going to burn them alive. Guleth and my mother nursed them, but the brunt of work fell on Guleth. Night after night she tended to my son, bathing his tiny body and spooning liquid into his mouth. He survived, and when I am old and worn, I will be able to pass this vineyard to him, because as Halmir is made to work with horses, then he is made to care for the vines.’  Olthor sighed, and took a gulp of his wine. ‘We all live here happily, Lord Déor. For whatever reason my sister decided to pass Halmir off as her husband’s and not acknowledge you as his father. Why you have come here at this late hour, I do not know, but I do not want my family upset. You have shown no interest in your son so far and I would rather you left it at that. I can assure you that I am quite capable of providing for Halmir and my sister.’

It took a moment for Déor to react, but then he realised that it was a totally understandable mistake for Olthor to make. But one best put right quickly. ‘You are under a misapprehension, I am not Halmir’s father, that honour belongs to a friend of mine.’

A look of relief passed across Olthor’s face, and the stiffness left his body. ‘So, it is just a coincidence that a friend of Halmir’s father comes to buy wine.’

‘Not quite, I am afraid. You see my friend is the King of Rohan, and until a week ago he did not know Mistress Guleth had born him a son.’

‘The King of Rohan...’Olthor went white, swearing under his breath. ‘You are sure?’

Déor nodded, but the poor man had difficulty with the startling news, and put his hand to his head, shaking it in wonder. 

‘That I never suspected...Guleth said the king had given her the horse for tending to the injured Rohirrim; however these past few years I had come to believe that Halmir’s father had probably given Aéfre to her.’

‘He did,’ Déor put in, slanting Olthor a wry smile. ‘Éomer King gave her the mare when she decided to return to her home.’

Olthor’s forehead creased in thought, and he rubbed his eyes. ‘But you say the King found out only a week ago, how was that? Has someone else been here and reported back?’

‘No, he was alerted to the possibility in an entirely different way.’ Déor explained about Lothíriel’s gift of foretelling and the vision she’d had, and how he had been sent to discover the truth.

‘It is obvious that your sister does not want to talk to me, but I am afraid she is going to have to tomorrow. There are decisions to be made; we cannot ignore that Halmir is of the House of Eorl.’

To be continued

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Guleth                         Had a relationship with Éomer after the Ring-war.

Faeldor                                                Guleth’s husband, killed on the Pelennor.

Byrde                          Hama’s youngest daughter, married to Déor.

Déor.                              Childhood friend of Éomer, now the captain of Lothíriel’s guard.

Eorllic                          Déor’s father.  Elwyth – his mother. Æbbe – his sister

Olthor                                   Guleth’s brother – a vintner.

Halmir                                  Illegitimate son of Guleth and Éomer. 

For info.

Families:

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfwine:

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 16
Confession - Part IV

Lamedon FA 9

The anxious look on Guleth’s face the next morning as she helped serve an early meal told Déor that Olthor had informed his sister of the need to talk. However, just as he’d finished eating and was about to suggest they meet in Olthor’s back room, as the vintner had suggested, Halmir burst through the door. One look at the lad’s eager face and Déor knew the discussion would be postponed again.

‘I assume from your excitement, Halmir, that you consider Dreamcatcher to be ready?’

The boy laughed. He had skidded to a halt, but bounced up and down, itching to get back outside. ‘No doubt, lord – her tail’s right up and she’s peeing all over the place. I bet she’ll be right up for it!’

Guleth shot her son a look of disapproval, but didn’t say anything. Halmir grinned apologetically, and with a resigned shrug, his mother turned her back on them to clear dishes.

‘That certainly sounds promising, Halmir.’ Déor stood up. ‘Let’s go and get Wingrider.’ Good job the mare had spent the night in the farthest paddock, well away from the stables, or the stallion would be kicking the doors down. But he had been quiet when Déor had visited him first thing.

Not now though – the horse was stamping the ground when he saw his master approach. ‘Easy, boy,’ Déor soothed him. ‘It looks like your luck’s in. Put Dreamcatcher in that large paddock, Halmir. If for some reason she objects, I want him to have some space to get away.’

‘Object! I bet she won’t.’

The boy ran off. Déor fixed a head-collar onto Wingrider and led him out into the yard. As they approached the paddock, the stallion’s head went up, his top lip curling when he caught a whiff of the mare’s scent on the air. Seeing her chosen mate coming, Dreamcatcher let out an excited squeal. Tossing her head to encourage him to follow, she took off around the paddock. The instinct to draw the stallion to her was an impulse the mares never lost, even when away from the herds. Up for it indeed! Déor shouted to Halmir to open the gate just as Wingrider let out an almighty shriek.

He let the horse go as the gate swung wide; Wingrider thundered through with a flash of hooves that made even Halmir jump aside.

Moments later the two horses were confronting each other in front of an interested audience. Not that either of them noticed. No courtship needed – the mating urge powerful and urgent – Dreamcatcher shoved her backside towards the stallion as soon as he skidded up to her.

‘Well, it looked good,’ Déor said when all of the stallion’s legs were back on the ground. ‘And the mares only behave like that when it’s totally the right time. But as your uncle has offered us a bed for another night, then it would be best to leave them together for the rest of the day. She’ll be receptive for a while yet and Wingrider will be keen to repeat as often as he can. More chance of a successful take that way.’

He watched their belated courtship for a few minutes – the stallion, no novice at mating, had already started the love play, nipping and caressing his new sweetheart, hoping for a second bite of the cherry. Halmir smiled happily, intent on the two horses that were now standing close together, rubbing necks. No doubt the lad would be watching them for the rest of the morning, which would be no bad thing. Better to talk to Guleth undisturbed. Déor caught his father’s eye; Eorllic nodded and moved along the rail to Halmir, engaging him in conversation.

Walking towards the house, Déor mulled over the conclusions he’d come to after a rather sleepless night and an early morning talk to his father. He had no expectation of Guleth agreeing for her son to come and live in the Mark, and Éomer would certainly not want him to force her to let Halmir go. But as he saw it, there was more at stake here than a mother’s sensitivities.

If Lothíriel had been likely to birth more sons, then he could go back to Edoras and leave Halmir to spend his entire life as a Gondorian, but further legitimate heirs were very uncertain. And after confirming the truth of his queen’s latest vision, who would doubt her reading of her fertility. Hopefully Elfwine would grow to manhood, produce many sons, and the succession would be assured. But peace was never guaranteed and who knew what battles lay ahead. As Théodred’s untimely demise had shown – princes were not immune from early death. With Théoden only producing one child, and Éomer also, there was not a pool of Sons of Eorl to draw on.

Stopping a moment for a last look at the courting pair, Déor went through the list of those next in line, if somehow Elfwine failed to take his rightful place. Elboron would have the strongest claim, but he was destined to be a future Steward of Gondor, and Éowyn had birthed no more sons as yet. The other option were those soft-living spawn of Théoden’s older sisters whom he’d met after the war – well, if the Rohirrim would have them – which he doubted and would personally fight against.  Anyway, he thought it unlikely they would trade their easy, luxurious life in Gondor for the barbaric Riddermark. Even for a kingship.

But, unlooked for, another heir had been discovered, one who would undoubtedly make a fine young horse-lord. And if, against all hope, the need ever arose, who would doubt he was Éomer’s first-born son?  Especially if Éomer recognised and loved him, as he undoubtedly would, given the chance. The tradition of the king naming his successor was likely to hold; therefore could he in all conscience walk away, leaving the boy never knowing of his father, or his heritage? He didn’t think so, and given free choice would have taken Halmir back to grow up in Edoras, but Éomer had expressly forbidden him to cause Guleth undue stress. So a compromise was needed, and if Guleth could not be persuaded to let go a bit, then he had decided what to do.

When Déor opened the door of the back room, Guleth and Olthor were already waiting. Olthor sat behind his desk, but Guleth paced the floor. She stopped abruptly at the sight of him, one hand clutching at the desk. Déor almost took a step back: the atmosphere in the small room was cloying. Bright sunshine shafted through the window – the light showed up the dust-motes suspended in the air, the warmth allowed the smell of old leather to mingle with the overwhelming scent of yeast and fruit that pervaded the whole place. Added to that, Guleth’s fear was palatable.

His heart went out to her as he remembered the anguish Byrde had gone through when it looked as if she would never conceive a child. His wife would probably have gone out of her mind had someone threatened to take their precious son away. That thought made him want to reassure Guleth straight away.

‘Mistress Guleth, let me promise you that I have no intention of wrenching Halmir from you and hauling him off to Rohan when I leave tomorrow.’

That statement caused Guleth to expel a relieved breath, but her eyes narrowed when Déor followed it up with – ‘However, I would like us to come to an agreement that your son comes to Edoras in the future.’

‘There is no proof, lord, that Halmir is not my husband’s child,’ she responded immediately, her chin raised in challenge.

Déor let out a stifled laugh. ‘Éomer King and I have been friends since we were young children. I well remember him at Halmir’s age when we spent all our free time racing our horses in the meadows around Aldburg. Looking at your son, Mistress Guleth, takes me back to those carefree days. So shall we agree that there is no argument to be entered into and get on with finding a solution?’

She remained silent, her bosom rising and falling rapidly as she fought for something to counter his claim, but Olthor stepped in. ‘Guleth, Lord Déor is right. We cannot deny Halmir’s paternity. It is better to admit the truth.’

‘Why don’t you sit down?’ Déor pulled up a chair and held the back until she reluctantly nodded and sat down in it. He grabbed one for himself so that he was on the same level as her.

‘Firstly, tell me why you left Minas Tirith without telling Éomer you were carrying his child?’

She immediately bridled, tossing her head scornfully. ‘And what would you have thought of a woman who did that? I can well imagine all the comments there would be about trapping him.’

Déor was just going to retort that no-one would have expected Éomer to marry her when he stopped, closing his mouth abruptly. He knew Éomer well – no man more honest and true existed. What would he have done? He thought he knew.

Her shoulders dropped and she gave him a wan smile, as if she had picked up his thoughts. ‘Exactly, Lord Déor. Would you really have wanted me as your queen?’

No, and he would have advised Éomer against it, as would have many others. ‘Arrangements could have been made. It’s usual for kings to recognise their children born out of wedlock even if…’

‘I did not want my child to grow up as a bastard!’ Guleth interrupted angrily.  ‘That is why I chose to pass him off as Faeldor’s. And that is why I do not want him to go to Edoras now. I want that stigma neither for my son nor myself.’

‘Rohan is not like Gondor, Mistress Guleth; the boy would be valued for who he is and how he behaves.  His legitimacy would not matter to the common folk and others would follow their king and queen’s lead…’

‘Yes, the queen!’ Guleth broke in. ‘She would not want her husband’s by-blow under her nose. Halmir is loved by all here. I do not want him to have to live where he could be the cause of strife and argument.’

‘Lothíriel Queen is fair and high-minded,’ he countered.  ‘She would be kind to Halmir because he is Éomer’s son and his begetting took place long before they had met each other. She had the choice to tell Éomer about Halmir, or to keep quiet. She chose to tell him because she knew he would relish having another blood-child.  After her generosity of spirit, have you the right to decide that Éomer should never know his son, and Halmir his true father?’

She did not give at all, clenching her hands on the arms of the chair. ‘Halmir belongs with me – his mother. He accepts that his father is dead and that is enough.’

‘I do not think so. The blood of generations of horse-lords flows in his veins. Do you think you are doing the best for your son if you deny him his heritage?’

‘That is not fair!’ Guleth flew out of her seat, spitting fire. ‘I have never stopped Halmir working with the horses and encourage him all I can. I do not think he is missing out on anything.’

Déor didn’t react to her anger, speaking calmly. ‘You might find that Halmir decides to travel to Rohan himself when he is older. He has already mentioned it.’

The gentlest lady would fight for her child. She glared fiercely, damming him with her eyes. ‘He had not thought of it until you came here! But do not doubt that I will encourage him to go elsewhere to work with horses. I know the law says I cannot keep him from his father, but I do not want Halmir to go to Edoras and you will have to force him from me. That will destroy me, and maybe damage Halmir for good. Do you want that on your conscience?’

Déor stood up and took her arm. ‘That was never my intention, Mistress Guleth. Please sit down again, this will do us no good.’ Shrugging off his hand she sat down, and he took his seat again, speaking gently but firmly.  ‘If you remember, I said I wanted us to agree that Halmir could come to Edoras in the future. But I think it better if he is the one to make that decision, not you or me.  I will leave here without him tomorrow, but I wish for you and your brother to give me your word that when you think the time right, you will make Halmir aware of his true parentage. If you cannot find it within you to do this before, which I hope you do when you reflect on my words, then he must be told as soon as he comes of age. If you do not confirm that he has been told, then I will return and enlighten him myself. No one will think ill of Halmir leaving home when he is older, and if we are circumspect your reputation will remain intact. But it is right and just that his father has the chance to know him.’ He waited for her response, hoping he had offered her a reasonable compromise.

She dropped her head and shook it slowly, not wanting to agree. Olthor, with a sigh, left his seat and went to his sister, putting his arm around her. He looked up at Déor. ‘Your words are fair, Lord Déor. And my sister will agree to them.’ Squeezing Guleth’s shoulders, he encouraged her kindly.  ‘Come, Guleth, give your promise; you will get no better settlement than this.’ When she did not respond he spoke more sternly. ‘Guleth, Halmir is a king’s son; you have to agree.’

Reluctantly she nodded, although as she looked up, Déor could see that her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

He smiled, hoping she would come to see that he’d had to consider Halmir and Éomer as well as herself. ‘Thank you. And I would like to arrange that the order for wine is repeated yearly and with the barrels comes a letter telling me of Halmir’s health and progress towards manhood, which I will pass on to his father.’

‘I agree,’ Olthor said. ‘It shall be done as you say. I will make sure of it.’

Guleth pulled away from her brother irritably, flashed Déor an angry look and flung open the door. But she came face to face with her son who was just about to knock. She swept past him without a word. Halmir looked surprised at his mother’s swift departure, but his thoughts were on horses.

‘Lord, I am sure the mating is going well and I shall have a first class foal next year. Can you tell me of Wingrider’s ancestry so that I will be able to choose a suitable name?’

First class indeed! Déor nearly laughed out loud. ‘Well, his sire was the king’s favourite battle-horse, Firefoot, his grandsire the Mearas stallion Wingfoot. His dam, Windcharm, sibling to the Lady Eowyn’s Windfola, the horse she rode to battle against the Witch King.’

Behind him, he heard Olthor gasp. Halmir eyes and mouth opened wide with awe. But he managed to get a few words out. ‘The fee, it must be enormous.’

Déor dropped his hand onto the lad’s shoulder. ‘The fee is threefold. First you will polish and shine my tack and my father’s this afternoon until it gleams. Secondly you will promise not to sell your foal, but keep it for yourself whatever you are offered, and thirdly, each year when the wine is carted to Edoras you will write to me and tell me of your progress with its training.’ Halmir nodded, a great grin on his face.

‘Oh, and that reminds me,’ Déor carried on.  ‘Halmir, you must also promise me that if Dreamcatcher drops a colt, you will geld him.’

Disappointment replaced Halmir’s grin, but Déor held his gaze. ‘You would find it difficult to manage a stallion, and you have two mares of close kin.’

‘Then I hope it’s a mare,’ Halmir said, brightening again. ‘Dreamcatcher’s foaled one of each, so there’s a good chance.’

With a laugh, Déor tousled his hair. ‘I hope so, too.’

The boy, after stammering his thanks, ran back outside. Déor stopped only for a word with Olthor, telling him that if Halmir wished to come to Edoras in the future, he would return and escort him.  He and his father would be leaving in the morning and he fervently hoped Guleth would come to see that he had done his best. He couldn’t believe that when Halmir knew the truth, he would not be drawn to the land of the horse-lords.

ooooo

‘It must have been difficult for you.’ Éomer placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘But as much as I would like to see my son, to watch him grow and to have influence over him, I would not have wished you to tear him from his mother.’

‘I wanted to, Éomer,’ Déor admitted. ‘From the first moment I saw him and he looked so much like you, I wanted to bring him here. If you had not been so adamant about not upsetting his mother, I would have. Halmir is lively and well-mannered, you would be so proud of him.’

‘Which means that Guleth and her brother are doing a good job of bringing him up. I must be thankful for that.’ Éomer picked up his goblet and walked to the window looking up to the slopes of the White Mountains.  Part of him wished Déor had ignored his orders and brought the lad back, but he knew that was not fair. No woman deserved to have her child taken away to live in another land. If only she had told him at the time…but then who knew what would have happened and he might not have married Lothíriel… Shaking his head at the thoughts whirling around, he turned back to face his friend.  ‘My son’s a natural with horses, you say?’

‘As good as I’ve seen since the only one to learn from was an old stableman. That’s why I had to have Mistress Guleth’s assurance that she would tell him the truth when he’s older. She did not even want to do that, but I judged it wrong to keep his heritage from him, just as I judged it wrong for you never to know him.’

‘But he might not ask to come,’ Éomer pointed out. Then what would he do? Already he was aware of a heavy a tug in his heart and felt tempted not to leave the matter to chance.  Perhaps if he offered Guleth a home as well? But no, he didn’t think Lothíriel would be keen on that. She had been so open-hearted about the whole thing; he wouldn’t want to push it.

‘I am sure that he will.’ Déor mused. ‘ Surely a child nearing manhood would wish to know his own father? Halmir might spend his early years in Gondor, but the blood of the Riddermark flows thick in his veins. Yes, I am sure he will want to seek you out.’

Then he had to be patient. ‘It was a good idea to arrange that a report comes yearly with the wine, I thank you for that.’

‘Better still.’ Déor gave him a rather triumphant smile. ‘Halmir’s mare should be carrying Wingrider’s foal. He has promised to keep me informed of his progress with its training. You will get news from your son’s own hand.’

The lump of lead weighing down Éomer’s heart shifted a little.   ‘I thank you again. With that I will have to be content.’

 To be continued

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Guleth                         Had a relationship with Éomer after the Ring-war.

Faeldor                                                Guleth’s husband, killed on the Pelennor.

Byrde                          Hama’s youngest daughter, married to Déor.

Déor.                              Childhood friend of Éomer, now the captain of Lothíriel’s guard.

Eorllic                          Déor’s father.  Elwyth – his mother. Æbbe – his sister

Olthor                                   Guleth’s brother – a vintner.

Halmir                                  Illegitimate son of Guleth and Éomer. 

For info.

Families:

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfwine:

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 17

Unity

Edoras FA 53

With the wine came the letters; year after year they arrived as promised. Éomer devoured every one eagerly, wanting to learn all he could of his first-born son. Mostly I pushed aside the twinges of jealously that threatened to worm their way into my mind. But sometimes they lingered in the deep crevices. Not because Éomer had sired a son by another woman, but because that son was evidently the image of his father. Elfwine resembled my family, my father particularly, and could easily be mistaken for a Gondorian, which worried me in this land of flaxen-haired men. But with his usual common sense Éomer insisted that it made no difference to the Rohirrim at all. Elfwine was a Prince of the Riddermark, born in the Mark and growing up in Meduseld, learning the ways and the traditions of the Horse-lords – loyalty and love of land, far more important than looks.   Éomer loved him deeply, and gave unstintingly of his time and energy to turn the lively child into a young man, noble and strong in body and mind.

As Elfwine grew, so did the bond between them, its strength brought home to me when Elfwine sat for two whole nights and a day in the stables, keeping Firefoot company as the horse sank slowly into the long sleep. His father, he said, away warring in the East, would not have wanted his favourite horse to die alone. 

A few weeks later, my heart aching with sympathy for my husband, I watched them standing together at Firefoot’s barrow. Éomer’s hand landed on his son’s shoulders, and the familiar pain shafted through me – how Éomer would have loved more children, daughters and sons that I could not give him. Unsurprising then, that had Éomer been given the opportunity, I was sure Halmir would be living in Edoras.

But all that was long ago, and there was so much to remember and be thankful for. Reminiscing on some of the most joyful times Éomer and I had shared, I must have drifted off to sleep, because suddenly I heard shouts and the clip of horses’ hooves below me. Hope leapt! However, after a moment I saw that it was my son returning from a ride and not my husband coming home. I had been told that Elfwine had ridden out to exercise his new stallion that morning. He’d gone with just a couple of friends, a far cry from his youth when he had been guarded tighter than a dragon’s hoard. Éomer had tried to make his son’s life as normal as possible, but Elfwine had always had to be watched over. He’d never raced his horses across the plains of the Mark without a heavy escort, or camped in the woods with only a couple of close friends for company – light-hearted pleasures his father had enjoyed as a child in Aldburg.

A smile crossed my face as I looked back into the past again, remembering another time when Éomer had been away from Meduseld, and I had taken it upon myself to put my son in danger. On that occasion Éomer had ridden north with Aragorn, after Gondor’s king had been here for an extended visit. The two kings planned to meet Merry and Pippin at Bree and escort them back to Edoras, before the hobbits would travel on to Minas Tirith with Aragorn.

Much to their chagrin, Elfwine and Eldarion had been left behind. Possibly because the two men relished their friendship and wished to enjoy each other’s company in the wild without being bothered by chattering youngsters, but more likely because they were fed up with the boys bickering.  As children, the two crown princes had got on well, but as manhood approached, their rivalry had grown. I could have said I acted without thought, as I sometimes am wont do. But no, every move I made on that day was deliberate.

ooooo

Edoras FA 14

For some days after their fathers left to ride north, Elfwine and Eldarion contented themselves with no more than the occasional squabble in my presence. Surprisingly I could not put my finger on what problem lay between them, and could only wonder if Eldarion resented coming to Rohan to deepen his horse-craft. But Elphir had sent his sons as they became old enough to stay away from their mother, and Amroth regularly brought his, even though his horsemanship could hardly be bettered.  Elboron came every year also, often leaving his parents in Gondor for weeks. None of my nephews had taken umbrage at being put in the charge of the Edoras stable-master or spending time living with the herdsmen on the Eastemnet. In fact they relished the free lifestyle, and so had Eldarion when he was younger.

Whatever difficulty the two boys were having with each other, I didn’t like it. And then one night at supper, after they had returned from an extended visit to Aldburg, I realised things had got worse and an angry silence lay between them. The situation didn’t improve, and questioning Elfwine told me nothing. At nearly fourteen he’d grown past the age when he would confide in his mother, and remained tight-lipped every time I probed. Had Eldarion been throwing his weight or his rank around? No, I didn’t think so, as the other boys, sons of Éomer’s guardsmen, who lived in Meduseld, treated him with respect but no awe. Aragorn had deliberately left his son with no Gondorian guard to fawn over him; did this proud young prince resent the rougher manners of the Rohirrim?

‘Lothíriel,’ an urgent voice broke into my reverie. Letting my quill drop, I swung around to see Bryde’s pretty face framed in the open doorway.

‘You had better come to the herb-room.’

‘Someone is injured?’ The chair got pushed aside impatiently in my haste. Éomer had ordered a large, new Healing House to be built at the bottom of the hill, but any accidents in Meduseld to members of the household I tended to treat myself, in a small room where we stored some of the common remedies.

Byrde grasped my arm, staying my speedy exit from the solar. ‘Elfwine and Eldarion have been fighting in the stables. The stable-master brought them to the hall and called Déor. He was so mad, that had they not already been so knocked about, I think he would have banged their heads together.’

He could do so with my pleasure! Boys fought – my brothers used to do so all the time in their youth, but it was the result of quick flare-ups of temper and soon forgotten. This had been brewing for weeks. ‘Any serious injury?’

Byrde shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, but lots of blood and bruising.’

We hurried across the hall, drawing questioning looks from those preparing the tables for the evening meal. They would find out soon enough, so I said nothing, my mind busy, not with worries about injuries, but how I was going to put an end to this enmity. Their fathers enjoyed a comradeship that had survived age difference and distance, a closeness that had led to trust and respect between two different kingdoms. Could I rely on time to settle the differences of these two future kings, or should I step in to try and ensure the next generation would benefit from such a friendship? But if I intervened with more than salve and bandages, what exactly could I do?

As we reached the door to the herb-room, a memory from the Ring-war flashed into my thoughts, words my father had written in a letter to Elphir just before the march to the Black Gate – ‘Aragorn is Elendil’s heir and thus I count him my liege.  You have met him, so you know that there is no man as truehearted and noble.      

Éomer will follow him also, they are as brothers. I envy them, for they share that special bond that comes only when men stand side by side, unfaltering, against overwhelming odds.’

Overwhelming odds! No, these two had never faced anything like their fathers had known. They might have received the best training, but they had been born into relative peace, and still too young to be sent to the infrequent skirmishes around our borders, neither had willingly been put in the way of danger.

