94. Keep Smiling

Éomer had been gone for three weeks now.

Somehow, life without Éomer was settling down into some kind of a routine. Although officially Elfhelm was underking during Éomer's absence and I had no real authority – apart from the writ issued by Éomer to get that school established – Elfhelm insisted that I be part of every meeting and every council that was held in the Golden Hall. At first I thought he was doing this to keep me busy and my threatening depression at bay. But of course that was not the reason. Éomer had been king and back in Edoras only a year and a half when the summons for this new war had arrived from Minas Tirith.

Not all villages were rebuilt that had been destroyed during the War of the Rings yet. The many losses, of husbands, brothers and sons, were still keenly felt among the populace of the Rohirrim. The incursions of the Dunlendings and the orcs had ruined the livelihood of many families in the Westfold, in the Wold and in East-Emnet. After witnessing the failing health of body and mind of the old king and the betrayal of one of the most powerful councillors of the realm, people's trust in the new king was not to be taken for granted.

With the king away in a new war, the Rohirrim needed a queen that was visible. A queen that was visible and strong. A queen they could trust.

And that queen was… me.

It was about 6.30 in the morning. Dawn. The queen of Rohan rises with the sun and most often before the sun.

The fire had gone out overnight and the room was icy. The small round glass windows were covered with traceries of hoarfrost. As I exhaled, my breath formed a cloud of mist before me. I shivered, but I did not move.

I stood at the window and stared at the flowery designs the frost had painted there during the night, trying to make out the contours of palace gardens in the waning blue shadows of the night outside. Somehow I had made it through another night. Soon the busy life at the court of Edoras would catch up with me and carry me through another day at the palace of Meduseld.

Another day without Éomer.

The days were in fact not so bad. I was too busy to think or worry much beyond the matters at hand. Most of the time. Not always, of course. There are those moments of quiet in the course of a day. There are those sudden memories of dark eyes and a deep, velvety voice.

I did not even miss Éomer every night. Some nights I was so tired that I was almost asleep before my head hit the pillow. Some nights were simply peaceful and blissfully devoid of thoughts and worries and memories.

But there were other nights, too. Nights that stretched on and on in endless darkness. I missed Éomer as I had never missed anyone or anything in my life ever before. His absence was a constant ache in my stomach.

When I shuddered against the lonely and limited relief of desire my own hand could grant me, late at night, in the silence of our bedroom, it was worst: I saw his eyes in my mind then. Dark with desire and deep with love. I felt his strong, sure hands stroking my body. I tasted his lips and inhaled his heady scent.

When the ripples of my solitary lust dissipated, leaving me breathless and alone, there were tears on my cheeks.

Now I stared at the frost covered windows, trying to summon the strength of will to get going and get on with the day.

At least it would be warmer in the South…

oooOooo

It was Aldúya, what in the calendar of earth was probably Thursday. I had become so used to the Westron expressions for the months and the days of the week that I was beginning to find it difficult to remember the German or English expressions for them sometimes. Perhaps I should write down something in my native language, so I would not forget it completely in the course of the years. But on the other hand, what use was there in keeping alive a language that was known to no one else but me?

It was Aldúya, the fourth day of the week, the day of councils and trials in the palace of Meduseld. The day of geþeaht, assembly, and gemot, council, the domdæg, the judgement day of the Rohirrim. Éomer had introduced the custom of having a day of councils and trials in the Hall of Meduseld once a week. Not only for the things that fell to the King's Justice as such, as high treason for example, but also for law cases that could not be solved by the mayors of the villages and the courts of the provinces, or any other matter that needed some final authority to get it resolved.

But before the afternoon would find me in the Golden Hall, together with Master Lamont and Elfhelm, listening to pleas and accusations and trying to wrap my mind around a foreign system of justice, there was the morning to get through. And the morning would probably be spent discussing matters of the household with Mistress Gosvintha. Not that there was much to discuss at the moment, now that the spring planting was organized.

I sighed and turned away from the window.

It was time to get going.

Somehow the day would pass.

oooOooo

My footsteps echoed in the silent hallways and corridors that led from the royal apartments to the Golden Hall. It was cold, but warmer than our bedchamber. The price that came with having the luxury of glass windows… The stone floor was smooth and I felt the cold of the stone through my thin leather slippers, but it was not too bad. The walls were covered with many hangings. I could not make out their designs in the flickering light of the torches. But I dreaded the coming of spring, when – as Mistress Gosvintha had told me – all of the of hangings and tapestries of Meduseld would be removed and washed. Hundreds of them! A work of three weeks, I was told and afterwards untold hours of mending and sewing and stitching. I shuddered at the thought.

