Author's Note--Sorry to take so long about this one--I have had a sinus/allergy/goopy chest cold/thingy all week. As Altariel has remarked, writing under the influence of antihistamines is a chancy thing--you don't know what you'll find when you come up out of the fog! So after a couple of false starts, here we go--and I'm not even going to say at this point how many chapters are left, because I've given up trying to figure it out. I think I'm close--but I thought I was close six chapters ago. Ah well, as long as you folks don't have anything better to do.......
After my friend Alon's call for a vote for her next story idea, I am curious about something. I think I'll take an informal poll about who you people think would be the best match for Heth. I'm not saying I'll abide by the results of it, but I would like to know, given some of the suggestions I've had in my reviews. If you would like to vote in the Who Should Heth Nest With Poll, then drop me a line at my e-mail address on my author's page. You can vote for up to three, in order of precedence (I'll do the 3 points for first, 2 for second, 1 for third thing.). No Eagles or horses please, and ideally it should be someone she's met in the story, though I'll listen to reasons why someone should be written in. Remember, I don't consider the results binding, but it should be fun. I'll post the results with the next chapter, probably next weekend.
Oh, and by the way, please review here, and vote there--my muse is a hungry muse!
On the eighth day of May, the Riders of Rohan departed for their homeland. In the courtyard of the Citadel, Faramir, having studied up on such things, offered King Eomer and his sister a stirrup-cup upon their departure, which pleased Eowyn, and amused her brother. At one side of the courtyard, out of the hearing of the others, the King of Gondor said goodbye to his embassage to the Elves, which consisted of myself, the sons of Elrond, and Prince Imrahil. He spoke to Imrahil first in a low voice that I couldn't hear, but apparently it was a joke, because the Prince threw his head back in the early morning light, and laughed. Then the two of them clasped arms, and when the King released him, the Prince cantered his gray charger across the courtyard to where his family was waiting to see him off.
The Prince's inclusion on this mission had been something of a last minute change. I had been sitting with him in his sunlit study the morning of the day before, after telling him that my reservations about being a Swan Knight had been laid to rest by the King. Aragorn had informed him of my destination, and the length of time he expected the trip to take, but had said nothing of its purpose. The Prince had promised to have the farrier check Fortune's feet before we left the next day, and then the conversation had turned to Lorien.
"I envy you greatly, Hethlin, to have such an opportunity," he said, standing before a shelf of Elvish texts, and trailing his slender fingers across them. "To see the Nimrodel, and the Golden Wood, before the Elves depart--it is a wondrous thing." A decidedly wistful air had replaced his usual gentle gallantry.
"My lord prince, why do you not ask the King if you might not accompany us?" I asked, greatly daring. "In truth, you would be a more appropriate person for this errand than I." There I stopped, realizing I might have already said too much. Imrahil arched his almost elven eyebrow.
"Would I now, Hethlin? It is a tempting thought, but I fear the King needs me here. Your trip is going to take almost two months, according to what he told me. There is much to be done to set things back in order, and unfortunately, I am one of the people who have the knowledge he requires to do this." I remembered that there was a legend that one of the handmaidens of the elven lady Nimrodel was his ancestor. While I was excited at the idea of seeing the legendary Golden Wood, and its Lady, Lorien had a very personal significance to him.
"But Faramir will be here, and your son Elphir! Surely between the two of them, they can help the King." The wistful air turned to amusement, and Imrahil started to grin.
"Why Lady Hethlin," said the Prince of Dol Amroth, "I had no idea you were so enamored of my company!" I stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, for it had not occurred to me that he would take my remarks in that way.
"No, my lord prince, I am not!" I declared quickly. The eyebrow rose even higher, and I realized just how bad that sounded, and started turning red. "I mean, I like you perfectly well, but...it was just that......you seemed so interested......and disappointed......" I floundered to a halt, very annoyed with myself. "Oh, you know what I mean!"
"Yes, I think I get the gist of it," Imrahil replied, chuckling. "Ah me, I must meet with the King this afternoon anyway--perhaps I will mention my disappointment and desire to see Lorien to him. Surely he is the best judge as to whether I will be needed here in the next couple of months."
Deciding that a tactical withdrawal was in order before I shot any more arrows through unintended targets, I wished him a good day, and departed hastily. However he had described his disappointment, it must have been moving indeed, and he not as indispensable as he thought, for he was waiting with Elladan and Elrohir the next morning, grinning like a boy on holiday, ready to play truant once more.
Clad in the silver and sable of Gondor, I was functioning as the King's courier. He handed me a waxed leather pouch, and gave me a smile.
"See that my lady gets this, Hethlin, and please give her my loving regard."
"I'll do that, Sire," I promised, and stowed the pouch carefully in my saddlebag. He gave Elladan and Elrohir a meaningful look.
"And watch yourself around those two."