My mind make up, I grabbed Bryde’s arm. ‘While I am treating them, have a quiet word in Déor’s ear. Whatever I say, tell him not to interfere.’

With a surprised rise of her brows, she nodded and pushed open the door.

Eldarion sat on one end of the table, holding a bloodied cloth to his nose. I spotted the beginnings of a bruise on his temple and streaks of mud over his tunic. Not too bad by the look of it, unless his nose had been broken. I wondered if Elfwine had come off worse, but although slightly younger and a bit shorter, he had a heavier frame. At first I couldn’t see my son, hidden by the bulk of Ælfgar, the Royal Stable-master. He stood with his arms folded, a grim expression making him look even more formidable than usual.  But his stern looks belied the kindness that I knew lurked within him.

‘I am sorry, my lady, I would not have bothered you, but this is not the first time they have fought. I have tried to keep them occupied, but...’ Ælfgar shrugged, gesturing his inability to prevent hostility coming to blows.

‘It’s not your fault, Ælfgar. And I am sorry that your work has been interrupted by this.’

‘Elfwine!’ Ælfgar moved, allowing me to catch sight of my son, who without a doubt would soon be sporting a juicy black eye. ‘You will apologise to Master Ælfgar.’

No argument, Elfwine had been taught obedience from an early age. He jumped off his end of the table and made a bow. ‘I apologise, Master Ælfgar, for inconveniencing you.’

My eyes flew to Eldarion, but he forestalled my command and quickly made his apology. How alike the two were in looks, and could be easily mistaken for brothers, their Númenorean and Elvish heritages apparent in the fine bone structure of their handsome faces. They were good boys too, both of them, and it grieved me to find them so opposed to one another.

Although I had decided what to do, after Master Ælfgar had left I treated them in silence, packing Eldarion’s nose and putting salve on Elfwine’s eye and various small scratches they both had gained from rolling about the floor.  Let them wonder a bit longer what their punishment would be. Elfwine certainly knew me well enough to expect some kind of retribution. Not for fighting, but for disturbing the peace of the stables. No doubt he anticipated becoming better acquainted with a pitchfork and a dung heap, and would not imagine what I had in mind.

Déor said nothing either, suspecting something unusual after Byrde had drawn him to the window and whispered in his ear.

I finished my task and cleared up the mess; Byrde emptied the water down the sluice and started to clean off the table. The boys still eyed me warily. They looked terrible, and I considered sending them to change and talking to them in Éomer’s study, but some things were best dealt with at once.

I dried my hands and stood opposite, looking from one to the other. ‘I am disappointed in both of you.’ Neither dropped their eyes, but faced me squarely awaiting whatever punishment I was about to dish out. ‘It would be easy for me to give you some noisome task, but that would achieve nothing. I have no idea why there is discord between you, but for the sake of your fathers, and your people, I am determined it shall end.’  I paused to let them take that in. ‘I am sure that you do not need to be told how your fathers met, but I will remind you.’ My attention focused on Elfwine.  ‘Your father had his sword taken from him and spent three days locked up, because he trusted a Ranger from the North who proclaimed himself Elendil’s heir for the first time on the green grass of the Mark.’ I swivelled my gaze to Eldarion. ‘Your father repaid that trust by returning to Edoras and aiding the Riddermark’s fight against Saruman.  Together they stood on the walls of Helm’s Deep and defied a horrific army of ten thousand orcs and men. A friendship was formed in that place which will survive for a lifetime, whilst their privileged sons, crown princes of Middle-earth’s most powerful realms, bicker and fight like a pair of  greedy fledglings.’

Eldarion shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another, Elfwine stared at the floor.

I sat down on the chair with a sigh. ‘You know, on my way to this room I remembered something my father wrote in the middle of the Ring-war. He said that the brotherhood between your fathers was formed because they stood together unfaltering, facing unconquerable odds. I cannot put you two in that position, but I can ensure that you have to rely on each other for a short while.’ That got their attention. Elfwine stopped contemplating his boots and showed me a red face. Eldarion regarded me thoughtfully with his clear grey eyes.

‘I am going to send you out in the wilds for a few days, unaccompanied. You can fend for yourselves, and whether you feast or starve will be in your own hands.’ Hopefully, in such a position, there would be a chance of them mending their friendship.

Déor opened his eyes wide, a look of shock on his face. But I ignored it. Éomer had not been a lot older than Eldarion when he had killed his first orc. With no real threat to our lands, we had got used to protecting burgeoning young warriors from perceived dangers.

‘The slopes of the Grindberg should be suitable,’ I mused.  ‘Déor, would you arrange an escort to deliver these two to the escarpment that overhangs the Great West Road, first thing in the morning.’ The Grindberg’s lofty heights towered above the plains halfway between Edoras and Helm’s Deep and its steep, wooded valleys held no villages. People tended to build their habitation nearer to the fortresses of the Riddermark.

‘How long, my lady, do you wish them to remain on the mountain?’ Poor Déor, he had trouble getting the words out, and his eyes silently entreated me to reconsider. I slanted him a smile. ‘The ride to the Black Gates was seven days, if I recall correctly. I think that amount of time will suffice. The escort can return to collect them at noon on the seventh day.’

‘Mother, can we take no food at all?’ Elfwine’s face had gone from red to white. Whether he was contemplating seven hungry days or the thought of spending so much time with his antagonist had unnerved him, I did not know.

I didn’t answer, but turned to Déor. ‘What food did you take when the Rohirrim rode to the relief of Minas Tirith?’

I saw a smile lurking in his eyes this time. ‘A few strips of dried meat and a bag of oats, which each Rider had to share with his horse.’

‘Then that is what you two will take. Seven days, seven handfuls of oats. But I am sure a prince of the Riddermark and the son of Middle-earth’s greatest traveller should be able to catch their supper.’ The shock on their faces nearly made me laugh out loud, but somehow I didn’t think they would have preferred to be shovelling dung.

‘Let them have a knife each, Déor, and some twine. There is plenty of wood to make bows and arrows to down the forest fowl, and if not, they should be able to snare a rabbit or two.’

Eldarion had said nothing so far, but I saw a spark of excitement in his eyes. ‘We will not starve, my lady, my father has shown me how to live off the land.’

Elfwine shot him an irritated look. ‘The men of the Riddermark are used to camping in the wild, I am not without skill.’

‘Well, you will need to combine your talents so that you both may benefit. I suggest, Déor, that one of them carries the tinderbox and the other the cooking pot.’

Déor stifled a chuckle at that. Elfwine opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it as I threw him a warning look.   I could only hope that for growing young men hunger was a mighty persuader. I stood up, my eyes holding them both, before I made for the door. ‘I do not wish for your presence in the Hall tonight, so I suggest you speak pleasantly to the kitchen staff if you wish for some supper, and prepare for an early start.’

‘Lothíriel!’ Déor caught me up halfway across the hall. ‘This is a very dangerous game you are playing. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I understand your reasons, but they are untried young men.’

‘They have to start somewhere!’ I retorted, and then I clasped his arm. ‘Look, they will not suffer permanent harm from a week’s poor fare and hard ground. The Riddermark has been safe for many years, and there are no pickings for brigands in that area.’

‘No, I agree, but Elessar left his only son in our care. We have to make sure Eldarion stays safe.’

I thought quickly. ‘Make sure they understand they cannot take on the wild boar, and if it will make you feel happier order a couple of scouts to keep watch for any trouble. But tell our men if they are seen, I will send them to spend the winter on the Wold. Those two have to believe they have no recourse but to trust in each other.’

Déor laughed. ‘The men I choose will be as ghosts in the mist.’

I cannot say that no worries assailed me over the next few days, but reflection enabled me to justify my decision to myself. The escort remained camped in a high village a few valleys along from the Grindberg and I had faith that the scouts would quickly call on them at any sign of trouble.

With my son and my husband away, the days passed slowly and peacefully.  But five days after I had sent the two boys into the mountains and I was contemplating another quiet afternoon spent with my books, Déor knocked on the door.

‘A scout has arrived, Lothíriel.’

 I looked up aghast, my heart hammering.

‘No...No...’ he said quickly. It is merely a messenger to say that Éomer King and his party will be here in time for the evening meal.’

‘Oh...’ I smiled. ‘That’s a relief. I thought you had come to say something had happened to those boys.’

‘No, nothing. I am sure they are fine; luckily for them the weather has favoured them.’

‘Well, I must away to the kitchens to make sure preparations are in hand. With two hobbits to feed tonight I might have to detail some extra help!’

But by the time I reached the hall, it had already burst into life, the older children helping to drag the tables into place, and a couple of servants rolling in a barrel of ale. It would need time to settle, not that it would remain in the barrel very long with the men of two Royal Guards quenching the thirst of a long ride.

Having made certain that the king’s board would be well-laden, I returned to my chamber to bathe and prepare for my husband’s homecoming. Slipping off my dress a shiver of anticipation ran through me, knowing that Éomer would hunger for more than meat tonight.

It seemed no time before I heard the sweet sounds of Rohirric horns and was standing outside with the welcome cup. Two kings bounded up the steps towards me, but I only had eyes for one.  Before I could even begin my a duty, a strong arm pulled me close and warm lips claimed mine, for the years of marriage had not dulled our need of each other. Overcome by the feel of warm, solid man, I buried my fingers into his hair, balancing the tray precariously with one hand.

‘Do you see that, Merry?’ I heard a voice say, ‘I think they’ve missed each other.’

‘Shhh... You have to greet royalty, properly.’ Master Holdwine bowed. ‘Shall I take that tray from you, Lady Queen?’

Releasing my lips, Éomer laughed. ‘No, you will probably drink the lot.’ He let me go and I managed to offer Aragorn his welcome cup and utter the customary words.  The King of Gondor inclined his head, grey eyes sparkling.

‘I am glad to see traditions upheld, even if a little belatedly.’

Éomer grinned at him. ‘That is our tradition. We have been practising it for many years now.’

And I hoped for many years to come. Slanting him a roguish smile, I dispensed the rest of the cups, before we linked arms and led our guests through into the hall.  With us came the freshness of the open air as the men piled in behind, but I also I smelt horses and campfires and the odour of sweat.  Water had been put to heat for all, but before I could suggest a clean up before supper Éomer looked around.

‘Where are Elfwine and Eldarion? I didn’t see them in the stables.’

‘They are camping on the slopes of the Grindberg.’

He frowned. ‘Oh, that’s a strange place for them to go. Why there?’

‘I thought it would be beneficial for them to camp in the wilds.’

‘A good idea, I suppose. But I pity the poor men who have to wet-nurse those two, the mood they were in. Who’s gone with them?’

Now for it. ‘I didn’t actually send anyone with them, although there are guards not far away. I thought it better that they manage on their own.’

‘Lothíriel,’ Éomer sighed, dropping my arm. ‘What exactly are you saying?’

Quickly I explained, keeping my voice level, determined not to show that I had any doubts.

‘You did what!’ Éomer thundered, almost before I had got the last words out. ‘Am I hearing this right? You sent the heir to Gondor to spend a week in the mountains with a few handfuls of oats, a knife and no guard! Eorl save me, Lothíriel, bear, boar and lion stalk those slopes. Have you gone mad? ’

Never mind the heir to the Riddermark’s throne, that didn’t seem to bother him. ‘I had to do something. And they were instructed to leave such prey alone, and to go for the goats and the fowl.’

Éomer stared at me with his eyes blazing, but Aragorn put a calming hand on his arm. ‘It seems an excellent way of dealing with a problem to me, Éomer. And I doubt they will have to contend with anything more than an empty belly and a cantankerous billy-goat.’

To be continued.

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Byrde                          Hama’s youngest daughter, married to Déor.

Déor.                            Childhood friend of Éomer, now the captain of Lothíriel’s guard.

Halmir                                  Illegitimate son of Guleth and Éomer. 

Ælfgar                                     Royal Stable-master at Edoras

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1

Eldarion – born TA 3020

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 18

Unity Part II

Grindberg – in the White Mountains.

The spear balanced beautifully. Elfwine had taken a long time making it, first shaving the ash stave smooth and straight, before fixing his knife to the end with the fibres stripped from some pine bark. It had taken him a couple of days, but was worth the effort, the ash being light enough for him to heft but with sufficient weight to let it run true.

‘You haven’t put a stop on it?’Eldarion looked across from where he had squatted next to the fire; his eyes glinted, a challenge lurking in their depths. All his newly made arrows were lined up, the sharpened points poking into the hot ashes to char them hard.

Elfwine hesitated, reluctant to shut the door on something he would love to do, but sense prevailed as he guessed that Eldarion was intent on provoking him again. Something he did at every opportunity. ‘No, we promised Déor we wouldn’t go for the boar, didn’t we. And it would be stupid to do so. I doubt even those hardened arrows you are preparing would pierce a boar’s thick hide. The plan is to get a goat, or perhaps a deer, and that is why I made the spear.’ Unlike boars who charged, goats ran away. He didn’t need a stop for them.

Eldarion just raised his brows, smirking, and went back to tending his arrows.

With an irritated sigh, Elfwine put down the spear. ‘It would be folly to go against his advice. We want to survive this week, not end up injured for no good reason.’

‘Do you always do as you are told?’

‘When the advice is sensible, I do,’ Elfwine snapped. He got up, and went to the fire to stir the stew-pot suspended over it. ‘You would let it burn.’

‘I shot it, and found the herbs. The least you can do is to cook it.’

Elfwine glared at him. As if he had not contributed anything to their larder! ‘Are you saying that I have been idle?’

‘No, I am saying that I provided this meal.’ Seeming satisfied his arrows were baked hard, Eldarion pulled them from the ashes, blowing on the points before he tested their resilience with his fingers.

‘And what about the rabbits?’

Suddenly the mocking expression softened and the older boy laughed. ‘All right, I know you provided the food the first two days, but I wanted to get these arrows finished.’

‘It was quicker to set a few snares than to make a decent bow,’ Elfwine conceded, mollified. ‘And the rabbits fed us well.’ So had the Golden Horns when they first got here. He’d been pleased to find the summer crop already pushing up through the leaf mould on the forest floor. The tasty mushrooms had given substance to their oats. In fact there was no shortage of immediate food, and although Eldarion had laughed at him grubbing the soil for pig-nuts, the sweet, aromatic tubers had been welcome that first day.

Elfwine prodded the stew of wood-fowl and herbs; it smelt good. Plenty of wild garlic bulbs, also dug from beneath the earth, but worth the trouble to collect, would give a good flavour. They were doing well, he thought proudly, looking around their camp.  They’d chosen an open glade near one of the streams that tumbled down the mountainside, with lots of wood around for their fire and bracken to make a soft bed.  Not far from the edge of the woods either, which had made it easy to set his snares where the rabbits grazed the rough grass.  Although that had taken ages, first finding the runs and then rigging the snares, tying the loops open with overhanging grass that would break as soon as one shoved its head in the noose. But he’d been successful, and two had found their way into the pot.

Eldarion had concentrated on making a bow, fashioning it from a solid piece of elm. It took even longer for him to gather straight pieces of wood – larch, hazel and ash for arrows, and find feathers to make the fletching. But he had already brought down one of the colourful wood-fowl with it, their lumbering flight making them easy prey amongst the trees. However, they both wanted bigger game, hence the spear and the hardened arrows.

‘I think it’s ready.’ Elfwine poked in the pot once more. ‘At least the stick passes through the meat easily.’

‘Good, I’m starving.’ Eldarion laid the arrows aside carefully and got up to fetch his bowl. He held it out for his portion.

 Elfwine poured some of the broth into it and then into his own dish, before carefully sharing out the meat, spearing it with the twig.

‘Ow...!  It’s hot.’  Eldarion dropped the piece of meat back in his bowl and licked his fingers. He started to blow on the stew.

‘I should have carved some spoons. Perhaps I will now the spear is finished.’ Elfwine waited patiently for his to cool.

‘It tastes good.’ Eldarion had finally shoved a piece into his mouth. ‘I’ll let you do all the cooking.’

Elfwine shrugged, not bothering to respond. So far they had mostly shared all the chores, naturally following a camp routine that had been instilled in them since they were toddlers. As his mother had probably intended, their differences had been pushed aside with the need to feed themselves and remain reasonably comfortable. Deep down he wished their friendship could return to what it had been like on Eldarion’s last visit, but angry words still lay between them, smouldering under the surface of the enforced politeness. Well, he might want a lessening of hostilities, but he certainly wasn’t going to try and ease the situation. The last time he had started to explain that what he’d said was not meant as any insult, Eldarion had not listened and walloped him right in the eye before he had hardly begun his explanation. Anyway, why should he try and make amends, the insinuations his one-time friend had made still hung in the air, souring his mouth.

Eldarion put down his plate and stretched. ‘So we are going for a goat first since we’ve an idea where they might be, and then maybe try for a deer later. That will need a bit of planning, you will have to follow my lead as it will mean stalking one for hours and getting real close. Can you manage that?’

‘All right, don’t bite my head off!’ Eldarion held up his hand as Elfwine got to his feet incensed by the slur on his hunting abilities. ‘It’s just that you Rohirrim tend to run them down with horses and dogs, whilst I have hunted them on foot many times.’

‘You think I have never stayed in Ithilien? You are not the only one whom Faramir has taken stalking.’ Elfwine retorted angrily.

‘Perhaps we ought to try for one each, that would settle the matter,’ Eldarion suggested, the taunting gleam back in his eyes.

Determined not to be roused into committing himself to something he might not be able to achieve, Elfwine answered carefully.  ‘I would be happy to. But I think we’ve more chance with a goat, and ought to go for that first to stock our larder. The deer stalking can come if we successfully bag one.  And however good you think yourself, you’ll have to try and drive a goat to me. Your arrows won’t kill one, but will make them run. If we get it right I should be able to use the spear.’

Eldarion looked about to argue, but then shrugged. ‘I’ll agree to that. A goat first, although the darn things are brighter than one would think.’

Elfwine nodded. As soon as the goats sensed any threat they were off, and nimble and sure-footed as they were on the rocks, they could get away from a man easily. It needed stealth to get close to them. But not as much as it did to get near a deer. ‘At least you can tell where the goats are from the smell.’

Eldarion wrinkled his nose. ‘The bucks stink all right. With any luck we’ll bag a doe, I don’t fancy a buck’s skin anywhere near me for the next few days.’

‘We’ll try, but the does might have kids still suckling.’

‘A kid as well then,’ Eldarion mused. ‘They would be tender and easier to cook.’

And they would have meat left over if they got both. Elfwine liked the idea of arriving at the meeting place and offering their escort a meal. Goat would be good, but deer better. They might get lucky, and now they had made the weapons, virtually the whole time could be given over to hunting. Maybe he could take his mother back a deerskin.  Smiling at the thought, he hauled himself to his feet. ‘I’m going to get some sleep, let’s get away first thing.’

The light was only just filtering through the trees when Elfwine crammed a handful of soaked oats into his mouth. The soft bread and honey he normally ate for his early meal was what he missed most. Even one of the flatbreads they usually made when they camped would be welcome, but you couldn’t make those without flour and they hadn’t been allowed any. The nettle tea they’d brewed didn’t taste the same without a spoonful of honey either, but at least it was hot and a change from icy water straight from the stream. He finished chewing his mouthful of oats and gulped down some tea, flinching at the bitter taste.

‘I don’t suppose you noticed any bees when you were collecting wood for your arrows, did you?’

Eldarion shook his head. ‘No, but anyway the last time Elboron and I tried to rob a nest in Ithilien, we got stung horribly. I’m not keen to repeat that.’

‘You need to take some smouldering wood and smoke them, that way they’re too knocked out to sting you.’

‘Well it would be good if it works, and I will be happy to let you show your superior skill. But we need to find some first.’ Eldarion emptied his mug and grimaced. ‘We’ll start looking as soon as we’ve bagged a goat. Come on, they might have gone miles away from where we saw them yesterday.’

They trekked up through the woods, moving easily between the trees that got sparser as they gained height. Soon the trees gave way to scrub and stunted bushes that grew between the boulders. Coming right out onto the open mountainside they stopped, sniffing the air and scanning the rocky slopes that stretched above them.

‘There’s an eagle above the ridge,’ Elfwine whispered. ‘‘Do you see anything else?’

Eldarion glanced up at the eagle, fingering his bow. ‘No, let’s go and check that valley out. It looks the sort of place they might be, and they seemed to be heading that way yesterday.’

Making sure they were downwind, they edged their way to where they could look down on a shallow rocky valley with a deep gully at the bottom. Water probably ran down it in the winter, but any stream had dried up in the early summer heat. However, it was enough to make the gully a bit more fertile than the surrounding barren mountainside and many shrubs plus a few low growing trees eked out a living and made for a green oasis amongst the stone. 

‘I can smell them,’ Eldarion whispered. Both boys sank to the ground and peered over a rock. ‘Look!’ Eldarion pointed across to the other side and then Elfwine saw a brown and black shape appear between two bushes.

‘It’s a male.’ No mistaking the big curly horns and the beard.

Eldarion nodded. ‘But look down there.’

Elfwine followed his finger, smiling when he saw what Eldarion was pointing at. A doe with a kid by her side was tugging at a bush a fair distance from where the buck was eating. As they watched, other members of the herd came into view, but they were the other side of the buck, well away from the doe and kid. ‘We’ll have to go for that one.’

‘Agreed. I’ll work my way around to the other side, you try and get closer. I reckon a couple of my arrows should take out the kid, that should make the mother run and give you a chance with the spear. Wait until it’s in range.’

‘I’m not stupid,’ Elfwine hissed through his teeth.

‘I don’t want you to muck up after all the effort involved in me getting to the other side of it.’

‘Just do your own job properly and leave me to do mine, you’re going to be upwind when you make your way around.’

‘I’ll manage. As soon as I can get a good shot I will let fly, sooner if we’re rumpled. If that happens, you can make as much noise as you like and try and spear the mother. If you bring her down the kid won’t go far, we still might be able to get it.’

With no more words Eldarion moved quietly away. It would take time for him to get far enough below their prey to risk crossing the gully and coming up behind them. Elfwine waited until he saw him start to descend into the valley before he stirred from his hiding place. This was the tricky part; if he dislodged a stone the goats would be alerted and he’d be lucky to get within range. He crept downwards, trying to keep to the bigger boulders and avoiding the loose stones, of which there were many. Elfwine froze as one stone moved. The buck looked up and sniffed the air, but the doe carried on pulling at her bush. He waited until the buck resumed his eating before he moved again, reckoning he was almost as far as he could go.  Another few yards and he stopped, seeing Eldarion emerge above the doe. Grudgingly Elfwine admitted to himself that Eldarion had considerable skill in the field. He appeared to be able to move noiselessly and often spotted the prey first. Maybe he had better sight; after all he was part elf.  Hopefully his bow skills would hold up too, because the thought of roast kid made Elfwine’s mouth water. They could stew the mother. She was just within his spear range; if Eldarion got her running up the valley, he should have a good chance of taking her. 

Suddenly the doe lifted her head, alarmed by something. Eldarion immediately stood up and let fly his first arrow. It hit the kid in the rump. The kid squealed, and then dropped to the ground as the next arrow took it in the neck. The mother and Elfwine started running at the same time. Intent on getting away from the danger behind her, she didn’t see him. Now was his chance.  He brought his arm back, and then flung it forward, releasing the spear at the furthest extremity. It seemed to take an age, but it could only have been seconds before it buried itself in the doe’s chest. The goat screamed, and tumbled to the ground. He would have to get the spear out and finish her off, he didn’t have another knife.

His heart beating wildly with excitement and pride – it had been a good shot – Elfwine lifted his arm to wave at Eldarion. The wave never happened. He opened his mouth to shout a warning. Too late! The lion he saw on the rock above his friend launched itself, landing on Eldarion’s back.  

Stunned for only a moment, Elfwine started to move. A lion! One of the smaller types of those that inhabited these mountains, but nonetheless a lion with lethal teeth and claws. And he had no weapon. His spear was a good distance away buried in the goat. He shouted as loud as he could, anything he could think of, bounding over the rocks. Hardly missing a step, he picked up a large stone and hurled it at the beast that now had Eldarion on the ground – paws on his back, worrying at his shoulder. The stone hit the lion on its rump but had no effect, but the next one hit its head. It must have been that and the battle cries he was yelling that made the lion back off. But it still growled fearsomely – threatening both of them from a few yards away and only retreated to a far rock when Elfwine lobbed another stone at it.

He flung himself down by Eldarion’s side. So much blood. But Eorl save them, he was moving and looked far from dead. Relieved, Elfwine pulled at his belt. ‘Your knife, I must have your knife.’

