Two days later, Eomer stood on the porch of Meduseld and looked out over Edoras in the afternoon light. The sun was shining, but there was an warning chill in the air. Autumn was upon them, and would spare no mercy for those who'd lost their homes to the orcs.
At a noise behind him, he turned, watched as Elfhelm joined him. The other man's face was grave as he looked out over the city. "We do not have much time to rebuild the lost homes," he said.
Unsurprised that the Marshal's thoughts so closely echoed his own, Eomer nodded, but then slowly said, "Not all of them have to be rebuilt before winter. There were buildings standing empty, and some of those affected have indicated they will move in with their families."
"The widows of my men." Elfhelm grimaced, grief in his eyes as he focused on a point west of the city, where a new burial mound sat, monument to the riders they'd buried there the afternoon before.
"They fought well, Elfhelm, and saved the city." Understanding his friend's sorrow, Eomer's eyes settled on the mound as well.
The Marshal nodded, then glanced at him. "Have the men riding with King Elessar departed?"
He nodded. Aragorn had ridden off that morning with his men, intent on tracking any evidence to the north of more orcs, as well as to see if he could discover anything more of their organization. A few Eorlingas, including Eothain, had gone as well, to reassure the people of the Riddermark that the Gondorians were acting on Eomer's behalf.
A group of men from Edoras had also ridden out. They would stop at one of the forested areas and begin felling the trees necessary for rebuilding the gates and the lost homes. While Aragorn continued north, the other group would return home with the logs.
"We owe King Elessar a great debt," Elfhelm murmured.
"He told me once that there would never be talk of debts or owing between us," Eomer responded slowly. "Our standing with Gondor on the Pelennor Fields is still fresh in his mind, as is the knowledge that what goes ill for one of our lands will surely spread to the other. Nonetheless, I am still grateful to him – not the least for what he has now undertaken, to survey the north of the Mark." He sighed. "I would have preferred to have done that myself, as well, but…"
"You cannot be in two places at the same time," Elfhelm finished the thought. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice weary. "What will we do if there are yet more orcs?"
"Aragorn does not see how there can be that many more of them, not based on what he's seen in the palantir, nor even simple logic – many of them were lost before the Black Gate as well. And their defeat the other night cost them dearly," he finished with grim satisfaction.
Elfhelm's expression was troubled. "But we still don't understand the source of their organization. And until we know for certain that they've all been routed, I will not rest easy – at the very least, not until the gates have been rehung."
Eomer nodded. They had as many men as possible guarding the entrance to the city at all times, but Edoras would remain vulnerable until new gates were in place. In that sense, Aragorn's departure had been a risk, balancing the need to know the truth about the orcs with the current increased vulnerability of Edoras.
There simply weren't enough men to do all the heavy tasks necessary both to protect the city and rebuild all at once. Some of the physically stronger women and children were doing what they could, particularly in hauling away what remained of the burnt-out buildings, but the women were also needed elsewhere. Someone had to tend to the injured riders, the harvest, and the children.
That the remaining harvest had been left untouched by the orcs had been one of the unexpected blessings of the battle. So sure had the orcs been of their victory that they'd not bothered savaging the fields prior to the attack on the city. Presumably, they'd figured there would be no one left to need their providence once the city had been destroyed.
"I saw your lady amongst those hauling away charred wood," Elfhelm said suddenly.
Startled by the change in topic, Eomer turned, stared at him. The Marshal was a good man, a good soldier, but seldom did his thoughts turn from his eored and the security of the Mark.
"Do you think me blind to all but battle?" Humor laced Elfhelm's tone, and knowing the grief his friend still carried over his fallen men, Eomer forced back a twinge of resentment that his feelings for Lisswyn were not his own affair.
"She is not really my lady. Not yet, at least," he finally said softly. The guards behind them were loyal, but he would give them no fodder for gossip.
Elfhelm looked startled, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet. "I have seen the way you look at each other, Eomer."
He weighed how much to say in response. He didn't mind his life providing a distraction from the current crisis, but not even to his closest friend would he say something that could risk tainting the Princess of Dol Amroth's name with gossip. "There is another situation I must clear up before I am free to court her," he finally said.
"I see." It was clear that he didn't, but before Eomer could respond further, the Marshal spoke again. "I hope that you can do so soon, then. A wedding and a queen would lift the peoples' spirits, and I can think of no one more suitable than Lisswyn. She has earned the respect of our people with her hard work and the courage she displayed during the battle the other night." He gave Eomer a half smile. "But beyond all of that, I would see you happy, my friend."
