Chapter 8

It seemed to Éomer as if the world that had slowed down for the last few months now speeded up dramatically. Too late did he appreciate what a brief interval of peace they’d had. The next few days he spent closeted with Amrothos and Damrod, the ranger who knew the territory they would have to cross, while couriers went out to summon his marshals and their senior captains to a council.

He saw little of Lothíriel during that time and perforce their visits to the stables ceased since they were both so busy, him with preparations for their expedition, Lothíriel with the influx of visitors. While it was the tail-end of the foaling season anyway, he still regretted the loss of those peaceful nights spent together – more strongly than was reasonable, he told himself, when all they did was chat with Aedwulf and his lads and witness the foaling. As for going for a ride again, that was out of the question for the moment.

The day of the council arrived and as usual Éomer shared his morning kahva with his wife; that at least had not changed. Elfhelm and Erkenbrand had arrived the evening before and with her customary efficiency Lothíriel had arranged for lodgings and charmed the two men at the evening meal.

Now she sat leaning back against her cushions with a faint frown between her eyebrows while Dordes brought her the breakfast tray.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

“Well, I’ve been thinking…” her voice trailed off.

“About what?” He only hoped she would not suddenly reproach him for leaving her. But no, she understood her position as queen.

“About supplies.”

“Supplies?” That was not what he had expected.

“Yes.” She hesitated. “I hope you won’t think that I meddle in men’s affairs, but I couldn’t help overhearing some of the details of your plans.”

He wondered why she sounded so defensive. “And what did you think of them?” he asked. The matter had in fact been uppermost in his own mind. Unlike with their mad dash to Minas Tirith during the war, they could not rely on finding a well-stocked city at the end of their journey, so they would need to take food stores with them. With the new harvest not yet in, that meant collecting the wheat from their granaries located chiefly in the Westmark, where most of their farms lay.

“Well…” She twirled a strand of hair around her fingers. “Have you considered shipping supplies up the Anduin from Minas Tirith instead of transporting them there by packhorse? The river is navigable up to the Falls of Rauros.”

“How would that help?” Éomer asked. “You’d still have to get them to Minas Tirith.”

“No, I meant buy the grain directly in Gondor.”

It sounded like the kind of plan a princess brought up amongst the riches of Dol Amroth would come up with. “That’s much too expensive,” he explained. “The Mark’s wealth lies in its horses, not in ready gold.” He couldn’t help sounding slightly defensive.

“But you wouldn’t have to pay in gold,” she said, surprised. “If you wish, I could arrange it for you. My credit is good from Dol Amroth to Minas Tirith; I can buy the supplies and pay back the merchants later, after the new harvest has come in. Of course they charge you a little extra, but it would save considerable time and effort.” She drummed her fingers on her breakfast tray. “Do you know, why not trade them our surplus wool? If we sent it by cart to Minas Tirith, it would fetch a much better price than what you get here.”

“It sounds good,” he said slowly. In fact they could then collect the needed pack horses straight from their herds in the East Emnet and only load them up after crossing the Anduin, which would simplify things greatly. “Why don’t you suggest your plan to the council?”

“Me?”

“Yes, why not?” He grinned. “I’d only get it wrong.”

“Your councillors won’t mind a woman attending?”

“Why should they? You are their queen.” He would have included her in his plans earlier, but had not thought her interested in them.

Lothíriel shook her head in disbelief. “My father’s councillors would have a fit at the mere thought!”

“Well, admittedly there has not been a queen on the council for a long time, not since my uncle’s wife Elfhild died.” Suddenly he chuckled. “Mind you, some of the older men consider me a reckless stripling in need of guidance, so they will think of you as no more than a child. And dangerously pretty of course.”

“Why dangerously?”

“As a distraction.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled. “Should I wear something suitably demure?”

He grinned. “Why? Didn’t you once say you adhere to your brother’s motto: never mind the manoeuvres, go straight at them?”

That made her laugh outright. “Very well, I will!”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, but then jerked back with a cry and scuttled backwards.

He jumped up. “What’s the matter?”