Eldarion tried to struggle up and Elfwine snatched the knife from its holder.  Now at least he had something. He grabbed Eldarion’s arm, pulling him to his feet.

‘I’m all right,’ Eldarion said through gritted teeth.

‘We need to get out of here.’

‘Not without my bow, and the kid.’ Eldarion wiped his hand across his face and then felt the back of his neck. It came away red with blood. ‘Good job I was wearing thick leather, or I would have come off a lot worse.’ He picked up his bow and the few arrows that had fallen at his feet, swaying a little before Elfwine grabbed him. ‘I never heard a thing, too much attention on taking my shot.’

‘Never mind that now.’ Elfwine pulled him away, keeping the knife towards the lion whose yellow eyes glared malevolently at them. But it hadn’t come any closer.  And then he caught a flash of golden-brown, spotted fur in the bush behind the lion. A cub, no two cubs at least. No wonder it had attacked. ‘I want to get my spear. Then I’ll have a chance if it comes for us.  It’s a female. There are a couple of cubs in those bushes, so she might do anything.’

‘Pick up the kid first. We need something out of this.’

Elfwine would have preferred to get farther away and take the goat, but he couldn’t carry it on his own and Eldarion certainly wasn’t up to lending a hand. ‘All right, but if she looks like attacking we drop the kid and get out of the way.’

‘I doubt she will take on two of us. But you’re right, look at her paps. She’s definitely feeding cubs. I bet she was after the kid and I got between her and her meal.’

‘Probably, for it’s not usual for them to attack humans. Anyway, she’ll have plenty to eat if we leave the goat.’ They reached the kid and Elfwine picked it up, heaving the warm body over his shoulder. He kept his eye on the lion, but she was still watching them from a distance.

The rest of the herd had long gone, but the goat he had felled was still breathing. Semi-conscious, its eyes were closed and its chest rose and fell rapidly. With a glance back at the lion, Elfwine dropped the kid to the floor and slit its mother’s throat; her body sagged as life left it.  The animal was too big for the lion to drag away, the family would have to eat their fill and move on. A pity as most would be left for the scavengers. He pulled his spear from its flesh and hefted the kid onto his shoulders again, making it comfortable. ‘How are you doing? Can you make it back up to the slope?’

Eldarion nodded. He had paled considerably, the first flush of bravado disappearing as pain and shock set in.

Elfwine had his spear in one hand, but reassured that the lion intended them no further harm, he shoved the knife in his belt and took hold of Eldarion’s arm. ‘Come on, we get those wounds washed out. And you’ll probably know better than me what we need to keep them clean.’

‘Sticklewort,’ Eldarion got out through laboured breaths. ‘I saw some growing near the edge of the trees when I got the herbs for the stew.’

‘Oh, yes.  My mother uses that. It’s got yellow flowers.’ The climb up proved to be a struggle, Eldarion was obviously in pain and Elfwine, burdened by the weight of the kid, couldn’t help him much. But his suggestion to leave the meat was greeted with derision. He looked back down into the gully. ‘Look, they have already claimed their free meal.’ The lion and three cubs were tearing at the carcass, the cubs already squabbling over the entrails. ‘They must have been hungry.’

‘They could have asked,’ Eldarion muttered. ‘No need to attack me.’ He winced with pain as they scrambled over some big boulders.

Elfwine looked hard at his greying face. ‘Are you going to make it?’

‘Just keep going.’

By the time they got to the woods, Eldarion had gone ominously quiet, although he shook his head when Elfwine asked him if he wanted a rest. True, they needed to get back to the camp and treat the wounds. But whatever they did, he thought it likely this would end their sojourn in the wild and pondered on the quickest way to get some proper treatment.

Eldarion flopped down on his bracken bed as soon as they reached the camp, just taking time to mumble something about making a tea with the sticklewort. Elfwine quickly made up the fire, and then rushed off to the stream. Once he had the water heating he went over to Eldarion. ‘I’ll help you get your jerkin off and we can see what we are dealing with.’

It must have hurt as blood had stuck his shirt to the wounds, but apart from some grimacing and sucking in of breath, Eldarion made no complaint. ‘What’s the damage?’ he asked when his back had been uncovered.

‘I don’t think it’s too bad in itself. The lion bit you through your jerkin and would have got a mouthful of cowhide. There are some puncture holes, which must be where the long fangs sunk in. But its claws ripped down under your clothes, not deep but pretty nasty. As soon as I’ve washed it, I’ll go for help.’

‘No, we can’t give in. Wash the wounds well and then go and find some comfrey. I’ll survive the next few days.’

‘Not if it becomes infected you won’t.’ Elfwine didn’t want to give in either, but no one would think ill of them in the circumstances. ‘I can get down to the road in a couple of hours, someone will come along. It’s well travelled. If not, I will make my way to the next village.’

‘You’ll probably find our escort there,’ Eldarion muttered.

‘They’ve gone back to Edoras.’

‘I don’t think so. I overheard something that led me to believe they weren’t going to be that far away. I don’t think they realise how well I speak your tongue, or how sensitive my ears are.’

‘Pity you didn’t hear the lion behind you!’ Elfwine growled irritably.

‘Good job I didn’t, or it would have got me in my face and then you really would have had to go for help.’

‘I ought to go now. It strikes me that if the escort are not far away there will be scouts around. In fact, now I think about it, I bet they are patrolling in the vicinity. It makes perfect sense, they’d want no brigand or wolf pack within a mile of us.’ He should have realised, no way would Déor have put Gondor’s heir in acute danger.

‘We haven’t seen anyone.’

‘You wouldn’t, they’re Rohirrim,’ Elfwine scoffed. ‘Anyway, they’d keep a distance, just an extra safeguard.’ He made a move to get up. ‘The sticklewort is ready now, I’ll tear up my spare shirt and as soon as I’ve cleaned the wounds I’ll be off. I reckon if I go down the mountain a bit and wind my horn, someone might hear.’

‘No, don’t.’ Eldarion grabbed his arm. ‘Let’s try and finish this. It’s nothing we can’t treat with what’s around us. As long as you don’t mind getting the food for the next few days. I don’t think I’m up to that.’

Elfwine hesitated; he really didn’t want to go back early. ‘All right, but one sign of infection and I’ll be down the mountain.’

To be continued.

Swansong 19

Unity Part III

Grindberg – in the White Mountains.

Elfwine strode back into the camp and dropped a couple of small rabbits on the ground next to the fire. He unhitched the canvas bag from his shoulder and dug his spear into the soft earth – not a bad haul for just a couple of hours. Eldarion struggled to his feet to greet him, brushing off bits of bracken.

‘It looks like you’ve done well.’

‘Only enough until tomorrow, the rabbits aren’t big. ‘Elfwine wiped his hands on his breeches and pointed his chin towards Eldarion’s shoulder. ‘What about you? How’s it feeling?’

Eldarion moved his arm up and down. ‘A bit stiff, and painful, but I would expect that. Though you didn’t see any sign of infection last night, did you?’

‘No, if I had we would have been out of here.’ Elfwine pulled a large handful of leaves from his bag, dividing them into two bunches.  ‘I’ve got some more comfrey and I found some yarrow. I had to go a fair way down the mountain, but that’s what all the Rohirrim use if there are any injuries when they are out on patrol.’

Eldarion nodded, took the yarrow from him and sniffed it. ‘Best to make a poultice with them both, I’ll do it.’

‘No, the less you do the better, too much movement is likely to start the wounds bleeding again. You will want to be fit enough to get to the meeting place. It’s only two days away.’

Eldarion sighed and slanted him a rueful grin. ‘I suppose so, but I am finding it hard doing nothing.’

Ignoring the rabbits for the time being, Elfwine concentrated on chopping the herbs into small pieces. After they were all done, he boiled them up with a minimum amount of water, but even then the result was a sloppy mess.

‘The herbs are normally mixed with flour,’ Eldarion commented. He had sat down on a big log they had dragged near the fire before his injury. A good seat for tending the fire and the cooking.

‘I know. I suppose I could use the oats, but there aren’t many left.’

‘I’d rather eat them,’ Eldarion agreed. ‘And it’s not as if I am moving about much, so the mess doesn’t matter.’

The poultice ready Eldarion started to strip off his shirt, wincing as he pulled his arm back.

‘Here let me.’ Elfwine went behind him and eased the shirt from his shoulder; it was covered in green where the herbs had leaked out from the rough bandaging. ‘The weather’s  going to be warm today, what if I wash your shirt out and hang it to dry in the sun, you won’t have to go without it for long.’

‘A good idea, but I must do something to help. You’re doing it all.’

Elfwine shrugged. ‘So would you if our positions were reversed, at least I imagine you would.’

‘Of course!’ Eldarion glared at him. ‘Skin the rabbit and I will tend the stew, that won’t overtax me.’

‘In that case if you lend me your bow, I will try for one of the wood-fowl. If I get lucky we can put it on the spit after the stew is done. It’s surprising how hungry one gets living outdoors, I thought that kid would have lasted longer.’

‘Not a lot of meat on it,’ Eldarion agreed. ‘But you be careful with the bow, it took me ages to make and I want to take it back with me.’

‘I think I can be trusted with a bow,’ Elfwine muttered as he got hold of the edge of the bandage.

‘Ow...!” Eldarion sucked in his breath as the material pulled against the scabs. “You might have to soak it off.’

‘I think I will, I’ll go and wash your shirt and bring back some water.’

The sun had risen well above them by the time he got back with the water and had soaked off the strips of linen shirt. ‘It looks good, not puffy or anything, so I’ll just put the fresh poultice on and re-bandage. There’s one clean bit left I can use.’ Elfwine sighed; he’d have to wash the old bandage, and in fact he’d better boil it before they started to cook the stew.  It would have been much better had they been given another stew pot, everything took so long, especially when there was no one to share the chores with. But still better than giving in and going back. He wanted his mother to know he could survive for a week without help and without the comforts he was use to. Even when they camped, the Rohirrim tended to live quite well. What he wouldn’t give for a hunk of bread and cheese, or a slice of apple pie laden with cream.

The thought of food made him remember his morning trip. ‘I saw some wild strawberries when I picked the yarrow, I just didn’t have time to gather them.’

Eldarion’s eyes brightened and he almost licked his lips. ‘They would be lovely, and we could make a good sweet tea with the leaves and a few of the berries.’ He flexed his shoulder gingerly, but the bandaging held well. ‘Why don’t I walk down there and gather a load, and instead of the stew we could roast the rabbit and use the stew pot for the tea. I can find some green leaves to go with the roast rabbit. You can still go after a wood-fowl.’

 ‘I thought we’d agreed it would be best for you to rest. I don’t want your wounds breaking open. And you’ve got no shirt.’

‘But you said I am healing well,’ Eldarion argued. ‘I can’t just sit around and I will go carefully. Strawberries won’t be heavy to carry.  And I’ll wear my jerkin, the sun’s getting really warm, it will be enough.’

Elfwine knew that Eldarion would be much better at recognising decent stuff to make a salad and herbs to stuff the rabbit. And the wounds had looked good. ‘All right, but the strawberries are a fair way down,’ he warned. ‘We’d best go together for the most part. Just in case you need a hand.’

They returned to their camp late afternoon, the richer for two wood-fowl, a bag full of various herbs and salad leaves and an armful of strawberry plants. Elfwine was starving and quickly set up the spit and got the fire going. Eldarion hadn’t complained at all, but the climb back up the mountain had left him drained. However, he insisted on sorting the herbs, taking the fruit from the strawberry plants he had picked and putting the leaves into the pot. He could do that sitting on the log.

Elfwine stuffed the rabbits with some of the herbs and got them cooking. He put the pot of strawberry leaves and water at the edge of the fire and started to pluck the wood-fowl. If he roasted those that evening they could be eaten cold for breakfast. A couple more decent size rabbits and another couple of fowl would see them through until they met the escort. His mouth watered at the thought of getting back to Meduseld in time for the evening meal – maybe there would be a meat cobbler and a cherry pie.  Perhaps he should have insisted they went back after Eldarion had been injured, no one would have blamed them.

But later, his stomach full of roast rabbit, he felt good about what he had achieved. The hunting the last three days had been down to him, and they hadn’t starved. He got up to share out the strawberries, using a piece of bent bark as a plate. They were a welcome sweetness after all the meat.

‘I think the tea is ready.’  Elfwine poured some into Eldarion’s cup and passed it to him. ‘It smells a lot better than the nettle.’

‘Tastes better too, worth the effort, since we found no honey,’ Eldarion said after he had sipped at the hot liquid. He was sitting with his back to a tree and looked better than he had an hour or so ago. The food had brought the colour back to his face.

Elfwine, having set the birds to roast, sat down near him to enjoy his tea. The sun had disappeared behind the mountain – dusk came early on these northern slopes – but the air still held the day’s warmth. A couple of bats hunted around the clearing, enjoying the bounty of a myriad of moths drawn to the light of the fire. From behind him in the woods he heard the churring song of a nightjar, the bird too shy to join in the feast. He sighed. ‘I’m glad we didn’t give up, but I’m looking forward to a soft bed and newly baked bread.’

‘My father lived for months at a time in the wilds, often on his own,’ Eldarion mused. ‘I have to admire him for that.’

‘Doesn’t he sometimes go off with Faramir for a night or two, to keep his hand in?’

‘When he can,’ Eldarion confirmed. ‘But he’s lucky to get away for very long. That’s why he likes to come to Rohan. He can live a bit less formally.’

Elfwine didn’t answer. There had been a time when Eldarion had loved to come too, and they’d had great times together. But this visit had gone wrong from the start,  well at least from when Éomund had been one of the four Royal Guards escorting them on a  camping trip. Up till then Eldarion had not seemed the type to listen to gossip, well not to repeat it anyway.

As if he could read what he was thinking, Eldarion broke into his thoughts. ‘Look, I appreciate all you’ve done the last few days, and I want to apologise for what I said about your father. I was teasing really, you just took it seriously.’

Elfwine looked at him sharply, but he didn’t see any mockery in the grey eyes. Only genuine regret. ‘Did you think I hadn’t heard the rumours? And hadn’t questioned whether they were true?’

Eldarion let out a long breath. ‘No, I suppose not. But I didn’t mean any slur on your father.’

‘Then why did you mention it at all? You should have just kept quiet.’

‘I know, and I am sorry for that. I was just a bit jealous at the time.’

‘Jealous? What did you have to be jealous about?’ Elfwine asked, stunned.

Frowning, Eldarion considered that for a moment. ‘Not jealous exactly, more envious, I suppose.  You have such an easy relationship with your father’s knights. They treat you like the youngster you are, but manage to show respect at the same time. It’s so much more formal in Gondor. If I told one of our lot to jump in a dung heap, he would doubtless do just that. If you’d tried the same you’d likely get thrown in yourself.’

‘Probably head first,’ Elfwine agreed with a laugh. No chance of growing up high and mighty in the Riddermark. He sighed. ‘I can understand a bit of that, but it doesn’t explain why you repeated gossip.’

Eldarion shrugged. ‘It was just that the two of you were laughing together and I thought that Éomund did bear a likeness to your father. I mulled on it a bit – especially that he was named after your grandfather - and then after that ale they gave us, I rather blurted it out. Siring a bastard is quite a common occurrence, and was not meant as an insult to your father, the opposite in fact.’

‘Were it true that Éomund was my half-brother, I don’t think it would be anything for my father to boast about,’ Elfwine retorted, getting nettled again.  ‘But anyway, I know for certain he isn’t. So there is no need for any more discussion on it.’

‘If you know for definite, then I really am sorry I ever mentioned it. I realise now that you must have talked to your father about it.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ Elfwine admitted, knowing he’d been a bit reluctant to discuss it with his father. ‘I talked to Éothain, he knows everything.’

‘Éothain?’

‘Why not? He rode with my father before the war. Éothain told me that Éomund’s parents were killed in an orc raid on Eastfeld and my father always felt guilty that he never got there in time to save them. He took Éomund and his sister to be fostered by his cousin, Edyth, realizing there would be rumours because of his friendship with their parents, and the fact that Éomund’s father had had an accident.  But he swore to Éothain that the children were conceived in wedlock, and my father does not lie.’

‘Of course not, I would never suggest otherwise.  I won’t mention it again.’

Elfwine thought through what had happened that night – they had had a few pints of ale, the guards indulging them somewhat, and he knew full well how ale loosened tongues. ‘Let’s just forget it. I’ll accept your apology and trust you to frap down anyone else you hear voicing suspicions like that.’

‘I can promise I will.’ Eldarion got up and fetched the pot of tea, coming over to top up Elfwine’s mug. ‘I used to really enjoy my visits, it’s a shame we ended up fighting with each other this time.’

Elfwine felt the same and now it was up to him clear up another misunderstanding, one not easy to explain. ‘Look, last time I tried to put right our differences, you socked me in the eye before I could say anything. Will you listen now?’

Eldarion stiffened. ‘I can’t quite see what there is to explain, your words seemed pretty clear to me. My sister...’

‘Will you listen!’ Elfwine interrupted angrily. ‘I meant no insult to your sister!’

Eldarion stared at him with hard eyes, but suddenly he relaxed. ‘All right, I will listen. Anyway, I am in no condition to thump you.’

Eldarion was waiting for him to start – not so simple to do, even though he now had the opportunity, and Elfwine stalled by drinking some more of his tea. But he got it out at last. ‘Obviously I agree with you when you said that we have to accept a different life to other boys, and that duty must come first. And yes, I do see why you would think we would end up as brothers, but however pretty and suitable your sister is, I don’t think the Riddermark would be best served by her becoming its future Queen.’

Eldarion’s eyes had narrowed dangerously, but he calmly took a sip of his tea. ‘You are going to have to explain that.’

‘It’s quite simple really.’ Elfwine slanted him a wry smile. ‘I have a Gondorian great-grandmother and a Gondorian mother. That’s enough! Heck, I even look like a Gondorian.’

‘But you don’t talk or ride like one,’ Eldarion cut in sharply.

‘I know.’ And he also knew that most considered his dark looks of no importance. But he still thought his reasoning correct. ‘But there are other things to take into account,’ Elfwine went on. ‘Consider this: the foundation of the breeding of our horses comes from the original Mearas herd, brought from the north by Eorl the Young.  Over the years we have mixed the pure bloodlines with horses from Gondor and Dol Amroth, to give us the numbers we need.  But if one line got so diluted by having no Mearas blood, the progeny would be like any other horse in Middle-earth. At least every other generation needs seed from our pure bred Mearas, or the magnificent steeds of the Riddermark will have lost their potency and their identity.  And that is the important bit, for it is no different for the sons of Eorl...’

‘So I was right when I accused you of being no more than a horse-breeder,’ Eldarion interrupted.

Elfwine immediately bristled, but then saw the laughter in the other boy’s eyes, genuine laughter unsullied by any ridicule, and he laughed himself. ‘You were right: I should not have reacted so angrily.’

‘Yes, you should, I meant to be rude. But I take it back. I do see your point and forgive you for rebuffing the idea that you might marry my sister.’

‘As I said, it was not meant as any insult and I like both your sisters very much. But I will marry one of my own people. And Eorl’s line will be strengthened because of that.’

Eldarion shook his head in amazement. ‘You have certainly given it thought, considering that you don’t have to marry for years and years. Just think what we have ahead of us, all those women stalking us.’

‘Well, you will no doubt marry one of my cousins, so don’t get too carried away chasing others.’ Elfwine warned with a tilt of his brows.

‘One of your cousins?’ More astonishment crossed the heir of Gondor’s face.

Elfwine laughed. ‘Of course, Amroth has two suitable girls and Éowyn one. Think of the goodwill marrying one of them will buy you.’

‘I’d rather not, if you don’t mind! At least yet awhile,’ he said quickly before Elfwine could take offence.  ‘But it certainly won’t be Elenna, she’s a total handful. And last time I went to Dol Amroth she challenged me to a sword-fight. No disrespect to your cousin, and I admit she’s very pretty, but I prefer them rather gentler. Don’t you?’

‘No, actually,’ Elfwine confessed. ‘The one I am going to marry reminds me of my aunt Éowyn. She is fiercely loyal to the Riddermark, rides as well as any boy and already fights better than any woman...’ he stopped suddenly realising he had probably said too much. His fear was confirmed when he saw the slow smile spread across Eldarion’s face.

‘Are you telling me you have already chosen her, and you not fourteen? I don’t believe it!’

Elfwine felt himself flushing. ‘Why not? There are only so many who would make a good queen.’

‘Then I know who it is.’ Eldarion’s grin spread from ear to ear.

‘Don’t say it!’ Elfwine stood up pointing a finger at the other boy. ‘If you value our friendship, then I am asking you to keep your thoughts to yourself. It will do nobody any good if rumours like that get around.’

‘My word on it.’ Eldarion was still smiling. ‘But tell me, what makes you think she will cooperate. She strikes me as a girl of independent spirit, and I doubt the lure of a crown will make her do something against her inclination.’

Elfwine said nothing, concentrating on turning the birds roasting on the spit. They smelt wonderful –maybe they should have a bite of supper.

‘Well, are you going to answer?’ Eldarion pushed, still highly amused.

‘She will.’

‘Don’t tell me you’ve talked about it... You have, haven’t you,’ he went on when Elfwine still didn’t answer. ‘Now you really have astonished me.’

‘I don’t see why,’ Elfwine retorted. ‘As I said, she is loyal to the Mark and sees the sense of it. Oh, I know it won’t be for years, but I didn’t want her getting involved with anyone else later on.’

‘Pity we’ve no wine here,’ Eldarion raised his mug of tea, ‘or we could drink to your future nuptials.’

‘Oh, go fall in a bog!’ Elfwine grinned at him. Just like old times, teasing without rancour. ‘I’ll wager that you marry one of my cousins.’

‘No, I’ll not take you up on that,’ Eldarion said after a moment’s thought. ‘But I’ll wager five crowns it won’t be Elenna.’

For some reason Elfwine wasn’t so sure Eldarion would win that bet, and he gladly took the wager, pleased with the return to their old ways. Night had fallen whilst they had been talking, and the only light they had came from the glow of the fire.  The trees seemed to have closed in on them, the paths out of the clearing leading only to impenetrable blackness. But above he could see stars twinkling in a velvet-dark sky. The moon would rise soon, giving them enough light to finish their chores. He heard a fox bark in the distance, an eerie sound that cut through the still, pine-scented air.

‘These birds are done; do you want to taste a bit?’ He looked around at Eldarion who still had a grin on his face. But he didn’t care – the fact that he was still young made no difference to his feelings. He loved this land and would do whatever was best for it.

Eldarion nodded, and got up. ‘It does seem a long time since we ate those rabbits.’

To be continued.

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1

Eldarion – born TA 3020

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 20

Unity Part IV

Edoras FA 14

Reluctantly I released my hold on my source of warmth. Not that the morning could be considered cold, but the bliss of two bodies, limbs entwined in love and lust, was a joy to be treasured. And a joy that so often got interrupted. Which explained why I groaned loudly when the knock came on the door, and Éomer sighed in accustomed resignation. But, as always, after a few moments he started to ease himself out of the bed. I clutched at his arm, unwilling to let go, but only lips lingered, brushing softly over my cheek.

‘I’ll see what it is and come back.’

I nodded, but the clear light that stole between the heavy curtains told me that dawn had come and gone some time ago. We would not be regaining precious intimacy until the sun sank behind the mountains again.

Practice ensured breeches and shirt were pulled on before I’d had chance to feast long on the sight of my husband’s splendid body; still muscled and taut, Éomer looked little different than on our wedding night – the discipline of the Rider had not been lost during the years of kingship and only a few extra lines around his eyes betrayed the passing of years.

Once the door had shut behind him, I left my bed and pulled back the curtains to stare out the window. Edoras was awake – voices wafted up from the town, and I could hear horses whinnying in excitement as they were led down to graze. I might as well get dressed, as long experience told me he was unlikely to return anyway.             

Besides, with Éomer’s departure the heavy weight of desire had lessened and my thoughts turned from husband to son.   Sweet Elbereth, had I done the right thing in sending those boys up there? This morning the tops of the mountains were shielded by cloud as though approving the mists in my mind that had veiled their doings from me all week. True, Éomer had soon agreed that I’d made a fair decision, and Aragorn had shown no concern at all that his heir had been sent to live in the wilds with only a boy for a companion. But as a mother I would be glad when this sennight came to its end.

