Chapter Three

"So, brother, how fare things in the Mark?" inquired Éowyn several minutes into their lunch. The usual pleasantries had been exchanged while the royal family and their guests were satisfying their hunger; now that the food had been praised, and all were eating at a steadier rate, the White Lady found opportunity to venture into deeper topics.

From the head of the table, Éomer answered with a brief description of the realm's affairs. Lothíriel was at his side, listening attentively but ever so often glancing at Gúthwyn in distaste, as if her rival were a blight in the hall. For once, Éomund's daughter was glad that Legolas had been seated next to her—his higher ranking meant that he was between her and the queen.

To Éomer's right were Éowyn and Faramir, the latter unfortunately directly across from Gúthwyn. Surprisingly, Hammel and Haiweth had been given places of honor, next to the Steward and the king's sister respectively—Gúthwyn suspected that Éomer had requested Lothíriel to include them in her intricate arrangements. Cobryn's comforting presence was nowhere to be found, for he had elected not to intrude upon the meal and, though pressed by both Éomer and Gúthwyn to join, had locked himself away somewhere with a pile of papers that needed to be read through. Meanwhile, the other Rangers and Elves were situated in a way that would allow them to mingle if they wished, but also to enjoy the presence of their comrades.

As Gúthwyn examined her surroundings, Éomer wrapped up his account with a mention of the past spring. "We have been lucky," he said: "the weather was better than we had hoped for."

"Aye," Éowyn agreed. Later, she would press him for more details concerning the harvesting and sowing seasons, but mindful that there were others present who would find such a subject considerably less engaging, she instead pursued Éomer's remarks about the weather. "We were also favored, though our seasons are usually warmer to begin with. Sister, you would like Emyn Arnen's climate."

"I-I would?" Gúthwyn asked, flustered when the others' gazes turned towards her.

"Yes, you always seem so cold," Éowyn said with a small laugh. In it, however, Gúthwyn could hear a faintly accusatory question: in the five years I have been married, why have you not visited?

She conceded to her sister with a nod, but said only, "Luckily, it is summer now."

Was it her imagination, or did Éowyn look slightly hurt? If so, her response was not tainted by resentment. "Soon to be your and Elfwine's birthdays."

Until now quietly enjoying his meal from the comfort of Gúthwyn's lap—Legolas's toy horse safely clutched in his left hand—Elfwine brightened at the sound of his name. "Mine?" he questioned eagerly.

"Yours," Éowyn confirmed, chuckling when she saw that her nephew's mouth was smeared with mashed potatoes. "Brother, what shall we do to celebrate?"

Gúthwyn shot a quick glance at Éomer, not without some trepidation. A few days ago, he had hinted in conversation that he was planning something for the event, but given the string of miserable birthdays she had had since she was twelve, she could only imagine what her brother had up his sleeve.

Éomer now cleared his throat, looking as if he had been anticipating this moment for awhile. "I had in mind an outing," he began, smiling at Gúthwyn and Elfwine. The former's cheeks turned red when she noticed Legolas's eyes on her, but she could not protest that such attention was unnecessary because it was her nephew's birthday, as well.

Unaware of Gúthwyn's discomfort, Éomer continued. "I propose we take a company to the River Snowbourn and pass the day there. The water will be warm, and we shall have the opportunity for a long overdue riding excursion."

Gúthwyn was pleasantly surprised. "That sounds wonderful," she replied emphatically. The last time she had gone to the Snowbourn, Elfwine had been but a few days old and had not made the journey with them. This would be his first sight of the river.

"We can discuss the particulars later," Éomer said then, "yet all of our guests are welcome." He nodded at Legolas.

Gúthwyn ordered herself not to be affected by this.

"Gúthy?"

Swallowing, she looked down at her nephew. "Yes, little one?"

"More 'tatoes, peas?"

Kissing him as a reward for his good manners, Gúthwyn complied and put more potatoes on her plate. Elfwine pulled the dish towards him and stuck his fingers into it. Since Lothíriel had already overseen him using a fork that day, Gúthwyn decided to let him be and enjoy his hands while they were still acceptable eating utensils.

