Title: My Sweet Thing
Series: The Rohirric Cycle
Prequel to: Rider of the Mark
Author: Zee's Muse
Fandom: LOTR
Genre: FCHET
Characters: Elfhelm/OFC, Gamling, other non-canon characters
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I am NOT Tolkien. No buckies, no suey. I don't own any of the characters recognizable.
Timeline: 21 years before the War of the One Ring
Setting: up in the far northwest corner of the Riddermark
Warnings: Violence, non-canon character death, mature themes, language. Really bad language
Spoilers: None.
Beta: The wonderful and amazing Alex-Cat! Why do you put up with me?
Artwork: Elladan's Girl
Dedication: Mawwiage…
Summary: How far will a father go to ensure the safety of his daughter?
~~~...~~~
My Sweet Thing
Chapter 01
Worst comes to Worse
~~~...~~~
21 years before the Battle of the One Ring
It had been a bloody, bloody battle.
The Rohirrim's new Captain surveyed the field, strewn with bodies – both Dunlendings and Riders… more Dunlendings than not, thank Béma.
"Who's missing? Dead?" Elfhelm, Rohan's youngest captain jumped from his horse and began to sift through the bodies, praying to find life. "Where are Mathye and Gauwyn?" His eyes searched frantically. One was his brother - in - law. The other was his youngest brother.
"Here. I'm here!" Mathye shouted. "Bastards knifed my horse, though."
"How bad?" Elfhelm made is way over bodies, trying to pick out the Rohirrim, still searching for his brother.
"Not bad, but I need to get him tended to and this isn't the place for it." Mathye looked around, his face in a scowl. "This place has eyes. We need to grab our wounded and get out of here."
His sister's husband had the gift of second sight, a hackling on the back of his neck that had proven correct more times than not. Elfhelm learned early that when the man said 'run', you'd best run. His instinct was not often wrong. "We ride as soon as we find… oh… Béma!"
Gauwyn, Elfhelm's youngest brother was struggling to rise from under his fallen and bloodied horse. The man was covered with filth from head to foot. Mathye took Elfhelm's reins from him as he rushed to his brother's side. "How much of the blood is yours?"
Gauwyn's mouth was a white line. "A lot of it actually." With obvious great effort, he stood almost straight up. He peered over his horse. "Damn. I really liked that horse."
Elfhelm inspected him quickly. "Where is the worst?"
"Leg and my side." He was holding the wound at his waist and both brothers grimaced when he pulled his hand away. "Is there a horse? I don't think I'm going to walk out of here."
"Can you get up on one?" Despite his injuries, the look on Gauwyn's face said it all. Elfhelm whistled, motioning for Mathye to bring his steed. It took both men to get him up into the saddle. "There is an outpost about an hour or two from here. Will you make it?" Gauwyn's head was starting to droop, but it looked as if he nodded. *Béma, please let him make it.*
"Elfhelm!" Mathye hissed. "Druncenig Ende is a haven for swine and human rejects!"
"Aye, I know its unsavory reputation." He pulled up behind his brother, gently cradling him between his thighs. "But we have no choice. Several horses need tending to and Gauwyn isn't the only one injured! At least there will be healers there."
"I'm fine," Gauwyn slurred. Elfhelm gritted his teeth to keep from swearing.
"Aye, you're fine and I'm the lost king of Gondor," the Captain muttered. He didn't see the lop-sided smile on Gauwyn's face. Quickly, he made his around his gathering éored, mentally going through the roster. He shook his head in regret at the few injured bodies that were struggling onto steeds, thankful there were only three and no dead.
Yet.
"Elfhelm," Mathye was now reining tight on an ever-irascible horse. The stallion was still smelling blood and trying to work back into a war frenzy. "The air is restless and the sun will be setting soon. We need to make haste."
"Aye. They want to bury their dead as well. Or burn them." Taking one last look at the field, making sure they left nothing that was Rohan. "Whatever it is Wild Men do with their dead," he snarled. "Bring up the rear, Mathye. My hands are full." With that, Elfhelm moved to the front of the ragged group of Riders and made way quickly to outpost.
~~~…~~~
Lýðrest had her arms elbow deep in hot suds. Sundown was coming and that was when the pitiful excuse of a hamlet would come to life. Mentally, she ticked off what needed to be done in the next hour to ensure the tavern ran as smoothly as possible; how many kegs needed to be brought up from the cellar, how much ale, mead, whiskey. She didn't want another run-in with Hucohun. She didn't put it past the man to bring reinforcements next time she was caught alone. Without realizing what she was doing, she turned her arm over, checking the bruise from where he grabbed her some days past. It was almost faded and she wasn't wanting a new one to replace it anytime soon.
"You should tell your da." Ciricbelle, Belle to her friends, stood on the other side of the large tub, washing mugs as fast as Lýðrest.
"He fucking well has enough on his mind." Lýðrest shrugged.
"At the very least, tell Hæfern." Belle put the last of the mugs in the vat of clean hot water. "He'll be in tonight or tomorrow."
Lýðrest snarled. "Da hates it when I go to him."
Belle planted her fists on ample hips. "Why? They are brothers! He's your uncle!"
Lýðrest smiled fondly. "Aye, he is, but Da seems to think he's a bad influence." She grinned evilly. "He taught me to swear and how to defend myself. Believe me," she continued, "if that prickless wonder tries anything with me again, I'll lay his worthless arse out."