When I entered the hall, Éomer, Aragorn and Déor were sitting together, deep in conversation. As I walked towards them, I could feel Éomer’s anger – directed at me – but Aragorn smiled reassuringly and stood up, offering his seat. ‘What is it?’ I asked my stony- faced husband when Aragorn grabbed himself another chair. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘We think Eldarion has been injured,’ Déor answered for his king, who I had no doubt was trying to regain his temper before he spoke to me.

‘Just what I was afraid of, Lothíriel. I knew there would be repercussions. Whatever possessed you...’

‘Éomer, Éomer.’ Aragorn held up his hand.  ‘Don’t blame your wife. I still think she made a sensible decision. And from what the scouts say Eldarion was walking around yesterday afternoon.’ He smiled at me and put his chair close to mine.  Aragorn was obviously far less concerned about his son than my husband, but still I felt an icy hand grab my insides. Swallowing hard, I tried to keep my voice level.

 ‘What have the scouts reported?’ I could tell that all Éomer’s fears had come flooding back, so rather than have him bark at me again, I looked at Déor, knowing I would get the unadorned truth.

‘Not much, and no real facts, it’s only what we are reading into the circumstances,’ Déor answered. ‘It seems the scouts missed seeing Eldarion for a couple of days; Elfwine was doing all the hunting. Earlier they’d found signs of lion near the carcass of a goat. The goat was pretty mauled, but it had obviously had its throat slit with a knife. They only connected the two things when Eldarion eventually appeared, heavily bandaged across his back.’

A lion! Surely not. I sank into my chair with the weight of what might have happened, but found it difficult to believe.  ‘You think a lion attacked him? Surely that’s highly unusual.’

Éomer let out a long breath, still glaring at me. ‘Not if it was a female with cubs.’

‘But I thought the scouts were guarding them.’

‘It would be impossible for them to get near enough on an open mountainside if they wanted to remain undetected. They threw a ring of safety around the boys, but they were not told to watch every move.  We are only surmising of course, but lion, bear or some other accident, there seems no doubt that Eldarion is injured.’ Éomer ran his hand through his uncombed and unruly hair and looked his friend in the eyes. ‘I am sorry, Aragorn...’ 

‘Éomer.’ Aragorn shook his head, his mouth twisting into a reluctant grin. ‘How many scars did you carry by the time you were Eldarion’s age? He is on his feet, and if the boys dealt with this without calling for help, then we can only be proud of them. I hope whatever difficulties they have had to face this week will achieve the results Lothíriel intended. I for one have been uneasy about the lengths we go to protect them.’

Éomer looked between me and Aragorn, the blaze leaving his eyes. ‘I suppose, as long as he is not badly injured. And if they have learnt lessons then no one will be more glad than me. ’ He got up and put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. ‘Sorry, my love, but it’s funny, I wasn’t worried about Elfwine, it’s just the thought of anything untoward happening to Eldarion whilst on our soil is the stuff of nightmares.’

I reached up, my fingers entwining with his, understanding how the notion of any harm coming to Aragorn’s son would affect him.  ‘I did think it through, Éomer. It seemed, still seems, so important for them to get on.  And beneath their posturing and bravado they are sensible boys. They have both received excellent training and in their fathers have the best examples to follow. Whatever happened up there I am sure they would have been able to call on all the knowledge they have gained over the years.’

***

Vindicated! Watching the two young princes ascending the steps to Meduseld the next evening, it was obvious that the previous ill feeling between them had been blown away by the week spent in the mountains. Yes, one could see Eldarion was injured by the way he held himself, it slowed him down a little, but instead of bounding up ahead, Elfwine matched his pace to the older boy.

‘It’s only a flesh wound,’ Eldarion brushed off solicitous enquiries from us all. ‘I will tell you all about it...’

‘After supper...’Elfwine chimed in.

‘Bath before supper, you can’t sit down in the hall in that smelly state.’ Elfwine’s face fell, but I whispered into a very grubby ear. ‘I’ll send along some new-baked bread and butter to keep you going.’ I knew what my son liked.

After they were clean, and Eldarion’s wound had been dressed by his father, we spent a wonderful evening listening to their tales. It was so rewarding to see the two boys – no they were young men now – talking and laughing together as they shared their experiences.

 ‘I wonder what the problem was,’ I murmured to Éomer when Elfwine was busy wolfing down his second helping of meat cobbler, rivalling the two hobbits in his appetite.

Éomer shrugged. ‘I doubt it was of any importance. Boys bicker and fight, it’s a normal part of growing up.’

I still had no inkling, so following my husband’s lead I dismissed it from my mind. It was a few years later that we discovered what the rancour had all been about.

***

Another disturbed morning, but this time we stayed in bed as Éomer perused the letter that had arrived from Minas Tirith. Rain pattered against the windows which made me snuggle closer against him, dozing contently.  He would let me know if the missive contained anything of interest, but hopefully it was just a friendly communication from Aragorn and not any call to arms.

‘Do you fancy a trip to Minas Tirith?’ Éomer broke the silence at last. ‘Aragorn has invited us for an extended visit. It’s twenty years since the end of the Ring-war this Súlimë and there’s going to be a big celebration. Including a tournament and horse racing, Elfwine will enjoy that.’

That made me wake up – twenty years, where had it all gone. Pleased, I struggled from under the covers, pushing my hair aside. ‘We’ll be able to meet up with my family, they will all go, I imagine. But there might not be a lot of room in the house.’

‘No matter, Aragorn is expecting us to stay with him, Eldarion has especially requested it.’ He laughed.  ‘So that he and Elfwine can get up to mischief, I imagine.’

‘And...’, I hesitated, throwing him a sideways look. ‘If we want Elfwine and Menelwë to become better acquainted it would be a good opportunity.’

‘Why do we want Elfwine to become better acquainted with Menelwë? They always seem to get on well.’

‘Surely it would please you and Aragorn.’

 For a moment he didn’t follow, but then light dawned. ‘He’s only seventeen, Lothíriel. That’s ridiculous.’

‘I am only suggesting they get to know one another. I agree it will be years before he’s ready to take a wife, but it would be good if he’s thinking along the lines of one of Aragorn’s daughters and Menelwë seems the most suitable. She’s very sensible and has a sweet nature.’

He chuckled, looking at me indulgently. ‘In that case he’s likely to go for someone else entirely.’

 ‘You mean someone not at all sensible. Like you did at that age...’ I shut up, his condescension had made me snap, but that was not fair, as I remembered the grief and the guilt that had been unleashed by him falling in love with Bergit. But he only sighed.

‘Lothíriel, all I mean is that boys do not normally marry the girl they fall in love with at an early age.’

‘Well, I still think it’s a good idea for them to get to know one another better, and don’t tell me you have never given the matter thought. Remember we talked about it when Menelwë was born.’

‘That was merely a reaction to Aragorn having a daughter after we had a son. It was not meant to be serious.’ He put down the letter, staring into space for a moment. ‘Your brothers have followed their hearts, and so did we. I would have thought that you of all people would want our son to marry for love, as we did.’

‘I do, of course, I just hoped he might fall in love with Menelwë, and he won’t do that if he hardly sees her. Besides,  I know it seems we had free choice, Éomer, but had you discovered I was a servant and not Imrahil’s daughter after you saw me at the Harlond, would you have married me?’

He leant over and pecked my cheek, lips quivering. ‘Luckily I did not have to make that decision. And, yes, I agree Elfwine will have to remember his responsibilities when the time comes. But if you are thinking of a match between our son and one of Aragorn’s daughters, I think you are likely to be disappointed.’

‘Oh, why do you say that? He will know he’s expected to make a good marriage.’

Éomer shrugged. ‘He passed a comment some time ago that he thought it was time for the House of Eorl to be strengthened by strong Rohirric blood. He has a point; there have been lots of Gondorians in the mix these past years.’ He laughed, ruffling my hair with a big hand. ‘Not that I would change anything.’ Then he pulled a long suffering face. ‘Well, most days I wouldn’t.’

Normally I would bat back at him, but my mind was still on Elfwine. ‘When did he say that? He’s never mentioned it to me.’

‘Oh, we were talking about breeding from the Mearas stallions, he thought...’

‘Horse breeding!’ I exclaimed, tossing my head angrily. ‘I might have guessed.’ That outburst only caused him to chuckle louder, and I grinned in spite of myself. ‘Did he say any more?’

Éomer fell back onto the pillows, pulling me down with him. ‘No, but I didn’t think to query it, he was only about fifteen at the time. Who knows who he’ll choose, and as long as it’s somebody suitable she doesn’t have to be one of Aragorn’s daughters, even though, as you say, it would please us both.’

I let the subject drop, knowing I would get no help from Éomer at the moment. But I had every intention of guiding Elfwine in the direction of Menelwë if I could. We lived closely in Meduseld and realising there would come a time, albeit in the future, when I would be sharing Meduseld with my son’s wife, I preferred to have someone I thought I could get along with. If I were totally honest I thought her a biddable but intelligent young woman who would not try and disturb my way of running things.

As predicted, Elfwine relished the thought of a prolonged stay in Minas Tirith and for weeks talked incessantly about what he and Eldarion would do, whether he could race his horse, and if he had any chance of beating Elboron in one of the archery competitions. Walking back with him from the butts one morning – he could certainly beat me, but then he practised a lot more – I linked my arm in his and made another foray towards my goal. All the small comments I had made the past month about the friendship between our families had gone unheeded. ‘It will be good for you to spend some time with Eldarion, he has been here much more than you have stayed in Minas Tirith. Perhaps a bit of city polish will be good for you.’

Elfwine wrinkled his nose. ‘I hope you are not thinking of the dancing, Mother. I intend to keep that to a minimum. Eldarion has written with all sorts of plans, he is hoping we can go to Cair Andros and take a raft down the  river to the Harlond, camping on the way. What with the tournament, there won’t be much time for balls and the suchlike.’

‘I think you’ll find he has to attend a couple. The welcome feast and the one to celebrate the storming of Mordor, will be obligatory.’

‘Oh, I know that, but don’t expect us to squire his sisters around the dance floor every evening.’ Elfwine gave me one of his engaging grins.’ He has a new guard, younger men he likes, and they are happy to accompany him to the odd disreputable tavern. We intend to avoid Merethrond except when we have to be there.’

‘Well, I hope you will be polite and spend some time with his sisters. The last time I visited I thought how quickly they were growing up; Menelwë is a particularly agreeable young lady, pretty too.’

Immediately the pliant body next to me stiffened, and he pulled away. I jerked my head round to look into dark eyes, flashing with anger. One thing he had inherited from his father was his quick temper. ‘Elfwine?’

Gradually he relaxed and a ghost of a smile bent his lips. ‘Mother, we’d better get one thing clear: I am not going to marry one of Aragorn’s daughters, or in fact any Gondorian...’

‘I didn’t mean...’

‘Yes, you did. And it’s not the first time you’ve hinted. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.’

And I thought I’d been so subtle. ‘You have to be circumspect about who you marry, Elfwine. There will be many who target you because they have much to gain from marrying a Prince of the Riddermark. That is why it’s sometimes easier to make a match with someone of equal rank. Menelwë...’

He held up his hand for peace. ‘It will do no good whatever you say. I know it has been expected that I would link our families, Eldarion certainly thought so. In fact it’s one of the reasons we fell out that time. He thought I’d insulted his sister by not being interested, but I was able to explain properly during that week you banished us.’

‘I didn’t banish you...’

He laughed. ‘Perhaps not. But your scheme worked, didn’t it? We are best of friends again.’

I sighed. Another trait of his father’s – Elfwine would always go his own way. ‘All right, you explained to Eldarion, explain to me. Preferably with no mention of horse breeding.’

He chuckled. ‘That will be difficult.’

But when he had finished, I found I couldn’t disagree with him. Naturally I immediately started to run names through my mind, there were only so many Rohirrim maidens I thought would be able to fulfil the role of a king’s wife. I had a feeling Elfwine was keeping something back – like who he considered suitable, but I decided to keep quiet, sure I would get some hint of where his interest might lay.

‘I will say no more. And I am glad you and Eldarion sorted out your misunderstanding.’ I took his arm again. ‘But you said that was one reason for your quarrel, was the other anything I should know about?’

For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer, then he sighed. ‘Nothing much, he just repeated that old gossip about Éomund being Father’s bastard. I didn’t like it.’

‘But you know it’s not true.’

‘I do, but sometimes I wonder if there was not more to the story than Éomund’s parents being friends with Father and him feeling guilty about their death.’

‘If there was, then it is your father’s business, Elfwine.’

He stared at me hard. ‘I would hate to think of Father doing anything unworthy.’

‘If you have any doubts then you must speak to him, not harbour suspicions.’

‘You have never been bothered by the rumours?’

‘Elfwine, there are no secrets between your father and me. I suggest that you forget it, but if you cannot, then speak to him.’

I could tell he was mulling it over: as a young child endearing little frown lines had appeared between his eyes whenever he concentrated on some problem. He might be grown now, but they still showed up whenever something difficult presented itself. I waited.

‘No, I will not bring it up. I am sure that Father would always tell me anything of importance I needed to know.’

I nodded, my mind racing – very soon now Éomer was going to have to tell Elfwine about Halmir. How would he react to finding out he was not his father’s firstborn? I didn’t think Éomer could put it off much longer as Halmir must be nearing his coming of age.

When I mentioned it to Éomer he agreed Elfwine would soon have to know, but decided to talk to him when we came back from Gondor. He was sure Halmir wouldn’t be told until the last moment, so thought it unlikely he would turn up in Edoras, more expecting Déor to have to make another visit.

***

We set off for Gondor at the beginning of the month of Súlimë, the weather kind to us as it had been unusually mild since the turn of the year. Consequently early spring flowers lined the road and everywhere trees were bursting into bud. Snowy clouds of blossom covered the blackthorn bushes and the pungent smell of ransoms filled the air. The Riddermark at its best.

We intended to arrive in Minas Tirith a full two sennights before the twenty-fifth to enjoy some private time with Aragorn and Arwen, and also Éowyn and Faramir. Most of my family would be arriving around that time as well, so it promised to be a pleasing interlude before the more formal celebrations.

But the journey started slowly, the packing not completed until the morning had waned. We were in no hurry as arrangements had been made to lodge at Aldburg that first night. Elfhelm and his family were also invited to stay in the Citadel, and others from the Eastmark would be camping on the Pelennor, so we would all travel together. I laughed to myself as I thought how long the line of horses would be – a real Rohan invasion of Gondor.

The sun was nearing the tops of the mountains as we approached the fortress of Aldburg; well capable of holding back unwanted hordes, the gates stood open in welcome. Not the only welcome though as a small knot of horsemen came galloping towards us.

It didn’t surprise me to see Ceolwen in the lead.  Her blonde hair streaming out, Elfhelm’s second daughter rode like the wind. Leaving the road she jumped a wide ditch to take a short cut across the meadow in her effort to get to us before her brother.  She arrived moments before her sibling, laughing in triumph as she reined in her spirited black mare. Ceolwen paused long enough to greet Éomer and me respectfully before her sparkling eyes fixed on Elfwine. No one could miss the challenge in them.

He burst into laughter, expertly reading her thoughts.  ‘If you are thinking of racing me now, Ceolwen, forget it. You will have to wait until my horse is fresh to get your revenge for last time.’

‘Poof!’ She tossed her head disparagingly.  ‘A poor specimen he must be if a little journey from Edoras will tire him.   Raven and I have been out for hours, and she is still eager.’

Elfwine just grinned and kicked his horse forward. With no more words she pivoted hers so that they could ride side by side. ‘Tomorrow,’ I heard him say, ‘there is the whole journey before us.’

Startled by the intimacy I sensed between them, I swivelled round to catch Éomer’s eye. ‘Something your sight didn’t show you,’ he murmured.

It certainly hadn’t!   And my thoughts centred on the two young people riding ahead as we progressed towards the gate at a leisurely pace. I had always liked Ceolwen, I liked all Elfhelm’s children, and Ceolwen especially because of her wild ways, I supposed. But when had she grown into such a lovely looking girl?  Time and age would calm her, of course, as it did us all. So maybe by the time Elfwine was ready for marriage, she would be able to step confidently into the role of wife and future queen. And who could think that a daughter of Elfhelm, and grandchild of Hama, would not be totally acceptable to the Rohirrim. I knew they would welcome one of their own.

Edoras FA 53

‘Mother, should you be out here?’

I jumped, landing back in the present with a thump. Elfwine must have finished in the stables and deep in my reverie I had not noticed.

‘They said you had improved or I would not have gone for a ride, but I didn’t expect to find you sitting outside on my return.’

‘I am enjoying the air,’ I countered. ‘It’s very mild... and the peace gives me time to think.’

Elfwine smiled, but I could see the relief in his eyes. My illness had worried him. Love contracted my chest and I reached for his hand – calloused and strong like his father’s – as he bent to kiss my cheek.

‘And where were you, Mother? Far away I imagine?’

‘No, not really, I was thinking of the time we rode to Minas Tirith and I belatedly realised you had given your heart to Ceolwen.’

He chuckled, squeezing my shoulder lovingly.  ‘I did think you were unusually slow to work it out, but there never was anyone else, you know. However much you tried to push me towards one of Aragorn’s daughters.’

And how wonderfully it had turned out: Ceolwen had made a loyal, loving wife and would no doubt make an excellent queen when the time came. Besides that, she had presented me with a clutch of grandchildren to spoil. ‘It was a very enlightening time, for Elfhelm and Wilflede as well.  If you were not with Eldarion and Elboron that spring, you were racing with Ceolwen.’

‘It was a very enlightening time in other ways.’ An eyebrow cocked in amusement. ‘In fact,’ that visit to Minas Tirith was one of the most memorable times in our lives, don’t you think?’

To be continued.

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Déor.                                      Childhood friend of Éomer, now the captain of Lothíriel’s guard.

Halmir                                  Illegitimate son of Guleth and Éomer. 

Menelwë                            Aragorn’s eldest daughter.

Wilflede                               Hama’s middle daughter married to Elfhelm.

Ceolwen                              Elfhelm’s youngest daughter.

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1

Eldarion – born TA 3020

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Elfhelm and Wilflede 

Bronwyn – f born 3019

Caedmon – m born 3021

Ceolwen   – f born FA 3

Hrodgar  – m born FA 5

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 21

Revelation Part I

Minas Tirith FA 18

‘This should fit.’ Eldarion held out a dull brown tunic before throwing it onto the bed.

 ‘Dearth!’ Elfwine let out the expletive, and dropped the tunic in disgust. A large stain marred one side of the decrepit woollen garment. ‘Where did you find that? It stinks. I thought all the orcs had fled Gondor.’

‘It’s mine, but I think it got covered in boar dung,’ Eldarion said laughing. ‘I wore it last time I went hunting in Ithilien.’

‘Then I suggest you wear it now and find me something else. I know we need to go in disguise, but no one will come near me if I wear that.’

Eldarion looked back up from his rummage in the wardrobe and raised a disdainful eyebrow. ‘Who do you want to come near you? Are you hoping to attract a buxom barmaid?’

‘No, but I want to be able to buy a jug of ale without scattering all the other customers.’

‘It will have to be this then.’ He chucked over a screwed-up bundle of grey wool which Elfwine caught with one hand.

Giving it the sniff test, Elfwine chuckled. ‘It smells a lot better, anyway.’ He shook it out, relieved to see no stains on it, just a few holes near the hem. ‘Have you got mice?’

‘No,’ Eldarion pulled out another tunic, this time plain brown, and held it against himself. ‘But I remember Menelwë’s pup taking a fancy to it.’

‘Oh, I wondered what the hairs were, so I am going to have to wear a dog’s bed.’

‘Don’t be so fussy,’ Eldarion said. ‘And you can’t wear those shiny boots, anyone can see the quality in them.’ He threw over a rough linen shirt and a pair of scuffed boots, which landed on Elfwine’s lap.

‘Ouch!’ Glaring at his friend, Elfwine pushed the boots to the floor before shrugging off his shirt and tunic. He quickly donned the stuff Eldarion had found.  When he wriggled into the boots, they pinched a bit, but he did want to visit the fair without guards, so it was worth a bit of discomfort.

‘Why don’t you cut the toes if they’re too tight,’ Eldarion suggested, seeing him wince. ‘I won’t be ever wearing them again. And it will look the part. The scruffier we look, the less we’ll have to pay for anything.  As soon as they see a noble the stallholders put the price up.’

Elfwine took out his knife and sawed at the hard leather. ‘I hope you are going to be able to get us out without being seen after all this effort.’

Eldarion tapped his nose. ‘Why do you think I moved into this room last year? I got entirely fed up not being able to go anywhere without a clutch of guards with me.’

‘One of the disadvantages of our position, as my father likes to tell me. But he didn’t have it so bad at my age. Although he says they never gave him any peace after he was made king, not until I was born anyhow.’

Eldarion pulled his tunic over his head and grimaced. ‘Yes, I could have done with brothers rather than sisters. It would have made a lot of difference.’

‘Probably,’ Elfwine agreed. ‘But I still don’t see how we are going to get out undetected with the guards everywhere.  What’s the difference with this room?’

‘Ah...you shall see.’ As soon as he had finished dressing, Eldarion held the wardrobe door open wide, pushed aside the clothes, and waved his hand invitingly. ‘Come into the closet said the spider to the fly.’

Intrigued, Elfwine bounded over and peered into the dark hole Eldarion had opened up. A secret passage! He couldn’t believe it. ‘Well, I hope Shelob hasn’t left any relations around.’

Eldarion laughed. ‘I don’t think so. Wait until I get a candle.’

Moments later Elfwine followed him down the hidden passage, the flickering light of the candle showing smooth stone walls marked in places with detailed drawings depicting men fleeing from a great wave, and ships tossing on a stormy sea. Farther on there were likenesses of people, elves and men, warriors with long spears and heavy looking shields. ‘You say Faramir told you about it.’

‘One night when he had too much wine. It happens rarely, but when it does he comes out with all sorts of things.’

‘So, it was his room?’

‘Yes, and he found the passage by accident. Evidently the back of the closet had been boarded up in the past, but when searching for a kitten one day he discovered it was hollow behind. He told no-one and his father never found out. He said he’d often come and go this way when he wanted to be alone.’

Who’d have thought Faramir would be so devious. But Elfwine was not surprised he’d kept the passage secret from his father, from what he’d heard about Denethor he couldn’t blame Faramir from wanting to escape sometimes. ‘Did he say who had done the drawings?’

‘He thought they were ages old, and likes to think Anorian drew them when Minas Tirith was still Minas Anor. But who knows?’

How ancient everything was here. Elfwine had thought Meduseld old until he came to Gondor. But Gondor’s history made him think the Riddermark had only been created yesterday. ‘Where do we come out? Will we still have to get past the guards at the tunnel? And if we cross the open space anywhere near the fountain we’ll be seen ’

‘Wait and see,’ Eldarion smirked. ‘As long as you’re not squeamish.’

The passage went on for ages, but just as Elfwine was going to ask how much further they had to go they came to a heavy wooden door.

‘Keep quiet,’ Eldarion warned. ‘There might be servants around.’

‘Fengel’s guts!’ Elfwine exclaimed when Eldarion prised the door open. ‘It smells like a midden.’

‘It is,’ Eldarion told him, ‘but follow me and you’ll be all right.’

He didn’t believe he was doing this. Elfwine balanced precariously on a stone ledge mere feet above the stinking pit. He might as well have worn his own clothes: they would have been unrecognisable at the end of this lot.

At last, he stepped onto a wide stone slab and Eldarion opened another door – he’d never been so thankful for anything as when they emerged into the fresh air. But where were they?  Getting his bearings he realised they’d come out right next to one of the guesthouses built against the Citadel wall. But they were the wrong side. ‘We’re still in the Citadel,’ Elfwine hissed under his breath. ‘What good is that?’

‘Patience.’ Eldarion reached a hand up to a crack in the stonework and pulled himself onto the guesthouse roof. ‘Come on, it’s easy.’

Almost before Elfwine could join him, Eldarion had disappeared over the wall. When Elfwine looked over he saw he had jumped a few feet onto the roof of the stables.  Yep, worth the effort as minutes later they were walking jauntily down the road into the city.

There were plenty of people about, but none gave them a second glance. Once they reached the lower levels, the street filled even more, and they had to weave their way through a throng of happy revellers, who were mostly strolling down towards the square. The main celebration wasn’t starting for a couple of days, but it seemed everyone had already got going on the  merrymaking, as stalls, storytellers and mummers had set up on every bit of free space.  On another occasion they might have lingered, or at least visited one of the many taverns that lurked in the side streets, but not today. Today the fair beckoned with its mix of bawdy and unsavoury entertainment.  Who knew how long it would be before they were missed, they needed to make the most of every moment of freedom. 