"Now, sister," Éowyn said, watching as Elfwine licked his fingers in rapturous delight, "do you still frequent the training grounds?"

Gúthwyn's head inclined in response, but her heart clenched when she saw that Faramir had taken Éowyn's hand underneath the table. "I-I was able to return there in March," she responded quietly. "My wrists are not as strong as they once were, but I have been able to recover most of my ability."

"Not to the detriment of your bones, I pray," Éowyn said severely. She exchanged a meaningful glance with Éomer; both siblings knew all too well how inclined their younger sister was to sacrifice her health for the sake of appearance.

"Of course not," Gúthwyn protested innocently, though she had, in fact, occasionally pushed herself to train when her wrists were begging for respite. Luckily, however, only Legolas seemed to detect her dishonesty, and the quick, disbelieving look he shot at her was easy to ignore.

"Gúthy?"

"What is it, little one?" Gúthwyn inquired, bestowing all her attention upon her nephew so that she would not have to meet her sister's eyes.

"I want bread, peas."

Laughing, unaware that Lothíriel's cold gaze was fixated upon her, Gúthwyn took a slice from the basket in the center of the table and added it to her plate. As she did so, she realized that Elfwine was eating more than her. Was she not hungry? She attempted to subdue her mind and focus on her body's response, but she still had difficulties discerning whether or not she actually needed food.

Perhaps I should have something else, she thought, glancing tentatively around at the wide array of dishes that had been prepared. Most of them involved meat, which she could not have; a few she might have been interested in were close to Faramir, and she would certainly not request him to pass them over. Finally, she settled on more bread, because she had spent far too much time dwelling on the matter and she did not want Éomer to notice.

When she next looked up, her sister was chatting animatedly with Haiweth. A frequent visitor to Minas Tirith, Éowyn found her knowledge of the White City put to more use than it likely ever had been as Haiweth relentlessly pressed her for information. Most of her questions revolved around Gondorian high society and fashion; Gúthwyn watched her child babble on with a pained expression, recalling her conversation with Cobryn about service to Queen Arwen. Angrily thinking to herself that even though Haiweth was interested in Gondorians, she would not want to live there, Gúthwyn turned her attentions back to Elfwine. He, at least, was not old enough for others to contemplate him being separated from her—save Lothíriel, of course.

But her ears rang mercilessly with Haiweth's voice, and short of clamping her hands over them Gúthwyn could not stop listening.

"Are there many balls?" Haiweth inquired, leaning forward in attentiveness.

Éowyn shook her head. "Aragorn has too many concerns to host more than one a month—not to mention, he himself is not particularly fond of them."

Haiweth's face fell, but Gúthwyn grinned to herself at the reminder that King Elessar was still the man she had known during the War, crowned royalty though he now was.

"However," Éowyn continued, smilingly knowingly at Gúthwyn, "he and some of the nobility take it in turn to host dinners, where anything from serious discourse to gambling might occur. The companies are rotated frequently, so while they are small they are no less enjoyable for it."

Haiweth nodded, absorbing it all like the driest patch of earth suddenly deluged by a rainstorm. "Are the ladies in Minas Tirith like the ones in Dol Amroth?"

Faramir fielded the question: Éowyn had never been to Dol Amroth, nor encountered the likes of Lady Míriel. Amongst the two of them Faramir knew best how to respond, but before he did so he glanced at Lothíriel, leading Gúthwyn to suspect that he was choosing his next words very carefully. "The women of Minas Tirith are more conservative in appearance than those in Dol Amroth. During the War, they often went without finery such as silks and jewels, and have since grown accustomed to the style. If it is clothing that interests you, Haiweth, you would be much better off studying the Dol Amroth nobility."

Lothíriel nodded approvingly, although when no one was looking Gúthwyn grimaced at the top of Elfwine's head. "It does not hurt," the queen pointed out, more to Faramir than to Haiweth—whom she often regarded disdainfully, much to Gúthwyn's fury—"having unparalleled access to silks and fabrics." With its many harbors and wealthy inhabitants, Dol Amroth was a beacon for merchants and vendors. As a result, most of Prince Imrahil's revenue was generated from taxes upon these sellers, and meanwhile his people could pride themselves on having the best of every commodity.

