Ch. 4 - “All else can wait!”

Minas Tirith,  May 3019 TA

Éowyn stood in the Houses of Healing at the balustrade of her balcony, as she had come to think of it.  The place had become dear to her heart because she found herself here.  She had found purpose in life, and she had found happiness with Faramir.  She truly loved this place, but it was time to go home and set things right.  She thought of her people that she had left in Dunharrow, and an ache twinged in her heart.  She sighed thinking of those she loved…and deserted if she were honest with herself.

“What thoughts troubled you, my love?” A voice from behind and arms encircled her.  She breathed in Faramir’s scent of musky sweetness and immediately her heart calmed.  She turned in his arms and looked into those gentle blue eyes, and Gamhelm’s long ago words “Make sure, my lady, that he has a gentle heart.  ‘Tis most important.”  She smiled at the truth of those words, but her brow furrowed again.  

“We will be departing on the morrow for home.”

“And you will miss me so much that it furrows your brow?”  Faramir teased in a tentative fashion.  This happiness was still so new to him that he was almost giddy at times.

Éowyn smiled, “Arrogant man!”  Truly a change was coming over him.

“You will not miss me?” Faramir said, with a small amount of doubt glinting in his earnest eyes.

Éowyn, noting the change, did not tease further, “Of course, I will miss you!” She smiled. “But that is not all.”

Faramir, noting her concern, sat her down on the bench nearby and then joined her, concern in his eyes, “Then what is it?”

Éowyn pursed her lips then stated, “I deserted my people to follow my own path…I have pushed that fact aside but I can no longer.  We are starting home tomorrow.” 

Seeing the torment in her eyes Faramir was quiet, trying to think of the words that would absolve her of this transgression.  “I do not think you will be found wanting.  What did Gamhelm say when you left?” he said, speaking of the horsemaster that Éowyn had often spoken of with such affection during their stolen time leading up to the Coronation.

“He said to leave it to him.  He would take care of it.”

Faramir held her eyes, “Well then, do you trust him?”

“With my life!”

Faramir gently smiled, “Well then, it is settled.” He leaned over and kissed Éowyn’s forehead.  Éowyn gave a pained wordless smile. He continued gently, “If you had not, we would never have met and that is a tragedy I do not, cannot conceive of.”

Éowyn nodded as the full horror of never meeting Faramir hit her full force.  It made her hope that his words were true.  She somehow knew that she could face anything as long as Faramir was in her life, waiting for her.  She wished he was coming with her back to Rohan so that he could be at her side as she faced whatever music was to be faced upon her return.  But it could not be; Faramir was quickly become Aragorn’s right hand man as they prepared to bring Gondor past the war and into its former glory and she was so happy that Faramir's worth was finally being recognised.  It was enough to know that she was in Faramir’s heart, come what may.  She turned her head up for a gentle kiss.  It would have to suffice until they came to Gondor once more to bear hence Théoden King’s body home to the Mark.  Rohirrim custom held that the handfasting would have to wait until after then.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They stepped off the next morning.  Éomer, Elfhelm on his right hand and Éowyn on his left.  The Rohirrim army was returning home.  At Éomer’s bequest Éowyn’s boys rode at her side as hers to command.  She looked at the six of them, young and strong but also changed as only hard battle could change a boy into a man.  She thanked Bema that they all rode home to family and friends.  Many other families were not so lucky.  She thought of Háláf’s parents, Déor and Saelith, they lived in the lower reaches of Edoras.  Déor was a potter and Éowyn had met them while she did weekly rounds of the less affluent areas of Edoras.  It had started as a duty, owing to the fact that she was the King’s niece and it was her station to help the less fortunate.  But in point of fact, she came to love the visiting and many of those on her rounds became close friends of hers.  Their honesty and their acceptance of her, not asking that she be anything other than herself, came very close to her heart.  Déor and his wife Saerlith were among those she called friend.  She thanked Bema that she was bringing their son home safe, though he had changed.  War does that to all.  She looked at Háláf who was to her immediate right.  “Homeward bound!”