Then I arrived in the great hallway behind the Golden Hall. From the other end of the hallway I could hear the sound of voices and the muted, comfortable clatter of a working kitchen. I had tried to move into the snug intimacy of the kitchen for my breakfast. But Mistress Gosvintha had given me one long look and asked me in a slightly incredulous voice if I thought this to be really appropriate. Of course it wasn't. On mulling this over, I did realize that it was also not a very good idea politically. I was still a stranger here, even if I had perhaps won the respect of some members of the household. I had to be queen to the lords and ladies of the royal household or I would weaken Éomer's position. I had to be queen for the servants and the guards, to reassure them that order had returned to Rohan, that better times had begun and that these better times would last.

Therefore breakfast and dinner were served in the Golden Hall on most days. Only now and again I allowed myself to enjoy a meal alone or shared only with Sorcha, Elaine and Anrid in the royal quarters. I was only glad that lunch was served wherever I was busy at noon, or even made to go.

A young guard opened the heavy wooden door to the Golden Hall for me. Dark wood carved with faintly Celtic designs gilded thinly with gold that gleamed in the light of the torches.

I walked to the long table in front of the fire place to the right hand side of the hall. By now I knew that the table was there, because the kitchens were on the right hand side of the palace at the back of the Golden Hall. If you want to serve soup in a palace in wintertime and have it arrive at the table still hot, you need to think about every foot of the way from the kitchen to the table.

Although I had risen before dawn, I was the last to arrive at the table. Sometimes I had the feeling that Sorcha and Elaine never slept. They took their jobs as "ladies-in-waiting" very seriously; that is to say, they never went to bed before me, and when I was dressed and ready to go in the morning, they were way ahead of me every single day. Anrid tried to share every moment she could with Elfhelm. Elfhelm seemed to exist easily on four or five hours of sleep. Those indefatigable Rohirric warriors… Thorkel and Lamont seemed to hold it with the rule that old men can exist on a nap caught here and there. Somehow this made me feel sort of out of the loop.

"Good morning," I said and smiled at the members of the royal household gathered around the table. Sorcha smiled at me, a friendly, genuine smile. Helmichis – who would be my silent shadow for the day and was therefore present at the breakfast table, too – smiled at Sorcha's smile. She ignored him. Elaine's smile was forced and Master Thorkel scowled at me. No doubt my arrival had interrupted another argument. It was strange how someone who could be so calm and soothing as a healer as Elaine was, could at the same time in almost all other respects be so difficult a personality to get along with. As a woman of lore, she was naturally involved in the process of setting up the first real school of Edoras. I have to admit that I enjoyed seeing how Master Thorkel for once had met his match. But it made for a tense atmosphere at the table on a semi-regular basis. There was a gleam of merriment in the eyes of both Mistress Gosvintha and Master Lamont. They enjoyed the test of will between the old scribe and the healer, too. The Harper ignored those petty grievances.

"God morgen, hlæfdige min." Thorkel preferred to speak Rohirric.

"Good morning, my lady, did you sleep well?" Anrid spoke always Westron with me. No doubt to make things easier for me – and after all, in the days of Thengel and Théoden more Westron than Rohirric was spoken in the Golden Hall; there was a tradition of speaking Westron in the royal household of Rohan. But it did not help me. It made me feel even more like the foreigner I was. Also, I knew that Éomer wanted that more Rohirric was spoken at court.

"Yes, thank you, very well," I smiled and nodded and sat down. No. I did not sleep well. I slept alone.

"My lady," Master Lamont looked at me over the rim of his tea cup. His eyes were calm and filled with sympathy. "I wanted to remind you that you have to be present in the Golden Hall this afternoon. There are several cases that need the king's judgement. No doubt only petty disputes, but it will be of value to your studies of our laws."

I nodded. "I know. There's a case coming up from the Westfold, isn't it? I heard some talk that it caused quite some unrest there, a few weeks ago."

I had overheard two guards talking about that, but I did not know the details.

"Oh, yes," that was Thorkel. "A nasty business, that. And Lord Grimsir was not able to solve the case." He sniffed at that, leaving no doubt to his opinion of Lord Grimsir. There was a sparkle of amusement in Master Lamont's eyes. As it still happened so often, there was something there, between the Masters, and between Master Thorkel and Lord Grimsir. Something in the past. Perhaps something professional. Perhaps something personal. I could not even begin to guess what it was and if it was important. And there was no one I could ask about it.

Suddenly the width and height of the Golden Hall seemed to close in on me, the weight of the golden roof resting on the massive pillars pressed in on me and the air seemed to stifle my every breath.