‘Out my way, lad!’  Elfwine swivelled around about to remonstrate, but the man, who had a large sack over his shoulder, elbowed him out of the way, and Eldarion grabbed his arm.

‘Down here!’ He pulled him towards some steps. Old and worn they descended steeply, bringing them out into the main square in a few minutes.

A constant stream of people were going in and out of the gates and Elfwine kept his head down when he saw blond heads amongst the dark, although his own dark hair  gave him the  advantage of melting into the  general populace. And once out onto the Pelennor, where what seemed like hundreds of colourful tents had been erected, he relaxed, thinking any of his kinsmen enjoying the fair were probably too good-natured to split on him. Even if they did recognise him.

But there were plenty of Gondorian guards around.   They saw one pair collar a pickpocket, dragging him towards the lockup that had been erected against the city wall. ‘Are the guards likely to recognise you?’ he asked Eldarion.

‘Shouldn’t think so. They’re not from one of the companies who are barracked in the Citadel.’ Eldarion grinned. ‘What say we grab a mug of ale before we see what else is on offer?’

‘Lead me to it.’ Elfwine looked around and spotted a tent where a few barrels had been turned upside down to form seats. ‘Over there looks promising.’

‘Let’s go.’

The ale looked good, a nice frothy head, but Eldarion took a swig and coughed. ‘Grief, it’s as rough as a boar’s hide.’

‘You must be used to finer brew; this would be good stuff in the Mark.’ Elfwine took a great swig. Having falsely maligned the Riddermark’s brewers, he just managed not to cough himself. ‘It puts hairs on your chest, as Eóthain would say.’

‘Well, I suppose it’s not so bad when you get used to it.’ Eldarion drained the mug and stood up. ‘Come on, what shall we see first? I heard there’s a lion-tamer somewhere.’

Elfwine grinned. ‘I would have thought you’d give that a miss.’

‘I might wheedle a go, try and get my own back.’

But the owner of the mangy lion wouldn’t hear of it, telling them to shove off out of his way. Their disguises certainly appeared to be working, as Elfwine thought no one had ever spoken quite so harshly to him, or sworn quite so vehemently.  They spent a half hour watching cock fighting – an area had been marked out by crates behind one of the stalls. They jostled for space at the front with a crowd of ale-breathed, scruffy men who betted heavily on the outcome of each fight, but then made a quick exit when a brawl started over an accusation of cheating. However, they avoided the bear baiting, neither liking to see an animal so abused. Cocks were different: they fought all the time anyway.

Feeling hungry they left the rougher part of the fairground to seek out something tasty. Weaving their way through a horde of people watching a troupe of acrobats, they saw a queue at a pie-stall. Those served were coming away munching and smiling, so they joined the end of the line.  The pies, dished up by a jolly fellow who looked as if he lived on his wares, were certainly good – golden pastry stuffed with pigeon, walnuts and fruit. Elfwine swallowed the last mouthful and wiped his sleeve across his face. ‘Another mug of ale to wash it down, I think.’

This time they made a better choice and sat with foaming tankards watching the hubbub going on around them. Eldarion stared at one of the stilt walkers in amazement – the man was dancing to the tune of Maid of Gondor, a popular ballad. ‘You remember when we tried stilt walking?’

Elfwine laughed. ‘You fell off and hit Elboron over, right into that muddy pool and...’ he stopped, not believing what he had seen out of the corner of his eye. The ale went down on the table with a thump and he clutched at Eldarion’s arm. ‘Look over there!’

‘Damnation!’ Eldarion jumped to his feet. Two girls were sauntering past, their attention focused on the stilt-walker; one had black hair, the other blond. Elfwine would recognise Ceolwen anywhere, and his cousin Elenna, although he had never seen her wearing a flouncy homespun dress before. He knew they were friends, drawn together over the years by similar wayward personalities and their love of riding, but he had never expected them to get up to a lark like this.

Eldarion got there before him; grabbing Elenna’s shoulder, he spun her round. ‘What do you think you are up to? Are you mad coming here!’

Elenna’s black eyes blazed as she raked them up and down, taking in the shabby clothes worn by the heir to Gondor. ‘I could ask the same of you, but I won’t. Because unlike you, Eldarion, I mind my own business and don’t go around telling others how to behave.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Eldarion shot back. ‘It’s a lot different for men coming down here than it is for highborn ladies. Anything could happen to you.’

‘Men, I don’t see any men,’ Elenna jeered, ‘only a couple of boys who as likely couldn't find helms big enough to fit their swollen heads.’

‘Now listen here...’

Elfwine left them to it, and took Ceolwen’s hand. She looked very different than usual, wearing a slightly gaudy dress not at all to his liking. She normally wore riding clothes, although when she did dress up her style was tasteful and attractive.  But he knew better than to remonstrate with her when she’d done no different than him. ‘How did you get out without being seen? We had to go via a midden.’

Ceolwen broke into laughter and made a play of sniffing his tunic. He didn’t mind, having her close was a pleasure to be enjoyed. One that happened infrequently. ‘Smell anything?’

‘You’ll pass, there’s nothing except a bit of mustiness.’

‘Well, it wasn’t very pleasant, but worth it to get away.’

‘We fared better saying we were going shopping, although we never said where.’ A wicked grin flashed across her pretty face. ‘I can tell you don’t like my maid’s best dress, but I can’t say I’m keen on your rigout either. Although I suppose we won’t stand out, there are many like us around.’

‘Somehow you still don’t look like a servant.’ It must be something to do with the way she held herself, and Elfwine made a mental note to try and appear more subservient himself to aid his disguise.   ‘But Eldarion was right: you do have to be a bit careful. There are a lot of roughnecks around, many the worse for drink.’

She cocked an eyebrow impishly. ‘Then I suggest you escort us, if you’re that worried.’

Elfwine laughed and formally offered his arm. ‘It will be my pleasure, my lady.’

‘Oh, what a good idea,’ Elenna butted in, having finished her argument with Eldarion. ‘I want to go to the freak show, but Ceolwen didn’t dare.’

Ceolwen sighed. ‘It’s not that I don’t dare, I just dislike that sort of thing. Making fun of people has never appealed to me.’

‘It’s the only way they’ve got of earning a living,’ Elenna argued.

‘Maybe.’ Ceolwen shook her head. ‘But I’d rather do something else. There’s some unofficial horse racing going on behind the stalls I would love to watch. It looked a bit rough down there, but now we have an escort... ’

‘Well, you go on and I’ll meet you later,’ Elenna said. ‘I’m going to see the freak show. But don’t worry, I’ll find you afterwards.’ She turned to go.

Elfwine opened his mouth to protest – his cousin really was a handful, and he ought to try and get her to see sense. But Eldarion stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ll not go on your own, even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming back to the city.’

Laughing, Elenna shook off his hand, tossing her head provocatively. ‘That really will cause a stir, it would be better if you came with me.’

‘Why should I, there are other things I prefer to see.’ He appealed to Elfwine. ‘You speak to her, she’s your cousin.’

Since when had that made any difference to Elenna? Past experience made him think it was not even worth trying. Her next words confirmed his suspicion.

‘Why should Elfwine tell me what to do? He’s not supposed to be here either. In fact I bet a few members of his guard are already panicking.’

‘They won’t have missed us yet,’ Eldarion told her, grinning at his friend.

Elenna’s face lit at that. ‘In that case you have plenty of time to do the things you want and still escort me to the Freak Show.’ Looking up at Gondor’s prince, honey-sweet, she fluttered her long black lashes. ‘Please.’

Eldarion scowled at her, but then let out a long-suffering sigh. ‘All right, I suppose you’ll not give up. But stay close to me, there are some queer sorts that go to those places.’

He took her arm, and after a glance of triumph over her shoulder to Ceolwen, she skipped along beside him. A few yards further on Eldarion bent his head to catch something she was saying, laughing at whatever it was.

Elfwine watched them go off grinning to himself; they soon had forgotten their differences and looked very companionable.  His amusement was not missed by Ceolwen and she tugged at his arm affectionately. ‘What are you laughing about?’

‘Those two. I have a bet with Eldarion that he will end up marrying her.’

‘Really?’ Ceolwen considered for a moment, her eyes following them. ‘You might very well win: she has mentioned him quite a few times in the last couple of days. A bit disparagingly, perhaps, but I wonder if that’s to cover up her real feelings.’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me; I’ve never known her admit to anything. But let’s forget them for a while and go and find this horse racing you were on about.’

‘It’s down that way.’ Ceolwen pointed to where the stalls thinned out a bit, the farthest part of the fairground from the city gates. They ambled in the general direction through the press of people, stopping to buy some sweetmeats at a colourful stall where the owner was stirring a bubbling pot of honey, butter and nuts, finding it difficult to keep up with demand.

But the delicacy made for sticky fingers, and there was no real way of dealing with them other than to keep popping them into one’s mouth. Elfwine eventually wiped his down his tunic; he doubted Eldarion would ever wear it again anyway. But Ceolwen daintily sucked hers, grinning mischievously at him.

‘We might as well make the most of this, once they find out you escaped you will be watched even closer.’

Elfwine rather hoped he could get back to the Citadel without anyone finding out. But, anyway, he doubted he would get into much trouble as long as he was safe. His father certainly understood how hard it was to be so restricted and did try to make his life as free as possible. Hence the days spent rafting down the river which he had enjoyed enormously.

Ceolwen pulled a face when he told her about them. ‘I’m glad you had a good time, but wish I could do something like that. Remember that however constrained you are, it is no more than for me. Much less in fact because being a woman limits many things.’

Elfwine opened his mouth to say that of course there were things she would never be able to enjoy because women were vulnerable, but shut it quickly, thinking better of it. A sure way to start an argument. Instead he pointed to a gap between the stalls where he could see horses. ‘We can cut through there.’

The temporary race track curved in an oval, its start and finish line nearest to some stalls selling food, tack and ale. Elfwine nearly did an about turn when he saw groups of loutish looking young men hanging around, not wanting to expose Ceolwen to any bad language or behaviour. But she scornfully rejected that idea saying that she was unlikely to come across anything she had not heard before, having been brought up in a fortress of fighting men.

‘Stick close then,’ Elfwine warned. ‘And let’s go down to where the horses are tethered.’ It looked a bit clearer down there and he’d often found that non-riders and those who knew little about horses, liked to bet on them but preferred to keep well away.

A race was just about to start, and on their way to the horse-lines the pair, a bay and a roan, thundered past them. Neither horse would have got anywhere against one of the Riddermark’s finest – showy, but not enough muscle to be really fast. He thought the roan looked the best; his choice confirmed when it crossed the line first. A great roar of approval went up, so it had likely drawn the heavier bets.

Ceolwen studied them critically as their owners rubbed them down. ‘Any of ours could give those two a head start and still win.’

‘More,’ Elfwine said with a laugh, looking towards the line of horses.  ‘You’re being generous. They all look local bred and I’ll bet there’s nothing that would get anywhere near one of ours, except perhaps that chestnut.  But he’s on the heavy side. Why don’t we look at the rest and amuse ourselves by seeing if we can pick out the likely winners.’

But Ceolwen had stopped, her head on one side as though something unusual had caught her attention.

 Elfwine followed her gaze. ‘Eorl’s bones! Where did she come from?’ A grey mare was being led towards the horse-lines by a tall lad with a mass of dark-gold hair. He started conversing with a swarthy man who was holding on to the big chestnut gelding and even at this distance it was obvious they were setting up a race. One that seemed to be causing a lot of excitement and eager betting.

He stared at the lad and the mare. Of course he didn’t know all of his kinsmen, but thought those here would be familiar to him. ‘Who’s that? I don’t recognise him.’

Ceolwen shook her head. ‘No, neither do I. He certainly never came with us. But I suppose he could have come with some of the Westfold men. Although something’s strange. What do you think of the horse?’

‘A beauty. Elegant but powerful. That mare definitely has a lot of Mearas blood.’

‘Wingfoot’s if I were to take a guess.’

Elfwine spent a few more moments looking. ‘You’re right. I won’t argue about that. It shows in her shoulders, and the shape of her head.’

‘But a horse from Wingfoot’s line wouldn’t come cheap,’ Ceolwen pondered, still not moving. ‘Surely he has to be a noble. So why don’t we know him?’ Elfwine caught her hand. ‘No point in speculating, we’ll go and find out.’

 List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Menelwë                            Aragorn’s eldest daughter.

Ceolwen                              Elfhelm’s youngest daughter.

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1

Eldarion – born TA 3020

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Ealgyþe f born FA 27; Éadwig m born FA29; plus two more sons and one daughter.

Elfhelm and Wilflede 

Bronwyn – f born 3019

Caedmon – m born 3021

Ceolwen   – f born FA 3

Hrodgar  – m born FA 5

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong  22

Revelation Part 2

Minas Tirith FA 18

They had no time to find out any more, because when they reached the start the chestnut and the grey were getting ready to line up. Being closer to horse and rider convinced Elfwine of two things: that the mare definitely owed her conformation to Wingfoot, and that her owner surely had to be from the Mark.

Men clustered together, eager to place their bets. Hands shook on the deals – a proportion of each stake was lodged with a grey-haired old soldier who put the coins into a linen bag to be given to the winner. Listening to talk around him, Elfwine learnt that the chestnut was a fancied favourite,   unbeaten up to now. And as most others saw no hope of winning against it, the owner had been bereft of challengers until the lad had come along with his grey. The chestnut reckoned to be fast owing to having a fair amount of Rohirric breeding. Elfwine thought that quite likely. ‘One of ours crossed with a carthorse,’ he whispered to Ceolwen.  Since the Ring-war many of their steeds had been sold to boost Gondor’s mounted forces and numerous soldiers had made a bit of extra money by increasing the quality of the local equine population. Riding horses, once rare in Gondor, were now common everywhere. 

But he couldn’t understand why the money was on the chestnut. In his opinion, even though smaller and lighter and not in her first youth, the mare totally outclassed the bigger horse. And he thought she looked fitter, which would be to her advantage as it seemed this race would be longer than the previous ones. Sensing something special, a large crowd had been attracted to the contest, and with so much coin wagered a heavy purse would go to the winner.

With them about to start, Elfwine led Ceolwen to the side of the track near the finish line. ‘This should be interesting. Perhaps I should make a wager.’ But he didn’t really want to draw attention to himself, so decided to just enjoy the race. The chestnut’s rider, a swarthy, much scarred, black-haired man, who Elfwine guessed was a Gondorian soldier, appeared to be goading his opponent with some choice expletives, and a boasting account of his previous annihilation of would be challengers. Probably trying to unnerve him. But as far as Elfwine could see, the young Rohir remained calm, concentrating on settling his mare, who couldn’t wait for the off.

The starter dropped his arm and both horses surged forward.  Almost immediately Ceolwen gasped as the Gondorian used the chestnut’s bulk to try and shove the grey to the side and wrong-foot her. But the lad was too good a rider and swerved away unscathed, although it meant he had to take the long way round at the first corner.

After that he kept pace with the chestnut, shadowing it from a few feet to its left. Twice Elfwine saw the chestnut’s rider yank the reins to try to nudge the lighter horse and force his opponent to go even wider, but each time the lad anticipated the move and eased off. Beside him, Ceolwen muttered under her breath. ‘He’s nothing but a cheat. That would be frowned on at home.’

But they weren’t at home, and this was an unofficial race for money, with hardly any rules. By the second circuit the grey lagged a good few strides behind the bigger horse. A safer option. Elfwine agreed with the lad’s tactics, sensing the mare still had loads to give. But the Gondorian’s lips had twisted into a self-satisfied smirk; he probably thought he had done enough and the grey would not be able to catch him.

Elfwine watched the contest avidly, willing the grey on. Beside him, Ceolwen kept silent, her knuckles stuck in her mouth as she followed the flying hooves.  But as the horses neared the last stretch, she clutched his arm. ‘I hope he doesn’t leave it too late. He’s got much farther to run round the outside.’

‘Probably stayed out there to save his horse being injured.’ Elfwine could understand that – too easy for the Gondorian to side sweep him with his heavier mount.

From the cheering Elfwine guessed that most of the crowd thought the race over, but just before the last corner the lad made his move. He swung the grey wide, and urged her level with the chestnut.

‘Go on! Go on!’ Ceolwen couldn’t contain herself, jumping up and down in excitement. Fearing defeat, the Gondorian wrenched his horse to the left to block the mare, but too late; as if on wings, she flew past him, reaching the line a length in front.

The cheers died away, only a few knowledgeable men who had backed the grey jubilant, as they collected their winnings. The rest stood in groups muttering discontentedly with each other.

Ignoring the angry grumbling going on around them, Elfwine pushed through the crowd towards the place where the lad had dismounted. Already he had started to walk his horse back and forth in the shade cast by the canvas walls of the stalls. The grey nuzzled into him as he spoke close to her ear. She was sweating, but not overly so. It might have been a fast race, but not long for one of the Mark’s trained horses. The Gondorian still sat on his chestnut, waving his hands around in disgust and talking fervently to the man who held the prize money. The old soldier shook his head and shrugged, turning his back on the loser to go and hand over the winner’s purse.

The lad tucked the coin bag inside his jerkin, sensibly tying it in securely, before giving his attention to his horse again.  By the time they got close enough to speak, he had his back to them, concentrating on his mare and paying no attention to the hubbub of disappointment from those still lingering nearby.

‘Well done,’ Elfwine said in Rohirric. ‘You did well not to let the crud intimidate you.’

No immediate verbal response. Instead the lad turned slowly, a frown of inquiry on his face. Elfwine studied him – tall, maybe a couple of years older than himself, and somehow familiar, although he still couldn’t place him.

‘Are you talking to me?’

Westron with a definite Gondorian accent. Elfwine could hardy keep the surprise from his voice.  ‘You’re not from Rohan?’

Anger tightened the lad’s features and intense blue eyes fixed on him. ‘Should I be?’

‘It’s the horse,’ Ceolwen interrupted, squeezing Elfwine’s arm in warning. ‘We thought we recognised the breeding.’

‘We recognise his breeding too,’ a voice jeered from a group of scruffy louts who had crowded round. ‘When those stable-scum went home they left many a swollen belly, and it weren’t only the horses.’

‘Too true!’ Another pushed forward threateningly, and spat on the grass near the lad’s feet. The globule glistened on the ground between them, until the mare skittered sideways and obliterated the insult with a black hoof. But more came. ‘Gondor’s full of their nameless bastards. Don’t know what the women saw in them. They all stink of horse-shit.’

Elfwine drew in breath, but with Ceolwen’s hand staying him, managed to hold on to his temper and keep his mouth closed. A few more joined the group, hemming them in. Still angered by losing their bets and made brave by numbers, they threw abuse thick and fast. 

A big, ill-kempt oaf with a wall-eye shoved his face right next to his victim’s ear. ‘It was only the ugly ones that could put up with them. Is that what your mother was – an ugly mare who couldn’t keep her legs together?’

‘Too right.’ Another laughed.  ‘And I bet the horny stallion that covered her bolted home damn quick.’

His lips in a tight line, and hands clenched on his horse’s reins, the grey’s owner looked murderous. Elfwine sympathised, wanting to thrash the lot of them, but sense prevailed – his priority had to be to get Ceolwen away in case the situation escalated. Jerking his head in the general direction of the open meadows, he spoke quietly and quickly to the older lad. ‘Trouble’s brewing; it might be a good idea to walk your horse somewhere else. Let’s get out of here.’

Some of the group spat out repulsive threats, and the lad hesitated. ‘Use the mare to make a path,’ Elfwine whispered under his breath.

A sharp nod of agreement and he started to turn his horse around. Still muttering insults, but wary of sharp hooves, the group parted slightly. Elfwine kept pace with him, holding tightly to Ceolwen. He planned to cut through the gap in the stalls to where it looked as though the crowd was slightly more respectable once they were at a safe distance. But when they  had only gone a few feet, the wall-eyed oaf grabbed his arm, giving him a knowing wink before he fixed a lecherous gaze on Ceolwen.

‘A tasty filly you’ve got there. I bet you don’t need no saddle to ride her...’

The sod! He’d shut his filthy mouth! Elfwine dropped Ceolwen’s arm and hit him, hearing a satisfying crunch as his knuckles connected with a stubbly jaw, all sense forgotten in his anger. The dirty louse fell, poleaxed, but immediately another of the gang launched to the attack, intending to head-butt him in the stomach. No chance! He twisted away, and his assailant, too slow to react, went sprawling on the ground. Then someone grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms to his sides; he kicked backwards, hearing a grunt of pain as he found an unprotected shin.  Another hit out at him, but he threw himself to the side and the blow only connected with his shoulder.  But there were too many of them to come off best. Then his heart leapt – he wasn’t alone. The fair-haired lad shoved the reins into Ceolwen’s hands and jumped on the clod who was trying to belt him.  The lad pulled the clod away, but both fell, right into the back of a stall. One of the wooden poles broke in half, a loud tearing sound warned of ripping canvas, and then the whole thing collapsed.

Angry voices rose above the din, but Elfwine ignored them as the rest of the bunch charged into the fight, fists flailing wildly. They’d have to do better than that!  Ducking his head, he went in low, bowling over one clumsy lout. Honed by his warrior training, their blows hurt but didn’t put him out of action. Shaking free he struggled upright and laid out another, smashing him onto the canvas that had been trampled to the ground by his new-found partner, who was battling two more. But pulled to the ground by sheer weight of numbers, Elfwine couldn’t see how he was faring.

Then came a familiar whoop – Eldarion had arrived. Ignoring any consequences, the Prince of Gondor threw himself into the fray, hurling aside Elfwine’s antagonists as if they were no more than fire kindling. But seeing a good fight going on, more joined in.

‘The fair-haired one’s on my side,’ Elfwine yelled as he gained his foothold again. The lad was under attack by three of the blighters now, but Eldarion had his own battle going on and couldn’t get near enough to help him. Someone needed to: he was fighting wildly, game but untrained. Making a big effort, Elfwine flung off the last of his opponents and rushed over to assist. Seizing one by the back of his greasy tunic, he swung him around, before slamming his fist straight into his nose.

‘Elfwine watch out!’

‘Eorl’s bones, Elenna. Get out of here!’ he shouted, thunderstruck. Too late! She must have grabbed the broken end of the wooden pole and with no hesitation smashed it over the skull of a big blackguard who was trying to get the blond lad onto the ground by hanging on to his long hair.  Even wielded by a slip of a girl, the blow made him let go pretty quick. He staggered around until he collapsed into the next stall, bringing the whole structure crashing down.

Suddenly they were covered in feathers and a cacophony of squawking filled the air around them. The door to a wooden chicken crate had been smashed beyond repair. Its former occupants, sensing freedom, scattered in all directions. The feathers came from a sack that had burst open under the impact of a full-grown man. In the midst of the wreckage stood the stall owner, his mouth open, too stunned to even protest.

‘Well done, Elenna!’ Eldarion had no more time to applaud her, because two oafs jumped on his back. Elfwine launched himself towards another who was trying to get a blow in, but before he reached him, he heard shouting and the rush of many feet.

His arm was grabbed roughly, nearly pulling it from its socket.

‘Ouch...’ he yelled, trying to swing a defensive punch. But another seized him.

‘Stand still, or you’ll really be for it.’

Gondorian guards – now he was in trouble. Held by two of them, he couldn’t have escaped if he’d wanted to, but the rest of the protagonists took flight faster than the chickens. A few were collared before they got far, and were being dragged back protesting their innocence. Of course, Eldarion hadn’t run; Elfwine knew he would never leave a friend in difficulty. He was being held by a harsh looking individual who stood wooden-faced waiting for orders. In contrast Eldarion had a glimmer of a smile on his lips as if he found the whole thing amusing.

Elfwine didn’t, not with Ceolwen involved, although she stood a little apart, white-faced, but still holding onto the mare.  Its owner had been pulled to his feet by two guards who were taking no notice of his pleas to get back to his horse.

‘You’re going nowhere,’ he heard one say. ‘Except to the lock-up until all this damage is paid for. And anyone who can’t pay will be seeing the magistrate in the morning.’

‘I can pay now.’ The lad tried to thrust his hand inside his tunic.

‘No, you won’t. Our captain’s got to find out the cost of the damage first and besides, a few hours in the lockup will cool you all off.’

Elfwine tried to relax, the most important thing being to keep their names out of it. Not for himself, but because he didn’t want to embarrass his father. The captain was thankfully a distance away, talking to the stall owners who were gesticulating angrily in their direction. He caught Eldarion’s eye – they certainly didn’t want any captain over here, being that he was more likely to recognise them. Best to pay up and get away with their names still secret. Trouble was he didn’t have much on him, maybe Eldarion did.