“Aye, my Lady… Tis strange it is not?  It has not been many days since we left Dunharrow…and yet it seems a lifetime ago.”  He looked at her with eyes that seemed older than his sixteen years.  Then he visibly brightened, “Though I look forward to my mum’s cooking,” once again looking like the boy he had been before leaving Dunharrow. 

“I wholeheartedly agree, Young Master Háláf,” Éomer stated.  “I, too, would look forward to your mother’s cooking, but alas I will not be afforded that luxury.  Mine is a different fate…”  Here he looked at Éowyn with a purposefully baleful glance.  

Éowyn stated indignantly, “I cook one stew not to your liking and forever branded an ill cook!”

“One?” Éomer smiled, enjoying his purposeful barbing.  

Éowyn looked at him through slitted eyes.  Háláf looked at his lady and said, “I don’t know.  My King, I should tread carefully.  I’ve seen that look and it never ends well for the recipient.”

Éomer barked a laugh, “My man, I have lived through that look and lived to tell the tale.”

Háláf looked at his king with eyes of new appreciation, “As you say, My King!” 

“If you two are done…”

“Aye, My Lady,”  Háláf quickly said but with a trace of humour still in his voice.

Éomer, not so easily cowed, barked another laugh, then stated joyously, “Life is good.  We head home and thankfully I, as now comes to mind, will have a cook waiting for me there!”  He felt something plonk the side of his helmet.  He reached for his sword then caught his sister’s mirthful face as she held another nut yet to be shelled in her hand.  She plonked him again and then tore across the plain that lay before them laughing.

Éomer shouted, “That is your game, is it?” and tore after her, laughing as he went.  Elfhelm smiled as he watched them ride. King of the Horse Lords and his sister riding with joyous abandon.  Life indeed was good.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Edoras, late Spring 3019 TA

At Dunharrow they had received a message from the south in the form of an eagle announcing that the Armies of the West had been victorious and Sauron had been defeated.   Holdlith had never heard from a talking eagle before and it was quite the experience.  Unfortunately, the bird was short on details and could not tell her much else.  “Bloody bird,” she had muttered under her breath as the bird had flown away.  That had been over a month ago.  Holdlith now sat on an obliging hay bale as she sat in the stables at lunch time with both Gamhelm and Gamwen sipping the ale from the Meduseld kitchen stores.  The Royal kitchens were working overtime because after being away for a little more than a month, a bad rainstorm had come through Edoras and caused some damage to some of the homes, especially on the lower edges of the city.  Many were bedding down in the Great Hall and were being fed out of the kitchens.  Holdlith’s house was among those that had sustained some damage and was housing in Meduseld.  “This is fine ale, but the mead does not hold a candle to mine.” 

“True, True.” Gamhelm murmured. “You make a truly fine mead.  Shame about the beehives.”

“True, True.” Holdlith murmured, her tone tinged with sadness.  Some of the hives had been damaged by the partial roof collapse.  The bees had not deserted the hives and had been busily repairing them, but Holdlith’s roof would need repairing before she would be able to attempt any more mead as she needed a place where she could control temperatures.  “Well next year should be a bumper crop!”

“Indeed,” Gamwyn stated as she quaffed more of the fine ale.

Just then a rider came into the stable in a rush.  He looked at Gamhelm, “Are you Master Gamhelm?”

“Aye, I am!  What news do you bring?” 

The outrider stated joyously, “We are coming home!” he paused, a little sheepish at his outburst, He began again, “The Lady Éowyn told me specifically I am to hand this to you, Master Gamhelm and that you would see it into the right hands.”

Gamhelm nodded, the relief coursing through his veins to hear word relayed by his lady, for that meant she lived.  He looked at Holdlith, whose eyes were filling with tears at the mention of Éowyn’s name.  “Thank you,” Gamhelm paused, for he did not know this Rider.

