A/N: I post the betaed chapters of "Lothíriel" at the LJ Community "10thwalkerlothy" (user name) – with pictures and soundtrack suggestions!

If you have any suggestions for some Lothy-like LJ interests, please feel free to comment!

("Shagging Éomer" is already up (g) )

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The LOTR writers' workshop I moderate with Aranel Took has the second exercise up and running! Check it out: LJ user name "there(underscore)n(underscore)back"! More info can also be found at my FanFictionNet-profile.

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90. A Messenger with Bad News

The messenger from Minas Tirith arrived as we were having dinner in the Hall of Meduseld.

Éomer insisted that the royal household and the most important dignitaries present at court should join in the evening for a formal dinner five days a week. It was a means to keep the household together, to keep the dignitaries (our own or any visitors) on their toes and a symbol of vitality to the court.

I was only slowly realizing just how much the self-esteem of the proud Rohirrim had suffered under the traitorous influences of Gríma Wormtongue. I could only guess at how much of the grim bitterness I sometimes felt in Éomer were due to his experiences at court in the time of Gríma's subtle treachery.

Éomer did not enjoy those stately dinners.

He preferred to eat alone with me, or with some friends, especially those men who had ridden with him when he had been only the Third Marshal of the Mark. But he was very serious about his duties as a king and commander, and so it was barely once a week that we took our dinner alone in our private rooms. The other evening with no dinner in the great hall Éomer usually spent with the troops, having a dinner of stew in the barracks, talking to his marshals, his captains and the simple soldiers and riders alike.

Éomer was not about to forget where he had come from. As the sister-son of the king he had been trained as rider of the éotheod like any other son of a lord of the Rohirrim, only gradually rising to the rank of Third Marshal in the Mark, the highest rank and the only title he would have held under normal circumstances…

I liked that about him, the way he lived for his people from the loweliest peasant to the high-ranking noble, although I sometimes regretted that our days of light-hearted existence in the sunshine of Cormallen had been so short.

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That evening I actually felt comfortable at the long oak table in front of one of the great fireplaces in the Golden Hall.

It had been such a wonderful afternoon. The wide fields of the Eastfold in the sunshine and…

…and…

I lowered my head into my bowl of soup to hide the heat that rose to my cheeks with the memory of exactly what we had done in the October sunshine this afternoon, on the banks of Snowbourne River. I felt pleasantly tired and there was a slight, contented ache between my legs. The soup was a good hiding place for my flushed face. It was hot. And good. The soup was a thick cabbage and leek and potato soup, but there was bacon in it to make it fit for the king's table.

The conversation of Rohirric and Westron that flowed on around the long table washed over me like the soft waves of a lake lapping at the shore. I was at peace with the world and happy with my husband and my life.

Éomer was at the head of the table, I sat to his right. Elfhelm – the Second Marshal of the Mark – was at Éomer's left, opposite of me. Erkenbrand – the Third Marshal of the Mark – was away, patrolling the garrisons at the borders. There had been some unrest among the Dunlending tribes to the Northeast. He would not be back for another month at least.

Also present were of course the Lady Elaine, Sorcha, Gléowine – Théoden's old minstrel – deep in discussion with the harper – who had still not given his name, and probably never would – and several council members, as well as the mayor of Edoras and his lady.

I was relieved that none of the other high lords of the five provinces were present. They always accounted for the most unpleasant political bickering, even at table. Tonight, however, the talk flowed freely and later the Harper would give us a song, perhaps even with little Taliesin singing the descant in his angelic high boy-soprano.

All in all the evening promised to turn out quite enjoyable.

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But suddenly the doors of the Golden Hall opened and Helmichis entered.

The king's and the queen's guard had been joined in one company while Éomer and I were both in Edoras. Tonight it was Helmichis' and Wídfara's turn to guard the doors of the hall. Helmichis crossed the floor in quick, urgent strides. There was a tension to his broad shoulders that made me frown.

What had happened?

Helmichis went straight to the king, only for a fraction of a second his glance seemed to linger on the turned face of Sorcha who was still smiling at a comment of the mayor's wife. Oh?