Faramir agreed to this, and the conversation descended into a discussion about trade between Gondor and various other realms. Haiweth was able to avoid the economics by asking Éowyn more about Gondorian fashion, but Gúthwyn had no such escape and soon thought she would fall asleep out of boredom. This topic was far more suited for Cobryn than her. Important though commerce was, she could not find it remotely interesting.

Luckily, after finishing his bread Elfwine decided that he, too, was tired of the current subject. Before Éomund's daughter was aware of what he was doing, he leaned over and exclaimed, "Leggy!"

"Elfwine, hush," Gúthwyn whispered, mortified; but her rebuke came too late. Legolas slipped out of the trade talk—appearing rather relieved to do so—and turned to greet the toddler next to him.

"Hello, Elfwine," he said quietly, not wishing to disturb the others.

"Leggy gives me horse!" Elfwine reminded Gúthwyn, waving the toy in the air and nearly hitting her with it. "Dank you, Leggy!"

Legolas chuckled at the child's enthusiasm. It was not Haldor's cold, chilling laugh, but rather something Gúthwyn thought she might grow accustomed to. "You are most welcome, Elfwine," he said for the second time that day.

Beaming, Elfwine replied, "I makes horse fight!" He punctuated this remark with an excited shriek; the toy zoomed through the air and landed next to Éowyn's plate.

"Son!" Éomer barked, appalled by the display in front of his guests. Had they just been with family, he likely would have found the incident amusing—but now his offspring's manners were reflections upon his own conduct.

Elfwine merely laughed at him, clapping his hands in delight when Éowyn returned the horse. Gúthwyn and Legolas looked at each other and bit back smiles; the sight of the king of Rohan cringing at his son's antics was more entertaining than either of them cared to admit.

"Gúthwyn," Lothíriel said, very quietly and very politely, a sure indicator of how furious she was, "please restrain Elfwine from throwing things at our guests. He seems to have forgotten his manners."

Éomer did not realize that his wife's irritation was directed more towards his sister than his son, but Éowyn shot Lothíriel a quick look in which Gúthwyn read something of a challenge. The queen did not return the gaze, though Éomund's daughter doubted very much that she was unaware of it.

"Of course," she told the queen, the epitome of docility and obedience. But in a small act of defiance she tucked her head close to Elfwine's and whispered so that his mother could not hear, "Good boy, little one!"

Elfwine's face lit up, and he gleefully yanked at her hair. "Gúthy mine," he told Legolas an instant later, his manner abruptly switching to churlishness. "Not yours."

Gúthwyn's shoulders tensed at the very idea of being an Elf's possession. She had born that title long ago—the mere contemplation of it now brought a chill over her. Suddenly she had the urge to tell her nephew that she belonged to no one, not even to him.

"Can share," Elfwine decided generously.

"Did you ask your aunt how she feels about this?" Legolas inquired, looking at Gúthwyn rather than Elfwine. He knew, she realized, that the child's words had struck an unpleasant chord deep within her. Were her emotions that ill-guarded?

"I shares Gúthy," Elfwine explained, thinking that Legolas had not understood. "I love Gúthy."

As Gúthwyn's heart promptly set about melting, washing away the darkness that had claimed it so recently, Éowyn happened to overhear and with a similar expression on her face exclaimed, "Éomer, he is adorable!"

"'Dorable," Elfwine parroted, beaming.

"He is quite fond of Gúthwyn," Éomer remarked, chuckling at his son. "Not a day goes by where he does not demand that I bring him to her."

"Well, we all know that Gúthwyn has a remarkable gift with children," Éowyn said, smiling. Gúthwyn thought there was a strange wistfulness in her sister's features that she could not understand. Was Éowyn upset that Elfwine had not begged to sit with her during lunch? Éomund's daughter immediately resolved to have her nephew spend more time with his aunt—once he was familiar with her, surely the matter would be fixed.

Meanwhile, Éowyn was not the only one who appeared less than happy about Elfwine's devotion to Gúthwyn. Lothíriel, though composed as ever, was digging her fork into her meal with particular vehemence. Gúthwyn eyed her warily, wondering if there was something she could do to appease the queen. She was not intentionally trying to consume all of Elfwine's free time; perhaps she should have been making more of an effort to include her brother's wife in their games?