"Well, I guess it will be an interesting afternoon then," I commented, carefully trying to keep my tone as non-committal as possible. "I am sure we can reach a just settlement for the matter."

"No doubt," said Master Thorkel. But the way he raised his eyebrow at Master Lamont seemed to indicate that he rather doubted that outcome. The tiny wrinkles at the corners of Master Lamont's eyes crinkled with silent laughter, but he did not say a word or chuckle.

I turned resolutely to Mistress Gosvintha. Was that pity in her eyes? Or was I imagining things?

"Is there any matter of the household that needs my attention this morning?"

"No, hlæfdige min, everything is in order," Gosvintha replied.

"Anything else?" I looked at the others.

No. There was nothing that needed the attention of the queen this morning.

"I think I will go and have a look at Mithril then," I said to no one in particular. Mithril was my mainstay. Soft snorts and warm horsehair, to hug and to lean against, strong legs and back to carry me away from my daily troubles, into the wide and free plains of the Mark… But I did not go to Mithril too often. Just as often as was appropriate. It was probably more often than would have been appropriate on earth in similar circumstances, but the Rohirric culture was a very horse-centric culture – and Mithril was a Meara, one of Béma's horses, a royal horse that needed royal attention.

When breakfast was finally over, I was – as befitted my station – the first to rise from the table. I nodded a polite goodbye to the members of the household.

"At three o' clock, Elfhelm?"
The tall underking inclined his head. "Yes, my lady, and I am afraid that it will take all of the afternoon today."

I would have liked to ask what the problem was that had everyone in such a dither, but somehow I was reluctant to do that. And whom should I have asked?

Instead I simply turned around and went for the doors. Helmichis followed me unobtrusively, a silent, burly shadow with orderly braided blond hair and a long deadly sword.

oooOooo

Outside the hall the morning was bright and crisp. Today I did not pause to talk with the guards. I nodded to them and made my way down the stairs and down Horse Lane towards the royal stables. Every now and again I had to stop and smile and nod, when women and girls curtsied their greetings and men and boys bowed deeply.

By the time we reached the stables I felt as if my smile was frozen on my face in a mad grimace. Mithril whickered softly when she saw me and turned in around in her stall to greet me. But she made no move to the door. Apparently she felt it was too cold or too early for a run on the still wintry steppes of Rohan. I clenched my teeth. How I would have loved a long, hard ride this morning!

But I had to be fit this afternoon, and presentable; not tired beyond reasoning and all mussed with horse and riding. Therefore I settled for embracing the warm strength of the Meara and sighing into her silky mane.

Finally Mithril began to shift from her fore-feet to her hind-quarters, indicating that she had had quite enough sighing attention of her favourite human at the moment.

I patted her rump. "I know, sweetie, I should do something sensible when I am here!"

But I did allow me another sigh before I picked up the brush and began to curry the beautiful, silvery white coat of the Meara.

Helmichis knew better than to offer to do the work for me by now. He took up position at the back of the open space in the middle of the stable, where he could keep an eye on the entrance and the stalls. He stood at ease, but I knew that his sharp gaze drifted around the stable at regular intervals.

Soon my movements settled into the soothing rhythm I had grown accustomed to. With slow, easy movements I carefully brushed out the thick winter caot of Mithril until it started gleaming like polished silver. I don't know what it was; the warm and friendly presence of my horse, the calming rhythm of brushing her or the comfortable smell of hay and horse, but it did not take long for me to regain some measure of composure. My breathing grew easier and I felt easier, too.

Suddenly the quiet sounds of snuffling horse and swishing brush were interrupted by the sound of someone clearing his throat. I turned around and could not help but feel a hint of anger at seeing Helmichis looking at me, shifting nervously from foot to foot and obviously gathering his nerve to ask me something.

Not a moment's peace!

But I smiled at him and asked, "What's the matter? Is anything wrong?"

Helmichis cleared his throat again. "Well, my lady," he began – and stopped.

I frowned at him. He had spoken Westron which was quite unusual for him. Since we had come to Rohan I had almost never heard him use Westron. His accent sounded thicker than it had been back in Dol Amroth. "What is it?"

"Well, my lady," he tried again. "I was wondering, well, I know of course that this is not really appropriate, but there is no one else I could ask…"

I stared at my bodyguard. No one else he could ask?

"Ask what?"

"The Lady Sorcha," he said and frowned. "My lady, you know her, you knew her husband, and I was wondering… now that her year of mourning is more than over… do you think – I know that she is really far above me – but I was wondering, do you think – do you think if she, the Lady Sorcha, do you think that perhaps she – she would, she would accept my suit?"

