Chapter 24

The visit to Westfold was not the easiest Éomer had made so far. While Erkenbrand and his wife Léoma were as welcoming as ever, the atmosphere he met in that part of his kingdom was not entirely so. The nearer to the western border of Rohan he got, the more he saw wary, critical looks thrown his way.

It was because of the Dunlendings, of course. Erkenbrand's face was serious when he spoke of the heightened activity on the other side of the river. There had been no conflict yet, and his Riders patrolled the border ceaselessly, but the uncertainty was making folk in those parts nervous. And people had not forgotten the incident last year, when a group of Dunlendings had indeed crossed the river, bearing arms. Some of the locals thought Éomer had been too lenient with those men; there were grumblings he should have made an example of them so as to not leave any mistaken impressions that Rohan was weak.

Frustrating as this was, it was useless to try and explain his actions at that time. The group he had met had only been looking for lost loved ones, by force if need be, but they had not actively sought conflict. In his mind, showing them mercy in that situation was not a sign that Rohan was weak – his company could easily have wiped the lot off the face of the world had they truly meant harm – but he also understood why some people of Westfold missed the point. The grim memories of Isengard's attack were still deeply felt among them. His own losses were grievous enough that he couldn't judge anyone for their grief and bitterness.

He met with locals, both lords and commoners alike and listened to their concerns. He reassured them there would be no attack from over the river Isen – Dunlending tribes were not strong enough for it and they had no reason – but old prejudices sat deep. The best he could do was reassure his subjects that Erkenbrand would keep up the patrols and be ready to raise the alarm if any need arose. In that occasion, Éomer would personally drive the attackers back into the river.

He knew he needed to calm down that border, not just because of Rohan, but because he didn't want to betray Aragorn's trust. The old road that connected the ancient realms of Arnor and Gondor ran through Rohan, and often his fellow king's thoughts turned to the lands of his birth in the north; he wanted to populate that vast wilderness again, but this task would be quite difficult if part of the road was unsafe. Éomer did not feel the need to do what he could to make the road secure because he thought Rohan somehow owed it to Gondor as a lesser nation of vassals – it was a question of personal integrity and dignity. Even if there were those who expected it of him, he had decided he wasn't going to be a weak, failed king who couldn't even keep his own land in order.

He spoke lengthily with the Marshal and told him to send some messengers over the river. These envoys should be Riders he trusted, who knew the language of Dunlendings and could talk to their tribe elders. They should observe the people they met, gather intelligence, and find out if something was the matter – and if there really was a reason for Rohirrim to prepare for conflict. Éomer himself did not believe the threat was very serious, but he wouldn't leave anything to chance. Perhaps it would also convince some that he took his people's concerns seriously.

It happened that his wife was actually one of the positive things that came up on that trip. He supposed there was a kind of humour in it, considering his own troubles with her. It was on the fifth night, while he stayed as Erkenbrand and Léoma's guest in the Hornburg, that the Marshal's wife asked to talk with him after dinner. So they made their way outside and slowly walked on the great wall of the fortress while the sun slowly sank behind the mountains. It had rained earlier that day and the air was cool and crisp.

First they spoke lightly as Léoma asked about her daughter, and how she was doing in Edoras. With a wry smile, she desrcribed how Erkenbrand moaned almost daily about Alfwen's absence, and yet how he ended each complaint with an exclamation like, "The Queen's sworn shield, though! She's going far, that one." Léoma's aged, shapely face shined with pride when Éomer told her how dutiful and loyal Alfwen was, and how good friends she and the Queen had already become.

But once he had shared all news of Alfwen that he could, Léoma gave him a thoughtful look, and then carefully spoke, "My lord... some of the women here at the fortress have asked me when will you be bringing your lady wife to see the Hornburg. There are many here who are eager to meet her."

He glanced at her with some surprise. Léoma herself had of course met Lothíriel at the wedding, and half of Rohan had gathered at Edoras even if they had spotted their King and new Queen just from afar, but there were many still who only knew Lothíriel by name. And apparently by some kind of a reputation, too, or so he guessed by Léoma's words.

