LOVE! Rohirrim Style

14 - Haleth Rising

Many thanks for all who read. Much love again to my beta Alex, who puts up with my shenanigans and Jade who did the fabulous artwork!!!

LOVE! Rohirrim Style

Chapter 14

Haleth Rising

If the servants thought it strange that the Rohirrim and their King, along with his new bride, played musical rooms and beds, they kept it to themselves. Many a shopkeeper in the nearby market did remark that the King of Rohan was apparently besotted with his bride, taking her from stall to stall and grinning like a mad man as she bought up long silken scarf after long silken scarf. Obviously, the Marshals of Rohan followed their liege’s lead as they allowed the same of their lady wives.

Five days came sooner than Imrahil would like. Too early in the morning, the Rohirrim muster was lining up in the courtyard, saddlebags and pack animals loaded in such an efficient manner. Éomer was darting from horse to horse, making sure each one was ready for travel, checking Firefoot and Nihtweard. 

“All is ready, sire,” Gamling whispered quietly. Éomer nodded and moved to the front of the line.

“Haleth!” Éomer’s voice rose over the din, over the bustling of the crowd. “Haleth! Son of Háma! Come here!”

From around the horses, around Riders and others, Haleth gingerly crept into the middle of the piazza. He was ready to ride, ready to return home. His borrowed cloak was fastened and his sword was secured at his back. “Sire?”

To one who did not know him, Éomer looked stern, almost angry. He was in full armor, his helmet, with its long horsetail, on his head, his feet apart. “You wear a Rider’s Cloak, yet you have not been raised.”

The chatter around now ceased, all eyes on the King and the young teen it looked as if he were about to chastise. Lothiriel started forward, as if to intervene, however a heavy hand rested on her shoulder. “’Tis a happy occasion, Lothiriel. An event rarely seen outside the Riddermark!” Elessar’s smile was wide. “Although I do not believe young Haleth realizes it yet. Watch.” 

The Marshals and Captains in Éomer’s éored were lining up behind him, an impressive show of Rohirric might. “It was a loan from Lady Aefre when I traveled,” Haleth explained, his eyes darting about cautiously. “It belonged to Lufien. I promised to give it back when I returned.” Haleth’s voice was almost apologetic. “It was so cold-“

“Aye. I remember well the conditions in which you traveled to Gondor. Give me your sword.” Thinking he must have done something horribly wrong, Haleth sighed, reached behind him and pulled his sword free, handing the hilt to the king. Éomer took it, weighed it carefully in his hand before handing it to Gamling. “I took this sword from a boy. I will give it to a man, an Éorling; a true son of Rohan. Give me your cloak.”

Haleth’s shoulders drooped.

Whispering could be heard from those standing about the courtyard, not understanding what they were seeing and feeling sympathy for the boy as he removed the wrap and handed it to Éomer. The Rohirrim King then handed it to the one who loaned it to him – Aefre, who stood even with her husband. Even Imrahil’s brow was pinched in ire. Faramir stood next to him, pointing through the sea of horses. From the back of the courtyard, Éowyn walked calmly between the steeds, carrying a swath of green. She came to a stop behind her brother, a sparkling smile of pride beautifying her features. When he saw her and what she carried, Haleth’s jaw dropped and his eyes went wide.

“Kneel.” Haleth dropped to one knee, his head bowed as he concentrated on the stones beneath him. “For your work and knowledge of our land, for your accomplishments in the Riddermark, for your service this winter in your travels to Gondor, but mostly,” and here, Éomer grinned arrogantly, “for beating every Gondorian who challenged you to a horse race and making them Eat! Your! Rohirrim! Dust!” At this point, every Rohirrim raised a fist and saluted with three loud guttural grunts. “You have proven yourself a true son of Rohan; a clǽne yrfeweard a Éorlingas. Ástandan!” Haleth rose, a huge smile on his face. Éomer turned and took the precious green cloak Éowyn carried so reverently. He slung it around the young teen’s shoulders, fastening the clasp. “Normally,” he said very quietly, so only those nearby could hear, “First Rider cloaks are new, however it is my understanding that this belonged to your father and is precious to you. He would be proud.” Haleth was choked up and could not speak, so he nodded in affirmation. “You have made him proud, so wear it with honor.” Éomer leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Be careful who you wrap in it.”