“Elffred,” the Rider supplied, “I served under Grimbold, who has unfortunately met his end on the Fields before the White City.”

Gamhelm’s eyes teared up again.  This time in sorrow.  He had known Grimbold to be a stern man of honor.  His loss would be felt greatly.  “He was a great warrior and a very good man,”  he affirmed.

“That he was.”

Gamhelm smiled, “I will stable your horse and will relay the message to Lord Erkenbrand, who holds the defense of Rohan from the Golden Hall.”  Elffred nodded fist on heart.

Holdlith took his arm, saying, “You are weary, come let us fortify you with food and drink.” 

“Aye, mistress.  Thank you!”

She met with Thilda and asked that Elffred be given food.  She then went to find Saelith to ask about bedding.  She still marveled over the change that had come over the noblewoman while at Dunharrow.  No longer was she preemptory in her manner.  She, as one of the only highborn ladies in residence, had taken up the duties as Chatelaine of Meduseld temporarily and was quite efficient in the responsibilities.

“My Lady Saelith,” Holdlith called as she spotted the short woman with a scarf wrapped around her head, speaking to Wilda, one of the maids.

Saelith looked up and nodded to her, “Off you go, Wilda, take Heruling and begin at Déor and Saerith’s house and begin cleaning and then go down the row.”

Wilda nodded, “Aye, My Lady!” and left to find Heruling.

“Mistress Holdlith, what is your need?” she began with a brisk but not unpleasant tone.

“We have received an outrider.  The Riders will be returning, My Lady.”

Saelith was immediately still and then asked, “Did he say anything…”

Holdlith looked upon the young woman with compassion, “He did not say anything.  He held a missive for Lord Erkenbrand, but his demeanor was not an unhappy one.” She said gently, knowing that Saelith thought of her husband, Haere who had ridden south as one of Elfhelm’s captains.  Holdlith took hold one of her hands and patted it comfortingly.  “I’m sure Haere has come through all right and will be coming home.” Before Dunharrow she would have never attempted such a familiarity, but war and misfortune had a tendency to break down custom.

Saelith smiled, taking comfort from the older woman, “I am sure, too.” trying to convince herself that such hope was possible.  She straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath and refocused.  “You had a need?”

Holdlith inwardly smiled, Saelith had indeed changed and much for the better.  “Aye.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Two days later…

“What was that Mistress Holdlith?  I didn’t quite catch that.”  Héohelm, one of Éowyn’s apprentices, now a Rider, who was standing guard and allowed her to stand with him in expectation of Éowyn’s arrival from Minas Tirith.

“Hmmm!”  Holdlith looked up at the young man, “Never you mind, Héohelm!” she patted the young man’s arm, “Just trying to catch my breath after those steps!  Thank you for allowing me up here!”  

Héohelm, blushing a little, stated, “I knew you would want to!”  In truth, Holdlith reminded him of his grandmother, whom he had not seen since last he was given leave and did not know how his village in the Eastfold near Aldburg had fared.  Being kind to Holdlith helped his heart and he prayed Bema had been kind to his family whom he hoped he would be able to see very soon.

He looked out past the walls to try and distract himself from his thoughts. After a few minutes of scanning the distance Héohelm saw a cloud of dust and then sounded the horn of approach.  “Mistress!”  He tapped Holdlith on the shoulder as she looked up from her knitting, brought to pass the time.  She stood and looked in the direction he was pointing and saw a faint cloud of dust.  Her heart leapt, “Héohelm, what else do your young eyes see?”

