LOVE! Rohirrim Style
Chapter 04
A Crown of Horses
“Father!” Imrahil stopped in his tracks, an automatic smile pasted on his face before he turned to face his rather bossy daughter-in-law. As much as he did love her, sometimes, she could be a bit… pushy. He turned and bowed slightly.
“’Lataie. How fare you this morning?” He gave her kiss on the cheek.
She returned his affection enthusiastically. “Spring cannot come soon enough! I swear, this has been the coldest winter I can remember.” She stepped back and perused the man for a moment. “May I speak openly for a moment?”
Imrahil looked at the clerk who was attempting to give him the morning’s harbor reports. The man dipped in reverence and stepped to the side, as if that short distance would remove him from the conversation. Imrahil then spread his hands, palms up, motioning to the large hall. “When have you never spoken openly?” He winked at her. “I know; my son finds it charming,” he chided gently.
Gorothalataiel was a beautiful woman, if not a spitfire. She had glorious dark red hair, which flowed like a river when not piled on her head. Right now, determination was set on her porcelain face. “It is about Lothiriel.”
“Is she ill?” Imrahil was immediately concerned. She was his only daughter and the fact he doted on her was well known to all his subjects. “She broke her fast with me not an hour ago-“
“Oh, she is not that sort of ill, but she is love-sick and I am rather worried about her. So is Alagardaien, truth be told.”
“Hmm.” He put his hands behind his back and proceeded to stroll down the long hallway, the clerk following along behind. “Love-sick? I have not noticed anything out of the ordinary.”
“Father, please, I am most worried about her!” Lataie rushed to get in front of him. She turned backwards, so she could address him face-to-face, all the while continuing to walk while backing up. She lifted her skirts and kicked them out of her way “She is listless and twists that ring the King of Rohan gave her incessantly. I fear she will rub the insignia off before he comes to get her. She does not go out-“
“It is cold,” he reminded her.
“Aye, but I tried to get her to go shopping with Daien for items for her and Elphir’s baby and she refused.”
“She refused to go shopping?” Imrahil stopped, the clerk barely stopping in time from running into the Prince’s back. Lothiriel was never one to overspend her allowance and rarely asked for additional or frivolous things. In fact, she had spent most of her moneys for the people of Rohan, still struggling after the war. But by Ilúvatar, the girl loved to shop. “What excuse did she give?”
Lataie sighed. “She said she would want to shop for her wedding clothes, but there is that silly superstition about buying things before the wedding date is set.”
“Ah,” Imrahil resumed his slow walk. “Well, the contracts are not finalized and I do not expect all the signatures and final details to be hammered out until the spring, when the snow melts and regular messengers will return. I suspect she can count on a late summer or early fall wedding.” He smiled hopefully. “Or if I am lucky, the following spring!” He went to move around his daughter-in-law and motioned to the clerk. “I am so happy we had this chat.”
Lataie let out a sigh of exasperation. “FATHER IMRAHIL!” He stopped and turned. “She stands at her window looking out to Rohan constantly. She does not go out, except to ride that wild horse Éomer gave her and practices her Rohirrim with that crass man who came with her!”
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.”
“Tis more unseemly a beloved uncle should not be mourned.”
“Aye. You are right.” He seemed to brighten up a bit. “Gamling told me on the parapets of Minas Tirith that there was a time to grieve and a time to be king. Today, I think I will grieve and remember better days.” He tilted the casket, to show Aefre. “This was Aunt Elfhild’s jewelry box. Much of it has been handed down from queen to queen, therefore it is only right I give it to Lothiriel. But I desire something for Éowyn. A gift to remember her past and her family.”
“I think that would be a wonderful gesture, Éomer. What piece did she like best?”
He dug for a moment, the gentle clinking of jewelry the only sound in the room, before pulling out a finely worked mithril chain with a large blue waterstone in a silver setting. “This. She wore it as a belt.” He leaned over. “I doubt she could wear it as a belt anymore.” This time, his smile was truly mischievous.
“I think it would be fine gift. Shall I set it on the mantle for you?”
He nodded, his attention returned back to the exquisitely carved coffer. “I also thought to give Lothiriel a wedding gift for our ceremony from this.” He removed a delicate crown, made of thin strands of silver, with small emeralds in the knots.
