The morning started early for Loena. She'd already dressed for travelling, shaking fingers tightening the straps along the gear she wore when she rode with the eored. Brown leggings beneath a green tunic, with the gold stitching of the Eorl's horse across the chest. About her shoulders she cast a travelling cloak, thick and dark, tied up beneath her throat. She had a small pack, with a small amount of food, her whetstone, spare arrow heads and ribbons for securing back her hair.
Once she emerged from the house, she made sure her sword strapped to her side, and her bow and arrows cast across her back. It was then, turning around and blinking against the morning light, that she met the Grey Wizard.
"Good morning, Gandalf!" She called, youthful in her excitement.
"Good morning, young daughter of Leofwine," Gandalf smiled, tilting his head in greeting. He turned wry; "I can only hope your Lord King is in as good spirits as you this morning."
There was a spring in Loena's step as the two of them made their way to Meduseld. The air was crisp, but clear; the mist from the previous night seemed a strange memory as if a recollection from a dream. Around them the Rohirrim were beginning their days, fair haired women taking clothes and rags to be washed in the river, and men preparing their trades.
As they passed the smithy, Loena could hear the sound of steel against whetstone, and the low murmur of the voices of the Smith and his apprentice. She had left Edoras before, of course, on raids and counter-raids and expeditions, but there seemed something different about this now. There was no firm return in mind, no absolute in when she would return. She'd miss the sounds, the smells, that surrounded her.
Meduseld heralded them up the hill, and Loena and Gandalf both paused to admire the gold as the sun rose.
"Behold, Meduseld as it was intended to be seen," Gandalf murmured, more to himself than to Loena. "A true testament to the beauty of the creations of man."
Loena's chest fluttered with pride.
Once they'd arrived at Meduseld, both waited patiently outside. As the doors opened, he whom they'd sent to greet them shot a foul taste into Loena's mouth. She scowled as he looked at her, his beady eyes still clouded by his sickness.
"My Lady, and the Grey Wizard! How early you call upon you old, and ill king," Gríma said softly, accusingly. "Does he not deserve to rest, so late in life as he is?"
"If Théoden is awake, let him know that Gandalf the Grey has come with counsel," Gandalf told Gríma , unconcerned by Wormtongue's smirk.
"Shall he suffer the early chill so you can stir his worries?" Gríma demanded. "Do you come here, Gandalf, as a friend who would do your king kindnesses, or an enemy who only wishes to press worries on a troubled mind?"
"Get out of the way, Gríma ," Loena said grimly. "We'll have none of your venom this morning. We are immune to you this hour."
Gríma smiled at her. "Gracious as ever, the Lady of the house of Baldor!"
"Gríma , who comes here?" A familiar low voice sounded from behind him. Éomer emerged from behind Gríma , tight faced. There was no love between Théoden's nephew and his chief advisor.
"The Lady Loena and the Wizard," Gríma answered breezily. "They come to disrupt the kings slumber."
"The king is awake," Éomer said, annoyed. "He sits with Éowyn and Théodred, even now. Has your stint in the healing halls addled your mind? Or are you sick still? Allow these guests into Meduseld, it is not your right to bar them."
"These are dangerous times," Gríma said, though he stood aside, allowing Loena and Gandalf to enter. "It would be dangerous to accept all who seek to enter the hall."
"It would be dangerous if they were strangers, perhaps," Éomer said, irritation obvious and red across his face. He looked at Loena and Gandalf, smiling at them, gaze lingering on Loena for a moment. "Well met, Grey Wizard, Loena. The king is indeed eating, but he will take your counsel as he does so."
He looked at Loena curiously, and she tried to convey that she'd explain all to him soon.
Later, she made out with a blink.
Éomer tilted his head, interested, but turned and led them through the hall. Théoden was found sat between his son and Éowyn. Théodred was speaking in a low voice with his father. His hair was bound in a golden circlet, a fine, darned tunic across his chest. Éowyn had her back to them, but Loena could see she wore a white gown below her long, golden hair.
The king's niece and Loena had become much closer over the years, often sharing a sparring instructor. Even after Éowyn was forced to end her training, and bundle up her blade in blankets and raggedy clothes, they had remained friendly. They'd often seek each other out when the influential families gathered together.