She blushed. “Eh…nothing…just…could you fetch Dordes for me?”

“Lothíriel, did you hurt yourself?” he asked, alarmed.

“No! Only…well…there’s this big, hairy spider on the floor. Dordes usually gets rid of them for me.”

A spider! Now that he looked closer he could see it, brown and with long legs, in the corner by the door to the study. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out.” His wife was afraid of spiders?

“Don’t hurt it!” she said quickly. “Just catch it and put it outside, please.”

Well, anything to please her. He fetched a piece of parchment from her study, carefully gathered up the spider and then threw it out the window. Hopefully it wouldn’t land on one of the guards. “There,” he said. “All done.”

“Thank you so much!” She relaxed visibly. “I…you must think me silly, but ever since Amrothos told me stories about Ungoliant as a little child and then dropped one on my face during the night, I’ve not been terribly fond of spiders.”

“He did what!”

“I don’t mind worms,” she added. “Or slugs. And the bats were actually quite interesting, if a bit messy. But the spiders!” She shuddered. “However, I’m sorry for bothering you.”

 “You don’t need to apologise! But that brother of yours has a lot to answer for. If he ever annoys you again, you tell me.”

Her mouth quirked in a smile. “Well, luckily he’s past that age.” The smile faded. “Anyway, one of my cousins found out and had a word with Amrothos, involving a dunking in the horse troughs, which put an end to his sport.”

Éomer nodded in satisfaction. “Good for Faramir.”

“It wasn’t Faramir.” She looked away. “But I need to get dressed now if I’m to attend this council.”

Éomer took the hint and removed himself. But alone in his own room, he grinned. It was kind of sweet that the woman who would tackle the training course outside Edoras head on and without a trace of fear needed his help to get rid of a spider. And he couldn’t help wondering if he might wangle some kind of reward later for his heroic services.

***

Éomer had forgotten all about her promise to live up to her brother’s motto and was in the council chamber, talking to Elfhelm while the others settled into their seats, when Lothíriel glided in. With her hair arranged into a crown around her head and wearing a dark green dress with sweeping sleeves and a short train, she looked every inch the Queen of the Mark. Yet the gown left her white shoulders uncovered and dipped low at the front, where an emerald pendant glittered. Even old Hygebehrt jumped to his feet and bowed to her, looking slightly stunned.

With an effort Éomer tore his eyes away from the strategically placed piece of jewellery and found her watching him with a definite twinkle of amusement. Distraction indeed! Nonchalantly, she arranged one of her lacy silk scarves around her shoulders, cutting off the view. The little witch!

Calling the council to order, he placed her on his right, where he could keep an eye on her – purely in order to check her impulsive tendencies of course. The mood was more ruffled than usual, but slowly they settled down to discuss the business at hand and after her striking entrance Lothíriel caused no further disturbance and simply listened intently to everything that was said.

Amrothos, still recovering from the shock of seeing his sister included in the council, explained Aragorn’s proposition of a quick, decisive strike against their enemy and Damrod gave a short overview of the territory east of the Anduin. Éomer had spoken beforehand to most of the men, so this was not really news, but he believed in putting all the facts on the table before discussing the details.

As expected nobody opposed the expedition as such, yet at first no agreement could be found on the size and composition of their forces. Éomer waited patiently while his councillors argued whether to send a small, mobile group or a bigger host, for though as King of the Mark he did have the last word, he liked to rule with his people’s approval. Slowly the consensus took shape that a sizable force would need to be dispatched, large enough to deal with any surprises the Easterlings might throw at them, even though this made supplying them more difficult.

Lothíriel stirred at that, but he put a hand on her arm and shook his head. Finally the council settled on the suggestion of sending twenty éoreds, almost two and a half thousand spears, pretty much what he had expected. “So that is agreed,” he said. “I will set the weapontake for a month’s time here in Edoras, at the next new moon. Elfhelm, Erkenbrand.” He looked at his two marshals. “Send out messengers to spread the word.”

“A month’s time?” one of the other men asked. “Surely that does not give us enough time to organise supplies?”