“Oh, Éomer.” Aefre set the necklace for Éowyn in her lap, and reached for the headpiece. “This is Elven – wrought! It is a treasure indeed!”
“I thought the stones will match her eyes.” He gently ran a finger along the twisted metal, the outline of a prancing horse. “Her hair is dark, unlike ours. I thought it... would be pretty.”
“It will be lovely.” She handed him the diadem and stood up. “I will place Éowyn’s necklace on the mantle and leave you to your memories.”
“Thank you.”
She put the necklace over the fireplace, taking note of the severe cleaning it would need. Ashes rose over the mantelpiece and up the wall. No doubt, the flue needed cleaning as well. “When you are ready, ask for me and I will help you go through Théoden’s things. No doubt, some of Théoden’s most trust-worthy knights would appreciate something fine to wear.” Her eye spied bright braiding on green cloth laid carefully on the bed. “Éomer? Is that Théoden’s wedding cloak?”
Éomer looked over his shoulder before standing up, still clutching the wooden box. “Aye, I believe it is.”
She went to the bed, her hand caressing the fine-spun wool. “It is beautiful, still. Look at the braid work. Helgarda had a hand in the making of this. She still talks about it.” Aefre rubbed the material between her thumb and forefinger. “It is uncommonly soft.” She took in the brightness still of the bright emerald fabric. “‘Tis a shame it is just to be packed away.”
Éomer stood up, rising slowly and set the casket on the bed. “’Tis a shame Helgarda and Eadignes are wasting yards of precious wool for a cloak for me, when there is a perfectly good one here.”
“Does it fit?”
A slow boyish smile lit the King’s features. He grasped the cloak and slung it about his neck, before settling it about his shoulders. “Well?”
Aefre’s lower lip began to tremble. “It is a perfect fit, my Lord. I suspect some of the braiding might need repaired or resewn, but with a good airing,” she walked around behind Éomer, “it even drags the floor just enough. I would say both you and Lothiriel would be covered just fine.”
“Then it is settled. I shall wear this one. They can use their little disasters-“ the tone was comical and it did make Aefre laugh, “- downstairs for someone who needs it.” He reverently removed the cloak. “Strange. It will be like having Uncle there.” He handed it over to Aefre.
“Aye. It will be.” She turned to leave. “I will send Willan to watch your door, make sure no one disturbs you while you shift through things.”
Éomer nodded to her, before returning to the floor and pulling Théoden’s things to him. He fingered the trim work of a sleeve. “Gamling is a lucky man. I hope I am so equally blessed.”
***
Dinner at Prince Imrahil’s table was, as usual, a noisy, boisterous affair. His sons still acted like teenagers; one would not believe that serious, stern Elphir who ran the Royal Stables like a very tight ship, led the family in practical jokes. Nor would anyone believe that Amrothos, who was equally respected on the wharfs by the merchants, terrified the family by routinely yanking the tablecloth from the table, leaving the dishes and food intact, most of the time. Their wives sat next to each other, discussing the layette for Elphir’s pregnant wife, fashions, the color of this room and jewelry…
…while Lothiriel sat quietly, listening in, nodding when necessary, eating slowly.
But mostly toying with the ring on her finger.
She was pale. How had he missed it? It was if her mind was far, far away.
Imrahil had to stop himself from slamming his wineglass down. Of course her mind was far, far away. Her brothers had the pleasure of courting their brides at their own pace. He himself had long courted Lothiriel’s mother – she turned her nose up to him for quite sometime until the night he made an utter fool of himself, serenading her under her balcony, only to find he was serenading her parents! Her father threw his shoe at him, much to the amusement of his intended. She led him on a merry chase, one he enjoyed thoroughly.
But Lothiriel’s courtship was through missives and letters that went through many hands before they reached her. It dawned on him that through-out negotiations of the dowry, that there was always a separate scroll, sealed with the King of Rohan’s personal seal, for her. Whenever a rider with that telltale green cloak rode into Dol Amroth, she was the first to greet him, to receive that intimate letter and that she personally saw to the Rider’s comfort, before stealing away to somewhere quiet with whatever Éomer had written. She would smile for days afterwards. But eventually, the smile faded and she would toy with her ring and according to her sisters by marriage, she stared out over the White Mountains towards the plains of Rohan.
