A/N – Thank you all once again for the reviews. Just one quick reply:

Lackwit: No, I had no idea Erika and Elfhelm were going to take over half the story. Erika was supposed to just be in a couple of scenes in the early part of the story. Then the romance bunny started whispering and here we are with…

…Oh yes, stubborn old Elfhlem g

Chapter 31 – A wedding day breakfast

Erika turned as a hand dropped lightly onto her shoulder. To her surprise it was Eothain. He leaned forward and then whispered into her ear, his words causing her to glance sharply towards the door.

"Thank you," she said, when he was done. "I am extremely indebted to you."

Eothain turned his gaze to the high table where Eomer was feasting with the enthusiasm of a man whose diet had been plain for many a long day. "From what I have heard, Rohan is deeply indebted to you. If my words have helped to pay back just a little of what is owed, then I am satisfied." He tilted his cup in salute and then headed across the hall to rejoin his eored.

Erika swiftly got to her feet. "Please excuse me, Garamir. There is something important to which I must attend."

Disappointment clouded the young man's face. "Will you return before the feast is over?"

"I don't know." She was already moving towards the door. He caught at her hand, halting her departure.

"I will be waiting with eager hope," he said, brushing his lips against the back of her hand.

"I have to go," she said, pulling free. "I'm sorry."

She hurried from the hall as quickly as decorum would allow. Once outside she gathered up her skirt and ran down the stairs. Moments later, gasping for breath, she burst into the stable.

"Elfhelm?" There was no reply. "Elfhelm, I know you're here." She moved down the row of stalls. The third one contained her quarry. He was saddling his horse, his face shadowed by an overhead beam. "Oh, Elfhelm," she breathed his name in a rush of relief. He was still here. Thank the gods.

He glanced at her, frowned, and then turned his attention back to his horse. "What are you doing here?" The words were tossed casually over his shoulder as though she was of no more importance than one of the stable boys.

Hurt stabbed at her, but she brushed it aside. His manner was not going to stop her from speaking. Not tonight. She tilted her chin. "I would ask the same of you."

Another look. This one that clearly told her to mind her own business. But then, he gave a barely imperceptible shrug, yet another message as to her insignificance. "I'm acting on orders from the king."

"And I'm acting on an order from Eothain." Why? Why was he doing this to her? She gripped the top of the rough wooden stall door, welcoming the catch of a splinter against her palm.

His head jerked up, eyes calculating. Then he stooped, picked up a bed roll from the ground and began to strap it onto the saddle. "Eothain had no right to speak of this."

A dozen responses to that particular piece of foolishness swept through her mind. She dismissed them all. What she needed to do now was focus on what was important. Hurt stabbed at her again, and this time she let it rise to the surface. "You were just going to leave? Without so much as a farewell?"

He hesitated. Huffed out a breath. "I thought it for the best."

She growled her frustration. "Did you now?"

"Yes."

Damn him. How many times was he going to do that to her? Anger fired her courage. Yanking the stall door open, she marched into the small enclosure, grabbed Elfhelm's arm and pulled him round to face her. "It seems to me it is time that I told you what I think is for the best."

"Erika…"

"Not only will I tell you what I think, I will speak plainly in order that there may be no confusion between us."

He glared at her, but remained silent. The heat of her anger vanished as quickly as it had flared. Fear curled in the pit of her stomach, and her nerve all but failed her. She glanced down, realised her fingers were still folded over his arm. The arm of a warrior. Strong in battle. She took a deep breath and dug deep into her own reserves of strength. Her fingers uncurled, releasing him, but her eyes did not move from his face. If she had to fight for both of them, then she would. And if her heart was pierced as a result… well, better that than live the knowledge that she was too cowardly to speak.

She folded her arms over her chest and hugged herself tight as she spoke. "I desire a family of my own, Elfhelm. And for that I have need of a husband that I can respect and trust and… love." She saw his eyes widen in shocked surprise. Dear gods, let it not be from revulsion at what she was about to suggest. "Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe you are weary of returning to an empty hearth and a cold bed. And so…"

"Are you offering yourself to me, girl?" he blurted out.

Heat flushed her cheeks. "You have need of a wife. I have need of a husband."

"By the gods, woman, when you said you intended to speak plain, it was clearly no joke."

He turned from her and began to adjust a stirrup. She was trembling now, but not from cold, although there was no denying the chill in the air. "What do you say to my proposal?"

His shoulders stiffened, and he did not look at her. "I say you are a fool. Why waste your time with an old man such as me when you can snap your fingers and have the likes of Garamir falling at your feet?"

What? For a moment, her mind reeled, but then, exasperated, she stepped around him, putting herself between him and his horse. "Because I don't care about the likes of Garamir. It is you that I love."

