On the Wings of the Storm

Chapter 3

Marshal Éomer bowed deeply. "Westu hál, Théoden King." He changed to Westron. "May I present Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth and Dirhael, the captain of her guard? Her father has sent the princess to Edoras to sojourn with us for a while."

As I sank into a curtsy, the king beckoned me closer. "Come here, child."

I found myself looking into a pair of kind blue eyes. Faded with age now, once they must have been the same intense colour as the Marshal's. King Théoden smiled. "My mother hailed from Lossarnach and was kin to the Princes of Dol Amroth. Welcome to my hall."

"Thank you," I answered.

The other man rose to his feet and took my hand, bowing over it. "Allow me to introduce myself as well. Gríma, son of Gálmód, and humble councillor by King Théoden's will. At your service, my lady."

Humble? That sentiment did not agree with the manner he let his glance linger on my face. He had dark hair, unlike the usual flaxen colour of the Rohirrim, which made his skin look even paler by contrast, and his fingers were long and slim, unmarked by toil or training for war. They felt clammy with sweat and I had to suppress the impulse to snatch my hand away. "Thank you," I murmured again and under the pretext of smoothing my skirts took a step backwards. The air seemed warm and close.

"You honour us with your gracious presence," the man answered. His eyes flickered past me in the Marshal's direction. "I hope you have been treated with all due courtesy?"

My chance to get back at Lord Éomer for his highhanded treatment of me? I smiled politely. "Certainly. Marshal Éomer was so kind as to escort us to Edoras himself."

Lord Gríma lowered heavy lids over his eyes. "Indeed? It's good to see the Marshal attending to his duties."

I held my breath, expecting an explosion of wrath from behind me at this veiled insult, but Lord Éomer ignored the words completely. "Théoden King," he addressed his uncle in a clearly audible voice, "will you grant the princess guest rights in your hall?"

The king frowned at him. "Yes, of course."

The councillor stayed silent, but I got the impression that nothing escaped him. All of a sudden I felt intensely grateful for Lord Éomer's solid presence at my back.

"You are very kind," I answered the king, even though I had no idea what boon I had just been granted.

King Théoden waved my thanks away. "No, no." With a tired sigh he leaned back in his chair.

"My Lord King," the councillor spoke up at once, "you are weary. Why don't you retire now?"

The king looked into his eyes and his shoulders sagged. "So tired," he agreed, in the manner of a man already half asleep.

"Uncle," Lord Éomer protested. "You summoned me to appear before you urgently. Will you not hear the report I bring of how things fare in the East Mark?"

"Can't you see the king needs his rest?" Lord Gríma hissed. "Are you so eager to have him overextend his strength?"

A muscle bunched in the Marshal's jaw. "Uncle! Orcs are plundering our villages and slaying our people. We need more riders to patrol the border to catch the fiends before they have a chance to do harm."

"Always you ask for more men," the councillor sneered, "caring little that you would leave the king without protection in his own hall." He turned to the king. "Doesn't he, dear master?"

King Théoden nodded as if in a dream. "Yes indeed."

Marshal Éomer clenched his fists, but said nothing as Lord Gríma helped the king rise from his chair. King Théoden must have been a tall and powerful man once, but now he walked bent over with small uncertain steps, leaning on his councillor's arm.