93. Red Arrow

The winter had gone by.

Short, dark days and long, dark nights. Cold and wind and snow. A bout of sickness – probably influenza – but luckily only two old women and one little boy died. The Yuletide celebrations. Raucous dwarves visiting from the Caves of Aglarond. Helmichis gaining a dance with Sorcha. Singing. Taliesin. The Harper. Smiles. Even in that ruined face. More songs. And sometimes, late at night, for my ears only, his voice deep and warm with his love for me: Éomer.

But the winter had gone by.

And now, they were gone. He was gone.

It was only the end of Narvinyë. For weeks the weather would stay cold yet. Although the wide plains of Rohan stretched out muddy and grey at the moment, snow might yet return to the Riddermark before the advent of spring. But the worst of winter was over. Here, and in the South. And in the South the enemy waited, ready to strike. Ready to claim Harondor.

I sat in Éomer's study, on his high-backed chair, behind his desk.

On the dark wood of the desk the remains of many hours of planning and debating were scattered.

A good map of Rohan, Gondor and Harad, too good a map to be risked in battle.

The letter that arrived two days after my birthday.

The letter had been in a package. A package of oiled leather to protect the missives from rain and snow. The leather was stained, the shape of package awry from being pressed against the back of the rider that carried it to Edoras. Not a very impressive package, really. But the first thing Éomer pulled out of that package was the red arrow calling him and his éored to war.

For days the red arrow had been on this desk, moved this way and that, sometimes toyed with, sometimes used to point to strategically important positions.

Now it was gone.

Éomer had taken the red arrow with him on riding out of Edoras this morning at dawn.

The letter was still here. Cream-coloured parchment that curled up at the top and the bottom. Written in the clear hand-writing of a court-scribe. For a moment I halted in what was surely the four-hundredth time of re-reading the letter. I realized with a small start that the tengwar runes were no more trouble for me to read now than my first books had been after a year at school, when I had entered second grade – boldly printed books they had been, bound in gaudy colours, back on earth, back in a life I was beginning to forget.

The letter.

Take the good with the bad.

Queen Arwen was a mother now. Precisely a year after she had conceived, she gave birth to two girls with dark hair and grey eyes, Celair and Celu. The birth was easy. The queen was well and the children healthy.

My sister-in-law was pregnant with her first. She was due to give birth in Cermië. She sent her best wishes to the uncle and aunt-to-be. She dwelt in Minas Tirith for the time being to be with the new mother, Queen Arwen. Also, of course, because during the war Faramir would reside in Minas Tirith, once again the ruling steward of Gondor.

Regards also from my adoptive parents, Imrahil and Míriël, and their two other sons, the eldest, Elphir, captain of the royal guard at Minas Tirith, and Mel, the youngest, not even ready for his page's training. Greetings also from Prince Faramir of Ithilien and the Lords Elladan and Elrohir who had come to Minas Tirith to be with their sister, the Queen, to be with her in the hour of birth.

All the best also from Aragorn Elessar Telcontar, King of Arnor and Gondor.

And the red arrow…

I looked at the desk.

The map, the letter. Wax tablets, filled with notes in Éomer's scrawl, long lists of preparations, all of them neatly struck out. A forgotten beaker that had held mead. An earthenware bowl that still held the ashes from the last pipe Éomer had smoked in here, talking and talking with his commanders, with Gimli, the high lords of Rohan and the Harper.

A heavy brass candlestick. The candles had not been replaced yet. At the right end of the desk a stack of books on warfare and Harondor.

The room was cold. A remnant of smoke seemed to blur the edges of the armchairs and the bookshelves. The clear light of this Narvinyë morning filtered through the stained glass-windows in their rounded lead-frames in pale, turquoise hue. It was a cool light and I shivered. Not even the dogs were left to give some of their hairy warmth to the room.

They bounded alongside their master and king right now, excited at the long run to the south.

I stared at the desk.

The letter, the map, the books, the wax tablets. Mead mug and candlestick.