In response, 'those two' reined their horses to either side of the King, leaned down and embraced him. There was apparently some whispering coming from both sides, because he first turned his head slightly in Elrohir's direction, then in Elladan's. Then, with an affectionate look on his face, he whispered something to each of them in return, gave them both a hard squeeze, and released them. As one, they wheeled their Elven horses (who wore regular saddles but bitless bridles, to my very great interest), and trotted over to where King Eomer sat with Eowyn, Faramir and Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, who had appeared apparently from nowhere, mounted upon one of her father's more fiery chargers, and clad in breeches. Lord Liahan was also mounted and apparently in attendance upon her, a very bemused expression on his face. I rather thought I could tell him why she was there.
After I had left the Prince, I stopped by the stable to say hello to Fortune, and though my saddle was brand new, I nonetheless inspected my gear and made sure it was sound. Then I went into his stall with a handful of grain, and renewed my acquaintance with him. My habit of never coming to him empty-handed had greatly hastened our friendship. Dressed in some of my fine new clothes for my interview with the Prince, I was not clad appropriately for stable work, but I spent a little time talking to him, stroking his neck, and plaiting his mane into tiny braids. I was much engrossed in this pastime when I heard light footsteps, and a feminine voice addressed me.
"Lady Hethlin, could I speak to you a moment?" I turned my head to see Princess Lothiriel standing in the stable aisle, a vision in yellow silk, a string of amber beads about her neck.
"Of course, Princess." I sketched her a quick bow, which she acknowledged with a nervous smile.
"I hope you won't think I'm being overly personal, but there was something I wanted to ask you."
"Ask lady, and I will tell you if it is too personal." I resumed making tiny braids. She hesitated, and shuffled her feet a bit, and sighed.
"Father would be simply furious if he knew I was asking you this, but here you are--I saw you at court with the King of Rohan the other day, and I was wondering--are you involved with him?" I looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow.
"King Eomer? Valar, no! That was the very first time we'd met. Eowyn just wanted to introduce me to him." A look of obvious relief came over her face, to be replaced almost immediately by a faint frown.
"He really seemed to like you. Are you certain that you have no particular interest in him?" I went back to my braiding.
"Absolutely certain. I think the King and I could be friends in time, but I am not romantically interested in him." Lothiriel sighed heavily.
"That is good. Would you mind very much if I asked you something else?"
"Again, ask, and I will tell you if I mind, Princess."
"What sort of things does the King like? What does he like to talk about? Surely you must have spoken of something while at lunch?" These inquiries were obviously painful for her, her pretty cheeks were red with embarrassment. So I tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible.
"Most of the time, we talked about horses. All of the Rohirrim are simply horse-mad, as I'm sure you already know. The rest of the time, he tried to get me to drink more beer than I really wanted, and taught me some truly filthy Rohirric words." Her eyes widened.
"Really? Why ever would he do such a thing?"
"He wanted to see if he could make me blush, I think. Which he succeeded in doing. Honestly, I think it was mostly to see if he could provoke Eowyn. I was his sister's friend, after all. I do not speak from experience here, but Captain Mablung grew up with five sisters, and he told me once that the one thing he loved most to do was tease their friends." He'd also said his sisters were the reason he'd gone into the military, so he'd never have to deal with such a large concentration of women in one place again, but that was hardly pertinent to this discussion.
She digested this for a moment, then said rather sadly, "I cannot get him to pay me any attention at all. He is always polite to me, but he is polite to every one of those horrid court girls too, and I know he doesn't like them. I think I could get him to like me, if I could just get him to talk to me. But I am only my father's daughter to him, someone who can be politely ignored. I asked Father if I could get some new dresses made, but he said since I'd brought four wainloads of clothes to Minas Tirith behind his back, that I'd have to make do with what I have." I think I must have simply gaped at her.
"Four wainloads? Lord Hurin was right?" Lothiriel got defensive.
:"There are appearances to be upheld, you know. The Court expects me to dress well. And it takes space to store things properly, otherwise they get all crumpled and worn."
"Of course, my lady," I said placatingly, though the Princess seemed unconvinced of my sincerity. I reflected upon the fact that I felt wealthy with one wardrobe full of new clothes, while the Princess languished on the brink of deprivation with four wain loads' worth.
"Princess, I think it is my turn to ask a personal question, if it please you. Why is it you are so interested in King Eomer? Is it your desire to be the Queen of Rohan?"
"No, not particularly, though I know that is what would happen," she replied seriously. "It's Eomer I want. I like the way he smiles. I like the way he laughs. I get all warm inside when I look at him." I agreed that the King of Rohan was, in fact, very easy upon the eye, and then braided some more mane, running possibilities through my head all the while. It occurred to me that if I succeeded in helping the Princess Lothiriel win her suit, after having nudged Faramir and Eowyn along, that I really ought to have some sort of title--Official Matchmaker to the Royal House of Rohan, or some such thing.
"Do you know what I think I'd do if I were you?" I said to her finally. She had been leaning over the stall door watching me with a pensive look on her face, and a fine disregard for her yellow silk--but then, she had plenty of other clothes!