She saw his look and smiled.

"Oh, it is quite understandable. We've heard reports of her kind and friendly manner, the interest she takes in her new people, and the help she gives to those who have no one else to turn to. Many women here in the West-Mark harkened when news came of one Eadhild and her abusive marriage – and how the Queen helped her out of it", she explained softly.

Éomer fought to keep his expression level. Léoma's words rather implied she believed he had married a woman with the makings of a great queen, not an uncanny foreigner who might be a witch.

"Well, I had hoped to take her to Aldburg first. It is no disrespect to you and Erkenbrand, or the West-Mark in general. I just wanted her to see my old home first", he said at length, although at this point of time, he wasn't sure he even desired that. Taking Lothíriel to Aldburg when they were fighting would probably only result in a disappointment. Maybe she wouldn't even consent to going anywhere with him.

He refrained from sighing and added, "But perhaps we can visit here before winter – if the issue with Dunlendings is resolved by then."

And if he still had a queen at that point, but this he did not say out loud.

"Of course, my lord. You have a bigger picture to think of, and many things demand your attention. But I would have you know many people here, women in particular, are very curious and eager to meet their queen. She is something new and we haven't had anyone like her in a very long time. Lady Éowyn did well and stood up for us when and where she could, but it was often near impossible even for her while all that fighting was going on and the kingdom was in such peril. You know well what it was like in Edoras when your dear uncle was ailing, bless his soul. But we have peace now, light and life have returned to Meduseld, and the Queen has a kind of power and influence no other woman in this land does", Léoma said solemnly. They had halted on the wall and were looking down into the Deep, where grass grew again. The only changes were the great mounds where lay all the fallen of the Battle of Helm's Deep. Sometimes, he still felt a tremor when he passed by those mounds and recalled the bloody, desperate struggle for Rohan's future.

Léoma sighed, and continued, "It's a pity Théoden never remarried after his poor lady Elfhild passed. Many things might have been different. I know his pain was great, and she was not replaceable, but what king can function properly without a queen by his side? It's as if half of his people are made voiceless."

He considered this quietly and it reminded him of some things both Lothíriel and Alfwen had told him. And there was something else, too. The rift between him and his queen was also a thorn in the side of the people: if their marriage didn't work, then it would affect others around them, too.

"And what of those who think she should not have that kind of power?" he asked Léoma.

She snorted out loud.

"What of them? They have forgotten who we are. We are not just the people of Béma, we are also the children of Læs. Béma can't exist without her, nor she without him. He has no land to protect if there's no spring to renew it; she will wander homeless without his defending sword. Eorl fought with Elfgifu by his side, and Brego built Meduseld because he had the help of Siflaed the Queen. Gram wouldn't have long lasted against Dunlendings without the counsel of wise Frithuswith. And how could Helm Hammerhand have kept up his fight if not for Gytha and her will of iron? No, my king: those who try to undermine the Queen of Rohan are trying to eat away the very foundations on which we stand, and they will regret it bitterly", she said in stern tones, and her bright blue eyes blazed with all the pride and strength of her foremothers, daughters and Shieldmaidens and queens, who had built this land just as much as their fathers had.

"You don't think, then, that the Queen should be of our own blood?"

Léoma shrugged.

" Læs can take many forms, my lord. It's not in the blood, it's in the spirit."

"And it doesn't matter that some think she may be a witch?" he asked her that hard, painful question.

She cast him a sharp look.

"Some people will see a fire lit in an usual way and cry witchcraft. But if your lady wife is a witch, then so is every other woman in this land, who has helped to bring children into the world, walked the fields to collect the herbs that grow there, and used them to heal our hurts."

He smiled slightly. And because it was her, the mother of Alfwen, and because of the things she had just said, he was able to speak his next words.

"I'm sorry. It is just I doubt myself sometimes, and... things haven't been easy with her."

