This ficlet was written for Noleme as a Christmas Gift in a Secret Santa exchange. Her wish was to have a story of Strider's first meeting with a someone from Gondor, Rohan or the Shire. I chose Théoden and am very happy that she liked my attempts at LotR-fics and medieval poetry.
Still in league
Théoden skipped down the paved path, crossed the stream, and made for the outside of the Hall's knights' barracks on the southern side of Meduseld. The boy of thirteen was on his way to see the horses, some freetime as he had, and maybe listen to some of the news the guards were talking about in case he'd hear something interesting again. He slowed down as he came to the small courtyard – not only because he knew better than to run around horses, but also because he saw someone sitting on the roughly hewn bench by the stables.
Of course the young prince had seen the newest captain in his father's army a few times already, though the newcomer with the dark hair was often gone on his missions. At times the he would disappear for some weeks and at other times he would sit at the table on the left side of King Thengel, probably discussing the latest strategies, but at those times Théoden and his sisters would usually be sitting a bit further from them, too far to really hear any of the discussions. Now that the dark haired stranger for once was in Edoras and not attending important councils of the King, he was cleaning his longsword in the bleak afternoon sunlight. Théoden watched him from a distance before approaching him.
Thorongil was his name and he came from the North. He looked much like a Gondorian - could almost have been of Théoden's mother's kin – his hair being dark and his eyes grey, but nobody here knew from where he came, who his father was or where he had gotten the star he wore on his cloak, but he certainly was no son of Riddermark even though he spoke the language. The great sword he was currently polishing was a renowned sword that had killed many an enemy, if the stories were to be believed.
Théoden himself thought he walked quietly enough, but Thorongil's ears were just as good as the rumours told. He looked up and at Théoden, his expression unchanging, although he nodded politely as the King's heir stopped before him.
"Young lord?" he asked when Théoden said nothing.
"You are my father's councellor, are you not?" the prince asked, straightening his back – he was a prince after all and a prince might freely address his lord father's subjects.
"Yes I am."
"Thorongil. That means... that means "eagle of the star" does it not?" Théoden said thoughtfully. He knew some Elvish words thanks to his mother. "It is a Sindarin name. Sindarin is spoken in Gondor – do you come from Gondor?"
"Yes and no," was the stranger's unfathomable answer. "I have passed through Gondor, though not often."
"Then your name is..." Théoden's eyes widened a bit, though he showed no other reaction. "Elvish? You come from the lands of the Elves?"
Thorongil made a noise that could have been a short laugh. "Yes and no, young lord. I have been in the lands of Elves. But if you are trying to guess my origins by analyzing my name, I have to admit that 'Thorongil' is but a name that has been given to me later on, as the name of my birth has been forgotten."
Théoden glanced at the bench the captain was sitting on, but again decided to stand instead.
"Speking of names, I believe your name means 'king'," said Thorongil, as if having read the young prince's mind.
Théoden nodded. "It does. It was given to signify that I am my father's heir and that I will, when time comes, be crowned the seventeenth King of Mark."
Thorongil stopped in his work, sheathed his blade and looked up but did not rise from his seat. "Might I ask," he said thoughtfully, "do you look forward to becoming a king?"
The question took Théoden somewhat aback – he had been asked the question before, but that had been a long time ago and it hadn't been from a stranger he had not spoke to before.
"It is a big responsibility," Thorongil said. "And not only that – some are kings by right, and yet they are not kings nor do people always believe they should be kings, at least not as of yet."
"I am no baby. I know I couldn't be a real king as I am now," Théoden said with some indignation.
"I was not suggesting that you would not one day be fit to be a king, young lord," Thorongil replied. "I was merely talking about unsufficient kings – those that are not there to help their country."
The young prince thought for a moment. The throne in Minas Tirith was empty, he knew, waiting for a king that did not exist. That was one example of a country that needed a king, but didn't have one. He mentioned it and Thorongil nodded silently.
"Gondor, indeed, has no king as of now. It has a fine steward but no king. And while the steward governs the country well, even he knows they are in need of someone to ascend the throne." Suddenly he rose up and tall as he was, he was much bigger than Théoden who backed a step. "Your father King Thengel is a good king. He won't need me anymore. I will leave his service soon."
"Why?" Théoden blurted.
"Why, because I want to help the people of Gondor. That is why I will go to Gondor in their time of need. There are enemies in the South and in the East." Thorongil looked kindly upon the boy. "As for Mark," he said, "I am sure your father will have still have a long reign and that you will become a good King after him."
"We have enemies, too," Théoden said. He was young, but he knew – the Dunlendings were not forgiving.
"Riddermark is strong. The Éothéod is strong. An in need, they have alliances to count upon."
Théoden nodded, but could not help asking: "Why are you telling me all this?"
"Because one day Rohan and Gondor will need to be allies again. They are allies even now, but not as close as they once have been."
A horn was blowed from the tower outside of the Golden Hall and Thorongil turned to leave. "I will have to go now, pardon me, young lord."
Théoden frowned and kept his pace alongside of the dark soldier even as he with his long steps climbed up the path to the Hall. "Do you think Mark will be in need of Gondor's aid? You just said Rohan is strong."
"I did. But mayhap even Gondor will be in need of Mark. Hard times are to come and there may come day when both you and I shall see the Red Arrow." The man halted as did Théoden behind him. "And if you are the King by then, govern with a good hand!"
With those words he left, leaping up the paved path, across the stream, and made for the Golden Hall to meet with the King. There had been a sense of finality to their discussion and Théoden did not follow him although he pondered his words.
Sons of Rohan, strong and stalwart,
the famed horselords, heirs of Helm;
And Sons of Gondor, star-crowned southerns,
masters of ships, mighty merchants.
Both Gondor and Mark great in glory,
one yet kingless, the other with heir.
One seeking aid, the other will answer;
from alliance of Eorl and Steward Cirion
- one captain of cavalry, one a king's hand -
to Thengel King and Ecthelion
Lords of their lands, still in league.
Come cruel crow with clouded night,
shadow soaring and smokes of flames;
Edoras and Mundburg, Minas Tirith,
to stand together when time comes.