"I think I'd take some of that money you've been spending on dresses, and send a note to the King this afternoon saying that since he's going home to Rohan, you were wondering if he would choose a yearling for you to break and train as a personal mount, and bring it back with him when he returns to Minas Tirith."
"I don't see what that will do, Lady Hethlin. He knows my father has stables full of fine horses--what need have I for another?"
"You tell him that you have heard that you are not a proper horseman or woman until you make your own mount, and that you want to try this--with the aid of your Master of Horse, of course. Your family has imported horses from Rohan before--it's not unlikely that you should want a horse from Rohan." The slight royal frown was back.
"And what exactly does that achieve?"
"Well, first of all," I said patiently, "if you play it right, you can ride out with us a way across the Pelennor tomorrow to discuss the matter with him. Tell him in your note that you'll talk to him further about it then, and he can judge how well you ride, and that will help him pick the horse best suited to you." The frown lightened, and she began to smile.
"I can see how that would work," she acknowledged. "Then what?"
"Then, Princess, you talk to him about the horse, and only about the horse. If he thinks this is a ruse to get his attention, he will be most irritated with you. You must get it into your mind right now that this will be a long campaign. Do you like the young ladies who do all those ridiculous things to get to your father?" She snorted.
"Of course not. The shameless wenches."
"Then don't turn yourself into one." The look she gave me started out indignant, then turned thoughtful. She might not have been Amrothos' intellectual equal, but none of Imrahil's children were fools.
"You will be the last thing he remembers about Minas Tirith," I continued, and I could tell that she liked that idea. "Now, he may select this horse himself, or get his herdmaster to do it, and I do not know if he will deliver it to you himself. However it happens, you write him a gracious note of thanks when he returns."
"That's easy enough. Then what?"
'Then you train your horse. Yourself. With your own two hands."
"I don't know how to do that, lady. I'm a good rider, but I don't train horses."
"It's not that difficult, Princess. One thing leads into another. Your father's Master of Horse can help you." Tiring of the braiding, I came over and leaned on my arms on the stall door as well. She gave me a wry look.
"So I have this horse now, and I'm training it myself--how does that get me closer to Eomer?"
"Well, princess, you asked me what would get Eomer talking to you, not what would get you into his bed--not that I think he'd do that in any event, you being the Prince's daughter. So long as you have the horse, you have something to talk to him about when you see him, and the excuse to send him the occasional letter. He might even come and check on your progress from time to time. If the horse does well, you can tell him that, and if you have problems, you can write him or speak to him for advice."
"But he knows that my father is one of the best horsemen in the kingdom!" Lothiriel protested. I gave her what I fondly thought of as my Evil Smile--the one I had used when threatening to feed pompous courtiers' livers to giant Eagles in my brief career as a civil servant.
"Yes, and if you're asking him for advice, then you must think he's the better one." She grasped the significance of that in a hurry, and smiled evilly back in return. I continued.
"Also, training this horse does some other things for you--it sets you apart from all the other court ladies, it shows you're not afraid to get your hands dirty, it says that you are responsible and patient and gentle and that you truly love horses. All of which should appeal to a Rohirrim."
"Although, lady," I added warningly, "you need to keep this just about the horse, at least at first. Let him make the first move towards anything more personal, otherwise you're just as bad as those silly girls stalking your father. Try to be as honest about this as you can, and remember---you can't make someone love you back. I don't know much about love, but I know that much. All this does is get him talking to you so the two of you can decide if you care about each other--nothing more." Suddenly, I was struck by the absurdity of this situation, and laughed ruefully.
"Actually, my lady, I am the last person you need to be asking advice from in matters of love, for I have no experience of it whatsoever! No husband, no lover, nothing. Though I will say that what I've suggested to you will do no harm, and even if you do not get the man, you'll still have the horse--which is a good enough ending, at least by my standards!" Lothiriel laughed, but her look was a very grave one.
"I don't know, Lady Hethlin, what you've suggested somehow feels right to me. And as you said, there's nothing lost if I try this. I really appreciate you troubling yourself upon my behalf." Her soft hand reached out and patted my calloused one. "A good day to you, my lady." I inclined my head politely.
"And to you princess." And Lothiriel went forth, presumably to persuade her father to part with the money for a Rohirrim horse.
"Be wary, Hethlin," the King told me, as he watched Eomer and Lothiriel with a slight smile on his face. "There may very well be bands of orcs and disaffected men the further up the Anduin you get."
"Aye, my lord, but consider who I'll be with--the two greatest orc hunters of the age. And the Prince is no sluggard as a warrior either--or so I am told. I've never really seen him fight."
"Oh, Imrahil is.....adequate," said the King in a tone that implied he was far more than that. "or I shouldn't be sending you to him for training. Tell me--are you going to be wroth with Elrohir the whole journey?"
"That rather depends on Elrohir. What did he say to you, Sire, if you don't mind my asking?"
"That he had been inexcusably indiscreet and arrogant."
"Well! That is pretty much the whole truth."
