LOVE! Rohirrim Style

Chapter 03

Linens 'n things

Éomer sat glumly on his throne, his chin cupped in his hand.

"Here sire," Aefre handed him a steaming cup. "Drink this."

He looked up at her, malcontent clearly defined in his not so bright blue eyes. "Does it taste like shite?"

"Yes sire, but it will make you feel better." She again offered the cup.

He took it with a snarl and gulped it down, before gasping and gagging. "Béma, that's awful!" He thrust the cup back at the noblewoman. With an audible thud, he propped his boot on a nearby footstool.

"It is your own fault."

He shoved his entire left cheek into this hand, glaring. "I will bet that Gamling's head does not pain him."

"He did not drink as heavily as you, last night. Did you not notice?"

"Elfhelm-"

"Did not as well."

Elfhelm was strolling through the back of the Great Hall and saw Éomer slouching on the throne. "Good morning, Sire!" He yelled, causing Éomer to flinch. "How fare you this morning?" He waved and jumped up and down like a child, taking obvious advantage of his King's bad disposition.

"Tell him," he muttered to a still hovering Aefre, "that I'm having his head cut off at sunset."

"Certainly, sire." Aefre stepped down from the dais and called across the room, causing Éomer to cringe again, "Éomer King's head pains him due to his over indulgence last evening. He is irate that you do not share his condition and therefore has ordered you to be beheaded at sunset."

Elfhelm stopped and drew up. "My wife will declare war upon the throne," he bellowed in mock indignity. "I will send a messenger immediately!" He ran from the Great Hall, much to the laughter of the servants.

Éomer sank back into his chair, snarling with discontent and staring at the ceiling. "She would too, you know. She would have me hung and gibbeted by tomorrow evening." He glared at Aefre. "And would be eating my food."

"Sleeping in your bed, even." Aefre's tone was that of a well-respected sage.

"Aye." He went back to searching the ceiling for hidden mountain men. "She's scarier than Beornia."

Aefre rolled her eyes. "Why are the Horselords scared of Beornia?" She waited for him to settle down a bit. "Éomer, why do you not lie down and take a nap? You've not slept well and obviously your head pains you greatly."

Éomer went back to his cupped hand and groused. "No. I need to call up my Éorlings. We have plans to make."

"Plans?" Aefre yanked the footstool out from under Éomer's boot and sank down on it, ignoring the loud clump it made when it hit the granite floor. She smiled up to the young king. "Are you thinking of a winter party?"

"Nooo-" Éomer drug it out vindictively. "I have decided to travel to Dol Amroth and retrieve Lothiriel."

"Ah! The contracts are signed?" Aefre was genuinely perky.

It grated on Éomer's nerves.

"Nooo." Deep down, he knew this wasn't going to go well, so he decided to just spit it out. "I tire of waiting. I have decided to go get her and marry her. Contracts be damned!"

"Might I ask, have you prepared the King's Chambers for the two of you?"

Éomer looked puzzled. "The King's Chambers?"

Aefre looked at him as if he were a small child. "Yes, sire. The King's Chambers." Éomer continued to look confused. "The Royal Chambers. Théoden's rooms?"

"The… Royal… Chambers…" The words were obviously sticking to the roof of Éomer's mouth.

Gamling came into the Great Hall, heading toward the dais.

"Dear Béma in the Sky!" Aefre had the indecency to sound affronted. "Surely, you did not plan to bring her back to Meduseld to that tiny, cramped space you call a room!"

Upon hearing his wife's voice raised in ire, Gamling fastidiously changed direction and headed towards the kitchen.

Éomer's jaw began to flap slowly. "Well… I… I… I did not think…"

"You did not think? Béma's Balls!" Aefre might have been sitting down, but to Éomer, she was standing twelve feet tall and making him feel smaller by the minute. "Éomer King! Has it been so long since you've been with…" Aefre continued to rant, consonants clicking as if thousands of arrows had been launched at the wall.

Éomer's headache continued to pound. "Did you just swear?"

"… need new linens and of course, we must completely redecorate the chambers, air it out, freshen the wall hangings, do a proper cleansing. We need to prepare a celebration, spit shine the Hall. It's not every day the King of Rohan marries!"

Éomer's head was now thumping along with Aefre's loudly punctuated words. "Can I not just go get her? Surely, we can do all of this when I return." The young King was searching for words. "I am quite sure she would like to pick out her own linens."

Aefre was not listening. "Of course, we will have to wait until spring, when the flowers bloom, so we will have plenty of greenery throughout the Hall, to make proper bridal wreaths-"

"Flowers? SPRING? I want to get her now!"

"We shall also have to get the good pewter trenchers and eating utensils. Make sure there is no mold or crust-"

"Aefre, please. I truly appreciate this, but I want to get her now."

