LOVE! Rohirrim Style

06 - Be Prepared

LOVE! Rohirrim Style

Chapter 06

Be prepared

Haleth reached the rise.

He stopped; he had to. It was wondrous, amazing. Slowly, he dismounted, just to look, just for a moment to take it in. He held his stallion’s reins loosely in his hand.

Minas Tirith lay across the snow-covered field, rising like a pristine dais for Ilúvatar. Even from this distance, he could see all seven levels clearly. It was like a jewel, rising from the earth.

Earth stained with the blood of many Rohirrim. He sank to his knees, taking it in. Somewhere down there, his uncle died, his cousin... his king… Haleth clung to the last memories of Théoden King with a vengeance. For so much of his life, he had been infirm, under the poison of Wormtongue. Not until the last few weeks of his life, until he…

Died. Swept away and crushed by his own horse. Somewhere down in the ice covered sea of grass was a plaque for Snowmane, where they buried him, when they retrieved Théoden’s body. According to the whispers of some, the Lady Aefre had planted mint and rosemary and simbelmynë, in effort to obscure the wretched epitaph the Gondorians had written on the grave, to always remind them, Rohirrim had died here.

Haleth bowed his head for a moment, before looking up again to see a white ocean, topped with Ilúvatar’s Throne. It was a splendid, breath-taking sight.

Suddenly, he missed Rohan. Missed Meduseld, missed its people. He missed Gamling and Aefre, especially little Léoma and how she pulled his hair. He missed the Wold. These people, Gondor, friend of Rohan would be grand, have airs…

… would be different from Rohan. He had not thought about it, what he would do or think when he arrived. He had concentrated on putting as many leagues between himself and Witnung as he could achieve. Had that been a dream? A nightmare? What if he was sent home immediately? Could he return a different way?

Níðheard was pawing the ground impatiently, smoke from the cold air rising from his nostrils. The journey was near over and the stallion was anxious for a warm stall and honeyed oats. What if Éowyn was not here? What if he had to journey farther? What if they would not let him in the gate?

Haleth shook his head in ire. ‘I am Rohirrim. I will do, as I was bid and go where I was told. I will make my father proud.’ He remounted, yanking his gloves tighter and tucking his cloak about him. He took the reins before clicking his tongue in signal to begin his descent. Once at the bottom, he put his heels to his stallion’s flanks, and gave Níðheard his head.

And that is what the guards of the gate saw a short time later. A smoke-breathing stallion racing over the plain like rolling thunder, churning up snow with a green streaming caped Rider hunched low over his back, bearing down on them as if the very demons of Morgoth were chasing them down.

*** 

Lothiriel and several of her ladies – including her two sister-in-laws, came into the palace, arms laden. “Father will kill me,” she admitted to Lataie, Amrothos’s wife. “I have spent so much money. I feel guilty.” 

Lataie giggled. “Don’t! By the Valar, you’ll have precious little to spend when you marry the King of Rohan!” 

“Not only that,” Daien whispered, “you are not normally a spendthrift! This is for your trousseau! Your wedding clothes! Father Imrahil will not deny you that!” She set her boxes down. “My husband, on the other hand, might lock me away on our apartments for a year when he gets the receipts from my purchases!”