“The queen has an idea how to solve that problem,” Éomer said and all eyes turned to Lothíriel.

She cleared her throat and he saw how she clasped her hands in her lap. However, her voice betrayed no trace of nervousness at all as she explained her plan of buying grain in Gondor and shipping it up the river to await them at the place chosen for crossing the Anduin below the Rauros falls. “After unloading the supplies, you could use the boats to get your men, horses and equipment across,” she concluded.

There was a thoughtful silence after she had finished. “My lady, are you sure you could organise enough grain and oats to feed that many men and horses for two weeks or more?” Elfhelm asked dubiously.

“Yes. It’s no different from fitting out a ship, just on a bigger scale.”

“If we use pack horses, they will eat a significant part of their own load just to get to the Anduin in time,” Éomer reminded his councillors. Then he turned to Amrothos. “What do you think?”

“I suppose it’s not a bad idea,” Amrothos said ungraciously. “King Elessar would like to set out as soon as possible, so I’m sure he’d support you with the merchants if you ran into problems.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Lothíriel interrupted her brother. “I guarantee it.”

Éomer found he believed her. The way she ran Meduseld, if nothing else, showed how efficient she was if she put her mind to it. Not knowing his queen as well as he did, the others were more reluctant to accept her suggestion though and a number of objections were raised. However, Lothíriel politely but efficiently demolished every one of them and he could see the council slowly coming round to accept the proposition. Then old Hygebehrt straightened up to speak and Éomer groaned inwardly at the prospect of the inevitable lecture on the evils of introducing new-fangled ideas to the Mark and how much better things used to be. Greatly though he respected him, he sometimes wished that Hygebehrt had retired from the council after Théoden’s death, but the old man thought his king too much in need of advice to do that.

“In my days, a rider carried his own food and that was the end of it,” Hygebehrt said. “And if we ran short, we’d tighten our belts!”

“Our men will be in enemy country, not patrolling the Mark,” Elfhelm reminded him. “There is no guarantee they can live off the land.”

“Nonsense, they just have to put their minds to it. And anyway, who ever heard of the Eorlingas using boats? Very unsafe, chancy things in my opinion! Why, there might not even be a place there to land them and then where would we be?”

“I’m so glad you’re bringing up that point, my lord,” Lothíriel jumped in that moment. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Taken aback, everybody stared at her and even Hygebehrt was distracted from his argument. “You do, my Lady Queen?”

“Absolutely. In fact I was hoping for your advice on where to find a suitable landing place, for I do not think anybody knows the Mark as well as you do.” She gave him a blinding smile.

Éomer held his breath. Was this putting it on too thick?

But the old man took the hook. “I suppose there might be a few places where the Anduin widens out after passing the Falls of Rauros.”

“There are?” She beckoned to her brother. “Amrothos, hand over that map so we can make good note of Lord Hygebehrt’s words.”

Warming to his task, Hygebehrt bent over the parchment and described the terrain they were likely to encounter. He had travelled all over the Mark in his day and really did have a remarkable memory. Prompted by Lothíriel, he outlined in great detail the route from Edoras across the Entwade to where the East Wall of Rohan met the Anduin – exactly the route that Éomer had already decided on, but he held his peace.

“And then?” Lothíriel asked.

“Well, the land gets very flat and marshy where the Entwash flows into the Anduin, but before that the river is for a short stretch bordered by grasslands that lead right down to it.” He indicated the area on the map. “I suppose it would be possible to beach the boats there.”

“So you would recommend using boats with a shallow draught?” Lothíriel asked.

“Oh yes.” Hygebehrt did not seem to realise it, but imperceptibly they were no longer arguing about whether to carry out Lothíriel’s plan, but rather about how to do it. Éomer had to admit it was cleverly done. Why, when one of the other councillors came up with yet another objection, it was Hygebehrt who defended ‘their’ plan vigorously.

Finally all the details had been settled. “Are we agreed then?” Éomer asked and everybody nodded.

The council broke up after that and Elfhelm and Erkenbrand took their leave to return home. Éomer escorted them down the stairs outside Meduseld to where their horses awaited them.