Aefre looked up at him, finally, and announced, "Sire, in case you have not noticed, it is snowing out. There is no possible way the Éorlings can muster up and send out a royal entourage to Belfalas! There is not as much as an uncivilized mountain man out in this weather!"

"FINE!" Éomer shot to his feet. "The Éorlings can stay behind and… decorate!" He thrust his chest out. "I'll just go by myself!"

"By yourself." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes!" It was a pronouncement, an edict. "I. Will. Go. By. My. Self!"

Aefre set the cup Éomer had just drank from gently on the floor. "I see." She exhaled loudly.

"Lady Aefre," he thrust a finger in her face, "you are beloved to my Marshal and to me but do not test me."

"Well then, as your mind is made up, I supposed I should gather up what few provisions we have, stockpile the weapons-"

"Stockpile weapons? Why should you stockpile weapons?" Éomer looked truly confused. "You need to decorate, prepare linens…"

"Why," Aefre picked up the cup and stood up. She began going down the steps on the dais. "To prepare for the war, of course." She sighed heavily. "I supposed we could use the linens for bandages. There will, of course, be many casualties."

Éomer jumped from his chair and followed her down. "War? What war?"

She turned and looked at him with pity. "Why, the war you will start with Dol Amroth when you steal the princess. Surely, you didn't think you can just storm in and wrap her in your cloak without some sort of retaliation, did you? Hmm," she mused, pursing her lips, "I wonder which side Gondor will take. Very sticky, this one will be."

"Lady Aefre… Aefre… please… wait." Éomer's hands grasped at meaningless air. "I simply tire of waiting! All this… senseless… political… stuff."

Deep inside, Aefre truly felt sorry for her king and she hated manipulating him this way. In his heart, he was still just Éomer. Éomer in love, not Éomer, King of Rohan, with all of its political intrigue and trappings. Truth be told, this Rohan he was master over was not the same Rohan as Théoden's or any of the kings before him. The mantle of kingship was not one he wore with ease, much less was prepared to wear. A serving girl passed nearby and Aefre called her over, giving her the cup to take to the kitchens. "You love her, don't you, Éomer?"

There was a moment as Éomer regarded his Marshal's lady. "Might I speak frankly?"

"But of course, Sire."

"Friend to friend? Not king to subject."

Aefre knotted her brow. "Would you rather speak with Gamling? He was putting Léoma down for a nap and then going to the stables…"

Éomer shook his head. "No. I need a woman…"

"Ah. Might I suggest…"

"NO!" he yelled. Everyone in the Hall stopped what they were doing and stared. "No!" he hissed. "I do not NEED a woman. I need a woman's advice!" He looked around. Everyone was still staring. "And not here, where everyone can listen in."

Aefre looked at the young king, deep in thought. She turned to the nearest person – a young man, lugging empty water buckets for the kitchen. "Is there work being done in the barns today?"

"Cleaning stalls, exercising horses in the gallery."

She nodded. "Good. Take those buckets to where you need and then go down to Beornia's home and tell her to send the children to the barns to help with the cleaning and then meet me in Théoden's rooms. Find Eadignes or Willam and have both also meet me in the Royal Chambers. Now go."

"Beornia? You've sent for Beornia?" Éomer squeaked.

"What IS it with your unreasonable fear of Beornia?" Aefre headed off towards the Royal Chambers.

Éomer hung his head, mumbling as he followed. "She is scarier than you."

The trip to the Royal Chambers took no time, whatsoever. For the first time since Théoden left for war, the door to the private apartment was opened. The room was cold, musty, and dust rose in the frigid air. Without thought, Éomer clasped his arms to ward off the chill. "Now," Aefre spun on her heel, "what is it you wish to speak to me about in private?" She pulled him into the front chamber and pushed the door to, but not completely closed. "Come now, we don't have all day. The others will arrive shortly"

Éomer had been searching for the right words since he spilled them out by accident. "Well, it is about… Lothiriel."

"What about her?"

Éomer searched for a moment and then sank into the closest chair. "I… well… I do not know if she… if I…"

"Are you afraid she is having second thoughts?"

"Well... no. I mean, her letters… well it seems she wants to join me. I'm just… well…"

Aefre scowled. "Spit it out! You're at war here."

That irked the young king. "I love her! I do not wish to be with anyone else. She says she wants to be with me but I want to be sure she wants to be with me!" He finally looked at his Marshal's wife, who was looking at him as if he'd grown a second head. "She is not writing in Westron, she is attempting to write in Rohirrim-"

"Sire, the Rohirrim have no written language."

"I know that. It's like she's trying to spell Rohirric words in Westron. Sometimes, it is a bit difficult to translate."

Aefre smiled coquettishly. "Sire? Is the Princess writing naughty love letters to you?"

Éomer blushed clear to his blond roots.