"Elrohir is a truthful person. Perverse, provoking, irritating, contrary, fey, mischievous--but truthful." I had to laugh. The King reached up a hand, and we clasped arms.
"The Valar guard you and guide you, Hethlin."
"And you as well, Sire." I then joined Eomer and the rest, and we sat and waited upon Prince Imrahil, who had his two-year-old grandson seated before him upon his horse. The great grey stallion was pirouetting in place around his hindquarters, and everytime he would rock, the little boy would laugh. When they had made a complete circle, he spoke a command to the horse and dropped its reins, and it stood like a statue while he lifted the squealing toddler over his head. Altogether, a most impressive display of a well-trained animal, but as he did so, a sudden picture of my father tossing my brother and sister up in the air flashed into my mind, and I was overcome with a sudden, sharp wave of grief, the likes of which I'd not felt for two years. Rather blindly, I spun Fortune around, and in the process nearly trampled the Steward of Gondor, who took one look at my face, grabbed the reins at the bit, and quickly led us a little way away.
"Are you all right, Heth?" he asked softly. I nodded my head somewhat irritably, blinking my eyes a little.
"Aye. It was a really stupid thing. I was watching your uncle and your little cousin, and I got this picture of my father and brother and sister." His eyes lit with comprehension.
"Ah, I see."
"That hasn't happened in forever." And it was fading now as quickly as it had come. He stroked Fortune's nose gently.
"Well, you've not been around children much. Memories are triggered by the strangest things. And it's been a very stressful week. I came to see you the other day, you know," he informed me gravely, "but you were asleep."
"So I was told. My timing has always been thoroughly off where you're concerned, my lord." His face darkened a little.
"Do you think that, given the fact that we've saved each other's lives, gone into battle together countless times, been good friends for several years now, and really have nothing left in the way of secrets between us, you could possibly start calling me by my name?" I gave him a rather surprised look.
"As you like, m......Faramir." And he smiled one of his sweet smiles. I noticed the stirrup cup still in his other hand.
"Anything left in that?" The idea of a drink sounded really good all of a sudden.
He looked at me in disbelief at the question. "After EOMER?"
"I heard that!" said the King of Rohan, riding over to us suddenly. "Show-off!" he groused at Prince Imrahil, who joined us as well after saying goodbye to Prince Elphir, Elphir's wife Mariel, his grandson, and Prince Amrothos. Imrahil just grinned, and sidepassed his horse a few steps. Eomer promptly made his stallion rear. Eowyn snorted.
"Gentlemen, the Riders of the Mark await us at the Gate!" And she turned her horse, and cantered out of the courtyard with no further ado, an imminently sensible course of action I thought, given how these sorts of things tended to escalate. But then Eowyn, like myself, had spent much time in the company of large numbers of men. Elrohir and Elladan were hot on her heels, followed by Eomer, Lothiriel and Liahan. Prince Imrahil reined in beside the Steward.
"Look after yourself, Faramir," he told his nephew warmly. Faramir reached up and received an embrace.
"The two of you take care as well," he said, stepping back. "You owe me the entire tale of your 'mission' when you return, Uncle."
"We'll have dinner, lad," Imrahil promised. Then he looked at me.
"Come, Hethlin. It wouldn't do for the Rohirrim to think they had the faster horses!" Faramir sighed, and raised his hand in farewell as we set heels to our horses and charged off in the wake of the others.
It was a great deal of fun to gallop down the main road of the City on a fine early Spring morning at a rate of speed which would have brought down the wrath of Lord Hurin's men had we been less important people. Those who had preceded us had cleared the way of wains or pedestrians, and unimpeded, we were able to catch up with them in short order. As we were closing I saw Elrohir, low over his horse's neck, actually jump an applecart that had been left in the road by its terrified owner. But it was not till I saw him toss Elladan one of the round red fruit that I realized he'd managed to grab a couple of them as he soared over, in a display of Elven dexterity that was little short of amazing. The people at the side of the road, watching us pass, cheered as they saw Eomer's livery--the inhabitants of the City knew the Rohirrim were leaving today, and wished to express their gratitude. The extent of that gratitude became apparent as we went through the Gate to the salutes of the Gate guards, and found fully half the City lining the Road, despite the early hour, waving flowering branches and banners, and cheering lustily.
A roar rose up from the Rohirrim at the arrival of their monarch. His standard bearer rode forward to join us, and the van of the Riders began to pour onto the Road, their spear heads twinkling, the White Horse on Green soaring in the breeze. Though the cheering was certainly not for me, I could feel the good will and was grinning like an idiot. Fortune and the other horses danced and curvetted as well. The Rohirrim began to sing one of their deep-voiced, rolling songs, and somehow I knew it was about their home and their happiness at returning to it.
"Hethlin!" I turned my head to find Eowyn, holding a restive grey in tightly, wisps of golden hair escaping from her long plait, her face alight. "I'll race your Dol Amroth sluggard down to the first turn!" I looked to the Prince for permission, and he simply smiled and nodded. As soon as he'd done so, Eowyn turned her horse's head loose, and got the jump on me. Uttering some of the curses her brother had taught me, I shouted to Fortune, and we both tore down the Anorien Road, on the first leg of the long journey to Lorien.