The guards herded them together, ready to march them to the lockups, but Elenna had other ideas. His cousin held on to the arm of the guard holding Eldarion, who shook her off none too gently.

‘Leave her alone,’ Eldarion snapped.

‘Then tell her to go away or we’ll arrest her as well.’

Elenna’s eyes blazed.  ‘You’ll do no such thing. And you’d better be careful; you can’t take him anywhere he’s...’

‘Elenna, no!’ Eldarion stopped her mid sentence.

Belatedly realising he wanted to keep his identity quiet, she stuttered out the next words. ‘He’s a lord. You can’t take him to the lockup.’

The man looked the Prince of Gondor up and down with a derisive laugh. Hardly surprising, Eldarion’s old tunic was now ripped from shoulder to waist and he must have rolled in mud, or something worse. At least the guard had no idea who he was. ‘Is he now?’ he snarled. ‘Then if he’s a lord, he’ll have no problem paying the fine, will he, and he’ll be out quicker than a fly can find a carcass. Now be off with you, or I’ll call the captain and he won’t worry you’re a woman.’

Elenna’s chest heaved in indignation, but before she could say anything else, Elfwine called her, choking back the laugh he felt erupting. He’d have a word with her after this – rising to Eldarion’s defence and not his. Didn’t that say it all?

For a moment she seemed indecisive, looking from one to the other of them, but Eldarion indicated her to go and she came over. Elfwine dropped his voice. ‘Go with Ceolwen, stay together. Take the grey to the stables and then find Eóthain or Déor. Tell them what has happened. The fine will need paying.’

She reluctantly nodded her agreement, just before the guard pulled him away to push him into line next to the mare’s owner. The lad was still protesting about leaving his horse.

‘Don’t worry,’ Elfwine whispered. ‘Ceolwen will take her to the Royal stables. Your mare will have a much more comfortable few hours than we will.’ He gave him a big wink.

The look of astonishment on the lad’s face could have stopped an éored. Elfwine stifled his amusement; it wouldn’t look good if the guards thought he found the situation funny. ‘What’s her name, anyway?’

‘Greywing,’ the lad muttered, still suffused with shock.

Greywing? Elfwine pursed his lips thoughtfully. Too much of a coincidence. It certainly looked like he and Ceolwen had been right about the breeding. ‘It seems we both have a bit of explaining to do. But keep quiet now and we’ll introduce ourselves later.’

Elfwine kept his head down - being marched by guards and branded as a trouble maker was a new experience. He worried that they would be recognised, but since the guards warned everyone to keep out of the way, they reach the city wall with their identities still intact.

The lockups, wooden structures that had been specially erected for the duration of the festivities, held about a dozen men. As the guards started pushing their prisoners inside, already jeers and taunts were coming from some of the occupied ones. Elfwine certainly didn’t want to end up with either him or Eldarion alone amongst a bunch of ruffians, so he swallowed his pride and pretended a bit of fear.

‘They picked on us,’ he indicated the three of them. ‘If you shove us in with that lot, there will be more fighting. And we’re outnumbered.’

‘There’s nothing to damage in there. You can break each others’ skulls for all I care,’ the wooden-faced guard growled.

‘No,’ another interrupted, ‘we don’t want no trouble, put them in here.’

He held a door open and they were thrust in none too gently, bumping together as they catapulted into the cell. Elfwine regained his footing and looked around – a dirt floor and wooden walls. Nothing else except a bucket in the corner, thankfully empty. The heavy wooden door slammed shut and a bolt slid across with a menacing thump. Elfwine pushed down the feeling of panic at being locked in; hopefully it wouldn’t be for long. Why hadn’t he kept his temper? And he ached all over. With a sigh he put his back to the wall and slid to the ground, looking up at Eldarion.  ‘Next time you want to escape from the palace, count me out.’

 ‘You don’t mean that. I haven’t had so much fun for ages.’ Eldarion moved away from the door and joined his fellow prisoners on the floor, grinning at the blond lad who was sitting with his head in his hands. ‘Have we you to thank for it? I didn’t see the start of the ruckus.’

Elfwine couldn’t help smiling. Eldarion had joined in without even knowing what it was all about. But that was what you did if you saw a friend, or indeed anyone, outnumbered like that. ‘They were disgruntled because he won a race when they were not expecting it. But any fool could see his mare would be fast.’  He stopped and turned to the lad, remembering the embarrassment he’d caused. In fact his supposition, followed by his loss of temper, had started the whole thing. ‘I am sorry if I jumped to assumptions. Perhaps it would be a good idea if you said who you are and where you’re from.’

Stiffening, the lad stared at him for a moment, but after a hard look his shoulders relaxed. ‘My name’s Halmir, I live in Lamedon.’ His mouth froze to a tight line as if expecting more questions but not being prepared to answer them.

Elfwine nodded, realising he was not going to get any more for the time being.  ‘Fair enough. Then you’d better know who you’re talking to, although we’d be obliged if you’d keep it quiet.’ Elfwine introduced them both before adding. ‘We really would like to get away with this without anyone else knowing what we’ve been up to.’ 

‘You’re jesting. I thought you must work in the Royal Stables,’ Halmir exclaimed.

‘Promise you we’re not.’  Elfwine laughed.  ‘I know it’s difficult to believe looking at us, but we wanted to get away from formality for a bit and took care that nobody would recognise us. But if you doubt, it won’t be for long. I predict that one of Rohan’s Royal Guard will be here pretty soon.’

Halmir flicked his eyes between them, his mouth set into a scornful line. But then he laughed. ‘Do I have to get up and bow? It seems an awful exertion, and with you not wanting to be recognised ...’

Elfwine grinned, warming to him. ‘I can tell you still don’t believe us, and even if you did, I don’t think we deserve any deference. Anyway, the last thing we want is for a guard to poke his nose through the grill and catch you bowing. Best to sit here quietly until rescue comes. That will be proof in itself.’

‘It might be longer than you think,’ Eldarion mused. ‘Elenna and Ceolwen will take a time to walk up to the stables.’

‘My father intended to be closeted with yours all day, so Eóthain should be around somewhere,’ Elfwine put in.  ‘But you’re right, if I know Ceolwen, she’ll probably settle the mare before going and finding anyone.’ He threw Halmir an enquiring glance. ‘Ceolwen and I thought from the beginning your mare was of Wingfoot’s line and her name tends to confirm our guess. I am intrigued as to how you came by her.’

Halmir hesitated. A flash of anger, or perhaps pain, crossed his face before he answered. ‘My mother was given a Rohirric mare in the war. Aéfre was in foal, and produced a beautiful filly my mother called her Dreamcatcher’   He stopped, his mouth twisting into a sneer. ‘One day two Rohirrim came riding to our vineyard, one on a beautiful stallion named Wingrider.’

‘Déor?’

‘You know him?’

‘I should do, he’s the captain of my mother’s guard. The Queen of Rohan, that is,’ Elfwine made clear, in case Halmir still didn’t believe who he was.

Obviously taken aback, Halmir’s lips thinned. ‘He never said that. He said he came to buy wine for the Courts of Edoras, at least that’s the excuse he gave.’

‘Déor visited you to buy wine?’ That sounded totally unlikely. Elfwine’s astonishment must have come over in his voice.

‘So you think it strange too. But that’s what he did. We send a yearly order to Edoras...’ he hesitated, the smouldering anger all too apparent. ‘And with the delivery a letter goes to him from my uncle, reporting on my health and achievements.’

‘But why...?’ Elfwine stopped. No, what he was thinking couldn’t be true.

‘Too obvious, I’m afraid,’ Eldarion said thoughtfully. ‘I thought there was something familiar about you.’

‘Are you saying Déor is your father?’ Elfwine said, trying to make sense of what Halmir was telling them.

Halmir shrugged. ‘What would you think? He turns up unexpectedly to buy wine. Demands no payment when his stallion covers my mare, except to ask me to write to him every year as to how any offspring progresses. I have done that, telling him how I broke and trained Greywing and what a magnificent horse she is...’ His voice broke with emotion. ‘And then I find out that is not the only letter that goes to him, my uncle writes as well.’

Elfwine shook his head. ‘I can hardly believe it.’

‘Can't you!’ he snarled. ‘It’s pretty obvious I’m a by-blow from the war. You thought I was from Rohan, and those louts soon honed in on it.’

Elfwine raked his fingers through his hair. ‘But are you sure it’s Déor? What does your mother say about it?’

‘Oh, she wouldn’t admit it. Not after years of passing me off as her dead husband’s. But her silence spoke for her. My mother can be very tight-lipped.’

‘What about your uncle? Didn’t you say he was writing to Déor?’

Halmir dropped his head, his face reddening. ‘I challenged him with that. He started to try and explain, and it was obvious my suspicions were true. But I lost my temper and said things I shouldn’t have. Before I knew it, I was riding away with a vague notion of going to Rohan. But when I got here, the fair was on and I desperately need some coin. You know the rest.’

Elfwine felt stunned, he could only think of the trouble ahead.  Eldarion glanced at him sympathetically, before he turned to Halmir.   ‘So what are you going to do now? When we get out of here, that is.’

‘Find my father and punch him on the nose!’ Halmir’s blue eyes darkened and he spat out the next words. ‘After that I want to know why he behaved like a stinking rat, leaving my mother to bring me up for ten years, reappearing for a few days, only to go off again.’

‘Look,’ Elfwine said, wanting desperately to placate him and ward off an ugly scene, ‘I agree the evidence is damning, but I think it would be better if you found out for certain before you confront him. I find it difficult to believe that Déor would act dishonourably, so let me talk to my father first. They have been friends since childhood and he will be able to find out the truth quietly.’

‘And warn me off!’

‘No, I don’t mean that. But Déor does have a wife and child here and they don’t deserve to be upset if there is any mistake. But be assured, although you don’t believe it, my father is the King of Rohan and he would not allow anyone, even a friend, to evade their responsibilities.’

To be continued.

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Halmir                                  Son of Guleth and Éomer.

Ceolwen                              Elfhelm’s youngest daughter.

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1

Eldarion – born TA 3020

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfhelm and Wilflede 

Bronwyn – f born 3019

Caedmon – m born 3021

Ceolwen   – f born FA 3

Hrodgar  – m born FA 5

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

My apologies for the incredible time this has taken to post, family traumas have focused my mind on real life. LBJ

Swansong 23

Revelation Part III

The sound of a dispute outside the door jerked him awake.  Elfwine struggled to his feet; he recognised that voice – they would soon be out of here.

‘I tell you only one belongs to you,’ Elfwine heard the guard say. ‘The other two must be our riff-raff.’

‘Let me look and we can resolve the argument.’  A bit more grumbling came from the guard but the authoritative tone settled the matter and keys grated in the lock.

Eldarion stretched. ‘Good, I’m starving. And that sounds like Éomund, so maybe we’ll get away with this without causing too much bother.’

Elfwine wasn’t so sure; he couldn’t believe Éomund had come on his own initiative. The door swung open and the space was filled with over six foot of gleaming Rohirrim warrior. Éomund, proud of his position in the Royal Guard, always looked immaculate, his hauberk burnished to a deep sheen. He cast his eyes around the cell, brows rising in amusement when he saw the Prince of Gondor looking sheepishly at him.

‘Yep, two are mine. I’ll advance them the money to pay the fine, but be assured they will be taken to task. Extra duties and short rations until they’ve paid it off.’ The wry grin showed that Éomund was enjoying this.

‘And him, lord.’ Elfwine butted in quickly, indicating Halmir.

‘I can...’  Halmir started to protest, but Elfwine dug him in the ribs to shut him up. He had no doubt that it wouldn’t be so easy to get out if you hadn’t a member of the Riddermark’s Royal Guard on your side.

Éomund frowned, but catching Elfwine’s eye he nodded abruptly. ‘Very well. I’ll take responsibility for all three of them.’

It felt good to be back out in the sunshine.  With a wink, Éomund told them to stay put and strode over to the Gondorian captain. More negotiations took place and they heard him bemoaning the behaviour of errant stable-hands. But they kept away – Halmir silent and red-faced as it started to dawn on him that he really might be in the company of two princes, Elfwine and Eldarion hanging their heads, happy for the guard captain to think they spent their life shovelling dung if it meant their misdemeanour would cause no embarrassment to their fathers.

Agreement reached, Éomund handed over a fistful of coins and, after a few more words marched back towards the three released prisoners. ‘Right, get moving,’ he barked, jerking his head in the direction of the gates. 

Playing their part they hurried ahead of him towards the entrance to the City, not saying anything until they were past the guards and crossing the square. It was so crowded that they made little progress until Éomund shouldered his way through, clearing a path for them. The high-handed behaviour provoked a few irritated comments, quickly smothered when those responsible set eyes on Éomund’s large frame and distinctive uniform.

‘Thank you,’ Elfwine said when the crowd thinned and he could walk by Éomund’s side. ‘Did Ceolwen go straight to you, or did she find Eóthain?’

‘She did indeed find my venerable captain, who I might say laughed like a drain and sent me. He rightly thought that it would be remarked upon  if the commander of Rohan’s Royal Guard bothered to walk down to the Pelennor for the sake of a couple of lowly stable hands. Even now the Gondorian captain couldn’t understand why I didn’t let you rot for a day or two. I had to say that you had a canny way with fractious animals to explain my presence.’

Elfwine smiled. ‘Thanks again. I shall owe you a few mugs of ale.’

Éomund cocked a brow. ‘Don’t forget the fine. You will owe Eóthain for that... which reminds me...’ He turned his head to look at Halmir. ‘Who’s your friend? I don’t recognise him.’

His name’s Halmir, and he’s not from the Riddermark. I am going to take him to my room to clean up.’ Elfwine dropped his voice, ‘Look, Éomund, I need to talk to my father urgently. Could you let me know as soon as he’s finished his meeting with Elessar.’

Éomund grinned. ‘Want to tell him about your little escapade before anyone else does, I suppose.’

Elfwine didn’t contradict him: he wanted to avoid any rumours flying around. ‘And where’s my mother?’

‘Gone to visit her family and not expected back until supper, so you’re safe there.’

‘Did Déor go with her?’ Elfwine hoped he had, it would be easier if this could be sorted out before Halmir came across him, but his mother didn’t really need her captain’s escort to go to the family house on the Sixth Level. Luckily though, Éomund told him that Déor had gone, and what’s more he had taken Byrde and Caedda with him – Byrde being friendly with Devoran and Caedda wanting to spend time with Eldir, Elphir’s youngest son.

Conversation stopped as they took one of the steep stairs that provided a short cut to the upper levels of the City. After a long climb that led them through the smelly back alleys, the path eventually wound its way past the wall surrounding the gardens of the Healing Houses, from where a profusion of herbs scented the air with their aromatic oils. Elfwine sniffed them appreciatively; so far the day had been full of more noisome smells.

‘Are we going back the way we came in?’ Eldarion said when he found his breath. ‘If we go through the tunnel the guards will surely recognise us.’

‘Let them recognise us,’ Elfwine answered, pulling a disgusted face. ‘The word will get out anyway and there’s no way I am going back through that midden.’

‘Midden?’ Éomund exclaimed. ‘Just tell me exactly you got out undetected.’

‘I won’t if you don’t mind,’ Eldarion said. ‘I might want to use it again and if you don’t know then you can’t tell anybody.’

‘Well, if you do, I hope you can extract yourself from any trouble you get in,’ Éomund’s only comment to the heir of Gondor on this.

They were recognised of course as Éomund ushered them past the gatehouse, but the Gondorian guards were too well trained to display any astonishment at seeing two princes in such a disreputable state – they saluted, wooden faced. Elfwine bit back a laugh as he caught sight of Halmir’s expression. No disbelief now, he looked at them in bemused wonder.

Halmir’s amazement lasted until Elfwine ushered him into his quarters and closed the door on the long marble corridor. The bewildered lad looked around the sumptuous room with unveiled awe. Stunned into silence, he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room not knowing what to do. Elfwine refrained from commenting on his discomfiture and tried put him at his ease.  ‘Have a wash, I’ll order some food. But I must get out of these filthy clothes first.’ He started stripping off his tunic.

‘My horse!’ Halmir protested as Elfwine shoved him towards the ewer and basin.

‘Your horse will be well looked after, do you really doubt it?’

‘No, lord.’ Halmir shook his head, almost standing to attention. ‘But all I possess is in my saddlebags, I need to go and get them.’

‘I’ll send for your bags. It would be best if we spoke to my father as soon as possible, preferably before Déor returns from escorting my mother.’  He wanted to ensure there was no chance of Halmir bumping into Déor before they had found out the truth. Somehow, in spite of the show of respect, he had the feeling Halmir processed a quick temper and was likely to accuse first and look at the evidence later.

It took a jug of ale, a leg of chicken and a hunk of bread and cheese before Halmir relaxed and spoke to him normally again. Elfwine found out about the vineyard where he lived and how he seemed to have been born knowing how to deal with horses, his only tuition coming from an aged stable-hand in charge of the cart-horses. One thing he did pick up upon was the anger Halmir directed at his mother, even more than towards Déor. It became obvious that, above anything else, her behaviour, however long ago, had truly distressed him. But that was understandable – to suddenly find out that she had kept the truth of his ancestry from him and that he had a totally different father than he had grown up believing, would shock most. Especially if that father had abandoned you and just received news by letter. But Elfwine still found it difficult to believe Déor would do that. He studied Halmir’s features, the lad certainly had a familiar look, but he couldn’t quite see Déor in him.  Surely there must be a different explanation than the one Halmir had construed.

The saddlebags arrived and with them a report that – Greywing had settled well and was contently pulling at her hay net – Déor had not yet returned – and Éomer King was still closeted with Elessar. Reassurance about his horse pleased Halmir, but as time progressed he noticeably started to tense, eventually beginning to pace around the room.

‘You’re making me tired,’ Elfwine complained. ‘Sit down. You pacing about like that will not make anything happen sooner.’

‘Your father could be talking to the king all night. Perhaps I should just go and waylay Lord Déor. I still think I’ll be fobbed off. They are bound to stick together. All the lords do.’

‘No,’ Elfwine said quickly ignoring the vague insult. ‘Father would never do that. He will eat supper with my mother so he shouldn’t be long ....’ As he said it there was a swift rap on hard wood just before the door flew open with a resounding judder.

‘What’s this I hear about you destroying market stalls and landing up in a cell?’ The King of Rohan could not be mistaken, even casually dressed his commanding presence dominated the large room. Halmir came to a halt and stood rigid, mouth open.

‘Father!’ Elfwine jumped to his feet. But he saw that in spite of the gruff voice his father’s eyes were twinkling. That didn’t surprise him, neither of his parents fussed too much as long as he was safe.

Halmir hadn’t moved, but as the King of Rohan’s eyes landed on him he bowed his head.

‘Another troublemaker, I imagine.’ Éomer looked him up and down. Frowning, he turned abruptly to his son. ‘Who’s this?’

‘This is Halmir, Father. I met him down on the Pelennor, but I need to talk to you urgently, before...’

But Elfwine was suddenly aware that his father wasn’t listening, instead he had a hungry gaze fixed on Halmir. ‘Where are you from, boy?’

Halmir flashed a swift glance at Elfwine before he pulled himself as tall as he could and answered in a firm voice. ‘I’m from Lamedon, Sire. My family have a vineyard there.’

It was as if his father had turned to stone, and it seemed that long minutes elapsed before he let out a ragged breath. 

‘Sire...’ Halmir faltered for a moment under Éomer’s penetrating gaze, but then he drew himself up again and looked the King of Rohan straight in the eye. ‘Sire, Prince Elfwine promised to speak to you, but since you are here now it might be best if I tell my story direct.  My family had no dealings with the Rohirrim after my mother returned from the war, but un-heralded, one of your lords, Déor, visited us some years ago...’

Éomer held up his hand to stop him. ‘There is no need to go on, I am well aware of Déor’s visit to you ...’

Halmir gasped. ‘Then you know he is my father, lord. Which is why I am here.’ His mouth twisted grimly. ‘I want to...’

‘No,’ Éomer barked out before he could continue. ‘Explanations are due to you, but let me put one thing right straightaway. You have it wrong. Whatever you may think, Déor is not your father.’

‘Then why did he ...’

‘Not now!’ Éomer stayed him with his hand again and took a deep breath. ‘All will be revealed to you, I give you my word.’

Halmir started to protest. ‘Not now!’ a stern voice stopped him and he dropped his gaze, reluctantly nodding agreement.

Still with his eyes on Halmir, Éomer stretched out a hand to Elfwine. ‘We need to go and talk, Son.’

Elfwine stared at him, before he swivelled attention to Halmir. His eyes flicked between them – a terrible suspicion causing his heart to hammer in his chest louder than a tattoo of drums. No! He couldn’t believe it! But the likeness he saw belied any denial – the intense blue eyes, the shape of the lips. How could he have not noticed before? Familiar! He should think so. Blood rushed to his head making him dizzy and he was only dimly aware of his father grabbing his arm.

‘Come. Now!’ Éomer pushed Elfwine towards the door, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘Halmir, you stay here for a while, I’ll send someone to sit with you.’

The door slammed shut and Éomer rattled some orders to the guard patrolling the passageway, including one to fetch Éomund. Satisfied Halmir would be looked after, he propelled Elfwine towards his own quarters. Still in shock himself he couldn’t imagine what his son was feeling, there was no doubt in his mind that Elfwine had realised – the look on his face told it all. How the hell had they met and why the heck hadn’t he told the boy aeons ago? Lothíriel would have his hide, she’d advised him to admit to his indiscretions long before now. Why hadn’t he?   Because he knew his principled son wouldn’t see having a bastard as a cause for pride, more a cause for shame.

‘Father, I don’t understand. Halmir thought ...’ the tightness in Elfwine’s voice betrayed his strain.

‘Not here, Son. Wait.’ A heavy silence descended as they turned into the private passageway that led to the generous quarters allocated to the King and Queen of Rohan. All that could be heard was the thud of boots on the cold stone as father and son marched along. The guard outside the dayroom snapped to attention, before stretching out an arm to open the door. Éomer nodded his thanks but didn’t start any conversation: he needed his thoughts centred on what he was going to say to Elfwine. But of course there was only one thing to say, one thing to tell his son – the truth.

Éomer went straight to the small table and poured a generous glug of wine into a goblet. He thrust it at his son. ‘Drink this.’

‘I don’t need...’

‘Drink it!’ Éomer ordered.

Scowling at him, Elfwine put the goblet to his lips. Éomer poured himself one and took a deep draft. More to get his thoughts in order than anything else. ‘How did you meet Halmir?’

Elfwine struggled to answer, and Éomer knew he would prefer to ask the burning question in his mind, but after wrestling with himself for a moment Elfwine took another gulp of wine and answered. ‘He was racing his mare on the Pelennor. Ceolwen and I went to watch, it being obvious his mare had Wingfoot’s blood. A fight broke out when I punched a mouthy lout who insulted Ceolwen, Halmir joined in to help me. So did Eldarion. Some stalls got knocked over which was why we ended up in the lockup. That’s when he told me about his suspicion that Déor was his father.’

Éomer nodded, ‘Did the mare win?’

Elfwine’s eyes narrowed at the irrelevant question. ‘Yes, Halmir’s an excellent horseman. But then he would be wouldn’t he?  My eyes weren’t lying in there, were they, Father?’

Éomer dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. ‘No, Son, they weren’t. Halmir had it nearly right, but," his grip tightened and he gnawed his lower lip. "Not Déor. He was only ...he made sure for me...." Éomer drew in a deep breath and his voice steadied. "I’m his father, not Déor.’

Elfwine twisted, shaking off his hand. Éomer caught the glisten of tears in his eyes and let him be to recover, but when Elfwine turned again he was blazing not weeping. ‘I don’t know what disgusts me more – that you abandoned a woman carrying your child, or that you have kept it hidden all these years.  I couldn’t believe that Déor would do that. But you! Never did I think...’ Elfwine stopped, rubbing a hand across his eyes. ‘What about my mother! What story will you tell her?’

‘Your mother knows everything, Son. We have no secrets...’

‘Then when were you going to tell me that I am not your first-born....’ Elfwine eyes were full of accusation and pain.  ‘How could you let me find out like this!’

Éomer sighed. ‘I apologise. That was a mistake, I freely admit it. I should have told you when you were old enough to understand, your mother wanted me to.’

‘Then why didn’t you?’

How to answer that? But there was no hiding it. ‘Because, if I am honest, I guessed how you would react and I didn’t want to see the aversion in your eyes.’

Elfwine stared at him for a moment and then anger left him. ‘Just tell me one thing, Father – that you haven’t lied to me about Éomund. I don’t think I could bear it if you had.’

