Chapter 17: Negotiations with Unbelievers
"It is a trick," Durden whispered into Grodes' ears.
"A Rohir cannot be trusted," Woldro whispered on the other side.
"He lures us in to kill our people," Durden stressed, louder now. Wanting for the Rohirrim King to hear him.
Éomer held on to the edge of the table so hard, his knuckles turned white. While he had certainly not hoped for cheers, let alone praise from the other party, he had at least expected some signs of gratitude, all the more since the offer was something his own people refused. Yet all his unheard-of proposal seemed to inspire were more insults! Valar, what had they expected to hear? That he would give them the rule over Rohan?
"We settle, and then your soldiers come to kill us, is it not so?" Durden sneered while Grodes still pondered.
"If we wanted to kill you, our éoreds would be laying your lands to ruin right now," Éomer rebuked, slowly but surely feeling his restraint wane. He did not tell Durden what else the offer implied: If he would not place soldiers along a Dunlending settlement in the Mark, it would not last a week. "Why would we have taken the pains to send a messenger to you twice in the last few weeks? If we had wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be sitting here talking about it – you would be dead already."
"And how much land would it be?" Woldro, for the first time since the beginning of the council, finally faced the king, uncertain of what to think. He was as surprised as Grodes, but still cautious and on the edge of disbelief. "How shall we know you do not betray us?"
"Wait!" Grodes interrupted. His face looked bewildered and deeply moved. He was suddenly excited; the meaning of the king's words had sunken in. "Let me answer." Durden huffed, but fell silent. Grodes stood up, matching Éomer in breadth but not in height, but compared to the King of Rohan the man from Dunland looked the way his people were regarded as: a primitive. "Is what you say the truth?" he asked, his eyes on the taller man.
The King of Rohan seemed to grow and his look had never been more earnest as he raised his chin.
"It is the truth, Grodes of Dunland. I offer your people land to cultivate and use of the harvest to sustain yourselves. I offer you peace instead of war. Life instead of death. I want both of our peoples to survive. No matter what you think, the Rohirrim are no slaughterers."
Grodes wet his lips and stroked his hand over his beard, his mind reeling with possibilities. Never had he heard more tempting words; but words that harboured such great danger at the same time. If he agreed now, he would either lead his famished people to prosperity… or to their ruin. It was the hardest decision he had ever been forced to make, and the impatient glances of the Rohirrim present did not make his duty any easier. No one had prepared him for this. The strangers from the far-off lands had said nothing of this. They had only stressed their demands, and now he stood here, forced to decide over the future of his people. Forced to decide whether he would accept the hand of peace and live by the rules the Rohirrim would set. He turned to Aragorn, searching for help from the Gondorian King.
"You know about this offer?" he asked, and Thor translated since the words had partly been uttered in Dunlendish.
"I know about it, Grodes, and I assure you that the King of Rohan speaks the truth."
"But you are his ally, are you not?" Durden asked, still warily eyeing Éomer as he sat down. "You would not say that Éomer-King was a liar."
Aragorn eyed him sternly.
"It was your people who asked for my attendance. You could have chosen someone else to lead this parley so I assume your leaders did not decide by chance but considered me impartial."
Durden fell silent once more and averted his eyes, but Woldro was not easily convinced.
"It is a nice word to say: peace," he stated in his tongue, and Thor hurried to translate. "But it is hard to fill with life. How much land are we talking about? How many people? All of us? What will you grant us? And what do you guarantee?"
Éomer inhaled deeply, finally feeling a first, tentative spark of hope. The first obstacle – that the Dunlendings would outright reject the mere idea out of disbelief – had been overcome, but now he had to face them with the details. Seeing Galdur's stern expression to his right, he began.
"I cannot allow all of you – not even a whole tribe – to settle on our lands, not until I am convinced of your peaceful demeanour."
"Convinced?" Woldro replied and his bushy brows hit the mass of hair which hung in thick knots onto his forehead. "How shall this be done? Do you think…"
"You are right, Woldro of Dunland," Éomer interrupted, "when you say that this peace will take some time in its making. We have come so far now to agree that there have been misgivings on both sides. Yet our tragic history cannot be reversed all of a sudden, and I cannot risk to let you settle with hundreds of people on our lands. Not yet."
Woldro's dark eyes narrowed, but it was Durden who spoke.
"I understand, Horse-King! You expect us to work on the land and then you take away the harvest. That is why you not want many of us to come!"
"If your settlers remain peaceful, more may be allowed to follow. And you should know better than to accuse us of stealing, Durden!" King Éomer closed his blazing eyes, betraying his inwardly raging temper.
The Dunlending understood the unspoken message and bared his teeth in defiance.
"You speak of peace, strawhead, but you think just another way of revenge!" he shouted over the long table and stood up. "You will only be satisfied once all of us are dead, and since you doubt your victory in a fight, you try it this way now! You cannot be trusted!"