Héohelm sheepishly shrugged, “Not much else, Mistress!  But I must now sound the horn of welcome!”  He walked to the horn mounted on the side of the small tower enclosure and blew it.  A few seconds passed and a sound that brought joy to Holdlith’s heart split the air, the respondent staccato horn blast.  She waited until she could see the green banners of the King flying in the distance and then descended the steps bounding down with feet half her age.  She heard Héohelm shout down, “Open the gate!”  Aye indeed, Holdlith thought.  With joy in her heart, she waited to see her lady.  At the head of the column she soon saw Éowyn in a green gown and at her side was Lord Éomer.  She scanned the front of the column for the King and then memory reminded her.  In her vision she had seen Théoden King die on the battlefield and a wave of sorrow passed through her.  Curse my visions for always being right.  She looked again, this time more clearly as the entourage approached.  It was the King’s banner that flew behind Éomer.  She felt a bang of sorrow for the young man who had endured so much in his life to have this much responsibility thrust upon him at so young an age.

Éowyn heard the horn of welcome and she burst into tears, which completely startled Éomer as his sister was normally so unflappable.  “Sister, what is wrong?”  He said in a low, fervent voice.  As members of the Rohirrim royal family they had always been taught to be more reserved amongst their people.

Éowyn quickly composed herself, “I am sorry, brother, but the horn blew the welcome and it all hit me at once…We’re home!” she exclaimed.  Inside her heart, she wondered what kind of reception she would receive.

Éomer smiled softly and Éowyn could see that tears he would not shed rimmed his eyes, “Aye that we are!”

By the time they reached the gate Lord Erkenbrand had gained the gate for the proper welcome home, flanked by a guard of honor, for he had been informed in the missive from the outrider that Théoden King had been slain and would be returned home with a guard of fallen honor formed.  He had been asked to not say anything and allow Éomer to bring the news home with him.  He remained standing silent, though to all watching it was obvious what had happened.

Éomer dismounted and walked to Erkenbrand, Elfhelm dismounted as well and walked next to Éomer.  He could feel the palpable grief from the younger man.  Éomer stood in front of Erkenbrand and then knelt, removing his helm to hold at his side, head bowed.  Elfhelm spoke in a loud voice for all gathered to hear, for by now a crowd was lining the lower streets of Edoras, “Théoden King, son of Thengel has fallen,” He paused as he heard a gasp run through the crowd.  “Named by Théoden, Éomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Riddermark like his father, asks ‘will you, the good people of Edoras, accept him as your King?’ ”

People were still stunned by the news of Théoden King’s death, but a rising tide of acclamation came rolling forth and Lord Erkenbrand placed a hand on Éomer’s head and said in a voice choked with emotion, “Rise, my king!”

Éomer looked up.  Erkenbrand saw tears in his eyes, together with determination and humility in the young man’s earnest blue depths.  He reached out a hand to the older man, “Will you help me?” 

Erkenbrand’s eyes widened, and his eyes felt wetter than before, “Aye, that I will…My King.” knowing it was more than the simple request to rise from his knees. 

Éomer smiled a tight-lipped smile and said in a choked voice, “Thank you, my friend.”  After Éomer accepted Erkenbrand's help to rise, he turned to the gathered residents of Edoras and bowed his head, hand on heart.  “Thank you, good citizens of Edoras,” looking at all who were assembled, “We will mourn my uncle the king.  Bright was his light.  Great is his memory.  He shall be buried under Symbelmyne and only then I shall take my seat in the Golden Hall!”  He finished humbly.

As she watched from atop her horse, Eowyn could almost see a mantle of responsibility settle upon her brother.  When he turned to address the amassed army of Riders she could see it in his eyes.  All captains were assembled in front to take orders to their own eoreds.  “Your oaths to King and Country have been fulfilled.  Return home with your King’s thanks and know that he owes you a debt that he will fulfill should you have need.  Forth to your homes, Eorlingas!”  He finished shouting the words.  The cheers arose and the captains, head bowed and fist on heart dispersed to spread the King’s Word.  Éowyn slipped from her horse to lock arms with her brother, now acclaimed King though a more formal coronation would wait until Théoden was buried under Symbelmyne.  She smiled and said, “What would you have me do?”

Éomer stated, “I would have you greet those that are vibrating with joy to see you for I fear for their well-being if they are not allowed to welcome you.”  He had spied Holdlith out of the corner of his eye.  “All else can wait!”