After my friend Alon's call for a vote for her next story idea, I am curious about something. I think I'll take an informal poll about who you people think would be the best match for Heth. I'm not saying I'll abide by the results of it, but I would like to know, given some of the suggestions I've had in my reviews. If you would like to vote in the Who Should Heth Nest With Poll, then drop me a line at my e-mail address on my author's page. You can vote for up to three, in order of precedence (I'll do the 3 points for first, 2 for second, 1 for third thing.). No Eagles or horses please, and ideally it should be someone she's met in the story, though I'll listen to reasons why someone should be written in. Remember, I don't consider the results binding, but it should be fun. I'll post the results with the next chapter, probably next weekend.
Oh, and by the way, please review here, and vote there--my muse is a hungry muse!
On the eighth day of May, the Riders of Rohan departed for their homeland. In the courtyard of the Citadel, Faramir, having studied up on such things, offered King Eomer and his sister a stirrup-cup upon their departure, which pleased Eowyn, and amused her brother. At one side of the courtyard, out of the hearing of the others, the King of Gondor said goodbye to his embassage to the Elves, which consisted of myself, the sons of Elrond, and Prince Imrahil. He spoke to Imrahil first in a low voice that I couldn't hear, but apparently it was a joke, because the Prince threw his head back in the early morning light, and laughed. Then the two of them clasped arms, and when the King released him, the Prince cantered his gray charger across the courtyard to where his family was waiting to see him off.
The Prince's inclusion on this mission had been something of a last minute change. I had been sitting with him in his sunlit study the morning of the day before, after telling him that my reservations about being a Swan Knight had been laid to rest by the King. Aragorn had informed him of my destination, and the length of time he expected the trip to take, but had said nothing of its purpose. The Prince had promised to have the farrier check Fortune's feet before we left the next day, and then the conversation had turned to Lorien.
"I envy you greatly, Hethlin, to have such an opportunity," he said, standing before a shelf of Elvish texts, and trailing his slender fingers across them. "To see the Nimrodel, and the Golden Wood, before the Elves depart--it is a wondrous thing." A decidedly wistful air had replaced his usual gentle gallantry.
"My lord prince, why do you not ask the King if you might not accompany us?" I asked, greatly daring. "In truth, you would be a more appropriate person for this errand than I." There I stopped, realizing I might have already said too much. Imrahil arched his almost elven eyebrow.
"Would I now, Hethlin? It is a tempting thought, but I fear the King needs me here. Your trip is going to take almost two months, according to what he told me. There is much to be done to set things back in order, and unfortunately, I am one of the people who have the knowledge he requires to do this." I remembered that there was a legend that one of the handmaidens of the elven lady Nimrodel was his ancestor. While I was excited at the idea of seeing the legendary Golden Wood, and its Lady, Lorien had a very personal significance to him.
"But Faramir will be here, and your son Elphir! Surely between the two of them, they can help the King." The wistful air turned to amusement, and Imrahil started to grin.
"Why Lady Hethlin," said the Prince of Dol Amroth, "I had no idea you were so enamored of my company!" I stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, for it had not occurred to me that he would take my remarks in that way.
"No, my lord prince, I am not!" I declared quickly. The eyebrow rose even higher, and I realized just how bad that sounded, and started turning red. "I mean, I like you perfectly well, but...it was just that......you seemed so interested......and disappointed......" I floundered to a halt, very annoyed with myself. "Oh, you know what I mean!"
"Yes, I think I get the gist of it," Imrahil replied, chuckling. "Ah me, I must meet with the King this afternoon anyway--perhaps I will mention my disappointment and desire to see Lorien to him. Surely he is the best judge as to whether I will be needed here in the next couple of months."
Deciding that a tactical withdrawal was in order before I shot any more arrows through unintended targets, I wished him a good day, and departed hastily. However he had described his disappointment, it must have been moving indeed, and he not as indispensable as he thought, for he was waiting with Elladan and Elrohir the next morning, grinning like a boy on holiday, ready to play truant once more.
Clad in the silver and sable of Gondor, I was functioning as the King's courier. He handed me a waxed leather pouch, and gave me a smile.
"See that my lady gets this, Hethlin, and please give her my loving regard."
"I'll do that, Sire," I promised, and stowed the pouch carefully in my saddlebag. He gave Elladan and Elrohir a meaningful look.
"And watch yourself around those two."
In response, 'those two' reined their horses to either side of the King, leaned down and embraced him. There was apparently some whispering coming from both sides, because he first turned his head slightly in Elrohir's direction, then in Elladan's. Then, with an affectionate look on his face, he whispered something to each of them in return, gave them both a hard squeeze, and released them. As one, they wheeled their Elven horses (who wore regular saddles but bitless bridles, to my very great interest), and trotted over to where King Eomer sat with Eowyn, Faramir and Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, who had appeared apparently from nowhere, mounted upon one of her father's more fiery chargers, and clad in breeches. Lord Liahan was also mounted and apparently in attendance upon her, a very bemused expression on his face. I rather thought I could tell him why she was there.