"I cannot ask you to waste your youth on me," he muttered gruffly.

"You do not have to ask for that which is freely given. And besides, it will not be wasted."

Her heart twisted as she studied his face, looking for some sign that she had reached him. Hope died. There was nothing in his expression that said anything other than that she'd fought and lost. It was over. "Very well," she said. "I have your answer. I will not trouble you again."

She moved past him, intent on leaving the stall and then the stable as quickly as possible. Before the tears began.

"Erika." It sounded as though her name was torn from the very depths of him.

She hesitated, felt a hand on her arm, and then gasped as she was spun round. Her eyes met his and she felt the tears well again as she saw his uncertainty, his need, his love. His lips twisted into something that might have been a smile or alternatively might have been pain. Then he yanked her to him.

His voice was a low, throaty growl. "May the gods help me, for I am sure to rue the day that I take such an outspoken, bossy young woman into my home."

She scarcely had chance to register the words before he lowered his lips to hers and delivered a kiss that sent a rush of heat through her. Emotions tumbled over one and another, but somehow her brain managed to form one coherent thought. When Elfhelm made up his mind about something he went for it wholeheartedly. And thank the gods for that. She responded to his touch by tangling her fingers into his hair and opening herself to the insistent pressure of his tongue against her lips. All ability to think deserted her.

When finally they broke apart, he was smiling down at her as though he had just won some great prize. Erika was only too aware of the broad grin on her own face.

"I take it that's a yes," she said, breathing in the sweet aroma of his leather armour.

He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her cheek. "Are you really sure you want a grizzled old man well past his prime as a husband?"

"I see no such man here," she replied. "Only a warrior who I have come to admire and respect and with whom I would gladly spend my days."

He dipped his forehead to hers. "Then so be it."

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Three months. To Eomer, it had seemed like an eternity. Now at last, though, his wedding day had finally dawned. He stretched leisurely, conscious that this would be the last morning he would wake and have the bed to himself. That thought bought a smile to his lips and a pleasing tightness to his groin. Tonight Lothiriel would be his, the union of their hearts finally complemented by the joining of their bodies.

He stared up at the ceiling, running over his plans once again. There were would be firelight and wine. And then there would be slow, tender kisses that would, if all went well, lead naturally to slow, tender lovemaking. He was determined that his own needs would take second place to Lothiriel's. Tonight was to be special for both of them and even if it all but killed him, he would take things at her pace and do everything in his power to make sure the experience was a pleasure for her. Elfhelm had told him there was no better wedding present that a man could give a woman. It was advice he had scarcely needed, but he appreciated the good intentions behind the words. He also appreciated that Elfhelm had been somewhat embarrassed at raising the subject. Eowyn, on the other hand, had cornered him the previous day and lectured him on the differences between men and women as though he was some untrained colt who knew nothing about patience. It was a good job he loved his sister and knew that she simply wanted him to start his marriage as well as possible.

A knock at the door forced him to drag his mind away from the pleasant anticipation of the end of the day. "Come," he barked, knowing it would be the first of a great many visitors throughout the day. There was much that he needed to attend to. Edoras was crammed with guests, many of whom wished to combine business with celebration. A bridegroom he might be, but he was still a king, and as such he could not lay a bed – even on his wedding day.

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Elfhelm also awoke to an empty bed. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he sat up and then cursed softly as he heard the sound of retching coming from the other room. He pushed the bedclothes aside, and padded softly through the doorway. A fire was burning low in the hearth, and in the orange glow he saw Erika hunched over a bucket. She glanced towards him as she straightened up, wiping her mouth with a cloth.

"Go back to bed," she said. "I am fine."

He shook his head, and crossed the room to her, gathering her into his arms. "I am so sorry," he murmured planting a kiss on the top of her head.

"For what?" she asked. "Filling my belly with child? I rejoice every morning that the gods have blessed me with a virile husband and that soon we will be a family. What does a little sickness matter?"

"I hate to see you so wretched."

She wrapped her arms around him. "It will pass. But if you truly feel the need to show contrition, I would not object if you were to make me some ginger tea."

He kissed her hair again. "I believe I can manage such a task. Go back to bed. I'll bring it in to you." He released her and moved to the fire, picking up the heavy iron kettle as he did so.

She shook her head. "I promised Eowyn I would help in the kitchen today."

"Erika." He turned back to her. Surely she wasn't serious.

"I'll be fine," she said, cutting off his protest. "I can help with the bread-making. Kneading dough is relaxing, and the smell of yeast actually settles my stomach. Perhaps our son will be a baker when he grows."

Elfhelm snorted. "No son of mine is going to spend his days with his hands in flour. Our daughter, however…"

"Our daughter will be great healer," Erika said.