"Brother," Éowyn continued as Gúthwyn mulled these ideas over, her voice jovial despite her subdued manner, "if you are not careful, you will soon find that your son loves Gúthwyn more than he does you!"

Lothíriel positively stabbed her venison, though only Éomund's daughter noticed. Éomer was probably the most oblivious to his wife's mood of them all; his booming laughter resonated across the table, clearly not offended by the prediction in the least. "I think he already does!" he exclaimed, looking fondly at Gúthwyn. "Small wonder, when Lothíriel and I are at so many meetings and it is our baby sister who entertains him!"

"My Gúthy," Elfwine affirmed, eager to join the conversation. "Papa, I shares Gúthy now!"

Éomer chuckled. "With whom?" he asked, winking at Gúthwyn.

"Leggy!" Elfwine cried ecstatically.

There was a bout of laughter at this, though perhaps it would have been louder had Lothíriel not been resolutely furious that her son was paying more attention to his aunt than her. Gúthwyn swallowed, yet she could not help but smile when Elfwine looked up at her in search of her approval. After all, he knew nothing about what she had suffered in Mordor—she hoped that he had not even heard of the Black Land.

Legolas alone seemed to sense her discomfort, though he knew far less than Éowyn or Éomer about what she had endured. With astonishing patience, he drew Elfwine into a lively conversation, one that challenged both of their linguistic capabilities but did not hamper either's enjoyment. The subject changed remarkably fast: Legolas allowed the child to dictate what they were to speak about, the result being that he had to work swiftly to follow a wandering mind.

Gúthwyn listened closely, ever so often shooting Legolas a grateful look. She was pleased to hear nothing more sinister being said than Elfwine's proclamation of loving battle; Legolas then entertained him with a story about the first time he had ever fought in a skirmish. Elfwine squealed at the description of the enormous spiders that had attacked his father's camp in the middle of a hunt, and then clapped his hands in praise when he learned that Legolas had killed two with his knives.

"Are there still spiders in Eryn Lasgalen?" Gúthwyn wanted to know when Legolas finished, making a mental note to never venture into any forest alone. Luckily, she no longer journeyed outside the borders of Rohan. Between Fangorn and tales of the Elf's homeland, she privately felt she would sooner visit Emyn Arnen than risk being ambushed by gargantuan wildlife.

"Ever so often we will find one," Legolas admitted. "But their numbers are few since the Shadow was overthrown, and they are easily overcome."

"Spider," Elfwine giggled, pleased with himself for pronouncing the word correctly. "Want spider. Gúthy, give me spider, peas."

"Nay, my friend, you would be most unfortunate indeed to encounter one," Legolas assured him. "They eat any living creature they can catch," he cautioned seriously, though the corners of his mouth were twitching with amusement, "including humans."

Elfwine, not yet old enough to realize that he was part of the human race, laughed at the other prince and told Gúthwyn, "Leggy funny!"

"Do those spiders really eat people?" Gúthwyn asked Legolas in an undertone, not nearly as unconcerned about his warning as her nephew. When Frodo told her in Minas Tirith of his harrowing journey through the Cirith Ungol, a treacherous pass through the Ephel Dúath upon the borders of Mordor, he had described a monstrous spider named Shelob that attempted to eat him and was deterred only by Sam's courage. She had hoped that Shelob was the one such specimen who had a fondness for human flesh, and felt a shudder at the thought of this assumption being corrected.

Much to her disgust, Legolas nodded. "The Elves are aware of this danger, and are therefore able to avoid getting trapped, but travelers are often not so lucky. Did Frodo ever speak to you of his uncle Bilbo?"

"Yes, I saw them together in Rivendell," Gúthwyn replied. "And now that I think of it, I do recall a mention of Bilbo traveling through Mirkwood—forgive me, Eryn Lasgalen—but the reasoning seemed rather complicated, and I did not fully understand why, for I had overheard him in the middle of his tale."