"I will take that as a yes." She leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I would suppose that if the letters are not formal and she is trying to write to you in code or Rohirric, suffice to say, she wants to be with you." The door creaked, causing her to stand up straight and Éomer to look over his shoulder. Beornia burst into the room, her winter cloak still slung carelessly over her shoulders.

"That crazy kitchen boy came down and told me there was a dire emergency in the royal chambers and I was to send the children to the barns!" There was the sound of running feet as both Eadignes and Willan thundered in behind her.

"AEFRE! We were told-"

"What is the emergency? Do we need bandages? Herbs?"

"Does the king need a poultice?"

"Éomer King has decided to marry."

Beornia exhaled in a gush. "Well of course he's getting married-"

"In twelve weeks, as soon as spring is truly here."

"Twelve weeks?" Éomer shot up from his seat. "Twelve weeks? I want to leave today!"

Aefre didn't even look over her shoulder. She perused the room, mentally taking note of the work that needed to be done. "Sire, we've discussed this. Rushing in to get her-"

"Would cause a horrific uproar! Her family would hate you!"

"She would be resentful."

"I'm not waiting twelve weeks!"

"Fine. When the last snow falls and the planting is finished, ten weeks…"

"Noooo! That's too long! Two weeks!" Éomer was thrusting two fingers in Aefre's face. "Two!"

"Really sire. There is so much to be done."

Eadignes and Beornia were now unleashed in all their womanly ire, chiming in with Aefre.

"Sire, you need a wedding cloak and those are not created in a day!"

"This room is disgusting! Surely you cannot possibly think to bring her back in all this dust and rankness!"

"Linens. Surely she will want new linens."

"Helgarda will want to help with the wedding cloak. Béma knows she cannot see a stitch, however she will be insulted if she is not included. She brags about making Théoden's wedding cloak!"

"Béma! When was the last time this fireplace was shoveled out? It is beyond foul!"

"All right. Four weeks. I shall wait four weeks!"

Éomer was ignored. Willan was holding the spittoon, tilting it so the inside could be seen and pointing in it. The look on his face said it all.

*eeeeeeeeew!*

"The wall hangings! They are so filthy, they have no color!

"The bed curtains… Willian! Shake the bed curtains!" The giant mute did as he was told, causing a copious amount of dust to fly into the air and sending all three women into a spontaneous chorus of choking.

"The mattresses must be aired out and turned," Aefre opened the trunk at the foot of the bed, "Oh Great Steed of Béma! Théoden's clothes are still in here! Éomer, have you not dealt with any of his belongings?"

"Six weeks. I shall wait six weeks. But I need to leave-"

There was a scream from the antechamber. Three diminutive mice ran from the small room.

Éomer sank back into his chair. "Eight weeks."

A heavy, calloused hand clamped down on his shoulder. "I wondered why," Gamling began, "the barns were suddenly infested with children. Now, I know." All movement stopped and four sets of eyes of various shades of blue (and one shade of brown) turned to the Marshal. "Eight weeks, but we will try for six, correct, My Lord?"

Éomer visibly relaxed. "Eight weeks, but we'll try for six. Yes, Gamling. Exactly as I wanted."

Aefre bowed her head. "Eight weeks. So be it."

"So be it." The women echoed.

The Horselord bent over. "A word of advice? My Da told me many years ago that weddings were for the women. Best let them do as they will and wear what they say. Just so long as you wrap them in your cloak when the time arrives." He clapped him on the shoulder and turned to leave. "Aefre, attend me outside for a moment."

With an obedience rarely seen, Aefre meekly followed her husband into the hallway. They went down the hall for a short ways before Gamling turned and whispered, "Is that enough time, m'lady?"

"Six to eight weeks? Truthfully no, but it is more time than I thought he would give us. You were wonderful, coming in when you did."

Gamling looked around to ensure there were no eavesdroppers. " I fully expect you to show me how wonderful I am tonight!" Aefre grinned. "Pray the snows are over by then. I will send Riders to the Marshals and muster the higher born Rohirrim."

"Aye," Aefre finished for him. "Éomer will not think of it, but he will need to be accompanied by a royal entourage. A formal Éored."

He kissed her on the forehead. "I will check on Léoma. If she is up, I will bring her to the barns with me."

"She barks orders with the best of them." Aefre then returned to the chaos she purposely caused.

*(*&##(*&$

Far off, in a city by the ocean, a young woman stood at her window, staring not at the sea, but gazing anxiously at the far off mountains to the northeast. Emerald drops lay in a net over her dark hair, and bright green eyes squinted, trying to see a far off land over the horizon. As some of her family had noticed recently, she nervously twisted the hammered ring on her finger, her thumb rubbing the horse etched on it.

And farther still, the hooves of a solitary horse beat in rhythm against the snow, flying through a white cloud, frozen tundra, towards the sea.

His Rider named him well.

Daranau.

Thunder

*** tbc***