Moved, Eomer simply nodded, looked out over the city. It cheered him to hear that people were beginning to accept Lisswyn. Unfortunately, it was as if fate itself was conspiring against him – if finding his way free to go to Gondor while the orcs had been a threat had been difficult, going now, in the aftermath of the attack while so much of Edoras needed to be rebuilt would be impossible.
It might well be spring before he dared leave, and what would that do to Lisswyn, if he could not speak of his feelings for that long? Wearily, he rubbed his eyes, wondered again if he should at least tell her why he was delaying. But to what purpose if it turned out he wasn't free to wed her?
"Eomer."
A new tension was in Elfhelm's voice, and Eomer looked up, looked in the direction the marshal was staring.
It took a moment to see what his friend was seeing – dust clouds, thrown up by movement to the southeast of Edoras. It was impossible to tell from this distance who it was, or even if it was riders on horseback or more orcs marching on them.
He swore, a sharp word full of frustration. It might be nothing more alarming than one of the southern eoreds coming to check on Edoras.
But it might not be.
"Assemble your men who are fit to fight." He turned to the guards, saw that they had heard the last exchange, at least. "Muster the royal guard to meet me on their horses at the gate."
Grimly, he wondered if the risk they had taken of sending so many men off to fell trees – or with Aragorn – would prove fatal.
At least this time, he was in the city, would be present at the beginning of the attack, if such a thing occurred. Aware that he was being particularly suspicious of whomever was coming toward them, he decided he was entitled to such distrust with the gates to the city in ruins and most of the men away or injured.
He stalked inside to don his armor and warn Eowyn that battle might be imminent.
Eomer sat on Firefoot, watched the riders coming toward them. By the time he had arrived at the gate, they'd been able to confirm it wasn't orcs marching toward them, and the men with him had given a collective sigh of relief.
But they still didn't know who it was that was approaching. Although the riders were moving at a brisk pace, it wasn't a panicked one. These were not men rushing to report a crisis, and the recognition of that allowed him to relax a little more.
Impatient to know who it was, he nudged Firefoot forward, knew the riders around him would follow.
After only a few moments, Elfhelm lifted his hand, shaded his eyes against the late afternoon sun. His voice puzzled, he said, "I see two distinct standards, but cannot identify them."
Eomer stared hard in the direction of the riders, felt wonder war with disbelief and confusion as the banners gradually came into focus. "Faramir and Imrahil," he murmured.
"Ithilien and Dol Amroth?" Elfhelm's voice was puzzled as he too could now identify the standards, and even knowing Eomer didn't have the answer, he nevertheless asked the question. "But why have they come?"
"I don't know," Eomer responded slowly. "But given our current situation, I can only be grateful." The men who traveled with the princes would serve as extra security for the city, if nothing else. And on a personal level, it meant he could have the conversation he most longed to have – both with the other two men, and then with Lisswyn. For the first time in what felt like weeks, he felt truly hopeful about the future.
He turned to Thedhelm, riding behind him. "Send for my sister. I believe she'll wish to be made aware of this development as quickly as possible."
Beside him, Elfhelm gave a choked laugh at his dry tone, and Eomer grinned in response. Realized it felt good to do so.
Eomer took another sip of wine and glanced around the great hall of Meduseld. His people mingled with the riders from Dol Amroth and Ithilien, doing their best to welcome the Gondorians with food, ale, and Gondorian wine from Meduseld's cellars. The atmosphere in the hall was relaxed and cheerful, very different from the past few days, and he knew it was due to the presence of Imrahil and Faramir and their men. Although it was understood that the men of Edoras had had to go fell trees to begin rebuilding the city, the fear of another orc attack and feeling of vulnerability in the face of the destroyed gates had been widespread, and the unexpected arrival of the Gondorians had done much to allow the people of Edoras to relax.
He turned, studied the man sitting next to him. Imrahil was tired from the ride, that was clear, but his eyes were steady as he looked around the hall.
"Faramir has gone off with your sister, I presume?" The Prince's mouth curved upward as he finally turned to Eomer.
"I believe she has appointed herself his guide," he replied, humor lacing his tone. "They're surveying the situation at the gates, and making sure the men guarding the city have eaten. Or so she informed me." After the past few dark days, it had been good to see Eowyn and Faramir's joy at being reunited.