Helmichis bent down to Éomer and spoke to him in a low voice. He was speaking Rohirric, and very fast, too. I could barely understand a word.

I felt a lump in my throat as I realized once again just how much I still had to learn until I would really belong here. At the same time apprehension constricted my stomach into a tight ball.

Éomer nodded to Helmichis, "Take him to my study. That's too important. I will be there shortly."

Helmichis bowed and departed, without another glance at the rest of those present.

I felt the warmth drain from my face. My heart beat heavily in my chest. It was one of those moments, when you know that something bad is going to happen, but you don't know yet what it will be, and the only thing you know is that you can't do anything to stop it…

Éomer rose from his chair. His face was grim. "My ladies, my lords. I am sorry to interrupt your dinner, but a messenger from Minas Tirith as just arrived. I am very sorry, but I have to ask you to excuse me for a moment."

I was halfway out of my chair, my mouth opened to ask if I could accompany him – but Éomer only gave a small shake of his head. "Stay, Lothíriel," he told me in a low voice. "We can't break up the dinner completely. We have a duty of courtesy towards our guests."

Éomer gave a small bow to the members of our household and our guest. Then he walked to the door of the hall, where Wídfara was waiting for him, a tall shadow with mail glinting from beneath his tunic.

I had become so used to the sight of armour and weapons every day and everywhere that I barely noticed them anymore. But in that instance the weak gleam of Wídfara's mail shirt in the fire light caught my eye and made me shiver.

I pressed my lips together and turned to Elfhelm whose gaze was still on the doors of the hall. "You were telling me of some adventure of your youth, my lord, something that involved my husband, I think?"

Elfhelm turned back to me and gave me a small nod of respect. He smiled and his voice was light, when he took up the thread of our interrupted talk, but the look of his grey-green eyes were grave.

Elfhelm was distantly related to Éomer, which was the reason that he had inherited lordship over the Eastfold and become Second Marshal of the Mark. He was a few years younger than Éomer, tall, with butter-cup yellow hair and aquiline features. He was taller than Éomer and slender and – needless really to say – an excellent warrior, rider and commander. He had also lived in Aldburg, the main town of the Eastfold – which I had yet to visit – when Éomer had lived there, before his parents had died.

I really wanted to hear more about the childhood and youth of my husband and his friends, but I found it difficult to concentrate on Elfhelm's words. My thoughts strayed to the messenger and the glimpse of Wídfara's mail-shirt again and again… they would be in Éomer's study… A servant would have brought mulled cider or some watery ale… something to drink, not to enjoy…

"I would love to visit Aldburg one of these days, " I said to Elfhelm and forced a smile.

"I think Éomer has planned a visit. The weather seems to hold for the time being. It is a beautiful ride. And it would be an honour to welcome you in my house," Elfhelm replied.

"For me, and for my wife, Anrid."

Now my smile was genuine. "I would love to meet her. Do you have any children?"

Elfhelm grinned at that. A fond grin of hope and happiness. "No, not yet. We were married only shortly before the war. I have not been home all too often since then."

"A commander's life has no room for a wife." That's actually a Rohirric saying. It also rhymes in Rohirric. But I forgot the correct grammar. Again.

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The meal was already over and the harper finished with his first ballad – a traditional Rohirric ballad, when Éomer returned.

He looked troubled.

He looked really troubled.

I swallowed hard, renwed apprehension constricting my throat. Helmichis stayed that the doors, the presence of quiet strength I had gotten used to since he was first appointed my guard at Dol Amroth this spring.

Éomer did not return to his seat. He walked up to me. But he did not smile. He looked at Elfhelm. Their eyes met – something passed between them, knowledge of darkness…

"I am sorry to disturb you yet again. Lothíriel, Elfhelm. I need you. My lord Harper, would you care to accompany us?"

Éomer turned to the bard. He treated the mysterious harper with the utmost respect. I still did not know who the harper was, nor did anyone else at court. I suspected that Éomer did know who he was, but if he did not want me to know, then he probably had very good reasons for it. I hoped.

The bard inclined his head. "If you wish me to, my lord Éomer."