Her servants had confirmed that this afternoon. One told him she heard Lothiriel whispering in that strange ‘horse’ language, practicing, ever practicing.
She was pining.
“Lothiriel.” The noise at the table came to an abrupt halt. He had to call her name twice before she finally looked up. “Come, bring your chair next to me. I wish to speak to you and not yell over your brothers across the table.”
She stood up, Elphir taking her chair and carrying it for her while she maneuvered her skirts and her glass to her father’s side. “Yes, Ada?”
When she looked at him fully, he saw her mother, her nose, her eyes. Ah, Ilúvatar, how he missed her. How he would miss this daughter of theirs. He looked down at her hands and saw her twisting the ring again. He reached over, taking her hands into his. He looked closely at the ring on her finger; this gift from the King of Rohan, took in the fine craftsmanship. He covered his hands with his. “You will wear the insignia off if you continue to worry it.”
“You have been speaking to Lataie.”
“I am not unobservant.” He inhaled deeply. This would be so hard, to give this one up. He thought for so long she would always be close by; her children would play here in the palace by the ocean. Instead, they would be far away and one would be a king. In his own time… “Do you love him?”
“Father?”
“Do you love him?” He squeezed her hand gently. “I would not force you to marry someone just because he is a king or because you spent too much unsupervised time in his company in a barn.” He raised a finger to hush his children. “I do not care about contracts or promises or even the King of Gondor. I will not have anyone say I forced any of my children into a political match. I want to know to know if you love him.”
Lothiriel regarded him for a few moments that seemed like a long time. “I had a dream some years back about my future husband. He was tall and fair and eyes like the sky. The first time I saw Éomer was in the Healing Houses of Minas Tirith. I had no idea he was king, simply was in awe how he sat over his sister. He was the man I dreamed of. Yes. I love him, very much.”
“Your courtship has not been normal.”
“It had no chance of being normal. I knew that when he told me he intended to ask for my hand. Yes Father. I do love him.”
Imrahil set her hand back in her lap. “So be it. I have heard rumors that in several days, ships are coming that are loaded with silk and other lovely materials. I think it would be appropriate if you went with your brother to see if there is anything on them to your liking. “
“Ada, the contracts-“
“- are all but signed. The only thing to decide is the actual date and time and truth be told I would not put it past Éomer to show up in the spring and demand you marry him as soon as the bells are to be rung to announce it. At least if I were in Éomer’s shoes, I would demand it immediately. We men do not understand dressmakers and preparations all that goes into the wedding.”
“I just wore what Daien told me to wear and showed up when she told me to.” Elphir sunk his nose back into his wineglass and shrugged. “It was easier.”
Lothiriel whispered, “Are you sure? Éomer can seem impetuous.”
“I care only for your happiness. I would not have the King of Rohan accuse me of allowing you to waste away. I would rather you take his breath away. Go buy and have made what you need.”
Lothiriel sat straight up. “You are giving me permission to go shopping?”
“Yes.”
“I will need many dresses.”
“That was inevitable.”
“It will be a royal wedding. I will have to outshine Queen Arwen.”
Imrahil’s heart clutched, whether it was the pain of the foreseeable knowledge of her leaving or the dent she was about to put in his purse, he did not know.
“I will need leggings and tunics as well.”
“What?”
“What?”
“What?”
“LOTHIRIEL!” Daien was scandalized. “You cannot think-“
“I am marrying a horselord. And not any horselord, but the King of the Horselords! I will be expected to ride. A lot!” She looked at her family with mock scorn. “And not side-saddle! Surely, you have seen me in Elphir’s old leggings and shirts riding out in the countryside on Nihtwinde with Hæfern when he has trained me in Rohirrim – style riding!”
“My daughter,” Imrahil was now putting his nose in the glass and drained it, “you are scandalous and making my heart stop. But yes you have, yes you are and yes you must.” He stood up. “I leave you to your shenanigans while I go unbury my meager gold from beneath the foundations in their small glass jars. You are going to put me in the poor house.”
Imrahil was smiling as he left. Lothiriel wouldn’t put him completely in the poor house, but no one would think she went into her marriage as a beggar.
tbc
guardian at night nihtweard m Nihtweard
crab Hæfern