Extra. The Maiden and the Cousin

No man in Edoras would deny that Elfhelm’s younger sister was a fair maiden—but what lay beneath that fair face, few had the wit to reckon with.

Théodred, for his part, had long grown used to Elfhelm’s weary refrain: “Why can she not behave like a proper maiden?” So he was not entirely unprepared. And yet, when she found him halfway through lunch, sat herself down, and—without the faintest preamble—asked, “What is it like, kissing a man?”—a question that danced dangerously close to the line of what a maid ought and ought not to ask—he very nearly choked. With all haste, he shoved aside both his meat and his mead.

“Hild,” he said—once the hazard of being the first of the House of Eorl to choke on his midday meal had passed—“why ask me? Why not your brother?”

“I heard you are far more popular with the maids than he is. You must be more experienced.”

Men are truly pitiable creatures, Théodred thought—both pained and, in some strange way, honoured. A sense of duty stirred within him; such praise could not go unanswered.

“Well,” he said, gathering himself, “that is easily solved. Try it once yourself, and you will know.”

“But with whom?” She said, frowning. “He would have to be decent. And absolutely no misunderstanding—I do not want him thinking I intend to wed him!”

At that, Théodred laughed outright. “As it happens, I have just the man in mind.”

And so, it went from there. He laid out the whole plan for her—from casual acquaintance to the intended conclusion—each step made plain and precise. Along the way came exchanges such as:

“By the way… have you ever considered me?”

“You are nearly twice my age, my lord. That is far too old!”

The full execution of the scheme took time, and Théodred, ever patient, watched and waited. From time to time, he gave his younger cousin a subtle nudge, diligently stirring the pot. But when all was done, and Elfhild returned to recount the outcome—detailing, with great confusion, what had occurred in the stables, and concluding with a disappointed, “Is that all?”—Théodred realized the result was nothing like what he had imagined.

He felt on the verge of a sigh—and yet could not help but burst out laughing. Even with his eyes closed, he could see Éomer’s flushed face, caught somewhere between outrage and helplessness, fists clenched and utterly at a loss.

He had expected the lad to blurt something before long—but Éomer surprised him. No matter how much he drank, not a word of it passed his lips. Even between blood brothers, some things went unspoken—Théodred had always known as much, and never held it a fault. After all, every man bears secrets that are his alone.

Very well, then—if the one involved chose to keep his silence, Théodred was more than willing to help him guard it. As for the other party… he was rather less certain of her discretion.

So, in the end, all of Edoras knew the tale of “Is that all,” though none were so unkind as to speak of it aloud. For even those who do not lie may yet possess the grace of silence—and the mercy of understanding.

(The End)