LOVE! Rohirrim Style

04 - A Crown of Horses

Imrahil thought for a moment. “That crass man happens to be a very respected Rider and groom, who enjoys the favor of the King of Rohan. What he has taught our own stablemen has strengthened our Cavalry.”

“He is sleeping with Thelielveril!” 

“Lothiriel’s maid servant?” Imrahil sounded skeptical before he shrugged. “Perhaps that is why the old battle ax has been in a sweeter temper as of late. More power to him!” 

“Father, please. I fear she is wasting away.”

Imrahil appeared to be staring at a portrait of some long-dead ancestor. “Tell the family that we will be having dinner together in the dining hall. I’ve not spent time with my family in quite some time and I would like to hear what they have been up to.” He turned and strolled down the hallway, hands behind his back and deep in thought, leaving the clerk to wonder if he and his reports had been forgotten about.

*** 

Edoras was becoming a bustling madhouse, thanks to Aefre and Beornia. Servants rushed to and fro, every stitch of linen boiled and hung in the cold sun to dry. Wall hangings were taken down, gently, tenderly washed and dried before being steamed and rehung. Helgarda and Eadignes were judging cloth on Éomer’s wedding cloak, with orders from Aefre to be sure it was fully cut. The two argued over color; it was too bright, too dull, too dark, too faded. The two had gone through so much fine wool, Aefre was afraid they would have to go deeper into their stores. As she went through the hall, she heard their voices raised in ire, as was normal. She shook her head and continued to the King’s Chambers, her arms laden with freshly laundered bed hangings.

So, she was much surprised when she entered the rooms to see Théoden’s clothing trunk open, his garments slung about the floor and the bed, and the top of Éomer’s head peeking from over the mattress. His feet were crossed and curled and from the looks of it, he was hunched completely over.

She heard a stifled sniff.

Thinking he hadn’t heard her come in, she tiptoed back to the door and shut it firmly. Aye, there were those that would talk. If they did, they would deal with her – or Gamling. 

Éomer didn’t move. 

“Sire?” She set the hangings on the large table, one that during war and early after had maps staked out on it. 

“Yes, Aefre?” Éomer didn’t move, did nothing to hide the fact he was crying. 

“Is anything amiss? Anything I can help with?”

He sighed deeply, his shoulders rising and then drooping. “Oh, much is amiss. I was dreading this moment. I have been dreading it for over the last seasonal cycle. I do not wish to be king, I truly do not want these rooms and I fantasized about swiving every available wench in Rohan before I settled down. “ There was an awful silence before he continued. “But I am king now. I love a beautiful woman and care not for even looking at another. And these rooms are mine. I have a perfectly good home in Aldburg, but the king’s place is here. So here I must be.” Aefre sank down next to him. “I have no idea what to do with the clothing. Most will not fit me.”

“They are not your color.” Aefre smiled sadly.

“Must I worry about that as well?”

“Lothiriel will.”

Éomer smiled, but it was a smile that held little mirth and his eyes were red-rimmed. “I found this.” He held in his lap a moderately sized carved box. “Truly, I had forgotten about it.” He gently opened the lid. “Éowyn loved to play in it when we first came and she was small. Uncle would laugh, to see her parade as a grand lady.” His tears began to flow again. “He told me before the war, that when she was younger, she made him drink the most awful swill she called ‘tea’…” His laughter came out as a harsh bark. He rubbed his lower face with the back of his sleeve. “I am sorry. I should not go on like this. ‘Tis unseemly a king should cry.”