Léoma smiled back.

"Doubt isn't always bad, my lord; it can temper your confidence from growing too much. You chose a woman whose pride matches your own, and while it can make things challenging, it can be a good thing too", she said simply.

He sighed.

"It seems everyone else understands this much better than I do. But either way, I wish she could have heard your words today. I think it pains her greatly to think that her new people may see her as someone... unhinged. Someone dangerous", he admitted quietly. Why was he saying these things so openly? Perhaps because it was indeed Alfwen's mother, and the Shieldmaiden's loyalty could only be so great because she had learned it from the cradle. And Erkenbrand and Léoma had always been one of the great pillars on which the foundations of Rohan stood upon.

"Well, you must bring her here soon, then. Do not be troubled, my lord. I know she must still find her place in this land, and there are some who would prevent it. But do not think all of us are hoping she'll fail. She did a good thing when she helped that woman Eadhild, and if that's the kind of a queen she intends to be, then she will always find support in the Riddermark. I can assure you that", Léoma replied and gently squeezed his arm.

The sun had now set and the evening was growing chilly. The wind had risen, driving clouds over the sky; it would probably rain during the night. So they returned to the fortress and the cosy fires that kept the damp and cold at bay.

Éomer thought of Léoma's words much for the rest of the night. There was some surprise in them. Somehow he had expected that the people of the West-Mark would be most indifferent to a Gondorian queen. But if what Léoma said was correct, then Lothíriel had many unexpected supporters in this part of the land. It was hopeful news. Lord Eadwig had influence in the East-Mark, and had probably persuaded some that the Queen of Rohan ought to be a lady of proper Rohirric lineage – like his daughter Guthild – but he would have harder time gaining that support among people who thought they already had a fine queen. Even the rumours of her being a witch seemed to be nothing shocking. Maybe it was because even with their prejudices, the West-Mark had received numberless wives from the ranks of Dunlendings, and their wise women were learned in ways that some thought quite uncanny. And Léoma wouldn't speak so strongly if she weren't sure that her thoughts were shared by other people, too. She and Erkenbrand were both native to the West-Mark and were older than Elfhelm; they commanded a kind of respect Elfhelm had yet to build for himself in the East-Mark, for he had come from Edoras.

For the first time, though Éomer did not yet know what coming days would bring, he dared to believe perhaps he could count on having the West-Mark behind himself and Lothíriel, after all. Maybe not all was going to fall apart simply because he had loved and asked an unusual woman to be his wife. Now he just had to make sure Dunlendings didn't come swarming over the river Isen, and things might be all right.

After his business was concluded in the West-Mark and he had left instructions to send Riders at once if the situation beyond the river escalated, Éomer made his way back home again. He was torn between two emotions. First, there was something like hopefulness over his conversation with Léoma. Second, he still felt a degree of dread over what new troubles would pass once he saw his wife again.

All the words of advice he had received went through his head, and it made so much sense, but none of it actually answered the question of how to make things right with his wife. Either she wouldn't listen to him, or he'd lose his patience – or both. Béma, how had he allowed them to end up in this hopeless dead end? And why couldn't she just look at him and see that he had nothing but love in his heart for her, no matter how angry and graceless and frustrated he had been?

On his way to Edoras, it occurred to Éomer: why not make a detour to Snowbourne? Find out how Eadhild was doing, and what was the situation with Lord Ormar and his efforts to put down the disagreements between her family and Ceorl's? It might be good to show his face, if her family had needed to get guards to keep Ceorl's folk from making trouble – remind them who they would end up against if they insisted on this current course. Perhaps showing Lothíriel he took this seriously would also help with reconciliation.

Was he dreading to see his wife? Most certainly. He didn't look forward to her coldness and avoiding him, and he still had to reflect Léoma's words before he might be able to turn the advice into actions. Maybe more staffs had appeared while he had been gone, maybe someone had been caught, and maybe Lothíriel and Alfwen had been able to expose some kind of a grand plan against the Queen of Rohan... Béma, just about anything was possible. But probably nothing so dramatic, as they would have sent messengers to inform him in that case.