The other man smiled, but before he could comment further, Eomer spoke. "Imrahil, do not misunderstand this," he said slowly, "as I can think of few times in my life I've been more relieved to see someone than I was you and Faramir today. But why have you come? How did you know of our need?"
"He did not tell you?" At Eomer's puzzled expression, Imrahil's expression turned thoughtful. "Elessar sent for us, indicating that he thought a show of unity in the north – that all of Gondor truly stands with Rohan – would be a good thing. Since Minas Tirith's defense does not rest on cavalry, our being here does not compromise the security of Gondor. It is also allowing my sons to acquire additional experience in leadership, as they have taken over the temporary administration of both Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth."
"I see," Eomer said slowly, still puzzled. Not that it mattered a great deal, but why hadn't Aragorn told him of the message he'd sent south? Particularly when he knew Eomer was concerned about his ability to defend Edoras in the event of more attacks? Not to mention the other, more personal reason he'd wished to see Imrahil and Faramir.
"Elessar has his own reasons for doing things," the Prince said slowly, "but it may be that he didn't know how long it would take us to make the ride north, and thought it best that you not be counting on us."
Eomer nodded, wondered when Aragorn had sent the message. Silence fell between them again. He looked back out at the crowded hall, pondered when and how he could raise the topic of the Prince's daughter. Obviously not now, when they could be overheard. But even if they retired to his study, the timing felt off. As much as he wanted the matter resolved, it felt wrong to do so when the other man had ridden long and hard to come to his aid, and while Edoras was still suffering from the battle with the orcs. To broach the topic too soon might make him look ungrateful or self-absorbed.
He sighed quietly, wondering how long it would be before he learned how to balance his needs with those of his people.
Lisswyn sat back from the loom, a satisfied smile on her face. Homes weren't the only thing the orcs had destroyed, making it not only enjoyable but also necessary for her to weave. After several busy and hectic days of doing whatever seemed most pressing at the time, it was also good to have a few hours to herself.
She'd only seen the King once in the past two days, and that from across the great hall, but his mood had seemed lighter than the morning she had awakened in his sister's bed.
She was glad. He was such a good ruler, caring so deeply for the people of the Mark that it had been painful to see him so despairing. She suspected some of his lighter mood had to do with the arrival the night before of the riders from Gondor. Whatever the reason, she was grateful.
The door opened, and she looked up, surprised to see Hilde slipping into the room. The older woman's expression was grim, and Lisswyn's hands on the loom slowly came to a halt.
"Hilde? What is it? What's the matter?" Unease slid up her spine. Closeted away in the weaving room, she would have no way knowing if some new emergency had befallen them. But it wasn't fear she was seeing on Hilde's face, as if more orcs had been spotted.
Hilde didn't answer right away, simply stared at her, and Lisswyn realized there was compassion lurking in the other woman's eyes as well.
"The King is to marry the Princess of Dol Amroth."
Lisswyn stared at her blankly for a moment. "What King?" As soon as the words left her mouth, she winced, wished them back. Knew how foolish and desperate they made her sound. With Elessar married, there were no other kings.
Hilde didn't answer, just stared at her, and Lisswyn finally had to look away from the pity she saw there.
It was a misunderstanding of some sort. It had to be. Briskly, she asked, "When was that announced? Have I been at the loom that long?"
"It hasn't been announced yet," Hilde admitted. "But one of the Gondorians mentioned it to the brother of one of the one of the servant girls."
Relief and hope struggled through the fear. Gossip. It was just gossip.
But servants frequently were the first to know such things, and gossip oftentimes had a basis in truth.
No. She wouldn't allow hearsay to upset her. "Just gossip, then."
Hilde nodded slowly. "True. But they're saying that is why Dol Amroth came as well as Prince Faramir. The Prince of Ithilien was obviously concerned, given his betrothal to the Lady Eowyn, and the Prince of Dol Amroth came for similar reasons – to make sure the Riddermark is safe for his daughter. Otherwise, he would have stayed to defend Gondor."
Pride came to the rescue. "If it's true, and Eomer-King is to marry the Princess of Dol Amroth, it is because it's the right thing for the Mark." Her voice was stiff.
Suddenly tired, she pushed away from the loom. What was the point of pretending the thought of the King's marriage didn't bother her – at least to Hilde? She looked at the other woman. "Thank you for telling me." Better to have heard it from Hilde than someone else. "If it's not gossip, I'm sure it will be announced at some point," she said quietly. "I'd like to be alone now."