"Gandalf coerced him into traveling with a group of Dwarves, including Gimli's father, in an effort to recover stolen treasure," Legolas explained, chuckling at her even more bewildered expression. She leaned closer to him, unsure of whether she was hearing him correctly: Éomer and Éowyn were carrying on an animated conversation about what they were to do over the visit, and between them and Elfwine's babbling it was difficult to listen properly. "It is a long story, and later if you wish I shall relate it to you in full, but in the meantime it is sufficient to say that Bilbo and his companions were unaware of the peril surrounding them if they strayed from their course."

"They were all caught by spiders?" Gúthwyn guessed, her eyes widening. Elfwine yanked at her hair and she hardly noticed.

"Indeed, they were ensnared so thoroughly that they were only saved by Bilbo, who had with him what he would shortly afterwards name Sting."

"That was the blade Frodo carried," Gúthwyn murmured. Most of the Hobbits' weaponry she had examined particularly closely, in the event that she suddenly found them between her and the Ring. She had been astonished and fearful to note the Elvish quality of Sting, and even more alarmed to discover that it glowed in the presence of the Enemy. For some reason, however, Sting had never done so around her, though she was a direct threat to its master.

"It was given to him right before the Quest," Legolas informed her. "Bilbo knew he had no more use for it."

Gúthwyn sighed. "I wish I had spent less time trying to steal the Ring," she murmured, her voice low so as not to attract the attention of Faramir, who remained unaware of her bargain with the Enemy, "and more time conversing with the Hobbits. Of them I learned very little, a grievance I shall never be able to repair."

"Sister, what discussion has you and Legolas so absorbed?" Éomer questioned, his voice rising over the others' chatter.

Gúthwyn jumped, startling Elfwine and causing him to fuss. She had not realized that her head was so close to Legolas's; it was undoubtedly this that had prompted her brother to inquire. Her cheeks were tinted pink as she answered, "Hobbits—I-I was telling Legolas that I wish I had spoken more with them, Merry and Pippin especially."

"Meriadoc is still a squire of the Mark," Éomer mused thoughtfully. "I have not had need of his services yet, but it has been far too long since we have exchanged tidings. At the very least, I should write to him and learn how he is faring in the Shire. I must remind him that he may visit whenever he wishes."

"What do you think, little one?" Gúthwyn asked Elfwine, smiling as she bounced him lightly on her lap. "Would you like to meet a Hobbit?"

"Hobbit?" Elfwine echoed, puzzling over the word. "Gúthy, what Hobbit?"

"A Hobbit is a creature," Gúthwyn began, ruffling his hair, "that looks very similar to a human, but is far shorter. They have hair on their feet, and like to eat several meals a day."

Elfwine mulled this over. "Hobbit eat," he decided, and without further ado reached for the mashed potatoes. "Peas, Gúthy?"

Gúthwyn obliged him and put some more potatoes on her plate, though less than before because she knew his eyes were bigger than his stomach. She happened to look at Lothíriel while she was doing this; the queen was pure venom, her hatred so icy that Gúthwyn imagined the temperature in the Golden Hall had dropped severely. Glancing around the table, she saw that no one else was aware of this. Why was she so attuned to Lothíriel's emotions? Or was she simply paranoid?

Although she attempted to convince herself that she was imagining things, as the meal progressed she could have sworn that the queen's glower deepened, especially when Elfwine drew Gúthwyn and Legolas into another dialogue concerning Hobbits. Her brother's wife had little knowledge of this subject, and found herself excluded even when the others joined in. Gúthwyn became increasingly uncomfortable. Despite Lothíriel's behavior towards her, she wished she could find a way to include her, but did not know how to do so without arousing suspicion.

At the end of the lunch, her brother's wife pushed her chair away and apologized to her guests for being so rude, but there were a number of tasks she needed to oversee her maids carrying out. Gúthwyn watched her go, but her uneasy reflections were interrupted by Elfwine clamoring for her to pick him up. He did not appear to have noticed his mother's departure.

"Oh, Elfwine," she whispered, hoisting him up in the air, "you and I need to start inviting Lothíriel to join us. I think she wants to play with you."

"Mama too busy," Elfwine said flatly, and that was the end of that.