"Sit down," Grodes hissed annoyed and pulled his man back at the sleeve. Unprepared, Durden fell on the bench, but freed his arm with an angered growl. A quick glance at the King of Rohan made clear that their host had the same difficulty restraining himself. Again he had risen to lean over the table, fuming.
"You dare to speak of trust, Durden? You? You have done nothing but utter provocations for the duration of the council, but this is the worst! In the wake of your defeat at Helm's Deep, we let you go unscathed. We trusted you to keep the ceasefire that had lasted for two years! You broke it! My people died! Who are you to utter but a single word about trust?" Éomer would have liked to spit, but held the impulse back at the last moment.
It was then that Grodes took a deep breath and rose to his feet, silently asking Thor to translate his words.
"Éomer-King, your offer for peace and land has deeply impressed us, but… I cannot deny that we… have doubts. Forgive my friend, he is not able to… understand your offer, or see its possibilities." Grodes exchanged a glance with Durden, but the tribal leader had already received an unmistakable warning from King Elessar and kept his mouth shut.
"I will grant you time to discuss it among yourselves," Éomer replied, forcing himself to sit down again. "I did not expect you to come to a decision today. As it will determine the future life of your people, I am aware that it needs time to be considered and viewed from all sides."
"More details would be useful, Éomer-King," the tribal leader added thoughtfully, scratching his beard. "How many people? Where? And how do you make it safe for us?"
Since Lothíriel had asked him to leave the path of violence, Éomer had given thought to the actual realisation of his wife's ideas. Now was the time to lay everything on the table to allow the other party a thorough look at it.
"I cannot allow for more than a hundred and fifty people to come at one time. In fact, that would be the most we could let into the Mark, and I hope to have your understanding for this measure. I am certain you would handle the situation no differently were you in my position." He nodded to himself. "Of course no weapons will be allowed. The people you send should have the skill to build huts and know how to set a field and work on it. Our people can help once special questions arise, but by and large, you should be able to sustain yourselves."
His face lowered so that Éomer could not see the hillman's features, Durden growled something deep in the back of his throat, and the king paused until his opponent had fallen quiet again; now that his opposite's kinsmen finally seemed to listen, Éomer felt less inclined to respond to the Dunlending's continued insults. He already knew that his next sentence would awake the man's anger anew. "At the same time, a part of an éored will be placed along that new settlement."
"Warriors?" Durden boomed. "You put your soldiers around the settlement? So they watch us work and kill if they don't like what they see? You keep us like… like slaves?"
It was getting tiring, regardless of the feeling that the other two finally seemed to be listening. Éomer faced Durden sternly.
"Without my soldiers nearby your men won't last two days! Or do you think my people will welcome you after what they have suffered through your hands? Didn't you listen yesterday? Didn't you see their glances?"
"We listened, and we saw indeed," Grodes stepped in, once again ordering his companion with an urgent glare to remain silent. It raised Éomer's spirit to see that the man seemed to grow weary of his kinsman's provocation too. "And we understand that your goal is to protect your people… and mine too." He swallowed, still pondering on how to decide. "So… a hundred and fifty… They would not bring much with them, Éomer-King."
"The settlers and my men would help you during the first weeks with food, wood and tools; everything you would need to settle in. But then you would be on your own."
"But our tribes count more than three hundred," Woldro objected. "There is no way to…"
"You will have to determine on your own who you send," Éomer replied in a tone indicating that he would not allow the discussion to be led in that direction. "I said a hundred and fifty, and I will not yield from that number, so don't try. You speak with your people and send who you want."
"And where to?"
"East of the Isen, still close to your border. The land is fertile there, our own settlement is half a day's ride away. If you remain peaceful…"
"What's the price?" Durden cut in poignantly, his bushy brows knitted and his chin lifted, and Éomer sighed inwardly. Had the man not realised by now he was the only one of his people still opposing the opportunity he was granting them? "All that you say sounds… generous. I don't believe generous. I don't trust generous. The Rohirrim…"
"There will be no further insults," King Elessar reminded him, and the admonished man growled the rest of the sentence in Dunlendish. Thor deliberately preferred to remain silent.
"But the question remains." Woldro stared at the King of Rohan. "Why you do it? Why you lure us to safety?"
"I am not luring you." Éomer's voice sounded strained. Never had he thought that he possessed such a great amount of patience as he was displaying today, yet all seemed vain. Could the accursed hillmen not believe him for once? Here he was acting against his marshals and people, sticking his neck out to solve this ancient quarrel, and all they could do was bicker and insult him? "I made an offer, and I willstay true to my word. You can either accept it and send your people or return to Dunland empty-handed. It is your decision."