I stared at my bodyguard and remembered only just in time not to let my mouth drop open.

Nevertheless there was no reply I could think of at once. It was obviously my turn to clear my throat in that awkward manner that implies "I have really no idea what to say to that."

Finally I said, "I did not really know her husband. I saw him only once, from afar, when he said goodbye to his wife for the last time."

Helmichis gulped and exhaled heavily. "And do you think…"

I stared at Helmichis and shrugged helplessly. I had noticed the way the young man tried to catch the older woman's eye. I had noticed the way she looked away quickly. Perhaps a little too quickly to be genuinely disinterested? I just had no idea!

And how to go about this appropriately? I was about the last person to ask how the bodyguard of the queen of Rohan – who was half-Rohirric and half-Gondorian by birth – should court a Gondorian widow who was the lady-in-waiting of the said queen of Rohan!

I had barely made it to and through my own betrothal!

Finally I tried a reassuring smile. "I am sorry, Helmichis, I have really no idea. But I will keep it in mind and try to find out how Sorcha feels about remarrying and …er… about you? Would that help?"

Helmichis nodded wordlessly. He looked as if he wanted to blush and disappear into thin air from embarrassment, but could do neither. "Thank you, my lady," he murmured finally. Then he inhaled deeply and stood tall, straight-backed and unmoving, staring ahead with almost glassy eyes – the imperturbable guard-routine.

I turned back to grooming Mithril.

But this time the soothing routine did not help me much.

My thoughts travelled back to Tarnost, almost two years ago… dark days… a young Gondorian soldier kissing his plump, red-haired wife and his little, blonde daughter goodbye… never to return. Never to return…

Now I was the one to wait for my husband's return – from war and danger.

I realized that I had been brushing the same spot over and over again. My arm felt heavy as lead, but light compared to my heart. I lowered the brush and turned away from Mithril. I cleaned the brush carefully and put it away.

"It is time, my lady," Helmichis reminded me in a low voice. "You will need some time for… er… getting ready for the council…"

Getting ready: getting rid of at least some of the horse smell and into some fancy, queenly robes.

"Thank you, Helmichis."

The way back to the Golden Hall seemed long and wearying.

oooOooo

I was washed and dressed and as ready as I could be. A long dress, heavy, dark moss green velvet with borders in a light brown brocade embroidered in gold. A regal gown, perfect for trials and councils. My hair had been braided into a crown and topped off with a golden circlet. Yes, queens do get to wear such things. But they are not really comfortable. You cannot shake your head suddenly, because that could dislodge the circlet. And they tend to be heavy and give you a headache when you really need your head clear.

I walked back to the Golden Hall slowly. I had to be careful not to step on the hem of that dress. It had been very expensive and I did not want to increase Sorcha's workload unnecessarily yet again. I was also apprehensive about sitting in on the trials and councils, though I really wanted to. This being queen was my job now. I wanted to be good at my job. Justice, knowing the laws of the land were an important part of that job in my opinion. But although my knowledge of the Rohirric and of the Sindarin, of the tengwar and the Cirth had improved enormously, there were still too many things I did not know. Also, Rohirric law was (apart from the deed that had made Rohan an independent country and the oath of Eorl) almost entirely case law, faintly similar to Common Law – or what I imagined that Common Law might have been in the middle ages. It was a system of law and justice that I was almost entirely unfamiliar with.

I tried to comfort myself with the thought that I was only sitting in on the proceedings, talking things over with Master Lamont, while Elfhelm made the decisions. I would probably never have to say anything out loud.

But my heart was beating faster nevertheless as the doors of the Golden Hall were opened for me.

oooOooo

Clarions sounded at my entrance and the crowd that had gathered in the Golden Hall curtsied and bowed to me in a great rustle of skirts and cloaks. Once again I had completely forgotten about formalities. My knees felt wobbly as I made my way to the throne-like chair on the dais.

I was glad to sit down.

Master Lamont stood at my side on the dais, as one of the most high-ranking councillors at court. Helmichis and Rhawion stood to the left and the right of the dais, spears in their hands.

Éomer's throne was empty. But an elaborately carved chair had been placed right in front of the dais where Elfhelm was seated now. A few feet to his right his scribe had set up with a desk and a stool to make out any necessary decree right on the spot.

A crowd of applicants and onlookers had gathered on both sides of the Golden Hall, held back by guards that were placed around the crowd in regular intervals. In spite of the crowd it was almost silent in the hall. There was a faint noise of rustling fabrics, a cough now and then, the sound of wind outside, perhaps an agitated whisper every once in a while, but that was it.