Éomund? A t least he could quash that. ‘No, I promise you, Éomund is not mine, His parents died in an orc attack. But they were special friends.’ Éomer hesitated, but he had to say it. He owed it to his son to be open and true, and perhaps it would assuage the guilt he still carried.  ‘But Bergit became very dear to me, and we took comfort in each other after her husband was paralysed.’

‘Comfort! Is that what you call it,’ Elfwine flamed. ‘I suppose you took comfort with Halmir’s mother, too! Before you left her!’

The sanctimonious cub! Éomer only just hung on to his temper, trying to speak calmly. ‘I did not leave her. She chose to go home and keep the fact she was carrying my child a secret from me. I did not find out until nine or ten years ago, and only then because your mother told me.’

‘Mother told you. How could she know?’

‘She had a vision, a very strong one.’ Éomer sighed; what a damn mess he had made of this. ‘Look, sit down and let me try and explain.’ He waited and eventually Elfwine grudgingly sank into one of the padded chairs. Éomer took the other and pulled it around so that he could see his son’s face.  It took him another swig of wine before he could start. Fengel’s guts – he was more nervous than before a battle. But hesitation meant more arrows would come your way.

‘I had a relationship with Guleth at the end of the war when I met her in Cormallen. She was a sweet lady and I...I was very fond of her. But she chose to leave and go back to her family in Lamedon. Her decision not mine, I promise you. I had no idea she was with child. Her husband had died on the Pelennor and after your mother made her revelations we could only imagine that Guleth wanted everyone to think that Halmir had been conceived in wedlock. That turned out to be right, but back then we had to find out if it was true, so Déor went to Lamedon. At first Guleth would not admit to it and insisted that Halmir was her dead husband’s child. But even when it became obvious she was hiding the truth she refused for Halmir to be told.  In the end an agreement was reached that news would come to Edoras of his progress each year and he would be told of his heritage when he came of age if his mother had not found the courage to tell him before. Whether he came to Rohan, or not, would be up to him. I am assuming he must have harboured doubts about his parentage, and I suppose I can see how his suspicions would have fallen on Déor. But I don’t understand why his mother let him continue with that idea.’

‘From what he told me it seems that he was so angry that he left home before she could explain.’ Elfwine stared icily at him. ‘I think Halmir has a quick temper.’

‘Elfwine, I understand your anger, but these things happen. They were dark times, and many did things that they might come to regret. Your mother understands this and has always been prepared for Halmir coming to the Riddermark.’

Elfwine stuck his chin up in that familiar challenging way he had. ‘Do you regret what has happened, Father?’

Éomer shook his head, no point in hiding his feelings. ‘Only that you found out in this way.  If Halmir decides he wishes to live in the Riddermark then he will be treated as my son. It will not affect my love for you, the succession, or usurp your position in any way.  I hope that you will find it in you to be friends with him.  The shock for him may be greater than it is for you.’

Elfwine said nothing for a while and then he stood up, turning to the door. ‘I need to think.’

‘Why don’t you go and talk to your mother. She sent word that she is staying with her father until after supper.’

Elfwine nodded. ‘I might do that.’

The door shut behind him and Éomer let out a long, frustrated groan.  What a mess, he had upset one son and now had to upset another. No point in putting it off.

To be continued.

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Halmir                                  Son of Guleth and Éomer.

Ceolwen                              Elfhelm’s youngest daughter.

Éomund                            Son of Bergit, brought up by Éomer’s cousin

Bergit                                 Daughter of the horse-breeder, Egbert.  Had an affair with Éomer before the

                                            Ring-war                      

Déor                                 Captain of Lothiriel’s guard

Byrde                               Déor’s wife, daughter of Hama.   

Caedda                            Son on Déor and Byrde.

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1

Eldarion – born TA 3020

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfhelm and Wilflede 

Bronwyn – f born 3019

Caedmon – m born 3021

Ceolwen   – f born FA 3

Hrodgar  – m born FA 5

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 24

Revelation Part IV

By the time Elfwine reached his grandfather’s house, his anger had been replaced by numbing coldness. He hesitated outside, wondering if he would be likely to be able to speak to his mother alone. Maybe it would be better to wait for her to return to the King’s House, but after a moment’s consideration he realised that he couldn’t – there were things he wanted to know right now. He would just have to make some excuse to have a private conversation with her.  Decision made, he headed for the door. The steward let him in with no comment other than to tell him his mother was sitting with just Prince Imrahil in his study.  Elfwine bounded up the stairs, thankful that she had no other company than his grandfather and that is seemed everyone else was getting changed for supper.  From one of the rooms he could hear Alphros’ strident voice, but his cousin was behind a closed door and Elfwine hurried past.

His mother and grandfather were companionably sipping wine when he entered the room. His grandfather looked up smiling, but his mother frowned.

‘Elfwine, what’s the matter. You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I...I need to talk to you.’ Elfwine gave his grandfather a quick bob of his head. ‘But... I’ll wait...’ However did he get his grandfather to leave without being rude? But he didn’t have to think of some lame excuse as Prince Imrahil stood up.

‘If it’s that important to bring you here, Elfwine, I will leave you alone...’

Elfwine raked a hand through his hair. Suddenly he didn’t want his grandfather to go. ‘No, you will have to know sometime. Everyone will.’

‘Elfwine!’ His mother jumped to her feet. ‘What have you done?’

‘Me?  I have done nothing.’ His mother’s immediate finger pointing made his words come out in a rush. ‘It’s Father. He says you knew he had fathered a bastard, but nobody thought to tell me...and I’d still be in the dark if I hadn’t met Halmir at the fair.’

‘Halmir?’ She looked puzzled for a moment and then a jolt of realisation shot through her. His mother’s eyes locked with her father’s for only a brief second, but it was enough. Bitterness soured Elfwine’s mouth.

‘It seems I’m the only one who hasn’t been told.’

His mother quickly grabbed him by the shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. We should have told you before. But not many know, Elfwine, your grandfather is one of very few.’

‘But why was I kept in the dark?’ he objected. ‘Father said you wanted him to tell me, why didn’t he?’

‘Elfwine, before I answer that sit down and tell me what has happened. You said you met Halmir at the fair?’

Elfwine shook his head, still reeling from the easy acceptance of something he thought to be so distasteful.

‘Your mother is right, Elfwine. Sit down. Take some deep breaths, a swig of wine and explain. You are naturally shocked, but all can be sorted out.’ His grandfather handed him a goblet.

He didn’t want a drink, but ingrained respect for his grandfather made him take it and sink into a chair. Haltingly he started on relating the events of the afternoon, dropping his head into his hands when he recounted the conversation in the lock-up. ‘I didn’t believe Halmir when he said Déor was his father, but the truth is even worse.’

His mother sighed. ‘Elfwine, let’s get one thing straight. The only thing your father has done wrong is not telling you ages ago and letting you find out in this way. He behaved as honourably as he could to Mistress Guleth. It was her choice to return home without enlightening him of her condition, and when he did find out years later he went against his own inclinations and refused to part Halmir from his mother. Something he was quite entitled to do by law.’

 ‘I suppose that is something.’ Elfwine took a gulp of wine. True, his father had not abandoned Halmir’s mother, or ridden roughshod over her feelings, but he still found the whole situation hard to bear. ‘But doesn’t it bother you that Father has sired a bastard?’

‘I would be dishonest if I did not say that I would perhaps wish it had not happened, but it has and there is nothing we can do about that. Your father’s relationship with Mistress Guleth took place long before we met. I cannot censure him for that.’

‘Elfwine.’ Prince Imrahil gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘I like to think that I know your father quite well, and he was a friend before he became my son-in-law. He was, when I first met him, and is now, an honourable man. You have to remember that we lived through dark-times. I was close to him during those days. In a short time he lost his cousin, his foster-father and then thought his sister dead as well.  After the most terrible of battles, with little hope left to us, the ride to the Black Gates took all our resolve and strength. But besides the horror of it all your father also had to deal with his losses and the difficulties of having kingship thrust upon him. Do you really blame him for taking love and comfort when it was offered?’

All the revelations of the day raged through his mind, and his mother and grandfather said nothing, letting him think it out.  From somewhere outside the door he heard the sound of voices as the family made their way to supper, but inside the room all was quiet. Finally Elfwine let out a long, resigned sigh. ‘No, I do not really blame him. I just wish he had told me himself.’ But even as he said it, his father’s words came into his head and he sighed again, annoyed with himself this time. ‘I suppose I can understand though, Father guessed I would react like this. I didn’t realise I was such a prig.’

‘Don’t be hard on yourself, Elfwine,’ his grandfather said, getting up to drop a hand on his shoulder. ‘There is nothing wrong with high ideals and trying to live an honourable existence. But how many of us are going to get to the end of our lives having made no mistakes? We have to remember that when we choose to judge others.’

That said it all, but he had thought his father the most honourable man he knew, and it had come as a shock to find out his life had not been free of fault. ‘I totally accept that Father never knew he had sired a child, but I find it hard to understand why Halmir’s mother never told him. Why would she not, did she think he would not support her?’

His grandfather shook his head. ‘The opposite, I imagine. She must be a very noble lady, for I have no doubt that Éomer would have wanted to marry her had he known, in spite of what his advisors might have argued.’

‘That’s true, Elfwine,’ his mother agreed. ‘Your father said as much to me. We can only be grateful to Mistress Guleth that she was gracious enough to forestall that. But now we know Halmir exists, things have changed. Because I love your father, I would not deny him his other son. I will welcome Halmir if he comes to Edoras, but it will be strange for him and I hope you can find it in you to help a confused young man, your half-brother, in what will be a difficult situation.’

A half-brother! That would take some getting used to. ‘I liked Halmir from the first. But I don’t know what he will think – he was pretty angry when he thought it was Déor who fathered him, now he’s going to find out he might have been heir to the Riddermark but for his mother’s evasion of the truth.’

***   

Éomer’s usual purposeful stride lessened to a slow hesitant walk as he neared the room where he had left Halmir.  He had never felt so unsure of what to say and of his reception when he said it. For the first time he could understand Guleth’s failure to tell her son of his ancestry and forgave her for putting off the disclosure until the last possible moment.

But what must the boy be thinking? Surely his suspicions would have been aroused by the shock on Elfwine’s face and his own erratic behaviour. It had pained him to leave Halmir like that, but explanations to Elfwine had to come first. He could only hope that Éomund had managed to make some innocuous conversation which would keep Halmir from thinking too much and jumping to the obvious conclusion. Unfortunately, even racking his brain, he failed to remember what Déor had actually said after his visit to the vineyard – had Halmir known that it was the King of Rohan himself who had given his mother the mare? If he had, then there might not be any revelations to make, only explanations to give.

The guard stood to attention as he approached the door. Éomer stopped, putting off the confrontation with his first-born for another moment. ‘Is Éomund in there?’

‘Yes, lord. He came straightaway, and so did the ale you ordered.’

Éomer nodded and put his hand on the door. A deep, calming breath and he pushed it open.

Éomund immediately got to his feet, Halmir more hesitantly, a wary expression on his face. He didn’t bow but stared at the King of Rohan as if he was seeing him for the first time.

Éomund nodded a gesture of respect and smiled. ‘I’ve had difficulty keeping him here, lord; he wants to check on his horse. I’ve told him she’s settled and you said he had to wait for you to return so...’

‘That’s fine, Éomund, thank you.’  Éomer had no doubt Halmir would have been kept here by force if necessary. Éomund, given an order, always carried it out to the letter. ‘You can go now, but could you seek out the housekeeper and see if she can rustle up another room for Halmir, he’ll be staying with us for a while.’

The look of surprise on Éomund’s face came at the same time as a slight gasp from Halmir. But Éomund merely bowed and went to exit the room. Halmir though drew his eyebrows together and before the door had closed questioned the command.

‘Why are you finding me a room..., lord?’

Éomer jumped straight in. ‘Because you came here to find your father, that’s what you want, isn’t it?’

 ‘I came to find Déor, but you tell me, lord, that I was looking in the wrong direction...’He stopped, faltering in confusion and uncertainty... ‘I saw the shock and dismay on Prince Elfwine’s face. But what my eyes and ears are telling me, my mind is refusing to believe.’

‘Sit down, Halmir. As I said explanations are due to you and you might find they come as a bit of a shock to you as well.’

Halmir’s face drained of colour, but he met Éomer’s gaze boldly, his eyes boring into him as if trying to seek out the truth. A shaft of regret stabbed Éomer right in his heart – a fine young man who would make any father proud. What had he missed all these years? ‘Sit down and we can talk.’ Éomer pulled up a chair for himself as Halmir slowly sank into his, dropping his head into his hands.

After a moment he looked up, shaking his head. ‘What I am thinking cannot be true, lord? Surely there is some other explanation I...’

Éomer interrupted him, not wanting speculation to go any farther. ‘Halmir, Déor visited you on my behalf... I am your father, but I swear I only found out days before I sent him.’

‘You...the King of Rohan.’ The poor boy looked as if he had just been told he was related to an orc. Éomer waited as a range of emotions crossed Halmir’s face while he came to terms with the stark truth. Eventually he stammered ‘... I thought... but I didn’t really believe it. You and my ... my mother...?’

‘Yes, Halmir. I met her at Cormallen when she treated me for a shoulder injury. She had just lost her husband. I became very fond of her, but in the end she decided to return home.’

A scant few seconds later, eyes blazing, Halmir jumped to his feet as the reality really sunk in. ‘You mean you paid her off.  With a horse! That was all she was worth, was it? All I was worth!’

‘Halmir.’ Éomer stood up and reached out a calming hand but the boy twisted away. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. It was your mother’s wish to return to her family and I swear she never told me she was carrying my child...believe me if she had...’

‘Why wouldn’t she?  Didn’t she trust you to stand by her? What woman would not tell a king she was carrying his bastard...?’

‘That’s why, Halmir. Your mother wanted you to grow up with everyone thinking you were born in wedlock. She didn’t want you to...’

‘To be born a bastard,’ Halmir sneered. ‘Why not? That’s what whores have, isn’t it? Bastards!’

 Éomer held down his anger – just. ‘Call me for anything you like, but never let me hear you being disrespectful about your mother again.’

Halmir’s eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. ‘I’ll say what I like. And that’s what she is, all these years she lied to me when she’s nothing but a dirty whore.’

He wasn’t having that!  With no more thought Éomer slapped him hard across his left cheek.

Halmir staggered from the blow. When he regained his balance, his hands were bunched into fists. Éomer waited, watching his son’s chest heave as he tried to control the urge to punch a king on the nose. Finally his hands unclenched, but he glared angrily from under thunder brows.

‘You won’t hear me say anything else, because I am leaving right now.’

‘Halmir, you are going nowhere.  You will stay here and when you are calmer we will talk again...’

‘You can’t keep me...’

Éomer stared straight into defiant eyes. ‘Oh, but I can. Besides the fact that I have guards at my disposal, you are not yet come of age. And whether you like it or not I have control over you.’ Having regained his temper, Éomer regretted slapping him. This had gone all wrong; somehow he had to try and explain his actions. But the boy was still raging, spitting fire at him.

‘You say you found out when I was ten, but you obviously didn’t want me then.’ Halmir tossed the accusation at him scornfully. ‘Why do you want me now? What does it matter to you where I go?’

‘Halmir, sit back down and hear what I have to say!’ Éomer snapped back, deciding he had to be fierce to get the boy to listen. ‘I do not lie, so take notice of the truth.’

Halmir continued to glare at him for a long moment then, with a dismissive shrug, he sat down. Éomer just managed not to let out a sigh of relief. Now he had to find the right words and not spark off another fight.

The  mulish expression on Halmir’s face gradually eased, to be replaced by astonishment as Éomer explained how he had found out about his existence and the reason he had sent Déor to confirm Lothíriel’s vision. ‘I sent Déor with specific instructions that even if he found beyond any doubt that you were my son, he was not to take you away from your mother. Not because I did not want you, but because I had no wish to upset your mother. She did not want you told of your real paternity at all, but Déor decided that even born out of wedlock you were important to the Riddermark and insisted that you must be told before you came of age. Your uncle agreed to that, your mother much more reluctantly.  In spite of what you might believe it was very hard for me to learn I had another son and not be able to get to know you. I devoured your letters, and many times I thought of invoking my rights and claiming you. But I stuck with what we had agreed and hoped that when you were eventually told the truth you would want to come to Edoras and seek me out, get to know me. But that is your decision, it still is.’

‘I don’t know what I want.’ Halmir murmured, his eyes desolate rather than angry now. ‘Except to see my horse. When I thought Déor was my father and had abandoned me, I wanted to punch him on the nose. But now... now you say that it was my mother that kept me from knowing you. I can’t understand why she did that. And why did she keep the truth from me all these years?’

‘Because she didn’t want to lose you, I imagine.’ Éomer opened his hands in a gesture of uncertainty, not quite really knowing himself. ‘Perhaps she thought that with your love of horses, once you came to the Riddermark you would not return. But you must talk to her, Halmir. Make your peace with her.’

Halmir frowned, his blue eyes icy. ‘I have no wish to see her. I don’t think I can forgive her.’

Now what did he say. Hopefully this was just a passing phase and when Halmir had had time to think he would feel differently. ‘Halmir, this has been a shock for you and you must take time to sort out your thoughts. I would like you to come and live or at least spend a considerable amount of time in the Riddermark. I want to get to know you and make up for the missing years, but you have to return home first and let your mother and uncle know you are safe and what you intend to do. You owe them that.’

Halmir still glowered. ‘And what do I owe you?’

‘Nothing. You owe me nothing. But I hope you would gain a lot. The Mark is not like Gondor, it does not have the same prejudices. You would be treated as my son, with all the respect that commands. Elfwine is my heir and your existence will not affect that, but...’

‘I doubt he’s happy about this,’ Halmir interrupted. ‘Or your wife.’

‘Elfwine has had almost as big a shock as you. As your mother was remiss with the truth, so was I. He should have been told years ago. But my wife will welcome you, because she is open-hearted and secure in her position. I truly hope you and Elfwine will become friends, but I cannot make that happen.’

‘I don’t know.’ Halmir shook his head despondently.  ‘At this moment I want to get on my horse, ride far away and forget all this. But I suppose you won’t let me.’

‘No, I am sorry. I think you need a few days to consider all you have learned. Hopefully things will become clearer. When you wish to return home, I will send an escort with you to make sure you get there safely. You will soon be of age and I cannot then force you to come to the Riddermark, I can only hope that you decide that you wish to see the land of your ancestors and learn their ways.’

Halmir stood up, his face giving nothing away. ‘Can I see my horse now?’

Realising that was all he was going to get for the moment, Éomer nodded. ‘I’ll call Éomund to go with you.’ Halmir’s eyes hardened and he quickly added, ‘Not because I wouldn’t trust your word to return if you gave it, but because you would not be able to get back in here without someone to vouch for you.’

***

Deep in his thoughts, Éomer didn’t look up immediately the door opened, but when he did, he smiled his relief, getting up to greet his wife thankfully. Lothíriel accepted his hug with unrestrained pleasure as she always did. ‘Elfwine came to see me, my father talked to him and he is much happier. I think everything will be fine once he gets used to the idea he has a half-brother.’ But then her eyes caught sight of the almost empty wine jug. She peered into it and then looked pointedly at the empty goblet. ‘I have a feeling your talk with Halmir didn’t go as well.’

‘No. Although I am very glad Elfwine is coming to accept the situation.’ Éomer ran a hand through his hair, still angry with himself. ‘But I lost my temper with Halmir. In fact I slapped him.’

‘You what!’ Lothíriel was astounded, he couldn’t blame her. She stared reproachfully at him. ‘Éomer, whatever brought that on.’

‘I think he was even more angry with his mother than with me. Called her a whore; I couldn’t have that.’

‘No, of course not.’ Lothíriel took hold of his hand and went up on tip-toe to kiss him on the lips. ‘Come and sit down. Tell me all that has happened; you look so troubled.’ She led him to the couch, pulling him down beside her.

The warmth of her body next to him, and the sweet scent of her perfume, calmed him. She would understand, she always did. ‘I played it all wrong; I should have been softer, more sympathetic. But he was angry from the start.’ Éomer laughed ruefully. ‘Halmir seems to have inherited my temper. And my pride, I suppose,’ he said after a moment’s thought. ‘I expected him to jump at the chance of coming to Edoras, but I am not at all sure he ever will.’

Lothíriel squeezed his hand. ‘Tell me what happened. What did you say to him?’

Éomer went through his disastrous conversation with Halmir as accurately as he could; Lothíriel listened without interruption, her face grave. ‘It does seem that he is most angry with his mother,’ she said when he had finished.  ‘But imagine what Elfwine would think if he discovered that I’d had a relationship out of wedlock.’

‘Elfwine can be a bit of a prig sometimes.’

 ‘It’s his age,’ Lothíriel said with a laugh.  ‘And boys do tend to place their mothers on pedestals.’

Éomer sighed. ‘I understand that, but I just feel that until Halmir accepts what his mother has done and forgives her, he will never be able to see his way to coming to Edoras. And I so want him to.’

Lothíriel thought for a moment, and then stood up purposefully. ‘Where is he?  I will go and talk to him, a woman’s view on this might help.’

To be concluded.

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Halmir                                  Son of Guleth and Éomer.

Ceolwen                              Elfhelm’s youngest daughter.

Éomund                            Son of Bergit, brought up by Éomer’s cousin

Bergit                                 Daughter of the horse-breeder, Egbert.  Had an affair with Éomer before the

                                            Ring-war                      

Déor                                 Captain of Lothiriel’s guard

Byrde                               Déor’s wife, daughter of Hama.   

Caedda                            Son on Déor and Byrde.

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1

Eldarion – born TA 3020

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfhelm and Wilflede 

Bronwyn – f born 3019

Caedmon – m born 3021

Ceolwen   – f born FA 3

Hrodgar  – m born FA 5

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm

Swansong 25

Revelation Part V

Standing outside the room Halmir had been given I wondered whatever I was going to say to him. Would he be more embarrassed than pleased that the Queen of Rohan had sought him out to try and explain his mother’s actions? Not an easy situation for any of us: it would take Elfwine some time before he could really accept that he had a half-brother, hitherto unknown. How would they deal together, I wondered. There might always be discord between them. Although I did not really believe that, thinking that even if he did not realise it himself at the moment, Elfwine would come to relish having more blood-kin, and Halmir would need a friend. But I was being premature with my thoughts, for if Halmir went home and chose not to come to Rohan, they might never meet again.

And Éomer, would he be able to build the relationship with Halmir that he hoped for? Resentment might run too deep in his bastard son. Possibly Halmir might think that Éomer should have gone against Guleth’s wishes and claimed him sooner, introduced him to the advantages his position could command.  I hoped not, because Éomer wanted this so much, and I wanted it for him. For however much I had pushed it deep into my inner self, the guilt and longing still festered. I might have saved Éomer’s life all those years go, but it was my wild ride that had destroyed my chance of giving him more children – and knowing I could have done no differently didn’t assuage the remorse, or ease the shame I felt when those ignorant of the facts whispered their condemnations.

But Éomer, my loving, constant, understanding husband had never, by word or deed, shown to any that he felt deprived of the brood he might have once expected. So at that moment more than anything I wanted to help facilitate a bond between him and his first-born.

The guard announced me, not because I felt the need for formality, but because knowing Halmir’s equanimity must be badly stretched, I wanted to give him the chance to compose himself. When I entered he was standing opposite the door; it took a few seconds before he bowed his head and in that short time my senses rocked. Accepting! Sympathetic!  My stomach cramped with jealously. Or maybe envy. Facing me was a younger version of Éomer. True he might not be as solid and muscled as the man I had first fallen in love with, but the likeness was uncanny.   Up to that moment I had never given true thought to the reality that it had needed two people to make him – together. My husband and another woman! One he’d had feelings for. Seeing the physical product of that union raised anger that tore at all my noble intentions, and I could not utter a word.

Reddening as he witnessed the tumultuous emotions passing across my face, Halmir dropped his eyes to the floor. ‘He said you would welcome me, but you wouldn’t, would you, lady. You’d rather have me go.’

‘No...’I stuttered, trying to get control of myself. I forced a smile. ‘It’s just that seeing you came as a shock. You look so much like your father.’

His chin jerked up. ‘The king, you mean?’

‘Of course.’ A genuine smile this time. ‘Were you hoping there was some mistake?’

He nodded, full of apprehension. Immediately my ire lessened slightly and my heart went out to him. A shock for me, but he must be dazed beyond measure at the impending changes to his life. I had to put away my resentment. After all, it would be surely worse had he looked like his mother, providing a constant reminder to Éomer of a past love. Making a supreme effort I managed to speak normally. ‘Halmir, do you mind if I sit down?’ 