Unbidden my thoughts returned to this morning, when the sky was pale and bright with sunrise…

oooOooo

…the brilliant light of a cold morning in Narvinyë, as it glinted on the mail of the éored. Six-thousand spears. Again. The king of Rohan rode south to honour friendship and alliance. And six-thousand rode with him.

The stirrup-cup so heavy in my hands. The golden goblet, beset with jewels, engraved with runes of ancient blessings. Godspeed and good luck. The swirling of the mead in the goblet.

I held out the goblet.

He took it from me.

Our hands did not touch.

He drank deeply and returned the goblet to me. For a moment his gaze seemed to linger on me, dark, so dark.

"Fare thee well, Queen of Rohan," he said and turned away.

The heavy green cloak billowed in the wind as he mounted his proud stallion, Hiswa, and the sun gleamed on the red and gold of his armour. The wind blew back the horse hair that crowned his helmet in a silvery stream.

Clarions sounded; a cheerful, sparkling sound that echoed all around us in the morning sun. Banners unfurled and flowed in the light-blue wind. The big grey dogs – yesterday nothing but playful puppies, today accompanying their master to war – danced around the king and his commanders, eager to run. So eager.

Hoof beats rolled like thunder through the roads of Edoras. Trampled evergreen stained the pavement of the streets in the hope of good-bye and not fare-well. No flowers yet in Narvinyë.

A stream of gold and silver, green and red, the six-thousand riders of the Mark flowed along the Snowbourne River and spilled onto the Great West Road. They rode right into the sun, or so it seemed. They disappeared into the morning light. But the thundering echoes of the passage of six-thousand horses, of six-thousand riders (not counting the numerous servants and camp-followers, of course) seemed to reverberate in the very earth beneath my feet for hours...

oooOooo

…the letter, the map, the books, the wax tablets. Mead mug and candlestick.

And the red arrow was on its way to the South.

A small noise alerted me. I raised my head. Ini, my personal servant and hand-maiden, hesitated in the doorway. There was pity in her shy small face.

I took a deep breath.

"I think this study needs to be cleaned up and aired, Ini. Would you be so kind and see to it?"

The young woman dropped me a curtsy. "Yes, my lady."

I rose from my seat and went to the door.

Mistress Gosvintha had asked to discuss the spring planting with me. With the king gone, the management of the king's lands was my responsibility. Because the king of Rohan emerged from the position of the military commander of the Gondorian province of Calenardhon, the king's own lands are not large. They are only a fraction of the size of the Eastfold. But they are rich lands. The Harrowdale and its mountains with all of their ore belong to the king. The area around Snowbourne River and the part of the Eastfold that is called only the "Folde" are the king's lands. A number of sizable villages are the king's property. Actually, Edoras is part of the king's domain. But try and tell that to the mayor and the citizens' council of Edoras.

Spring-planting…

I closed the door behind me and went to find Gosvintha.

oooOooo

In the Golden Hall I found Gosvintha. With Gosvintha I found Elaine. Elaine had wanted to go south with the troops. After all, she was the best healer in all of Rohan. Well, there was no doubt about that. However, the need was not as it had been in the War of the Rings. This time the desperation held the hope that a brief skirmish might be sufficient to settle the matter of the southern border between Gondor and Harad. A show of strength, a test of will, no more. And home at the beginning of the summer.

It was not necessary to put noble women at risk this time.

And there would be enough male healers with them – Elaine's own apprentice among them.

Elaine had lost her temper.

I could have told her that this would not get her anywhere with Éomer. He had grown up with a hot-tempered sister. And the shock of almost losing his beloved sister on the fields of the Pelennor was not likely to make the thought of putting any female member of his household at risk on the battle-field.

I could see in Elaine's tight-lipped silence that she was taking it hard. As always she was dressed immaculately, in sombre colours. White and grey and black were her colours and she favoured the long, regal robes of Gondor.