The air was thick with the smell of bodies and sheep wool and that hint of horse that seems to be everywhere in Rohan.

The first three cases were easy. Petty problems that only made their way to the king's court because these problems originated from the king's lands and thus fell under royal jurisdiction.

I began to relax a little.

Then the case from the Westfold was called.

Guards led two older Rohirric men to the front. Both were in shackles. They had darker hair than the people of Edoras and a slightly foreign cast to their features. They also looked extremely angry. Behind them another set of guards led a small boy forwards. The boy seemed to be about Tally's age and he was obviously not a Rohirrim. He was brown haired and brown skinned and sturdy, rather than tall and slender of build.

What was this all about?

Next a captain of the Éored stepped forward, dressed in the colours of the Westfold.

He would apparently present the case.

When he spoke, he spoke Rohirric, a quick, heavily accented Rohirric that I had real trouble understanding. I caught only about every third word he was saying. My head was starting to hurt. It was something about horses that had been stolen…

"Well, my lady, what do you think of it?" Master Lamont turned to me inquiringly.

I raised my eyebrows and rubbed my forehead. "Could you please repeat that for me? That was a little quick."

It hurt that I was still not able to understand Rohirric the way I should. But to give any opinion on the case I had to have the facts straight; even if my opinion counted for nothing against the underking's authority.

Lamont inclined his head. His expression was unreadable.

"Asgaut, that is the smaller man, and his neighbour, Guttorm, have apparently had some difficulties and arguments over the years on a regular basis. What happened now is that Asgaut stole two horses from Guttorm and sold them to one Ata who lived in the next village.

This Ata was not a Rohirrim, but of Dunlending origin. He did not know that the horses were stolen. He paid the price Asgaut asked and took them home. And then. Then he –"Lamont gulped.

"He – he – slaughtered the horses and made –" Lamont gulped again.

"…made sausages and smoked meats of them."

Lamont looked as if he was going to be sick.

I have to admit that for a moment a feeling of nausea almost turned my own stomach as a thought of Mithril! flashed through my mind. But at the same time another thought stirred at the back of my mind.

Somehow this story sounded strangely familiar!

A stolen animal… A buyer in good faith… the question of compensation…

Suddenly there was an almost inappropriate feeling of happiness in my heart.

I knew that case!

A very, very similar situation had become one of the most famous civil law cases in Germany! One of those cases that all students have to know about!

The so called "Jungbullenfall", "the bull-calves case", BGH Z… I even remembered the reference for the case! It was BGH Z 55, 176ff.

Finally here was a case to which I could really contribute something!

I could offer a real opinion on how to find a solution about the question of who had become the owner of the horses and why, and on how and why compensation could be demanded!

I considered the matter carefully for a moment, making sure that I would be able to explain my train of thought properly.

When I turned to Lamont again, it was difficult for me to suppress a smile.

Finally the day was looking up!

"And now the original owner demands compensation from that Ata? Is that right? I think I have an idea or two how this situation could be resolved!"

For a moment Lamont stared at me.

Then he licked is lips and shook his head.

"No, my lady," he said slowly. "That is actually not the problem at all. The problem is that when Asgaut heard what had happened to the horses, he went to Guttorm and said that he was very sorry about it all and had not meant for that to happen. Both were naturally shocked at what Ata had done. They talked about what could be done to remedy the situation. Obviously there was a copious amount of alcohol involved and they egged each other on. But what happened was that they went over to the other village and there they killed Ata, his wife and his children. The only one they left alive is that boy over there."

I stared at Lamont.

Then I looked at the two Rohirrim who were looking at me with stubborn, angry expressions on their faces, expressions of righteous wrath. Behind them the little boy cowered on the floor, a dazed and bewildered expression on his small grubby face.

A foreigner had bought stolen horses in good faith and used them to feed his family… and to judge from the rather prominent ribs that peeked out between the child's rags, it had been hunger and not ignorance of their neighbours' culture that had made Ata and his family kill and eat the horses.

I sat and stared. At the men, at the boy.

From somewhere far away I heard the voice of Elfhelm, asking questions of Asgaut and Guttorm. I felt thoroughly sickened.

These were my people.

This was my country.

And I felt all alone and a stranger here. A stranger in a strange land...

But I could not smile at that quote that suddenly popped into my brain.

A/N: And this is how the famous "Jungbullenfall" did not make it into Rohirric law.

oooOooo

More A/N: Hey, you folks out there! I know you are there! How about you drop me a line and tell me what you think about the progress of the story! Are you still interested? Is Lothy's angst in character?