After I had left the Prince, I stopped by the stable to say hello to Fortune, and though my saddle was brand new, I nonetheless inspected my gear and made sure it was sound. Then I went into his stall with a handful of grain, and renewed my acquaintance with him. My habit of never coming to him empty-handed had greatly hastened our friendship. Dressed in some of my fine new clothes for my interview with the Prince, I was not clad appropriately for stable work, but I spent a little time talking to him, stroking his neck, and plaiting his mane into tiny braids. I was much engrossed in this pastime when I heard light footsteps, and a feminine voice addressed me.
"Lady Hethlin, could I speak to you a moment?" I turned my head to see Princess Lothiriel standing in the stable aisle, a vision in yellow silk, a string of amber beads about her neck.
"Of course, Princess." I sketched her a quick bow, which she acknowledged with a nervous smile.
"I hope you won't think I'm being overly personal, but there was something I wanted to ask you."
"Ask lady, and I will tell you if it is too personal." I resumed making tiny braids. She hesitated, and shuffled her feet a bit, and sighed.
"Father would be simply furious if he knew I was asking you this, but here you are--I saw you at court with the King of Rohan the other day, and I was wondering--are you involved with him?" I looked up at her, and raised an eyebrow.
"King Eomer? Valar, no! That was the very first time we'd met. Eowyn just wanted to introduce me to him." A look of obvious relief came over her face, to be replaced almost immediately by a faint frown.
"He really seemed to like you. Are you certain that you have no particular interest in him?" I went back to my braiding.
"Absolutely certain. I think the King and I could be friends in time, but I am not romantically interested in him." Lothiriel sighed heavily.
"That is good. Would you mind very much if I asked you something else?"
"Again, ask, and I will tell you if I mind, Princess."
"What sort of things does the King like? What does he like to talk about? Surely you must have spoken of something while at lunch?" These inquiries were obviously painful for her, her pretty cheeks were red with embarrassment. So I tried to be as matter-of-fact as possible.
"Most of the time, we talked about horses. All of the Rohirrim are simply horse-mad, as I'm sure you already know. The rest of the time, he tried to get me to drink more beer than I really wanted, and taught me some truly filthy Rohirric words." Her eyes widened.
"Really? Why ever would he do such a thing?"
"He wanted to see if he could make me blush, I think. Which he succeeded in doing. Honestly, I think it was mostly to see if he could provoke Eowyn. I was his sister's friend, after all. I do not speak from experience here, but Captain Mablung grew up with five sisters, and he told me once that the one thing he loved most to do was tease their friends." He'd also said his sisters were the reason he'd gone into the military, so he'd never have to deal with such a large concentration of women in one place again, but that was hardly pertinent to this discussion.
She digested this for a moment, then said rather sadly, "I cannot get him to pay me any attention at all. He is always polite to me, but he is polite to every one of those horrid court girls too, and I know he doesn't like them. I think I could get him to like me, if I could just get him to talk to me. But I am only my father's daughter to him, someone who can be politely ignored. I asked Father if I could get some new dresses made, but he said since I'd brought four wainloads of clothes to Minas Tirith behind his back, that I'd have to make do with what I have." I think I must have simply gaped at her.
"Four wainloads? Lord Hurin was right?" Lothiriel got defensive.
:"There are appearances to be upheld, you know. The Court expects me to dress well. And it takes space to store things properly, otherwise they get all crumpled and worn."
"Of course, my lady," I said placatingly, though the Princess seemed unconvinced of my sincerity. I reflected upon the fact that I felt wealthy with one wardrobe full of new clothes, while the Princess languished on the brink of deprivation with four wain loads' worth.
"Princess, I think it is my turn to ask a personal question, if it please you. Why is it you are so interested in King Eomer? Is it your desire to be the Queen of Rohan?"
"No, not particularly, though I know that is what would happen," she replied seriously. "It's Eomer I want. I like the way he smiles. I like the way he laughs. I get all warm inside when I look at him." I agreed that the King of Rohan was, in fact, very easy upon the eye, and then braided some more mane, running possibilities through my head all the while. It occurred to me that if I succeeded in helping the Princess Lothiriel win her suit, after having nudged Faramir and Eowyn along, that I really ought to have some sort of title--Official Matchmaker to the Royal House of Rohan, or some such thing.
"Do you know what I think I'd do if I were you?" I said to her finally. She had been leaning over the stall door watching me with a pensive look on her face, and a fine disregard for her yellow silk--but then, she had plenty of other clothes!
"I think I'd take some of that money you've been spending on dresses, and send a note to the King this afternoon saying that since he's going home to Rohan, you were wondering if he would choose a yearling for you to break and train as a personal mount, and bring it back with him when he returns to Minas Tirith."