That had not happened in a while. Loena had not properly seen her friend in many months.
"Théoden king," Gandalf announced himself, sword and staff in tow. Loena followed him, and Éomer stood beside her. Gríma slipped past them all, scurrying like a rat to his master's side.
"Gandalf the grey has come to disturb you, my lord," Gríma whispered into Théoden's ear.
"Begone, Wormtongue," Éomer called out, disgust obvious across his face. "Your counsel is not needed here."
"I obey my king, and my king alone," Gríma replied haughtily, hand on Théoden's shoulder. Loena tightened her jaw when she saw the wizened man bearing Eorl's crown lean into Gríma as if to seek comfort.
"Order him gone, Father," Théodred said. The circlet upon his brow made him look far older, and more grand. His voice, even, sounded out with far more force and strength than he usually bestowed. It was Théodred whom, of the company, Loena knew least. He was truly the child of his forebears, a wanderer of the lands he would come to rule. Like Éomer, he was a Marshal of his own éored, the finest horse riders through all the lands. He glanced at Éowyn, and Loena too saw that she was glaring at the black haired Rohirrim. "Gandalf has come to speak with you, and only you."
"Do you order me gone, my king?" Gríma asked, purred almost, into Théoden's ear.
The company watched, and the air around them seemed to deflate as Théoden, almost too slight to see, shook his head "no".
Gríma smiled and sat back, taking the seat between Théoden and Éowyn.
"Gríma may stay," Gandalf shrugged. "It means very little to me.
"I come to you, Théoden, because I know the source of the scourge upon your lands. I know why your people have come to fear the breaking of the night. Saruman can no longer be trusted in the West. Rohan, my lord, is under threat."
The silence in the room stung. Loena, who knew the tale, kept to looking from Éowyn, to Éomer, to Théodred. The siblings glanced at each other. From her side, Loena could see Éomer tense, mouth tight.
It was Gríma who spoke next. "Where is your proof, Greyhelm?"
"What proof do you require, Gríma Wormtongue?" Gandalf asked him, with an edge of anger. "Shall I show you the blood on my brow from the striking of his staff? The tear on my robes? If my own testimony is not enough for you."
"I merely request that you do no overindulge yourself, and scare the king unnecessarily," Gríma said, voice as smooth as satin. "There is nothing so great in this world that Rohan cannot answer it, but with it would be folly to call a muster, when we are only presuming truth, not believing it."
"I believe Gandalf," Éomer said, moving forward. "Things have been evil, of late. The air, the weather. I can taste it in the food we pull from our ground. Something in Rohan is in need of fixing, and I trust Gandalf to come to us truthfully if he says he knows what it is."
"Poetry was never your strong suit, Éomer, son of Eomund," Gríma said, eyes flashing with a cruel humour.
"Leave us," the king wheezed, suddenly, from where he was sitting. "All…you…" He gestured to Éowyn, who seemed stricken, over her half-finished bowl of porridge. Even Théodred was included, and though his displeasure was obvious, he was the first to leave the hall.
"Gandalf," Loena murmured, looking at the Grey Wizard, who had his eyes shrewdly watching Théoden. "I would not leave you."
"You must, my dear," Gandalf said, he spared a moment of his musing to assuage her with a small smile. "I will come to collect you when I am done here. It will not be long. This delay cannot, and should not, continue. Elrond expects me."
"What do you whisper?" Gríma called.
"None of your concern," Loena spat, picking up her steps and leaving the room aside the king's kin. She spared a moment to comfort Éowyn, holding her hand onto her shoulder. The white lady smiled, humourlessly, in thanks, and each of them passed through the door into the small hall on the other side.
The door closed behind them.
Éomer's anger was palpable. He began to pace, hand clenched around his sword. Loena watched him.
"I see no reason for our dismissal," Éomer muttered. "Théoden has no right to exclude us from matters of state such as these."
"Do not question your king," Théodred snapped, though he looked as though he agreed with Éomer.
"This is Gríma's doing," Éowyn said, her voice as low and as dark as thunder. "If he had been kept from us for one more day, if his sickness had been slightly more severe, perhaps Théoden and Gandalf could have met properly."