His speaking voice was rough, sometimes even harsh – scarred, perhaps. It seemed strange that his singing voice could remain so pure and clear in comparison.

I rose from my seat, dropping an automatic curtsy to the remainder of our dinner party. In a fleeting thought I marvelled at how natural such courtly gestures as curtsies and bows.

No use in trying to stall….

I clenched my hands into fists and followed Éomer out of the hall. Behind me followed Elfhelm and the harper, and, unobtrusively,a tall and dangerous shadow, Helmichis; Wídfara had presumably stayed with the messenger.

Éomer led us to his study, a room of dark wood and purple leather, with a large fire place of roughly hewn stones. On a simple wooden chair, a mug of watery ale in his hand, a soldier in the uniform of Gondor sat, looking tired. He wore the white badge of a messenger tied to his left arm.

On Éomer's large desk a roll of cream-coloured parchment was curling up again. It was sealed with the royal seal of Gondor and the red arrow seal that indicates matters of highest importance, national security… and war…

"Please, sit down." Éomer pointed at the remaining chairs.

Edoras is well appointed with furniture. For an almost medieval castle, that is. There are many individual chairs, if not the easy-chairs inspired by elvish luxury that I knew from Dol Amroth. And I guess, if I wanted easy-chairs, I could have them made. Although there are not many forests in Rohan, the trade with Eryn Lasgalen in woodcraft of all kind was picking up, and the mountain people in the Eastfold were also quite talented joiners and carpenters.

Anyway. We sat down. I folded my hands in my lap. The skin of my face prickled and there was a funny feeling in my stomach. Elfhelm's' face remained calm. The harper's lined and tortured features were utterly expressionless. Éomer – composed, grave – sat down behind his desk. A wall of wood and kingly duty between us.

"This is Damrod, a member of the royal guard of Minas Tirith. He rode to Edoras on the behalf of the King Elessar. The news he brought are serious, and I wanted you to hear them right away. I think it will be best if I simply read the message to you," Éomer said, not wasting time with any preambles. He picked up the parchment and unrolled it once more.

He looked down at the black tengwar written in the clear hand of some court scribe. "I will spare you the introduction…"

He cleared his throat and began to read in Westron, as the letter was written in that language.

"As you are aware the negotiations between Our realm of Gondor and the realm of Harad concerning the sovereignty of Our southern province of South-Gondor or Harondor have been frayed with difficulties. You are also familiar with the suspicions that have arisen pertaining the existence of a perpetrator, a traitor, in our midst, passing on information to Our neighbouring realms. Now this nefarious activity seems to have reached far beyond the wickedness of treason. On the morning the negotiations with Harad were to continue, Duke Herion of Harondor was found murdered in his quarters. Although his superiors of Harad had only accused the Duke himself of treachery the day before, they now lay claim on Us as the instigators of this deed. An amicable solution seems almost impossible to reach now. Khand and Harad have formed an alliance. Though no details of that treaty are known to Us yet, it can be assumed that it includes military assistance.

We have still not given up on settling the matter diplomatically, and the Valar willing the weathers of winter will delay any outbreak of hostilities for the time being. Nevertheless We have to ask You as Our closest allies, bound to honour the Oath of Eorl, to muster a force of the Rohirrim as soon as may be. We ask that You keep Your troops ready to march and alert until further notice."

Éomer slowly lowered the parchment. "Greetings, etc. etc.; it happened only a week ago."

He looked at Damrod. "Is there anything to add to what I just read?"

Damrod shook his head. "No, my lord. The Duke Herion was found bound and gagged and stabbed five times unto his death. No one of his mansion had seen or heard anything at all. That is all I know; all that everybody knows."

I felt as if bludgeoned by a dwarvish hammer. I felt a fine trembling start at my neck and spread in an icy shiver all over my body. I gritted my teeth so hard that it almost hurt. My gaze was locked on Éomer. But he did not seem to see me at all.

"It will be difficult to keep the troops at the ready throughout the winter," Elfhelm said thoughtfully. "There are not enough free quarters here at Edoras for all the men… and not enough provisions. Perhaps the mountain-keeps?"