"I don't see what that will do, Lady Hethlin. He knows my father has stables full of fine horses--what need have I for another?"
"You tell him that you have heard that you are not a proper horseman or woman until you make your own mount, and that you want to try this--with the aid of your Master of Horse, of course. Your family has imported horses from Rohan before--it's not unlikely that you should want a horse from Rohan." The slight royal frown was back.
"And what exactly does that achieve?"
"Well, first of all," I said patiently, "if you play it right, you can ride out with us a way across the Pelennor tomorrow to discuss the matter with him. Tell him in your note that you'll talk to him further about it then, and he can judge how well you ride, and that will help him pick the horse best suited to you." The frown lightened, and she began to smile.
"I can see how that would work," she acknowledged. "Then what?"
"Then, Princess, you talk to him about the horse, and only about the horse. If he thinks this is a ruse to get his attention, he will be most irritated with you. You must get it into your mind right now that this will be a long campaign. Do you like the young ladies who do all those ridiculous things to get to your father?" She snorted.
"Of course not. The shameless wenches."
"Then don't turn yourself into one." The look she gave me started out indignant, then turned thoughtful. She might not have been Amrothos' intellectual equal, but none of Imrahil's children were fools.
"You will be the last thing he remembers about Minas Tirith," I continued, and I could tell that she liked that idea. "Now, he may select this horse himself, or get his herdmaster to do it, and I do not know if he will deliver it to you himself. However it happens, you write him a gracious note of thanks when he returns."
"That's easy enough. Then what?"
'Then you train your horse. Yourself. With your own two hands."
"I don't know how to do that, lady. I'm a good rider, but I don't train horses."
"It's not that difficult, Princess. One thing leads into another. Your father's Master of Horse can help you." Tiring of the braiding, I came over and leaned on my arms on the stall door as well. She gave me a wry look.
"So I have this horse now, and I'm training it myself--how does that get me closer to Eomer?"
"Well, princess, you asked me what would get Eomer talking to you, not what would get you into his bed--not that I think he'd do that in any event, you being the Prince's daughter. So long as you have the horse, you have something to talk to him about when you see him, and the excuse to send him the occasional letter. He might even come and check on your progress from time to time. If the horse does well, you can tell him that, and if you have problems, you can write him or speak to him for advice."
"But he knows that my father is one of the best horsemen in the kingdom!" Lothiriel protested. I gave her what I fondly thought of as my Evil Smile--the one I had used when threatening to feed pompous courtiers' livers to giant Eagles in my brief career as a civil servant.
"Yes, and if you're asking him for advice, then you must think he's the better one." She grasped the significance of that in a hurry, and smiled evilly back in return. I continued.
"Also, training this horse does some other things for you--it sets you apart from all the other court ladies, it shows you're not afraid to get your hands dirty, it says that you are responsible and patient and gentle and that you truly love horses. All of which should appeal to a Rohirrim."
"Although, lady," I added warningly, "you need to keep this just about the horse, at least at first. Let him make the first move towards anything more personal, otherwise you're just as bad as those silly girls stalking your father. Try to be as honest about this as you can, and remember---you can't make someone love you back. I don't know much about love, but I know that much. All this does is get him talking to you so the two of you can decide if you care about each other--nothing more." Suddenly, I was struck by the absurdity of this situation, and laughed ruefully.
"Actually, my lady, I am the last person you need to be asking advice from in matters of love, for I have no experience of it whatsoever! No husband, no lover, nothing. Though I will say that what I've suggested to you will do no harm, and even if you do not get the man, you'll still have the horse--which is a good enough ending, at least by my standards!" Lothiriel laughed, but her look was a very grave one.
"I don't know, Lady Hethlin, what you've suggested somehow feels right to me. And as you said, there's nothing lost if I try this. I really appreciate you troubling yourself upon my behalf." Her soft hand reached out and patted my calloused one. "A good day to you, my lady." I inclined my head politely.
"And to you princess." And Lothiriel went forth, presumably to persuade her father to part with the money for a Rohirrim horse.
"Be wary, Hethlin," the King told me, as he watched Eomer and Lothiriel with a slight smile on his face. "There may very well be bands of orcs and disaffected men the further up the Anduin you get."
"Aye, my lord, but consider who I'll be with--the two greatest orc hunters of the age. And the Prince is no sluggard as a warrior either--or so I am told. I've never really seen him fight."
"Oh, Imrahil is.....adequate," said the King in a tone that implied he was far more than that. "or I shouldn't be sending you to him for training. Tell me--are you going to be wroth with Elrohir the whole journey?"
"That rather depends on Elrohir. What did he say to you, Sire, if you don't mind my asking?"
"That he had been inexcusably indiscreet and arrogant."
"Well! That is pretty much the whole truth."
"Elrohir is a truthful person. Perverse, provoking, irritating, contrary, fey, mischievous--but truthful." I had to laugh. The King reached up a hand, and we clasped arms.
"The Valar guard you and guide you, Hethlin."