"If Gríma had been much sicker, I would have hoped that it would have killed him," Loena said darkly. Théodred looked stricken, and Éowyn winced, but Éomer seemed to smirk under his beard.
Théodred shook his head. "I dislike Gríma as well, but the king grows sicker, and more tired, every day. He needs someone like Gríma , someone who defends him, someone who can be shrewd for him. Imagine if it had been Saruman here? Calling on us to defend ourselves against Gandalf the Grey?"
Loena inclined her head. "It is true that Wormtongue is a great gatekeeper, but there are plenty in this land who would be shrewd for their king, and still manage to allow him to maintain his dignity."
"My father has dignity," Théodred snapped. "I wouldn't have you speak of him in such a way again, Loena. I do not care what your ancestry says, you have no right to it."
"She speaks from the heart," Éowyn said, still quiet, though she looked to her cousin with a slow sort of strength. "Do not berate her for it."
"Especially when she is right," Éomer added, and Loena felt the air shrunk in her lungs when he met her eye, inclining his head in solidarity. "Théodred, your father fades quickly in more ways than one. He is not the Uncle who took us in after the death of our parents."
"Nor the liege who sought to protect me and my mother," Loena added.
Théodred seemed to decide to leave Éomer aside. "That protection was a generosity that you repay with blasphemy," he told her, jaw tight. He looked at both his cousins, and shook his head, disgusted. "I find no friends here."
"Théodred," Éowyn sighed, moving towards him. "Do you not see that we speak of your uncle with worry? Not scorn." She placed her hand onto the elbow of his crossed arm, but he shook her off. "No offence was intended."
"Offence was taken, all the same," Théodred said. He looked at Loena, and she met his gaze coolly. There was no anger, or hatred, in his gaze. Just tiredness, and frustration. He looked to each of them and marched off, spine as straight as a spear.
Éowyn looked to Éomer, and then to Loena, and sighed. "I will calm him down."
Éomer and Loena watched her rush after Théodred.
Loena realised, with a sort of panic, that she and Éomer were alone, unencumbered by the eyes of other people. It was a bad time to think it; but, It seemed easier now, without others around, to imagine kissing him. They were already standing close, the tightness of the hallway demanding it.
"He'll calm down," Éomer said, turning to Loena. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She swallowed against how it felt, against the buzz of her skin. "His anger comes from worry for his father."
"I know," Loena said, nodding, trying her best to remain casual. She saw the worry on his face, how his eyes flickered from the closed door in front of them, to down the hallway where his sister and cousin had disappeared. "And his worry would be twofold; both losing his last parent, and becoming king of the realm at a desperate time."
"You believe Gandalf, then?" Éomer said.
"There is no doubt in my mind," Loena responded truthfully.
Éomer nodded. "I'm glad. And I hope this means that Uncle will respond to the growing number of orc attacks."
"I brought up something similar when I returned yesterday," Loena recalled. "He seemed receptive to ideas of change."
Éomer's face darkened. "Yesterday he was rid of that foul creature."
As if to acknowledge their mentioning of him, Gríma 's laugh was so loud as to sound out through the door.
Loena looked at Éomer, to the door, and back to Éomer. "If we crack the door," she said, trying her best to be unassuming. "We'll hear the conversation quite clearly."
Éomer raised his eyebrows. "To do so would be to counteract the order of the king."
"The king dismissed us from the room," Loena corrected him, airily. "He said nothing against us listening to what was said, nonetheless."
"We'd best be quiet, then," Éomer said, rolling his eyes and smiling.
Loena poked the door open, and the conversation came out in all his bluster and anger.
"The king has requested your leave, Storm Crow!" Gríma was close to screaming. "You have no right to be here any longer! No right! These halls are not yours to—"
"If I am to leave this place with all available speed, I will need an equine companion," Gandalf said menacingly. Loena could picture him, brow furrowed, hands white with frustration around his staff.
"I permit you the…" Théoden coughed, his voice weak. "Permit the use of…any…steed that…" He swallowed, hard enough for Loena to hear with a nauseating clarity. "That would deign to bear you hence."