Éomer nodded slowly. As a seasoned commander he would be used to dealing with the practical concerns arising from news like that first and worry about what this news would mean later.

"Yes," Éomer said. "That was my first idea, too. But they will have a hell of a time during the winter in those keeps."

"I see no other option at the moment, my lord," Elfhelm shrugged. "They are the only places strategically placed on the way to Gondor that can house that many men. I should summon my captains now, to discuss the new situation."

"Yes. Please, proceed with all due urgency. And send a messenger to Erkenbrand. Choose a White Rider. Erkenbrand has to hear of this as quickly as possible. Would you take Damrod with you? I have ordered quarters to be made ready for him."

Elfhelm nodded, "Very well, my lord."

Then he rose swiftly to his feet and bowed to me and the harper, and deeply to Éomer.

"My lords, my lady."

Damrod followed suit, bowing much deeper, though. He could not match Elfhelm's quick strides to the door; weariness spoke from every angle of his posture. He must have ridden as if the hounds of hell were after him, to bear this news to Edoras so quickly, in barely a week.

The door closed with a soft thud behind him.

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Still Éomer did not turn to me, but to the harper instead. "My lord, do you know anything that could be helpful with this situation? Gondor is still weak, not even two years after the battle with the Dark Lord. Even in Rohan not all damage has been repaired and the frontiers are not yet safe again. I fear for what could happen, should we find us pitched against Harad and Khand both."

The grizzled harper nodded his head slowly. His destroyed eyes stared blindly in the distance, his features betrayed no emotion at all. "Khand is the larger and richer of both nations, my lord. However, Harad has much to lose with Harondor. Though desolate now, this southern-most province of Gondor once was rich and fair. It is understandable that King Elessar Telcontar seeks to secure what is Gondor's own by the laws of old. But it may be that he has overreached his powers in this."

For a moment the harper fell silent and his look turned even darker and more severe.

"Think of the lands of Arda arrayed on game board, my lord. Imagine the powers that control the fates of the peoples of Arda as the playing pieces. Where can they move? Why would they want to move there? What needs may drive them? It may be that the motivations behind the incidents that push this crisis are as clear as they seem to be. But it may be that they are not… it is hard to tell at this time."

Then the harper suddenly raised his head. "Even though it will be hard on the men, my lord, I think the mountain-keeps are your only hope to maintain a standing force for more than four months. To have so many soldiers in the city or quartered nearby would bring unrest to the capital and grief to the women and the girls. That is all I can think of to advise you of at the moment.

If that will be all, my lord? The boy –" The harper gave me a surprisingly warm smile, "Taliesin, he will be tired by now."

Éomer inclined his head to the harper. "I am grateful, my lord, that you grace the Golden Hall with your songs and your wisdom."

At the last word the wide lips of the bard twitched in a strange way, as if a bitter laugh wanted to flee from his mouth. But he rose in silence and as he went to the door and left the room, he seemed to float; his steps made no noise at all on the wooden floor and his graceful movements – odd in such an old man – seemed not even to stir the shadows.

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When the door shut behind the bard, I released the breath I had been holding a shivery sigh that almost sounded like a sob. But I did not move. I could not move. I looked down at my hands, still neatly folded in my lap, the knuckles standing out white and painful, lined with the thin blue ribbons of veins.

Suddenly Éomer was in front of me and drew me up from my chair and into his arms.

He held me to his chest in a tight, desperate embrace. I could hear the deep pounding of his heart so close did he hold me. His familiar smell enveloped me; spicy, a little musky of horse and leather and warm, with a hint of my own perfume left on his body from the afternoon.

The afternoon! An afternoon of making love between whispering fields and a rushing river… now that seemed to be a world away and almost unreal. Only a mere taste of what could be… of what could be lost…

The shock of the news all at once shattered the tense lump in my throat that stilled my voice. In heaving sobs my anguish released itself into Éomer's tunic, as he continued to hold me close.

"I wish our peaceful time together could have lasted longer," he whispered into my hair with a hoarse voice.

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A/N: Sorry, folks… no more wedded bliss! ;-)