"And you as well, Sire." I then joined Eomer and the rest, and we sat and waited upon Prince Imrahil, who had his two-year-old grandson seated before him upon his horse. The great grey stallion was pirouetting in place around his hindquarters, and everytime he would rock, the little boy would laugh. When they had made a complete circle, he spoke a command to the horse and dropped its reins, and it stood like a statue while he lifted the squealing toddler over his head. Altogether, a most impressive display of a well-trained animal, but as he did so, a sudden picture of my father tossing my brother and sister up in the air flashed into my mind, and I was overcome with a sudden, sharp wave of grief, the likes of which I'd not felt for two years. Rather blindly, I spun Fortune around, and in the process nearly trampled the Steward of Gondor, who took one look at my face, grabbed the reins at the bit, and quickly led us a little way away.
"Are you all right, Heth?" he asked softly. I nodded my head somewhat irritably, blinking my eyes a little.
"Aye. It was a really stupid thing. I was watching your uncle and your little cousin, and I got this picture of my father and brother and sister." His eyes lit with comprehension.
"Ah, I see."
"That hasn't happened in forever." And it was fading now as quickly as it had come. He stroked Fortune's nose gently.
"Well, you've not been around children much. Memories are triggered by the strangest things. And it's been a very stressful week. I came to see you the other day, you know," he informed me gravely, "but you were asleep."
"So I was told. My timing has always been thoroughly off where you're concerned, my lord." His face darkened a little.
"Do you think that, given the fact that we've saved each other's lives, gone into battle together countless times, been good friends for several years now, and really have nothing left in the way of secrets between us, you could possibly start calling me by my name?" I gave him a rather surprised look.
"As you like, m......Faramir." And he smiled one of his sweet smiles. I noticed the stirrup cup still in his other hand.
"Anything left in that?" The idea of a drink sounded really good all of a sudden.
He looked at me in disbelief at the question. "After EOMER?"
"I heard that!" said the King of Rohan, riding over to us suddenly. "Show-off!" he groused at Prince Imrahil, who joined us as well after saying goodbye to Prince Elphir, Elphir's wife Mariel, his grandson, and Prince Amrothos. Imrahil just grinned, and sidepassed his horse a few steps. Eomer promptly made his stallion rear. Eowyn snorted.
"Gentlemen, the Riders of the Mark await us at the Gate!" And she turned her horse, and cantered out of the courtyard with no further ado, an imminently sensible course of action I thought, given how these sorts of things tended to escalate. But then Eowyn, like myself, had spent much time in the company of large numbers of men. Elrohir and Elladan were hot on her heels, followed by Eomer, Lothiriel and Liahan. Prince Imrahil reined in beside the Steward.
"Look after yourself, Faramir," he told his nephew warmly. Faramir reached up and received an embrace.
"The two of you take care as well," he said, stepping back. "You owe me the entire tale of your 'mission' when you return, Uncle."
"We'll have dinner, lad," Imrahil promised. Then he looked at me.
"Come, Hethlin. It wouldn't do for the Rohirrim to think they had the faster horses!" Faramir sighed, and raised his hand in farewell as we set heels to our horses and charged off in the wake of the others.
It was a great deal of fun to gallop down the main road of the City on a fine early Spring morning at a rate of speed which would have brought down the wrath of Lord Hurin's men had we been less important people. Those who had preceded us had cleared the way of wains or pedestrians, and unimpeded, we were able to catch up with them in short order. As we were closing I saw Elrohir, low over his horse's neck, actually jump an applecart that had been left in the road by its terrified owner. But it was not till I saw him toss Elladan one of the round red fruit that I realized he'd managed to grab a couple of them as he soared over, in a display of Elven dexterity that was little short of amazing. The people at the side of the road, watching us pass, cheered as they saw Eomer's livery--the inhabitants of the City knew the Rohirrim were leaving today, and wished to express their gratitude. The extent of that gratitude became apparent as we went through the Gate to the salutes of the Gate guards, and found fully half the City lining the Road, despite the early hour, waving flowering branches and banners, and cheering lustily.
A roar rose up from the Rohirrim at the arrival of their monarch. His standard bearer rode forward to join us, and the van of the Riders began to pour onto the Road, their spear heads twinkling, the White Horse on Green soaring in the breeze. Though the cheering was certainly not for me, I could feel the good will and was grinning like an idiot. Fortune and the other horses danced and curvetted as well. The Rohirrim began to sing one of their deep-voiced, rolling songs, and somehow I knew it was about their home and their happiness at returning to it.
"Hethlin!" I turned my head to find Eowyn, holding a restive grey in tightly, wisps of golden hair escaping from her long plait, her face alight. "I'll race your Dol Amroth sluggard down to the first turn!" I looked to the Prince for permission, and he simply smiled and nodded. As soon as he'd done so, Eowyn turned her horse's head loose, and got the jump on me. Uttering some of the curses her brother had taught me, I shouted to Fortune, and we both tore down the Anorien Road, on the first leg of the long journey to Lorien.