"Any steed, you say?" Gandalf asked, and Loena wondered at his piqued curiosity. "Any horse across the great lands of Rohan?"
Théoden, must have been too spent to talk, because it was Gríma who answered Gandalf. "Do you doubt my lord's generosity?"
Ignoring him, Gandalf called out, "Loena! Éomer!"
Like two children caught in an act, they pushed the door properly open and walked out. Loena saw that Gandalf was standing where they'd left him, and that Théoden had slumped even further since the conversation had started.
"Éomer, your lord is unwell and needs rest," Gandalf said, nodding to the decrepit form of Théoden. "See to it that he finds his bed soon, and that he is left in peace."
"I shall do this," Éomer said. Gríma moved as if to speak, and Éomer silence him with a look. "I shall do this, alone."
"Loena," Gandalf addressed her, and she looked up. "I have been given a kingly gift from your Lord. I shall fetch it, and upon my return, we shall make our leave."
Loena nodded, nearly bowing, and when she straightened she was surprised to see Éomer frowning at her. His eyes caught something between jealousy and worry. The strangeness that had overtaken him disappeared just as quickly as it had come, but it remained pressing on Loena's mind.
Gandalf, sparing a moment to shake his head with disgust at Gríma , who'd begun whispering to Théoden, turned with a bluster and stalked out of Meduseld.
Loena turned back to Éomer, who raised a curious eyebrow.
"I am going with Gandalf to the council called by Elrond of Rivendell," she said simply. "There has been a change of fortune in the deepening darkness of this world. He has asked me to accompany him, and fulfil a prophecy made for my house at the death of my ancestor."
"Loena…" Éomer said slowly. "We…" He looked as though he struggled for words. "We need you here. The éorad needs you. You've seen the health of the king. Now is not the time—"
Loena was surprised; she had not expected her captain to react well, but she hadn't expected this either. She'd thought he'd damn her for abandoning the eored. She swallowed her confusion quickly.
"Now is the best time," Loena said, sadly. "I understand, now, better than most, that to save a home, one sometimes must leave it. If this is a gamble, I am willing to risk much for its success."
"Let me go," Éomer said. "I will represent Rohan." His speech became hurried, desperate. "We could send Théodred, even."
"Reality is cruel, Éomer, and reality tells us that Théodred may be crowned king any day now," she said, grim. "And if he is, and even if he is not, your men will need their Marshal with them if the evil Gandalf warns us of marches upon our lands."
Éomer looked at a loss. So tall, and strong, but slumped now, and with a tiredness Loena hadn't seen before. "I fear that the breaking of the house is the first step towards the breaking of Rohan as we know it now."
"I am not of your house," Loena said softly. "Your house shall remain strong."
Éomer looked as if he were to stay something, but stopped himself. He ran a hand over his face, frustration showing. "Do you know when you shall return?" He finally asked.
"No," she answered truthfully. "And something in my heart tells me that the journey shall be a long one. But at first opportunity I shall return here, Éomer, I swear it."
"The people will think you are abandoning them," Éomer said, grim. "The people of Rohan look to us for their strength. They will feel betrayed by your leaving. You are the Ensign, Loena. It is your job to be here as a symbol of our strength."
"If they think me dishonourable for a day, I can bear it," Loena told him. "If they curse me a week, I will understand and overcome it. But this is nothing compared to losing the lands we love to evil."
"You endure dishonour nobly," Éomer said, smiling despite his obvious and growing despair.
"I endure it because I must," Loena corrected him.
"Loena!"
Gandalf's voice cries out from outside the hall.
"So soon," Éomer said, pushing his hair out of his face, agitated. "Too soon."
"Soon enough," Loena finished for him. She moved to the door, and blinked in surprise at the crowd gathered there.
They were not, as she first supposed, come to see her and Gandalf off, but were distracted by the horse walking astride him. Loena knew of the Maeras, the long-lived horses of superior strength and speed that graced the hills of Rohan, and she knew that many men had tried, and failed, to tame those of their ilk. Even of those that she'd seen, however, none compared to the mighty steed in front of her now. Tall and proud, with a grey, silken coat and a proud set to his head. All in the crowd whispered to each other as the horse walked alongside Gandalf.