"Just like her mother," Elfhelm finished. The conversation about the future of their unborn child had become a familiar joke between them. Both of them knew, that whatever gender the child turned out to be, they desired nothing more than a life of happiness and peace for him or her. "You are not needed elsewhere today?"

"There has been nothing but a few minor cuts and bruises to attend to for the past few days. Since Eomer reclaimed the throne, Edoras has had scant need for one healer, never mind two."

"Long may that continue," Elfhelm said. He grated a few curls of ginger root into a cup, poured warm water over it from the kettle, and then stirred in a generous dollop of honey. He handed it to Erika who was now sitting at the table. "Promise me you'll be careful today. If you feel faint or sick…"

She reached for his hand, squeezing his fingers with affection. "I will be fine, Elfhelm. Now go, enjoy the day. I am sure the bridegroom will be in need of your company by now. From what I've heard he is as impatient as any stallion to have this day done with and his mare abed."

"Erika, 'tis the king you speak of," Elfhelm protested.

"'Tis but a man beneath the crown, my husband. A man who gave his heart many a month ago, but has yet to give his body. I suspect he will need wise council today if he is to be prevented from being so distracted he gives most of Rohan away to any who might ask him for it."

Elfhelm laughed. "I cannot deny there is truth in that. Very well, my love, I will go and support Eomer in his hour of need."

"And I will ensure that the Princess of Dol Amroth has the sweetest of bread on her plate to give her the stamina to ride her stallion all night long."

Elfhelm shook his head in shocked bemusement. "You are outrageous."

"Of course. Isn't that why you love me?"

After he'd gone, she took her time finishing her tea. The warming ginger was beginning to do its work as she stepped into the weak sunlight of another Rohan day. Not just any day, she thought happily - the king's wedding day. She glanced up at the sky, and reassured herself that the watery blue would soon turn to a cloudless azure. Everything had to be perfect today. Eomer and Lothiriel deserved nothing less.

The kitchen was already seething with activity. Erika held her breath as she walked past the barrels of fish that were marinating in sweetly spiced vinegar – a gift from Price Imrihil. Her stomach had settled considerably, but she wasn't ready to risk that particular aroma even if it was one of Dol Amroth's finest delicacies. More pleasing was the rich scent of honeyed apples which were being prepared for pies. Three young women were already rolling out vast sheets of butter-rich pastry. Stepping briefly outside again, she crossed the narrow passageway to the next building – the bake house. Ah, now this was definitely a smell her unborn child approved of. Yeast. Flour. And the delicious scent of wood-fired ovens.

For the next couple of hours she drifted in a world of fragrant warmth, her hands engaged in the therapeutic rhythm of kneading dough and shaping loaves. Her mind floated free, daydreaming of a future in which her children would play happily besides those of Royal family and perhaps, did she dare hope, one day serve the future king and queen of Rohan as she and Elfhelm did now.

Lunchtime was fast approaching when Erika finally took a break. Slipping back into the main kitchen she helped herself to a mug of sweetened tea and a handful of thin oat biscuits. Plain, simple nourishment that would not upset her stomach. The bright sunshine was calling her and she moved towards the door, side-stepping past the servants who were preparing trays of food. Most of Rohan's guests would be eating in their rooms, the Golden Hall being out of bounds until the wedding ceremony and the evening's feast. Her gaze drifted over the heat-warmed faces, mostly familiar, but one or two that she did not recognise. No doubt additional help drafted in from local villages.

She stepped forward, intent on the door, but suddenly froze. Four women had bustled into the kitchen, joining the others in the scrum to fill trays. That face, it was familiar, but there was something about the overly bright blonde hair that did not ring true. It looked… dyed! Recognition washed over her with icy dread. Galwyn! No, surely it couldn't be. And yet, it wasn't impossible. Elfhelm had returned from the north without finding her two months earlier. The failure had galled him greatly.

A young lad pushed past her, his arms filled with the skinned carcass of a deer. The stench of blood and raw meat assailed her. Nausea roiled afresh and she was forced to turn away, sucking in a breath through her teeth. Desperately she forced the sickness away and turned back, her gaze searching the group of women. Where was she? Where had Galwyn gone?

There was no sign of her. Swiftly Erika set down her breakfast and hurried over to the group. "Where did she go?" she demanded. They stared blankly at her. "There was a woman. Pale eyes and hair that was not naturally blonde." They exchanged confused looks and then shrugged. "You must have seen her," she said desperately.

One of the younger girls shook her head. "There are so many strangers here today. One woman? Was there anything special about her that we should've noticed?"

"No, I suppose not." Erika swore silently, and pushed past the group. She had to find Elfhelm. Had to warn the king.