I was dressed in the every day style of a Rohirric woman, dun pants and a dark-green tunic down to my boots, with slits at the sides to give me more mobility, a blouse of a colour a shade lighter than the pants, with long, elaborately embroidered sleeves, and a proper headpiece of that same fabric set with a golden circlet. Pretty, appropriate and quite comfortable. But not very impressive. I felt small in comparison. And I wanted to scratch my head badly.

For Elaine this Middle-earth seemed to be too small.

For me, strangely enough, Middle-earth seemed endlessly wide and free and wild.

I admit, sometimes I felt lost.

I admit, sometimes I felt at a loss.

But this… this was my land, my chosen home. My land.

Hold on to that thought, Lothíriel, I thought and turned to Gosvintha and the estate manager of the king's lands, Master Motull. He reminded me of Helmichis. He had the same down-to-earth quietness, although he was more squat than tall and burly. He was fair-haired and blue eyed, a true Rohirrim, but the traditional long hair did not really suit him. He looked like a rock hung with weeds.

Gosvintha ignored Elaine's glowering presence (of course). Although they worked well together, the two women still did not like each other. Inwardly I heaved a sigh. The turmoil in Elaine's eyes was a chafing against the constraints of her world. I knew how that felt and I would have liked to offer my sympathies. But I felt they would not be welcome. Some things you need to master alone. With some things no one can help you.

My thoughts went back to Éomer's study. The letter, the map, the mug of mead. And the red arrow that was there no longer…

I smiled at Gosvintha and Motull. I gestured at the long table. "Why don't we sit down and have some tea as we talk these matters over?"

Gosvintha nodded approvingly and signalled to one of the servants, to take care of that request. It was Alina, the former maid-servant of Éowyn who promptly hurried for the kitchens to get tea and biscuits prepared for us. My former teacher and now my personal scribe, Amhlaoibh, had already spread out wax tablets, parchment, ink and quills at his seat, ready to take notes and compose decrees at my command.

A short time later we were settled at the table and I felt much better for the mug of hot tea with honey in my hands. "Well, Master Motull, now to the matter at hand. What should I know about the spring planting?"

Gosvintha smiled at me in a reassuring way. Elaine did not.

At the doors of the Golden Hall Helmichis and Rhawion stood at the ready. Today the captain of the Queen's Guard, Rhawion, and his second in command, Helmichis, had guard duty at the Golden Hall, along with Lunt and Njall. To honour the departure of the king and the six-thousand riders. Helmichis and Lunt were inside the hall, Rhawion and Njall outside in the cold wind. All of them in their best uniform, no less. To honour…

I firmly turned my head away and my mind on the matters at hand.

The spring planting…

oooOooo

"Do you really think it is wise to teach all of the children?"

Master Thorkel seemed not convinced of the wisdom of my plans. It was afternoon. The afternoon of the day Éomer rode off to the South. The brilliant light of the morning had faded into a grey day with low clouds pressing down on us and denying any hope of an early spring. I had decided to keep the day busy as usual. That included a meeting with Master Thorkel to discuss the idea of opening a school in Edoras. An idea Master Thorkel did not really like at the moment. However, Éomer had left a decree with me that said explicitly that the details of the organization of this first school in Edoras were entirely up to my discretion. In fact I knew that Éomer wanted all children in Edoras – as a matter of fact – in all of Rohan to be taught the Cirth, reading and writing, adding and subtracting and the history of Rohan.

oooOooo

"We cannot live in the shadow of the history and presence of our allies and friends in Gondor. We have to find and further what value and strength is in our history, in our culture, in our people!"

The love for his people and his country was warm in Éomer's eyes as he told me that, his voice deep and intense with his conviction.

oooOooo

"Well, Master Thorkel, with the dwarves in Aglarond and the trade with both Lórien and Eryn Lasgalen picking up, not to mention Gondor and Arnor, more and more people will be required in Rohan who know their letters and their sums. People, who also know something about the history of Arda and about the culture of our allies – to the North and to the South. There is no other way," I explained, careful to keep my voice calm and friendly. And patient. Sometimes the old man and his inability to adjust smoothly to new situations were driving me nuts! But I managed to keep calm. I had learned my lesson where Master Thorkel was concerned. More than once. I even resisted the urge to bite down on my lower lip. Master Thorkel might be old and contrary and set in his ways, but he was not stupid.