So Éomer set his course to Snowbourne, convincing himself at this time Lothíriel was much happier if she didn't see him, and that from the village he might be able to bring her other happy news, added to what Lady Léoma had told him.

Of course he should have known Lothíriel would get there first.


There had been a low drizzle in the morning, but the day had cleared again as the King's Company got near Snowbourne. It was one of the old villages of the Mark, predating even Edoras. It had started as one of the temporal camps when the Mark was first being settled. From there, Brego had built his great capital on that mighty hill which watched over the plains, and was now the seat of all the Kings of Rohan since him.

Snowbourne stood a mile away from the river which bore the same name. The lands near it were lush and green, with fertile land for farming and rich grass for horses. It was also one of the wealthier settlements in Rohan, which showed both in buildings and people's clothing. Some said Snowbourne fed Edoras, and this was true in more than just one way. Many sons and daughters left Snowbourne to seek their fortune in the service of the King, fighting in the first éored of the Mark, or finding other work at the court.

Generally, the King of Rohan did not need to worry whether he had steady support in Snowbourne or not; more often he was preoccupied with the squabbles between the West-Mark and East-Mark. But now with the issue of Ceorl, Éomer was not certain what kind of a situation he would find.

The village centre was a busy spot in this time of day, but most folk stopped by to watch as the King and his Company rode through on their great warhorses, and the White Horse on the Green was carried through the town. Some cheered, others were quiet. Éomer smiled at his people and made no sign that their varying levels of geniality had been noted by him.

The chieftain of Snowbourne lived at the centre, and there was his hall, which was also the centre of all civil life of the local folk. The chieftain was a man in his late forties, with long red-gold hair and bright blue eyes. From previous visits Éomer knew his name was Sighard and his wife was called Winfrith. He was nearly a head shorter than Éomer himself, but he was strong and sinewy. His freckled face was bright and smiling as Éomer approached riding with his company. With him were his wife and sons – she was slightly taller than him, with flaxen hair and grey eyes, but their sons, strong-looking teenagers and one lad of maybe seven or eight summers, rather took after their father. Lord Ormar stood there with them, his hands neatly hidden inside his wide sleeves against the sudden wind that had risen.

"Welcome to Snowbourne, my lord! This is a great honour. Have you come to see how your man Ormar is doing?" asked Sighard. A quick look was not enough to discern whether it was just a stupid friendly jest, or if the chieftain was purposefully undermining Ormar's abilities as an independent thinker.

"Lord Ormar can very well manage without me breathing down his neck, for he is older and much wiser than I am", said Éomer, nodding briefly at his chief advisor, "but I am anxious to hear his thoughts on some issues that have bothered me. I hope I have not inconvenienced you by deciding to join you."

"Well, my lord, it's not for us to think of inconvenience, and what is another member of the House of Eorl but an addition to our delight?" said Sighard, as if he had cracked another excellent joke. The face of his wife Winfrith remained stony; not once during this exchange did her cool exterior melt.

"I'm afraid I do not follow", Éomer said stiffly.

"Sire, the Queen is also here. She accompanied me", said Ormar. His tone was a ltitle bit rigid, which revealed he was not particularly happy about it.

Éomer had to bite his tongue before he said something stupid and embarrassing. So he just nodded and smiled.

"Of course, the Queen. Where might she be at this time? I would pay my respects to her first", he said, somehow able to make his voice completely normal. What on earth was Lothíriel doing here? What had Ormar been thinking when he had allowed her to come?

Sighard's smile looked a little bit pained.

"She's visiting mistress Wulfrun at the eastern side of the village, my lord", he answered and sounded like all this was slightly embarrassing.

Éomer smiled and nodded all the same.

"Thank you, Sighard. I'll return shortly", he said and urged Flamefoal forth again.