Grodes sighed and exchanged glances with the other leaders at the table. Back in Dunland, the people from the far-off lands were waiting for their return. When no one had cared, they had promised help and had brought weapons and men. They had enabled the hillmen to fight… and win! What were they supposed to do now? Wouldn't the strangers become enraged once they came back, having concluded an unlikely peace with their ancient foes? Grodes read in Durden's eyes that – no matter whether this parley would take hours, days or weeks – he would not change his mind. For the first time in history they had attacked two Rohan settlements and had won so quickly that the lore about that night would be heard for years. Why should they now leave that path of victory for an offer that could be a trap… or sheer desperation from the Rohirrim's side?
He glanced over the long table into the king's eyes, trying to read them. He was impatient, yes, and angered by their questions, but at the same time Grodes found urgency in the younger man's features that puzzled him. It had been the Dunlendings who broke the ceasefire, and yet Rohan had not responded with troops. And the King of Gondor's behaviour did not indicate that he was just aiding his ally to lead the Dunlendings to their doom. For good or bad, he felt almost inclined to believe the sincerity of their offer.
"You are not truly considering believing him, are you?" Durden, apparently upon having sensed his leader's mood, hissed, silently enough to avoid being overheard by Thor. "The moment we set foot on their lands they will kill us!"
"They could have killed us before," Grodes retorted. "And what about his people? They seemed angered by his decision. He is acting against their will! No one invests so much if he is not serious about his offer."
"They will control us," Woldro insisted from the other side. "At best, we can expect to be put to work like… prisoners."
"But the king is right." Grodes looked at Woldro. "Their people will kill us if the king leaves us unprotected."
"You believe him?" Woldro lifted his brows, astonished. "You truly believe him?"
Grodes sighed again. The king on the other side had rested an elbow on the table and was talking quietly to his own men.
"What if he keeps his word?" He faced his companions, willing – for once in his life – to believe the word of a Rohir. "What if he really needs people to plough the land? Did you not see when we came here? Much of this land could be set for fields, yet it lies barren! They might have the grain, but no men to put it in the soil."
"Grodes…" Durden frowned, "this is a useless risk…"
"Is it?"
"Yes, it is!" He went on to repeat his accusations until King Elessar addressed them again.
"Are there more questions to be answered?"
Durden shot Grodes an angry glare, not caring what the Rohirrim King would think if they quarrelled among themselves.
"There are more questions," Grodes stated as calmly as he could, but straightening to make his demand clear. "Many more."
The negotiations went on, and as Durden had realised at last that he would not be able to hinder their chosen leader in believing the strawheads' offer, he grumbled to himself, arms folded in front of his body, speaking more to his ale than to his companions. And with Woldro's support, Grodes brought Éomer to reveal yet more details of his plan, further and further overcoming his scepticism and replacing it with hope and excitement. He had the distinct feeling that these could indeed turn out to be historic days. During a break a meal was served, and when they later retreated into the room they had been granted, both parties were left with the notion that something had been set in motion.
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Aragorn breathed through deeply and emptied his tankard. He felt exhausted, yet content with the outcome. Having sat the whole day, he filled his pipe and walked out of the hall to smoke and let his eyes rest on the city of Edoras in the evening's soft light. The negotiations had been as difficulty as expected, and yet they had not been ruined by ceaseless slander. At the end of the day, Aragorn had been satisfied to see the first hints that the Dunlending leader had actually listened. He hoped Grodes would accept the offer once they met the next morning. The king considered it a wise choice to have granted Grodes the leadership. He appeared less hostile than his companions.
Blowing out rings of smoke, Aragorn became aware of Éomer's tall frame. The young king looked wretched, his shoulders sagged. The mental strain he had been under for the duration of the day clearly showed on his features. In the course of the council, he had surprised the Gondorian King with his patience in the face of the constant provocation. With the merest hint of a smile, Aragorn invited Éomer to open the conversation.
"They retreated into their chamber," the Rohir said with a sigh of relief, and briefly looked over his shoulder, where the Royal Guard had taken position inside the hall. None of their guests would leave their room unnoticed. Still he could not shake the feeling of uneasiness. To let the Dunlendings stay in his house meant to be vulnerable in the city's core. "I hope they'll stay there until morning, but as they appeared to be quite affected by our wonderful ale, I deem it unlikely that they will roam the hall this night." A wry smile. "I must say I couldn't have organised it better. The thought of twelve drunken Dunlendings snoring on the floor leaves me much more comfortable than if they had been wide awake and alert." Despite his attempt of appearing light-hearted, concern was still visible on his face.
"Are you content with the negotiations so far?" Aragorn asked quietly, studying Éomer's bearing. He knew that the King of Rohan still doubted the way he had begun to walk, but also understood that he could not afford stray from it now without losing face both to their foes and to his own people. For better or worse, Éomund's son would have to throw in his entire will and power to bring what he had started to a good end. His position would be severely compromised if he failed.