"Shadowfax," Gandalf presented to her, and the horse flicked its ears as if to acknowledge its name. "Lord of the Maeras, and my choice for companion from the great fields of Rohan." He ran his hand through its mane, and the horse nickered softly. "I had the chance to meet him yesterday afternoon outside the gates of the city. Today, he came at my call."
"My lord uncle will be quite displeased when he hears of your choice, Grey," Éomer said, though he smiled as he did. He stepped forward, looking over Shadowfax with a practiced eye. "With a steed such as this one, Gandalf, you would be at Rivendell in a week."
"He is a glory," Gandalf agreed. "Though I worry that the time we delay will be time we regret. Loena?"
She stepped forward, but at the call of her name, a shadow had descended over Éomer's face, and all wonder at Shadowfax had been forgotten. He strode up to her and came in close, grasping her arm and looking desperately into her eyes.
"You cannot leave in this way," He said fiercely. He spared a glance for Gandalf, but renewed his focus on her quickly. "You cannot leave this city." He looked properly to Gandalf now, who was watching them with guarded eyes. "Do not ask her to leave her people, in disgrace, Mithrandir."
"I ask of her nothing that she is not prepared to give," Gandalf answered him mildly.
Éomer tightened his jaw and looked back to Loena. "Is this truly what your heart desires, Loena? One word different, and I shall chase this Grey Pilgrim from our lands."
"A sight I would be terribly sorry to see," Gandalf said, somewhat drily.
"It truly is, Éomer," Loena said softly. "Though it may seem a moment of dishonour, I shall return in glory." She looked at him, and smiled. "You shall see."
Éomer nodded slowly. "Then allow me and the éored to accompany you to the border of Rohan. The lands are unsafe of late."
"I could not ask the Rohirrim to muster for such an ignoble cause," Loena said firmly.
"This is not a point of debate," Éomer said, equally set. "If you are to be our representative at the Council, I would have you get there in one piece."
"I will have the Grey Wizard with me," Loena said.
"Whom seems to attract more trouble than he repels," Éomer murmured, glaring back over Loena's shoulder to Gandalf.
"An accusation I bear fully, my boy," Gandalf answered. "I have no firm opinion on this matter. Whether you attend us or not, is reliant entirely upon the whim of the Lady."
"If you insist—"
"Which I do," Éomer assured her.
Loena fought back a sigh. "Then I would have to sneak away without a proper farewell." She glanced back at Gandalf. She said this firmly; "You are needed here, Éomer."
"You need me also," he insisted.
"I have Giéd, and the courage of my kin," Loena said. They both turned to see the crowd begin to split apart, and Loena saw her mother lead Snowbourne through the people, already with a bridle and saddle. "I have Snowbourne. I have faith in my House, and in my lands." She smiled softly. "There is nothing more I could need."
"Loena, we can no longer delay," Gandalf called, and he mounted Shadowfax. The Mearas snorted, making his discomfort known, but did not charge or buck, and Gandalf seemed quite contented upon his back. He was bareback, but Gandalf did not seem perturbed. It was the ancient technique of the elves, Loena knew.
Loena looked to Éomer, and tried, as she had before, to speak without speaking. She looked at him with all the love she had not found the words to admit to him, with the heartbreak she was feeling at their parting. She tried to say, without moving her lips, that if he had asked her to stay, with him, for him, that she might have been tempted beyond all reasonability. She squeezed his hand, and let out a tight, anxious breath, and departed from him.
She smiled and embraced her mother, who pressed her forehead to her daughters for just a moment, murmuring a blessing of safe passage. Loena responded in kind by kissing her mother's forehead before swinging her legs up and mounting Snowbourne.
Éomer came to stand beside her, looking up at her upon her steed.
"Give Éowyn and Théodred my farewell," Loena told him.
He nodded, and reached up to hold her hand. "I would wish you a swift return." He kept his eyes trained on hers.
"As swift as I can manage," she bowed. "I swear it."
Gandalf led the way out of the city, and Loena spurred Snowbourne to follow along. It was only at the gates of the city that she looked back to Meduseld, and saw the Marshal of the Mark remaining there, staring after her, tugging at her heart, his golden hair caught in the wind.