Snowbourne was not a large village and so it was not long before he reached the eastern side. Mistress Wulfrun's tiny cottage sat a little away from other houses. It was surrounded by a well-kept herb-garden, which probably had attracted Lothíriel as soon as she had seen the place. Indeed, she sat on a stool before Wulfrun's home with an unfamiliar brown-haired woman who probably was the mistress of the house herself, and none other than Eadhild. All three of them seemed to be cleaning bowls of herbs and talking, although Eadhild mostly appeared to remain quiet and watch her two companions with wide eyes. Lothíriel was so deep in conversation she had not noticed the arrival of King's Company. Alfwen stood leaning against the house and she nodded at Éomer, and there were three other guards lingering by keeping watch. At least the Queen had taken that issue seriously.

Of course Lothíriel had chosen the witchiest character in the whole village to make friends with, he thought wryly. It came as a sudden regret that he couldn't point it out to her, and make her laugh with his observation.

"My lady", he finally called out to her, and Lothíriel nearly jumped up, although she was able to hold the bowl steady in her hands and not spill anything.

"My lord", she said, managing a graceful bow even with the object in her hands. He shuddered to look at her, for she was so beautiful. There was pride and grace in the way she held herself. Her gown was simple and green, but her black hair, braided as it was, set her always apart in the Riddermark. Those grey, knowing eyes were as piercing as ever. He had to wonder: if she knew so much, why didn't she know what he felt?

He knew what kind of an impression it would make if he didn't greet her properly, and as much as Léoma's words burned him, he couldn't really talk to her as he wished right now. He took a deep breath, dismounted and walked to meet her. She put aside the bowl and approached him as well.

Before the eyes of the crowd, he took her hands and kissed her quickly and chastely on the lips. Her hands were warm and little bit damp and he could feel their deftness even with such a brief touch. And her mouth… he had to be very quick and very determined in order not to lose himself. Brief as he was, he could still feel a slight tremble go through her, and grimly he wondered if she was still feeling the bruises on her arms.

"I hope you have a good reason for being here", he grunted quietly, barely moving his lips.

"Of course I do. I saw us meeting here, and so I came", said Lothíriel just as quietly.

Her answer did not console him, because he couldn't stay and interrogate her, and who knew what she would answer anyway?

"Don't wander off", he muttered as he released her hands. She pursed her lips and looked like she had a few things to tell him, but Lothíriel said no more as Éomer turned around and strode back to his steed.

Éomer mounted again and had to make serious effort in order not to look back at his wife and her new friends. He and his company turned their horses and rode back to the village's centre.

This time, Éomer noticed a group of people on the other side of the centre, and guessed they were probably Ceorl's family and kin. They were flocking together and some of them looked quite agitated. Éomer guessed it was because Eadhild – whose family's farm was outside the village – had openly come here… and he guessed she had because Lothíriel had brought her. Oh, Béma. This was going to be interesting.

He dismounted once more, and Éothain did the same on his side. Éomer could almost feel his captain throwing a quiet challenge to everyone around him. Even without looking, Éomer knew his captain was flexing his muscles, tossing back his head, glaring at people, and silently telling everybody that if there was trouble, he would not take it well. Éomer wasn't sure it was necessary – he didn't think anyone, even Ceorl himself, would be foolish enough to make trouble while the King of the Mark was present. But Éothain could be such a mother hen sometimes.

He pushed these thoughts aside for the time being and made his way to Sighard and Lord Ormar.

"Well, my lords – shall we go inside? I would like to know what is going on", said Éomer as pleasantly as he could, with a big smile on his face.

The main room of Sighard's hall was apparently fashioned after Meduseld, although there was only about the third of the space. The place was quite packed when several of the King's Guard came inside; the rest remained out looking after the horses and keeping watch. Sighard invited them to drink and eat with him. Ale was brought, and grainy dark bread with hard cheese, and steaming hot stew that tasted mostly like cabbages. Sighard and Winfrith's sons poured drinks and served the food, and though she was watching them like a hawk, Éomer noticed the starry-eyed looks the lads often gave to the fully armoured Knights of Edoras. He hid his smile in a mug of ale.