Blue eyes opened wide, and he grabbed a chair. ‘Yes...of course, my lady.’

Sweeping my skirt under me I sat down. Halmir stood uncertainty for a moment, not quite sure what to do. I pointed to the other chair. ‘It is easier to talk if I don’t have to look up to you. Won’t you sit as well?’

‘You want to talk to me, my lady?’

‘Yes, I do.’

Halmir ran his hand through his long hair – such a typical Éomer gesture that I had trouble stopping the gasp that rose in my throat. What fate had decreed that Elfwine would take after me and my family and this love-child be so like his father? But I had to put all that aside and concentrate on the reason I had sought Halmir out. Nothing had changed: Éomer wanted a fulfilling bond with Halmir, and in spite of my misgivings, I suppose I wished that too. I loved my husband very much and would normally do anything to make him happy. But the decision to intervene and help had seemed a simple one to make at first, faced with actuality made it inherently more difficult.

With a suspicious glance at me, Halmir at last sat on the edge of the chair. He stretched out one long leg, probably to balance himself, but it looked as if he were ready for flight. Somehow I had to ease his worries about coming to Rohan and try and encourage him to settle his differences with his mother. Why had I ever thought I could do that?  For a moment I hesitated, but then realised that I had learnt a lot from the Rohirrim over the years and one of the main things was that plain speaking made for no misunderstandings. Speak one’s truth quietly and clearly – an adage that could not be faulted.

‘Éomer tells me that he wishes very much that you will come to Rohan, but you have to go home and let your mother know you are safe first.’

Halmir’s eyes narrowed. ‘Even if he makes me go home, he can’t make me forgive my mother. Or go to Rohan. I will be of age by then. And whoever my father, I am of Gondor.’

Defiant; challenging; who did that remind me of?  ‘True, but I imagine your ancestry must count for something.’

‘Maybe...,’ he said after a little thought, ‘but at the moment I don’t know what I will do. I only know that I don’t want to go home.’

‘Because you are angry with your mother?’

He shrugged. ‘Why shouldn’t I be? She is not as I thought. And she lied to me.’

I waited until he had stopped picking at a thread on his tunic and I had his complete attention. ‘So what bothers you most: that she misled you over your father’s identity, or that she had a relationship with Éomer King?’

‘She...she...behaved like a...’he stopped, sensing my reproach. Or perhaps remembering that Éomer had slapped him for voicing such opinions.  ‘I never thought she would have done that.’

‘Halmir, your mother has never married again. Has she had any other liaisons over the years?’

‘No....’ He frowned. ‘Not since I’ve been old enough to remember, anyway. There’s a few that have tried, but she’s never shown any interest. Laughed it off, saying she didn’t need anybody but me.’

One could see why he was distraught. Briefly I wondered why Guleth had been so self-sacrificing. Had she been so much in love with Éomer that no one else would do? If so, how had she managed to walk away from him? But I pushed that thought aside and used the opening Halmir had given me. ‘So what happened between her and Éomer was unusual, she has not made a habit of such relationships.’

‘No...’Halmir pursed his lips, scowling. ‘I suppose she hasn’t, but I don’t see that excuses anything. Especially as...her husband had just been killed.’

The man he had thought his father until recently! But in spite of the poor boy’s dismay at what had been revealed, he needed to accept that his mother had not behaved so terribly.

‘You know, Halmir, those were exceptional times. Now, after years of peace, perhaps a woman would be frowned upon if she took a lover within weeks of losing her husband, but back then emotions and passions were exaggerated by the horror we endured. No one really thought we would triumph against the Dark Lord, and of course thousands didn’t survive. And thousands more were dreadfully injured. Imagine what your mother had to endure in the Healing Houses dealing with men with limbs hacked off and their guts hanging out. She must have seen things no woman should have to endure. Do you think you have the right to judge her? She lived through the siege of Minas Tirith, when the city was surrounded by legions of hideous, terrifying monsters, all intent on destroying everyone in it. Think what fright there must have been when the gates broke, before Rohan came.’

‘You think that’s why, do you?’ Halmir stared at me almost accusing.’ Because King Éomer came and rescued them. Is that why you think she went with him?’

No, I didn’t. But maybe just because she was a woman? Or because he was soul-shatteringly attractive - at least to me. Possibly because she just wanted a child. But I deemed it better to keep those thoughts to myself. ‘I don’t know exactly why, Halmir, or precisely why she went home without telling him about you, but I do know that Éomer had strong feelings for her. He has told me as much and he does not lie.’

‘Unlike my mother, then.’

‘I know that is difficult to understand, but I can only think that she loves you so much and she was afraid you would be taken away from her if the truth was known.’

‘She should have told him at the beginning, maybe he would have let her live in Rohan.’

What did I say now? That he might have missed out on being the heir to Rohan? ‘I imagine she did what she thought was right, Halmir. She didn’t want to put Éomer in a position where he felt obliged to marry her. I think she was very brave to go home. She knew that your uncle would welcome you and help her with your upbringing, but you cannot really blame her for letting people assume you were her dead husband’s child. Both of you could have suffered from prejudice otherwise. After all, she had no idea that Éomer would find out about you and expected you would spend your life as a Gondorian.’

‘And now he expects me to go to Rohan and everyone will know he’s my father. And that I‘m a bastard.’

‘You will find that the Rohirrim tend to judge a man by his actions and not by his birth, Halmir. You must talk to Éomer about that, he will help to make sure you do not suffer from it. But you must also talk to your mother. You must talk openly, without anger or accusation. I am sure you both will feel better if you do so.’

Silence! It seemed a long few moments; the only reaction Halmir made to my homily was another rake of his fingers through his unruly hair. Eventually he let out a long sigh. ‘I still don’t know if I want to go to Rohan, but I suppose I had better go home anyway. I said some awful things to my uncle, and he has always been good to me.’

‘And your mother?’

Another lengthy pause before he said, ‘I have listened to your words, my lady. I still feel aggrieved, but maybe the ride home will give me chance to give my mother’s actions more thought and to understand her reasons better.’

Probably the best I could achieve at the moment. And underneath the anger and the shock I saw a fine, sensible young man. Hopefully his love for his mother would prevail. Not thinking my presence would improve things anymore I got up to go. ‘I will tell Éomer you want to go home; he will arrange an escort... Only to keep you safe, Halmir,’ I put in quickly seeing his chin go up and his eyes harden.

He said nothing, only nodded, but as I put my hand on the door handle he stopped me. ‘My lady.’

I turned, to meet eyes that penetrated deep into mine. So much like Éomer’s way of seeking the truth. ‘From what you have told me it seems that King Éomer might well have married my mother, had she told him. That would have changed everything.’

I had thought I had got away with that one, but of course the possibility of missed opportunities would be niggling away at him. ‘I think Éomer would have wanted to marry her, Halmir. And she knew that. But his advisers and friends would have opposed it strongly. True, he had not even taken up his seat in the Golden Hall, and had not been crowned, but he was the Lord of the Mark and as such his actions impinged on a whole people. I think in the end he would have listened to counsel. But as I said, you must talk to your mother: I doubt she wanted the responsibility of helping to rule Rohan. Especially if there was likely to be opposition.’

He dropped his gaze, and his shoulders relaxed. ‘No, I suppose not.’

‘We cannot change what we are, Halmir, none of us. We can only make the best of what we have been given. Your father is a just and honourable man and he will do all that he can for you. I hope you give him the chance to get to know you.’ With a quick nod I pulled the door open and let myself out into the corridor.

After a few polite words to the guard I hurried away, waiting until I was out of sight before stopping to lean against the cold marble wall, my heart beating madly. I needed to compose myself before I reported back to Éomer.

xxxxx

Deep in thought, Éomer barely acknowledged the guards’ salutes as he entered the tunnel, for in spite of Lothíriel telling him she thought that Halmir would eventually come to Rohan, he was not at all sure. The conversations he’d had with the lad over the previous couple of days had been stilted and non-revealing. Halmir had given away nothing. In fact he had closed in on himself, hiding his hurt and shock behind a non-caring demeanour which reminded Éomer of his own reaction to Théoden’s approaches after he and Éowyn had been orphaned.   The anger and resentment had led to many clashes with his uncle and it had been Théodred who sorted him, by spending hours every day teaching him how to fight with every conceivable weapon. Well, it was up to him to do the sorting on this occasion, but he hadn’t managed to convince Halmir to visit Rohan yet. And he didn’t have much time left.

There’d been no hint that he wanted to be a warrior, although Halmir had joined in the fight alongside Elfwine quickly enough, but that was probably a result of his temper. So Éomer knew he had to come up with something other than warfare to attract the lad. He’d tried to reach him through their love of horses, but he was still not convinced it had worked. Éomer had no doubt the word was out and Halmir’s identity was known amongst his guard, and all the comment he’d received centred on the lad’s natural horsemanship. That was certainly the best hope he had of finding common ground between them, but there was not much more he could say. Lothíriel had done her best to convince Halmir he would be welcomed, but even though she was trying desperately to keep her disquiet from him, Éomer knew his wife was finding the situation difficult to deal with. Who could blame her? What woman would choose to have her husband’s by-blow in close proximity, reminding her daily of a past liaison? Thankful for her loyalty that had never wavered, Éomer could only continue to reassure his wife of his abiding love for her.

At least Elfwine had come round a bit, got over his prudishness and probably matured in the process. Perhaps if he added his voice, Halmir would take notice, but Éomer knew he couldn’t force Elfwine to do that. He would have to do any more persuading needed himself.

Emerging out of the dark onto the road, Éomer quickened his pace. He’d been delayed by writing a letter to Guleth, not finding it easy, and the sun had risen well above the Ephel Dúath. They’d be leaving soon. He strode into the stable yard, surprised when he saw many more men than he was expecting hovering around. He cast his eyes over the group of Rohirrim; Éomund was already mounted, so were the other three Riders he had detailed to escort Halmir. They had dispensed with their uniforms, so as not to instigate too much talk when they arrived in Lamedon, but still looked like Rohirrim warriors in spite of the commonplace clothes they wore. For Guleth’s sake Éomer didn’t want to cause a lot of talk, but he’d dismissed the idea of sending Halmir home alone. Worrying too much, he supposed, but Halmir was not like Elfwine – trained to fight. He didn’t even have a sword, and there were still a few brigands that preyed on travellers using the lonely mountain roads.

Éomer picked out Halmir amongst the group, holding on to his mare and standing next to Déor. That didn’t surprise him, in fact he wondered if the lad would have been happier if Déor really had been his father. But surely being a king didn’t make him that intimidating. He’d tried so hard to be normal – fatherly...Éomer stopped: Déor had moved and beside him he saw Elfwine, talking earnestly to Halmir, and whatever the words, Halmir was listening to them attentively. A warm feeling spread through him, more than anything he wanted his two sons to be friends. And they could be, because they had liked each on their first meeting. Only the unusual situation had got in the way for a while, but perhaps Elfwine really had grown up.

Reaching the trio, Éomer casually dropped his hand on Elfwine’s shoulder. ‘Saying farewell, son?’

Elfwine nodded, looking straight into his eyes. ‘I’ve told Halmir that I hope he comes to Edoras. And that he doesn’t need to train to be a warrior.’

‘No...No, of course he doesn’t.’ Éomer frowned; surely he had not given that impression. He turned to Halmir who stared at him warily. ‘Just come and see the home of your forebears. Learn a bit about your heritage. See the huge herds that graze the plains, the Mearas stallions that are our lifeblood. That’s all I’m asking.’

Halmir said nothing, and Éomer realised that Déor and Elfwine had moved away. He was alone with his first-born and had never felt so tongue-tied in his life. Suddenly though, he felt irritation rising.  Eorl’s bones! He’d had enough of this pussyfooting.

‘Halmir, I want to get to know you. I want to make up for the years we’ve missed. But if you don’t want that then there is nothing more I can do or say.’

‘It’s a strange position, lord,’ Halmir said at last. ‘Already people are looking at me differently and treating me awkwardly. I do not speak your language and I am not sure how to behave. Life was simple before.’

‘It will be a little awkward at first,’ Éomer agreed. ‘But languages can be learnt and so can customs and history. Maybe you will have to put up with some tittle-tattle, but I cannot change that. You will have to rise above it.  Whatever the circumstances, you are my son and most will be friendly and respectful. I will help you all I can, but in the end it is you who will carve out a position for yourself in life, Halmir. And from what I have seen, you have the strength to do that. You have the opportunity to work with the best horses in Middle-earth, the chance to get to know your brother as well as me. Do not throw it away because of the fear of a few tactless remarks. Hold your head up high and take what is being offered to you.’

Halmir nodded, but Éomer wasn’t sure that meant he agreed. ‘Talk to your mother and your uncle. The next shipment of wine will be coming in a few months; if you send word I will arrange an escort for you.’  Éomer fished in his pocket. He had intended to give the letter to Éomund, but it would look as if he didn’t trust Halmir to deliver it, and there had to be trust between them. ‘Pass this to your mother, will you, Halmir. It’s only really an assurance that if you do come to the Riddermark I shall make sure you return regularly to see her.’

‘Unless she’s changed she won’t want me to come,’ Halmir said, as he slipped the letter inside his tunic.

Éomer privately thought that she might feel differently now Halmir had actually run away. Anyway, he had done his best in the letter to tell her that he would not encourage Halmir to stay away for good.

Minutes later, watching Halmir’s back as the small group trotted along the road from the stables Éomer wondered if he would ever see his son again.

xxxxx

Edoras FA 53

Elfwine squeezed my shoulder. ‘Mother, you never showed how much it bothered you, that you were upset by having to contend with Halmir’s existence. I thought you fully supported Father.’

‘I did,’ I assured him quickly. ‘And I tried to persuade Halmir to come here. I was just a bit jealous, I suppose. Not a nice emotion. I knew that your father had been very fond of Mistress Guleth, and although it was better for Halmir to think there was some love between his father and mother, it made it a little difficult for me.’

‘I suppose. Although I am glad there was some attachment between them rather than just...’

‘Lust,’ I supplied with a laugh. ‘Elfwine, I do believe that you have never quite lost that priggish streak.’

Elfwine sighed, slanting me an indulgent smile. ‘Perhaps I am just a one woman man.’

I leant my head against his warm body. My son, how I loved him. ‘Ceolwen is a very lucky lady.’

I felt his hand smoothing gently across my hair as he bent towards my ear. ‘I think I’m the lucky one; she was quite young when she agreed to marry me.’

That made me smile: remembering how I had tried to interest him in one of Aragorn’s daughters. ‘I don’t know how I missed it, but your attachment was obvious to everyone when we returned from Gondor that time.’

Elfwine laughed. ‘As I said, a memorable time in our lives. And I like to think that seeds sprouted for Eldarion during those weeks, too. Although it was a couple of years before I could collect my winnings.’

‘Hmmm... I don’t suppose I ever thought I would have a niece who might one day live to be Queen of Gondor. Amroth and Devoran were quite stunned when he turned up in Dol Amroth on her twentieth birthday. I think it was only my father and Elenna who weren’t surprised.’

‘Grandfather always did see things very clearly. I had another talk with him about Halmir, you know. Which was what made me try and encourage him to come here.’

‘Now that I didn’t know. But I do know that your father appreciated that you’d tried very much. He had done all he could, and as the months passed, I think he had given up. He tried to hide it, but when the wine arrived and there was no word, it upset him greatly.’

‘I can see why it wasn’t easy for Halmir,’ Elfwine mused. ‘To suddenly find out that one’s father, besides being a king, is one of Middle-earth’s great warriors and not be interested in fighting oneself at all, would be difficult. He thought he would be judged against his father in that respect and...’

‘But no one expected him to become a warrior,’ I interjected. ‘Least of all your father.’

‘I know, but Halmir was surrounded by them in Minas Tirith – me, Éomund, Déor, all the guard in fact. He must have felt a bit strange.’

‘Maybe, certainly men think differently about those things. But whatever the reasons I would have saved your father the months of worry if I could have.’

Elfwine smiled. ‘But it all led to another unforgettable day...didn’t it?’

xxxxx

Edoras FA 18 – October

Éomer and I had been for an early ride along the banks of the Snowbourn. Dry for weeks, the leaves of the alders had turned from deep yellow to orange. Still hanging on to the boughs, they glowed in the early sun, glistening like the finest amber beads. But the long, slender willow leaves had already fallen, providing a soft carpet for our horses’ hooves. I, for one, would have loved to ride until the sun sank again, not wishing to spend a moment indoors on such a beautiful day when winter crept ever nearer. Reluctantly though,  as the sun rose above the tall pines, we turned for home, knowing we were in for a good few hours confined to the Hall, it being the day the populace could petition King or Queen.

A line of supplicants waited for us as, arm in arm, we ascended the steps to Meduseld. After eighteen years in Edoras, I knew them all. No surprises today by the look of it – no Gimli asking for leave to delve deeper under Mount Thrihyrne, no lord wanting to explore the ancient trading routes to the Long Lake and beyond. Just the common problems that people had when they lived in peace and war did not render small worries irrelevant.

We listened to farmers who wanted to cultivate more land, and an idiot who had a plan to draw water from the Snowbourn beneath the city, which would leave high and dry the reeds that filtered the waste from Edoras. We heard from a potter who wished to construct a new kind of kiln, and the families who said it would smoke them out of their homes. But most were mundane requests for the chance of selling wares to Meduseld, or someone requisitioning leave to graze their horses on the royal pastures. The day wore on, and I saw Éomer look up longingly as the sunshine left the high windows and the hall darkened. Outside the sun would still be dancing over the meadows, but graciously, showing no impatience, he concentrated on trying to unravel a complicated tale of two warring neighbours who argued over the ancient right to dig peat.

It ended finally, the last few decisions being made as the tables were laid for supper. The hall would be full tonight as those who had come from a distance were fed, and some even bedded down. Elfwine returned just in time to eat, full of his new horse which he had taken out on an extended ride over the grasslands.

‘A long ride tomorrow would be good,’ I said to Éomer as everyone seated themselves. ‘We must make the most of this weather while it lasts.’

‘How about a visit to Aldburg,’ Elfwine suggested. ‘I want to go and show Ceolwen my horse and I am sure they would find room for us for a night or two.’

I answered that we should really say we were coming and not just turn up, but Éomer never got chance to add his opinion because at that moment the outer door opened. But it was not the doorward that entered that got our attention, it was the tall, blond young man who stood behind him.

‘Halmir,’ I whispered, reaching for Éomer’s hand. He had come, and the joy I knew my husband would feel pushed away any unease that might trouble me.

He squeezed my fingers but said nothing, standing as the guard escorted Halmir towards the dais.

‘Sire,’ the guard addressed his king. ‘This is Halmir from Lamedon, he says you are expecting him.’

Éomer nodded absently, he had not taken his eyes from Halmir. ‘You came on your own? Why didn’t you ask for an escort?’

Halmir bowed, but raising his head he met his father’s intense scrutiny boldly. ‘I needed to find my own way, lord.’

 ‘You must be hungry.’ Éomer relaxed and smiled. I could feel the pride in him as a tangible force. He looked around, but Elfwine had already called for another chair and washing water. Éomer pushed his own chair aside and went to meet Halmir, but he took time to quickly clasp Elfwine’s arm in thanks as he passed. That simple gesture told me not to worry and all would work out well.

It must have cost Halmir much to step up onto the dais, the whole hall watching in virtual silence, intrigued by the events they were witnessing – their king had just stood up in deference to a young man who was a stranger to most of them. But Halmir held his head up as Éomer led him to the front of the dais.

‘Rohirrim!’ My husband had never had problem making himself heard, but this night he could have whispered and been heeded. All waited expectantly.

‘This is my son, Halmir. Welcome him.’

xxxxx

Epilogue

Edoras FA 53

Sometimes generosity of spirit is repaid in ways we cannot imagine. My actions all those years ago when I tried so hard to welcome Halmir with an open heart resulted in a fulfilling family life as Elfwine and Halmir gradually formed a bond strengthened by common blood.  I suppose that had Halmir threatened Elfwine’s position as heir in any way things could have been different, but the Rohirrim would still need a warrior king to lead them for long years. Elfwine’s right to rule, when his father would at last be laid in his barrow, had never been queried or questioned.

Halmir had been drawn to Rohan eventually, not because he coveted a crown, but only by the wish to know his father and his love of horses. And through the horses he had indeed found his role: breeding and training the best warhorses we could produce.

 ‘You were right, Mother, everything did work out well. You have double the number of grand-children to cosset that you might have had.’ Elfwine’s voice jerked me out of the reverie I had fallen into when we finished reminiscing.

I laughed. ‘You have both been prolific.’ But of course Halmir’s children were not my grand-children although I never thought to distinguish between them. And I waved them off with a smile on my face when they regularly took the mountain road to Lamedon to visit Guleth. Often I wondered what she thought, whether she regretted the choice she had made. 

‘Ah...and here he is.’

I followed Elfwine’s eyes. Coming up the steps, arm in arm, were Halmir and Leofcwen. Marrying Eóthain and Welwyn’s daughter had made it easy for me to love his children. 

‘My lady!’ Leofcwen dropped Halmir’s arm and hurried ahead when she realised I was sitting outside the hall.   She grasped my hand when she reached me. ‘You must be feeling much better, I am so glad. But the sun is westering, you must not get cold.’

Elfwine put his hand on my shoulder. ‘I doubt you’ll get her to go in before Father returns.’   

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It will reassure him if I am well enough to greet him.  Goodness knows what the messenger said.’

‘We thought the worst,’ my lady.’   Halmir smiled down at me. ‘It is good to know our fears were   unfounded.’

Not quite. But I had a little time to get them used to the idea that my Númenórean blood would not give me longer life than Éomer, something most had expected. But the gift of healing and prophesy came with a price, one I had to pay without regret. But the short time left to me I wanted to spend with my husband. Again I looked out over the plain. When would he come?

In the end it was the stiffening posture of one of the doorwards that told us the wait was over. ‘Help me stand,’ I said. Elfwine got one side of me and Halmir the other, holding me up until I could balance myself. A deep breath, and I stood tall, able to see the group of riders hurtling towards Edoras.

The years fell away, and suddenly I was on my father’s ship watching Éomer riding across the Pelennor towards me. My heart; my destiny.

I could see him now, pulling ahead of the others, and more than all the green and gold, and the White Horse running, it was the assured, easy grace of him, the blending of horse and man, which spoke his name.

The end.

Author’s note:  The last quote is from Tide of Destiny Chapter 25 when Lothíriel sees Éomer for the first time.

xxx

Well, that’s it – The Tide of Destiny series is finished. Four novels, over 400,000 words written.

A big thank you to all my readers, but special appreciation goes to those who have taken the time to review and those who have been with me since the beginning.

And my heartfelt thanks go to Lialathuveril, who as well as correcting my mistakes, has given me unstinting support. As she reminded me yesterday, it was a good few years ago when we sat in a car together, somewhere in Southern England, and I gave her the draft of the very first chapter of Tide to read.

Regards to you all, LBJ

List of original characters appearing or mentioned in this chapter.

Halmir                                  Son of Guleth and Éomer.

Ceolwen                              Elfhelm’s youngest daughter.

Éomund                            Son of Bergit, brought up by Éomer’s cousin

Leofcwen                           Daughter of Eóthain and Welwyn.

Elenna,                               Eldest daughter of Amrothos and Devoran

Déor                                 Captain of Lothíriel’s guard

For info.

Families:

Elfwine –born FA1  Married – Ceolwen  youngest daughter of Elfhelm and Wilflede

Eldarion – born TA 3020  --      married Elenna, eldest daughter of Amrothos and Devoran

Elphir and Meren:

Alphros  m – born 3017;   Elphin m – born 3020 ;  Eldir m – born FA4;  plus one girl.

Erchirion and Inayah:

Two daughters and one son.

Amrothos and Devoran:

Elenna f – born FA2;   Rosriel  f – born FA5;  Carafin m –  born FA7 (became Lord of Morthond when Devoran was given her inheritance);  Baranir m – born FA8;   Lindis f born FA11 (married Déor and Byrde’s son, Caedda)

Eóthain and Welwyn:

Leofcwen f – born Yule 3020 ;  Eadrid m – born FA5; plus three more.

Déor and Byrde:

Caedda m – born FA6     (married Lindis; four children including Osmund)

Elfhelm and Wilflede 

Bronwyn – f born 3019

Caedmon – m born 3021

Ceolwen   – f born FA 3

Hrodgar  – m born FA 5

Æbbe and Godric

Wilmundm