LOVE! Rohirrim Style

10 - The Thunder of Rohan

LOVE! Rohirrim Style

Chapter 10

The Thunder of Rohan

Imrahil did not even look up when the clerk came in. He simply held out his hand and waited for the weight of the bill to be placed in it. His attention never left the complaint spread out and weighted on his desk. He simply waited for the door to shut. When it did, he one-handedly flicked the scroll open, just enough to look. He snorted. “Farm animals. She is buying farm animals!” He then gently dropped it in the large pile in the basket next to his desk.

***

The party exited the White Mountains singing watered down versions of bawdy pub songs, watered down for the sake of the younger ones. Cyrtenes rode the entire way through the caverns in front with Éomer, making her brothers very jealous indeed. It was a memory she would talk of and keep until her dying day and a tale she told her grandchildren and great-grandchildren in the years to come; riding at the head of the line with Éomer Eadig, King of Rohan and singing ‘100 Bottles of Mead on the Wall’ in the Paths of the Dead.

They followed the river Morthond past Erech and Tarlang’s Neck, catching small game as they went. On more than one occasion, Elfhelm could be seen chasing his laughing wife at the waters edge in the early evenings, much to the enjoyment of his captains. The local farmers were friendly, more so when they saw that the large group of horse riders had their own supplies and would not be raiding their stores. Despite every attempt to travel at a leisurely pace, Éomer pushed and prodded, usually to no avail. One particular afternoon, the party was moving very slowly, much to Éomer’s ire.

“I could walk faster than this! Why must we be so slow?” He threw his arms spread wide in a pose that two Mordor – bound Hobbits would have recognized. “I WILL DIE A LONELY OLD MAN! I WILL STAAAAAARVE FOR LOVE!”

Aefre rode past him, a scowl on her face, Gamling close behind. “You are such a drama king!”

“But I am king and I say we go faster!”

At that point, Edellhond came into view.

*** 

They took a day’s rest at Edellhond.

Éomer said it did not rival Rivendell in beauty, however Aefre found the haven peaceful and as lovely as the hanging gardens in Minas Tirith. 

Gamling said flowers were flowers. 

He almost found himself sleeping in the stable with his horse.

*** 

“I feel like a pincushion!”

“Ah, but you are a beautiful pincushion!”

Lothiriel stood with her arms spread out, standing on a stool, while dressmakers and assistants circled around her like maypole dancers. Her normally neat apartments looked as if a gale force wind had torn through them, leaving material remnants and ribbons hanging from the oddest places. Frankly, she didn’t know how her brothers’ wives could stand it, spending hours at the dressmakers. Personally, she was not the least bit upset if she were seen in the same dress twice. What was the fuss?

“I think my brother will not wait long to whisk you away somewhere private and secluded once the formalities are settled.” Éowyn was pilfering through a basket of remnants and ribbons. 

“If he waits until then,” Arwen finished. She walked around the small stool Lothiriel was standing on, admiring the dressmaker’s handiwork. “I hope you like this. The style suits you.”