Smoke & Mirrors

Chapter 14

Only Éomer rode in silence, lost deep in thought. Involuntarily his gaze snagged on the magnificent amber necklace now lying around his wife's neck, a present from Ilta. A proud woman that, he thought, and unwilling to receive gifts of food and aid without giving something back. Lothíriel had been enchanted by the story that the chunks of amber washed up on the Dunlending shore were pieces of a mermaid's palace broken up by stormy weather. She had promised her aid in trading some to the merchants of Gondor. Though so different, the two women seemed to have hit it off well, both determined to avoid more bloodshed.

Éomer knew he should have been pleased, but it irked him to see this pledge of friendship, glowing like rich honey in the sunshine. He had given Lothíriel nothing beyond the pieces of jewellery that were rightfully hers as Queen of the Mark, he thought suddenly, not a single thing since the traditional presentation of his morning gift.

Well, he might have bought something in Gondor, but his stay in Minas Tirith had of course been cut short by that abortive rush back home. Abortive and utterly useless, he reflected. It had become clear to him that Lothíriel had never been in any real danger and he had worried for nothing. What a fool he had made of himself!

He became aware that Lothíriel too was silent, sending him worried sideways glances. She deserved to hear that she had been right, even wise, in her judgement of the situation, but at the moment he could not find the words to admit his own ill-conceived fears and actions.

It was a relief when the training grounds outside Edoras came into sight. "I'll just check how Swiftfire is coming along," he announced, then hurriedly took his leave of his wife.

However, though the stallion had made steady progress through the summer and responded beautifully to his rider, Éomer could not shake his disgruntled mood. In the end he took Firefoot for several runs along the training course, hoping to lose himself in the physical exertion. There were some new refinements, including a fiendishly placed ditch full of mud, but even that only managed to cheer him up briefly.

He had finished his fourth run and was walking Firefoot to cool him down when he noticed Aedwulf leaning on the rails surrounding one of the practice rings.

"Greetings, Éomer King," the old man called. As former master of the studbook, he often came down to see what had become of the foals he had helped bring into the world.

"Well met, Aedwulf," Éomer returned the greeting.

The old man held out his hand to Firefoot and scratched the stallion's poll. "I remember the foaling of this one, Dawnwind's last."

"And best," Éomer replied.

"Aye." Aedwulf smiled, showing a row of yellow, crooked teeth. "That he is." He launched into a string of reminiscences about Firefoot's bloodline to which Éomer listened absentmindedly, but then the old man suddenly shot his king a sharp glance. "I hear you've been to see those Dunlendings?"

"Yes. I've offered them help."

"Ahhh." The old man nodded to himself.

Roused to sudden interest, Éomer bent down to him. "So tell me, Aedwulf, what do the people of Edoras think of them?"

"Well, of course there's no love lost between them and the Eorlingas." He spat on the ground. "Yet once you meet them...nobody wants to make war on women and children."

Éomer sighed. "No."

Aedwulf shot him another glance. "Mind you, not everybody was pleased with the queen's actions and there was talk."

At that Éomer frowned. Did that explain some of the strain he'd seen in Lothíriel? "I gave the queen full authority," he snapped. "That's why I entrusted the royal seal to her."