“The queen is a clever woman,” Elfhelm said thoughtfully, leaning down from his horse and clasping Éomer’s arm in parting. “And I don’t just mean about the boats. I hadn’t really appreciated it before, but the way she handled Hygebehrt…”

Erkenbrand guffawed. “Yes, I thought we were in for another lengthy lecture for sure. That was a pleasure to watch.” He winked at Éomer. “Such skill is priceless; make sure you keep her on the council.”

“I will,” Éomer said.

“And you’d better also make sure she’s happy with you,” Erkenbrand threw over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t want to annoy such a formidable strategist.”

Éomer sighed as his two friends rode away chuckling. Easier said than done when half the time he had no clue what really went through his wife’s mind!

Especially what she thought of him… to Lothíriel, was he just another man to be expertly handled? Kahva in the mornings, Meduseld running smoothly during the day, his favourite foods served for the evening meal, and at night…

And if she had married someone else, one of those lords who had spoken of love to her, would she now do the same for some Gondorian husband? A sudden bolt of irrational rage shot through him at the picture of her in some other man’s bed. Then he shook his head. It was utterly useless to speculate on such matters.

“You’re a fool,” he exclaimed, earning himself startled glances from the doorwardens. At least they were too well trained to question their king.

Returning to their quarters, he found Lothíriel sitting at her desk, pen in hand. When he entered, she looked up and smiled at him. “I thought I’d better write to my contacts in Minas Tirith at once,” she said. “Amrothos has offered to carry the letters when he departs to report to King Elessar.”

“That’s very good of you.”

She dipped her pen in the ink. “It’s no trouble, I like to be useful.” Her scarf had slipped again, revealing a distracting amount of creamy skin.

Éomer disciplined his thoughts and sat down on the bed. “I just saw Elfhelm and Erkenbrand off. They suggested that you should become a permanent member of the council.”

Lothíriel set her pen down. “They did?” She turned towards him. “And what did you answer?”

“That I would ask you.”

For a moment a smile of genuine pleasure lit up her face, but she controlled herself at once. “Thank you. I consider it an honour and I promise to do my best.”

“They were impressed with how you handled Hygebehrt,” Éomer remarked.

She grinned. “Perhaps I overdid it a little. But he’s really a very sweet old man and like most people, he just needs a little attention to make him happy.”

He fixed her with a sharp glance. “And is that what you do with me, too? Show me some attention to put me in a good mood, while making sure I’m well fed and never run out of ale? And so manage me smoothly, just as you managed my council, all in order to get your point across?”

She lifted her chin. “Do I need to or would you listen anyway?”

“What do you think?” he shot back.

“Well, I know what my brother will think for sure,” she said bitterly, “that I owe my place on the council to my place in your bed.”

Éomer surged to his feet. “What! Did he dare say that to you? Just wait till I catch him!” First the spiders and now this!

“No!” She held out her hand. “He didn’t…I just know that in his mind, it’s the only possible reason for it. But I shouldn’t have said that, he’s not a bad sort and I love him dearly.”

“Well, he’s wrong. You’ll owe your place on the council to the fact that you have worthwhile ideas and to nothing else.”

She looked at him for a long time and then gave a slow smile. “Thank you.”

“However, I must warn you, don’t ever try to manipulate me like you did Hygebehrt this afternoon.”

She raised one of her eyebrows. “Of course not. But then I won’t need to, will I?”

His glance fell on her bare shoulders. “Or try to distract me! I won’t fall for it.”

She picked up her pen and concentrated on her letter again. “I was only following your advice.”

There was no possible answer to that and she knew it. He gave a stiff nod. “I will see you at the evening meal.”

“Until then.” The pen scratched busily across the parchment. Just as he reached the door, it paused for a moment. “It’s piglet with sage stuffing tonight,” she said. “Your favourite.”

He closed the door behind him firmly. The conversation had not at all gone the way he had wanted it to. Then another thought struck him: she hadn’t been teasing him there, had she? Surely not.

Sometimes he felt like tearing his hair out. He must have been mad to marry a woman whose moods he could not read at all!