Hilde nodded, the pitying look still present, before turning and exiting the storeroom, quietly closing the door behind her.
Lisswyn watched her go, then looked back at the loom. She should continue weaving. There were people in Edoras who'd lost all the clothing they had to the fires, including some of the women who had earlier shared their garments with Lisswyn and the other women from the caves. And always before, she'd found comfort in the loom's rhythm, in the creation of cloth.
But not right now. The room that had earlier felt like an oasis of peace and privacy now felt like a prison.
She left, walked briskly up the stairs and through the great hall, nodding to those she saw, but not stopping. Aware that she was very carefully keeping her mind a blank, she found herself on the road down through the city, nearing the gates – or rather, the hole where the gates normally hung. No one stopped her, no doubt all assuming she was on an errand of some kind.
It was a beautiful day in late autumn, warm with just a hint of chill in the air, and she suddenly quite desperately wanted to be out, away from the city, away from so many people. Away from her thoughts. Away from any chance encounter with the King.
Walking quickly, she exited through the gates and turned right, started around the wall toward the tombs of the kings.
Looking beyond the burial mounds, she saw the foothills in the distance, and remembered Mylla describing the plant that yielded that lovely shade of green dye. The sun was just now directly overhead, giving her plenty of time to walk out to the hills, harvest some of the plant, and return before dark. It would be safe enough – she'd remain within sight of the city, and the orcs had been defeated.
It had been so long since she'd been able just to go for a walk, to enjoy the land.
She started forward.
Was the king really betrothed? Or was it just gossip? But if was merely hearsay, how had the rumor begun? What was the kernel of truth that had been at its source? Perhaps he wasn't yet betrothed, but was going to be?
If so, why hadn't he told her?
Perhaps a better question was why would he have told her. He'd never spoken to her of his feelings for her, and even less hinted at any kind of future for the two of them.
Heat stung her cheeks at the thought. Had she really started to think he might make her his queen?
No, not really. She'd known better than that, had never quite so lost touch with reality that she'd started imagining herself as his wife.
She remembered the night of the battle, the panic behind the way he'd first examined and then kissed her, and her conviction that it meant he loved her. She still believed that. There had been too much between them to believe otherwise.
But he was king, and his feelings for a commoner, a simple village girl, meant nothing. No matter what he felt for her, he would do what he believed best for the Riddermark, and that knowledge made her heart ache at the same time it made her proud of him.
Even if he wasn't betrothed to the Princess of Dol Amroth, it was only a matter of time before he married someone. The Riddermark needed an heir.
She tried to imagine living in Edoras, watching him wed someone else, watching the two of them be married from a distance, and nearly staggered from the pain. The sharp physicality of it surprised her, and she brought her hand up, rubbed her heart gently as she continued to walk.
It wouldn't be fair to any of them for her to stay in Edoras. After all, it wouldn't be the queen's fault – whoever she turned out to be – and the best Lisswyn could hope for was that the King might find a measure of peace, and yes, even love, in that marriage. And that would presumably be easier if she were somewhere else.
But where? At the thought of moving again, of starting over in some strange village, a tear made its way down her cheek. What would another upheaval do to Brynwyn? And what of Hilde? The woman was too old to make another move, but she would insist on going with them. And Maegwen's boys…they would have to stay in Edoras. Their best chance for a future was with the King. But the thought of leaving them brought nearly as sharp a pain as the thought of leaving the King.
Hearing a noise, she started, turned, looked up. And saw Andric riding toward her, a frown on his young face.
"Lisswyn! What are you doing so far from the city?"
Glancing back, she realized she had walked a fair distance, was nearly to foothills. She forced a smile for him. "One of the women told me of some plants that grow in the hills and which make a green dye I want. And it's such a lovely day, I thought this might be my best chance to collect some of them."
He was now close enough for her to reach out and greet the horse, a dainty light-colored mare. Despite her sadness, she couldn't help but laugh at the way the horse snorted in disappointment at finding Lisswyn's hand empty of treats. "She's beautiful."
"Thank you." Andric's face glowed with pride. "This is the first time Breghelm has allowed me to exercise her by myself."
"Then you'd better not dally. I'll be back in the city before sunset."
He nodded, the troubled expression resettling on his face. Lisswyn ignored it, then patted the horse once more before turning back to resume her walk toward where she believed the little plant would grow.
A/N: A short chapter, I know, but the next part will be along in a day or so. It was another case of two short ones or one very, very, long one, and this was the best place to break things up. Hope you enjoyed it. :)