Three
Éomer watched from lowered eyes as Arìanna came into the stables. She seemed downcast, her head bowed as she carried a pail of water to Caradien's trough.
"Good morning, Arìanna."
"Good morning, Éomer," she replied. Her voice was listless, devoid of all emotion.
"How goes it?"
"Well, Éomer. How goes the herding?" She picked up a brush and ran it across Caradien's flank. Éomer paused before placing the saddle on Firefoot's back.
"Well also. Is something troubling you?" There was no reply, as she turned her back on him. It was as hurtful as any of the most vicious of rejections, and it stung him. Without another word, he opened the stable door and led Firefoot out. "Good day to you, Arìanna," he said bitingly, as if her name were an insult.
………
Two days he had known her. Two days. It was no time at all. Éomer rode alone at the left flank of the herd. There were others ahead and behind, but they kept a courteous distance. Even Théodred seemed anxious over his cousin. It was not typical of the Marshal to be so brooding and preoccupied. Éomer tutted to himself, slackening Firefoot's reins to give him his head. Something was different about her though. Oh, not in the conventional sense in that she was individual and new. No – it was more that she wasn't new that bothered him most. She was familiar. Comforting. He shook his head. Impossible. They were driving the horses further east towards Edoras now. It was an easy manoeuvre as the herd didn't seem to mind at all. Frinan was ahead of Éomer, shouting instructions and jibes at his friends. All about Éomer was ease and merriment. Théodred looked less worn than usual, and had even broken into a wide smile once and laughed. He and Léola had been hidden most of the previous night, and the effects had remained most of the day. It struck Éomer that he hadn't bedded a woman in a while. It wasn't unusual as such, but it struck him as strange. There were plenty of offers from the Meduseld women, but none had appealed. He wondered at why. But, to many, the answer was obvious. He desired more. He was twenty-six.
- - -
Arìanna sat by the bedside of her grandmother. The old face was pale, and the body weak and thin. She pressed her hand to Freyja's forehead, and found it to be burning hot. She sighed and stood. Leaving the house, she went to the barracks of the royal éoreds. She knocked nervously on the door, and when someone answered, she announced steadily:
"Is there someone to send a message to Théodred's éored for me?"
"Aye. What would you have them say?"
"That Frinan must return immediately to his grandmother's bedside. She grows weaker and it is believed that she will not live out the night." At that, the man's face grew grave.
"Indeed. A messenger will be sent in haste." She dipped her head politely, and returned to the deathbed of her beloved grandmother. She sat on the rickety old chair, hand resting on Freyja's cold fingers. She bowed her head, and let pearly tears fall to the floor. How could this all have happened so quickly? That morning she had been overcome with joy at the sight of Éomer, despite how she had acted. When she had returned, she found her grandmother's fever had worsened, and she could not rise from bed. Her illness had taken a hold on her body once before, but this time its ferocity had overpowered the old woman –Caradien had been left a little neglected as Arìanna tended to her grandmother, but to no avail. Neither bathing nor tea had broken the fever, and now she had found it impossible to wake Freyja.
"Oh, Freyja. When did this happen? When did you become old and frail?" She rested her forehead on Freyja's hand. "When did the healer become the sick? And the young become the carers?" She kissed a knuckle and sat back up. "And now, we just wait."
………
A messenger galloped frantically over the plains towards the herd, making many of the driven horses spook. He drew up sharply next to Théodred, and Éomer drew close to hear what was said.
"The Lady Arìanna asks from her brother, Frinan, to return with all haste. The healer, Freyja, is dying." Théodred's face darkened.
"How long?" he asked.
"Not long. She says she doubts even the night," the messenger's voice was husky with urgency. Éomer suddenly understood Arìanna's cold mood.
"Send Frinan home at once," Éomer urged. "Arìanna will need him." Théodred nodded in agreement.
"Of course. I will tell Frinan myself." He nudged his horse towards Frinan, whose face paled as he was told the news. At once, he sped away over the plains towards Edoras, which was naught but a dot on the horizon, beneath a canopy of purple mountains.
………
He arrived and threw the reins of his horse to a nearby squire, the stallion barely coming to a stand still as he leapt off and ran to his house. He was met at the door by a tearful Arìanna. She stood, leaning on the doorpost, waiting. Her grief-stricken face told all, and it took all Frinan's strength not to fall to his knees. She flew into his arms and buried her face in his neck as she sobbed uncontrollably.
"Where… where is she?" he asked throatily.
"In her room. It's not long." She took his hand and led him through. The room was oppressively silent, the drapes drawn over the bright sunlight, and Freyja lay under the covers, a frail body, bereft of life. Frinan knelt by his grandmother's side.
"Ai, grandmother," he murmured, taking her hand in his. He smelt of horses and leather, and he had spread mud through the house from his boots, but Arìanna cared little. It stung her heart to hear him say those words. The words closed life from Freyja, admitting her imminent death. She stumbled to the chair, smothering her sobs with a hand.
"Oh, Frinan. What are we to do?" she asked. Frinan didn't take his eyes from the still face of his grandmother as he answered;
"Everything will be all right. You'll see."
………
"Héo naefre wacode dægréd
Tó bisig mid dægeweorcum
Ac oft héo wacode sunnanwanung
Thonne nihtciele créap geond móras
And on thaere hwile
Héo dréag thá losinga
Ealra thinga the héo forléas
Héo swá oft dréag hire sáwle sincende
Héo ne cúthe hire heortan lust"
The words rang over the silent crowd. Freyja the Healer's bier was laid to rest amongst the other graves at the foot of Edoras' hill. Frinan scooped up a handful of dirt. Arìanna covered his fist with her fingers, and together, they sprinkled the first piece of earth over their grandmother. As the crowd began to disperse, and the grave-diggers began to shovel on more earth, Arìanna wept openly. Still gripping her brother's hand, she started to sing, in a clear, sweet voice, and Elvish lamentation.
"Ar sindarnoriello caita mornie,
Ar ilye tier undulave lumbule..."
People paused to hear the words, and, though they could not understand them, they felt touched. Frinan added his sombre voice. Éomer, standing at the back, felt his heart break as they watched the two lonely siblings beside the grave of their last relative. Arìanna was now healer, and Frinan was a soldier in the Prince's éored. He wondered how they held themselves tall. He looked to Théodred, whose eyes shone with tears, his arm about Léola's shoulders. Théodred looked at him.
"Freyja treated my mother and my father for many a year," he whispered, stealing a glance at those who passed him. "And, yet, neither are present at her funeral." He shook his head. "Let me ask you something, cousin."
"Anything," Éomer said gravely. Théodred leant in.
"Let Arìanna eat at the Meduseld table. Watch her. She's not ready. Gríma's poison is much for naught but an apprentice."