"I suppose I should be," Éomer said at length, running a hand over his hurting, tense neck. "Durden and Woldro won't listen, but Grodes does, even if I cannot tell whether I succeeded in actually convincing him. It might show tomorrow. The others will probably try to talk him out of it before the council commences. We'll see what his disposition will be then. Although I do not know why they even hesitate in the face of my proposal. Never have they been offered such a gift, but yet they are still seeking the worms in the apple."
"Imagine their position, Éomer," Aragorn reminded his friend carefully. "Such a generous offer must wake suspicion. You knew that before. And you did not count on these negotiations to come to a good end swiftly, did you? They have as much reason to distrust you as you have to distrust them. They did not reject your offer. It gives me hope that there will be a way to find peace." He watched the smoke rings dissolve in the breeze before he faced his friend again. "Tomorrow, after they will have talked with each other, we will know more."
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The noises of early morning slowly seeped into Lothíriel's conscious. At the same time, she became aware of a stream of warm air being blown against her neck in regular intervals, and a weight on her waist. She opened her eyes to golden sunlight, and her hand slid down to find strong fingers neatly cupping the curve of her rounded belly. She held on to them, the feeling of closeness bringing a sleepy smile to her features. For a while, she just revelled in it, not giving a care for how late it was or a thought of what the second day of the negotiations would bring. For a while, it was just Éomer and her, and the thought of the night before deepened her smile as she slowly, cautiously turned around in his arms to not wake her exhausted hero from his much deserved sleep. As she came to rest on her other side to gaze into his face, she wondered how peaceful he looked. Gone was the tension he had been carrying around inside for weeks, gone the worry and frustration, if only for a mere few hours. Valar, what she would have given to see him always like that, not weighed down by the responsibility for his people all the time, even if he would never admit what a toll his inherited duty was taking on him. He was still very young to be a ruler of such a vast land, and in sleep, it showed. Only in sleep, Lothíriel mused, somewhat sadly, her eyes lovingly wandering over the landscape of Éomer's peaceful features. Perhaps she would see this expression of his more often once his child had been born. Children, she knew, had their ways of softening even the fiercest warriors, her own father being an excellent example of that as the maids she had grown up with had told her.
Her head soon became too heavy, and so she rested it on her arm as she continued to revel in the sight of her fitfully sleeping Rohirrim king, gently smoothing a strand of flaxen hair out of his brow. He stirred, and a low, unwilling moan escaped his slightly parted lips as Éomer opened his eyes. Still heavy with sleep, his reaction to waking up to his queen's face was slow: A drowsy, lazy smile that caused Lothíriel's own smile to deepen as she wriggled against him, kissing the tip of his nose and relishing in the warmth of his body.
"Good morning, mightiest man of the land... How is your disposition today?" As an answer, his arms tightened around her and then slid down from her bare shoulder blades to the small of her back. Only now Lothíriel noticed that she had not even made it back into her night gown the night before, and a slight chill caused the skin of her bare arms to crawl. She smirked as she let her fingers glide over his broad chest and looked up suggestively. "You mean you have recovered? Is that what you want to tell me, my lord?"
"It means that even half-asleep, I am ever at my queen's command." He stole her breath with a kiss that was at first gentle, but soon filled with intensity as her lips responded to his touch, yearning, urging. "And I will not let my stamina be questioned..." He moved to show her, when suddenly he froze. For a moment uncomprehending what had stopped him when he was almost crushing her with his weight, Lothíriel opened her mouth... and then she heard it too. A distant clamour, voices shouting from another part of the hall, too far away to be intelligible, yet there was urgency to their tone which sent an icy chill down her spine. The dark eyes in front of her face filled with dread while they both listened breathlessly.
"Something is wrong," Éomer pressed, pushing himself off her and reaching for his nearby clothes, acting with a speed that had been honed by years of experience.
"The Dunlendings?" The voices were drawing nearer, and among them, the heavy drawl of the hillmen's delegates could not be mistaken. Lothíriel swallowed and gathered the blanket around her for some warmth as she sat up. "What could possibly have happened?"
"Something serious, by the sounds of it." He slipped into his trousers and shirt, fighting with leather bands and buttons as he tried to do everything at once. From outside the corridor, the muffled sound of approaching steps was not to be overheard. The next moment, a heavy knock disturbed the silence of the room.
"Sire? Sire, are you awake?" It was Gamling's voice, and as Éomer hastened toward the door and opened it, still barefooted, the clamour of voices further back increased in volume and anxiety. The wiry Chief of the Royal Guard looked devastated, and his words robbed the Rohirrim King of his breath: "My lord Éomer, something horrible has happened during the night: The leader of the Dunlending delegation and one of their guards have been murdered... inside their chamber!"