"I know this involves a lot of work, that this is quite a challenge. You have already spent a life time labouring for the best interests of Rohan. If you feel that this task is beyond your…"

"No, no," Thorkel interrupted me quickly. "That's not it at all. It is merely… an unusual concept. Very modern. No doubt an idea my lord came across in Gondor." There was a definite scowl on the old scholar's face.

I was hard pressed not to smile. Much like a dragon, Thorkel was susceptible to flattery. Now not to spoil the desired effect by giving anything away…

"As a matter of fact, it isn't. Though I do believe there are some similar plans being discussed in Gondor at the moment. I think originally it was a tradition among the Elves, but I hear that the Halflings in the North also have something like that."

"Then… Rohan would be the first of the southern realms to introduce a school for all of its children?" I could almost see how Thorkel's mind was working, one small wheel turning at a time.

"Yes," I replied simply. "The school at Edoras would set the precedent for all schools to be established in Rohan and Gondor."

(And I guess I did in fact feel the same warm glow at the thought that shone in Éomer's face when we had talked about this idea.)

"And it would fall to the chancellery, the scribes, to set up the… ah… curriculum… and to provide the teachers?" Thorkel was torn between delight and disgust. Delight at the influence he would gain. Disgust at having to deal with peasants and the children of peasants.

"At least initially, yes," I would never concede any real power to him or the chancellery as an office. As a matter of fact, I could not. Under-king during the king's absence was not the queen, but the heir to the throne, in this case: the Second Marshal of the Mark, Elfhelm.

I had started studying the history and the laws of the Mark in earnest now, acquiring yet another teacher for that. He was one of the oldest advisers and councillors at court, a lore-master such as could be found only once in all of Rohan, Master Lamont, a man whose calling had become his name. Lamont means "man of law" in Rohirric.

"Oh. Hmmm… well…," Thorkel pursed his withered lips.

That was when I knew that I had him.

"I am sure that you will want to consult over this matter with your colleagues," I said smoothly. "And as a matter of fact, I think it is almost time for dinner. If you will excuse me, Master Thorkel?"

Thorkel accepted my excuses graciously and bowed deeply, but it was obvious that his thoughts were on his new task and how to use it to his advantage…

I had used the afternoon well. I had caught the old scribe off his guard on this day, the day when the new king rode away to the first war after the old king's death. Thorkel had not expected business as usual today of all days.

As I made my way back to the royal apartments there was a small smile inside of me.

Éomer would like what I had accomplished today.

oooOooo

Sorcha already waited for me in my dressing room. Her green-grey eyes were worried. I only nodded. I did not pretend to be brave and cheerful with her. Much as I liked Anrid, Elfhelm's wife who had come to be my third lady-in-waiting while her husband was at court, we were not yet friends. Elaine and I would never be close. But Sorcha was my friend.

"I think the cream-coloured gown would suit best for tonight," Sorcha offered.

It was up to me to decide now if I wanted to talk or not. Even with Sorcha, with my closest friend here at court, there was this invisible barrier that kept me apart from the other women. I was the queen. It was my choice to talk. Not theirs. Today I was grateful for that.

For what was there to say?

I hope that he will come back to me?

Sorcha knew that I did. She had done the same barely two years ago, when her husband had gone away to war and danger.

I am sick with fear that he will not come back?

Sorcha knew how that felt, too.

And she knew more than that.

Her husband had not returned from the war.

I smiled at her. "I think the cream-coloured gown will be wonderful."