"What?" Belle began to rinse mugs, her hands turning a rougher, brighter red. "He's taught you to defend yourself."
Lýðrest turned from the vat and headed towards the cellar. "That, and a few other things," she mumbled profanities under her breath. Just as she reached the stairs, she heard the bell frantically clanging from the town gate. Almost simultaneously, her father tore into the kitchens.
"There's an éored coming in; one that's seen battle." Many years ago, Hamon had been a handsome man. These days, after too many years raising a daughter on his own in a rough and tumble town, he was drawn and haggard on good days.
Lýðrest immediately did a u-turn, going to the medicinal cupboard. "Injured?"
"Aye. It looks like several."
"Damn! YOU!" Lýðrest turned to one of the younger boys. "Make sure the the lower rooms are cleared out and fresh linens are on the beds. JOCE! We need towels and linens! Belle-"
"I'm boiling water. Someone needs to build fires in the fireplaces in the rooms."
Lýðrest opened the cupboard door and began to pull down medicinal herbs. "I'll get my sewing kit in case any of them need sewn."
Immediately, her father was hissing in her ear. "I don't want you near any of them! You don't know them, don't know-"
"Look!" She spun and thrust a finger in his face. "This place is Mordor's backyard and every night I serve men no better than Orcs and Dunlendings in this Béma – forsaken place! Besides, I'm the closest thing to a healer in this stinking hole!" She thrust her bruised arm out, yanking the sleeve up. "Hucohun did this to me three nights ago. He caught me alone in a hall. He's determined to have me one way or the other and next time, I'm afraid he's going to bring backup to prove his point!"
"Lýðrest-"
"I fear Hucohun more than I fear a group of injured Riders! I would simply kill the man, but his companions would hunt me down!" She turned back to the cabinet. "Besides, the King's Riders are normally better behaved. I'm going to need whatever whiskey you can spare. The good stuff, not the watered down piss."
By the time Elfhelm and his éored got to the tavern and inn, Lýðrest was ready. Under the baleful gazes of the resident drunks and hardliners, three injured men were carried into the inn rooms. Lýðrest quickly assessed the one referred to as 'Gauwyn' as being the most severely injured. He was blue around the mouth and he was coated with blood. Two men held him while their captain peeled his armor and what clothing he could get off him. The blood had dried, causing cloth to stick to wounds, making things worse.
Elfhelm was vaguely aware of the diminutive woman barking orders like a garrison captain. She had a tongue that would peel tar from wall and the hired help jumped when she said jump. As soon as what clothing they could remove from Gauwyn's body was taken off, they immersed him in a metal tub of warm water, loosening what was adhered to the wounds on his brother's leg and torso. With a briskness rarely seen, she had Gauwyn bathed, even his hair washed, scum and dirt turning the water into filth. Another serving girl began to ply him with whiskey. They appeared to be completely nonplussed the man was naked.
In short order, the healer had Gauwyn pulled from the tub, unapologetic for the now drunken condition he was in and laid in the bed, towels and linens padding both sides of him. Cursing the likes Elfhelm never heard in his life hissed between her lips as she assessed the damage from his injuries.
"Damn if I don't know which one to start with." Another slew of curses fell in whispers. "Hold his arms up and someone hold his legs. I'll start with the one on his side."
Luckily, Gauwyn was passed out cold, so he didn't struggle much. Lýðrest quickly came to the conclusion that the leg injury was the worst, the cut in the man's side missed vital organs and arteries, whereas the leg wound was deep to the bone, damaging tendons. Elfhelm watched her closely, noticed how tight, close and concise the stitches were. After both wounds were sutured, she bound both chest and leg tightly, putting a smelling, stinking salve on both.
"You know this man?" Lýðrest motioned to a serving girl to dump the bath water and bring a bowl of cooler water. "You've not left his side." She never acknowledged or looked at Elfhelm, instead concentrating on getting Gauwyn situated and off his injuries.
"He's my youngest brother."
Lýðrest showed no emotion or sympathy whatsoever. "Sorry about that. I hope you don't have anywhere to be, because he's not going to be moving for a long time." She tucked a lightweight sheet under the young man's arms. "Hope you have coin, too," she muttered.
"Don't worry. I'll pay and Théoden King always reimburses those who care for his soldiers." Lýðrest's head jerked up, truly looking at the young Captain for the first time.
He was rather handsome, under the filth. He was filling out to be a huskily built man, much like a cuddly warg, if there were such a thing. His hair was the color of rust and his eyes were filled with concern for his brother. She turned to speak sharply over her shoulder. "Oswyn, don't take the damn tub out. Heat water for a bath for the captain here." She nodded once. "And bring in an extra cot. He'll want to stay with his brother, most likely." Elfhelm nodded his thanks. She stood up and cracked her back. "I need to check on the other two, see how things are in the tavern and then I'll be back." She nodded to the young Rider. "Chances are he'll run a fever and then he'll be the life of the party tonight. It's not something you need to sit through by yourself." The water in the tub was filling up fast. "I suggest you take your bath now while you can get it and I won't be running in and out on you."
And with that, she left the room, leaving Elfhelm amazed at the storm she brewed within him.
tbc