It was wonderful, as a matter of fact. It was one of the gowns of my dowry, made by the fabulous Lady Darla of the Golden Scissors. I had filled out a bit over the winter. I was still a lot thinner than I had ever been on earth, but there was a little more bosom and hip to me, and I looked rather queenly in that gown – or so I felt at least. It would bolster my spirit tonight. And Eru knew that my spirit needed bolstering tonight.

oooOooo

As I entered the Golden Hall in the company of Sorcha that night, the first person I saw was Helmichis, still in his best armour, standing unmoving at the door, with Lunt on the other side. I knew that they had had their dinner already and some free time, but it seemed to me as if they hadn't moved at all since the morning's talk about the spring planting.

I also noticed how Sorcha turned her head away quickly, to avoid meeting the gaze of the younger man. Hmmmm…

It was a strange feeling to sit at the head of the long table all alone.

I was glad that there were almost only the members of the household present. That made somehow easier for me to keep up my smile and a semblance of conversation.

Elfhelm accompanied Éomer to Mering Stream. Erkenbrand was in Helm's Deep. There had been trouble with some tribes of the Dunlendings. Therefore the dinner party was: Master Thorkel, Master Lamont, Elaine, Gosvintha, Gléowine and the Harper, Lady Anrid and a messenger from Eryn Lasgalen who had arrived in Edoras just in time for supper. He was on his way to the caves of Aglarond. His name was Faunor. He spoke Westron with a strange hissing accent. After such a long time without any elves around it was disconcerting to look into such clear, bright eyes again. His ears were even pointier than those of Legolas.

It fell to me, too, to say grace over the meal. Bema – if you will the patron saint of Rohan – and Eru are invoked at the main meal of the day. It is only a few words of thanksgiving and blessing. More custom than meaning, most of the time.

But tonight I could not take up the spoon at once when I finished the traditional words.

I kept my hands folded under the table. I felt my fingers claw into my hands.

I wanted to ask more than just a blessing for the food set before me.

I wanted to beg.

Please, let him return, please!

But no words would come to my mind that could possibly speak aloud.

Finally I picked up the spoon with a shaking hand and started eating. I did not realize what it was that I ate. I never noticed that the other diners had politely waited for me to begin.

But somehow, much as the day had somehow gone by, dinner went by, too.

And somehow, somehow, I made my excuses politely and friendly and then made my way back to the royal apartments.

Tonight it was only Sorcha who helped me undress and get ready for bed. Not that I really needed any help as long as there was a ewer with hot water for washing. But it was custom. It was just the way things were done. The way things had been done when Théoden's wife had been the queen of Rohan. The way things were done now, if only to show just how happy everyone was to have a young and healthy king and a young and healthy queen again.

Then I was clean and in my nightshift and nightgown, ready for bed, ready for that dark and silent chamber beyond the door of the dressing room.

I could see that Sorcha wanted to say something.

But I knew if she did, if she said something kind and sympathetic now, I would not make it.

And I had to.

And this was only the first night of many.

"Sleep well, Sorcha," I said. "Give little Solas a good-night kiss from me."

oooOooo

I was alone in our bedchamber.

I placed the candlestick on my nightstand. Three expensive beeswax candles shed a warm golden light on the pillows and the covers. In the fireplace the fire was burnt down to glowing red ambers. It was warm and comfortable in the room. I inhaled deeply. I realized that the mattress had been freshly stuffed with straw and herbs. There were fresh linen covers on the bed, the covers and the pillows. A faint scent of lavender floated in the air.

Lavender!

Not the musky male scent of Éomer. Not that hint of sweat and horse and spices. Not that heady scent of shared desire. Only the clean scent of warmed linen and a newly made up bed.

The chamber was almost completely silent. The fire was so low that there was no sound of cosily crackling flames and wood slowly breaking into ashes anymore. There was only the sound of straw sighing under the weight of my body and my own irregular breathing.

I blew out the candles with a shivery breath and lay down. I curled up on my side of the bed, a tight ball, drawing the covers closely around me, cuddling into blankets and pillows. I pressed my face into the smooth linen fabric of the pillow. Again there was only the scent of lavender and freshly washed linen to surround me.

I did cry then.

oooOooo

A/N: Thank you for your kind reviews! And yes, the LJ character meme ("Ask Lothy!" - or any of my other characters is still up and running!)