After the meal the table was cleared and they were finally able to talk some business. It wasn't quite satisfactory, as Sighard seemed to be determined to misunderstand and downplay the issue at hand: apparently he thought that the disturbances at Eadhild's family's farm were just harmless pranks that didn't have anything to do with her and Ceorl's divorce. Even Lord Ormar, skillful as he was with words and manoeuvring such troubles, was not able to really get to Sighard. Éomer tried to hide his growing ire. Was this why Lothíriel had come? Did she have some information, given to her by the unusual gift she possessed? Would she even be willing to share it with him if he went and asked?

Eventually, Éomer told his host as graciously as he could that he wished to speak alone with his adviser. Sighard was quick to accept, and soon enough Éomer walked outside with Lord Ormar by his side.

As soon as they were outside a hearing distance, Éomer spoke.

"Why is my wife here?"

"My apologies, Sire. It was not my intention to take her along, but she insisted. We had little bit of fight over it and in the end, she commanded me. I had no choice", Ormar replied quietly.

Éomer sighed. If Lothíriel had used her royal authority, then not even Ormar, powerful as he was, couldn't refuse. Still, he was surprised. She usually did not give orders, but went about the things she wanted in other ways… Ormar must have really put her between stone and a hard place.

"Did she say why she needed to come?"

"She said she had business in Snowbourne, and desired to accompany me. I told her the political implications might be unfortunate if she came, but she wouldn't listen. My lord, I had no choice but to obey", said Lord Ormar, sounding a little bit disgruntled. He was used to taking orders from the members of the House of Eorl, but Lothíriel… well, Éomer could imaine it might feel a little bit unusual. It wasn't because his wife was a young woman; Éowyn had given orders to Ormar in her time. It was because when Lothíriel saw things and decided she needed to do something based on them, she could be very strange and direct. And sometimes she had an unfortunate way of not taking any time to explain herself or making excuses that other people might accept. A man like Ormar, so devoted to logic and rational thought, would surely receive it rather poorly.

All the same, he needed to defend his wife.

"I know my wife's orders may seem strange, but do not judge her too harshly. She has her reasons to be here. Perhaps it's good that the people see her… know what kind of a person helped Eadhild to get her divorce", Éomer replied slowly.

Lord Ormar cast him a stark look.

"Is that what you believe, my lord?" he asked.

Éomer glared back.

"Do not ask me to undermine my wife", he replied sternly. But he saw the look on his adviser's face, and he quickly added, "I do not mean to be threatening. Maybe I don't agree with everything she does, but she's my wife, and my queen. Surely you understand that?"

Lord Ormar seemed to relax a bit.

"I do, my lord. For my part, I didn't mean to challenge you."

Éomer smiled slightly, although he expected his good humour would soon be spent.

"Well then, what is going on?"

Ormar spoke quickly but clearly, as he usually did since his long years of seving the crown. He had prepared for visiting Snowbourne after Éomer had left, but then Lothíriel had insisted on travelling with him – giving few reasons but determined enough to command him. So Ormar had no choice but to comply, and they had come here to Snowbourne only two days ago. He had spent most of his time talking to Sighard, but Lothíriel had noticed Wulfrun almost as soon as they had arrived, and spent much of her time with her since then. Yesterday Mistress Eadhild had arrived to accompany them. When the Queen was not with her two new friends, she spent time with local women, asking about their lives, families and work, even joining them in some everyday tasks of household. Apparently she had also spent much coin to support the local people, buying their craft and product. Lord Ormar was not yet sure of what the villagers made of their new queen; the general impression still seemed rather bewildered. Éomer almost smiled.

Eadhild's father, a man called Aldred had come with her and joined some of the talks between Ormar and Sighard. Ormar couldn't quite hide his appreciation when he spoke of Aldred; according to the adviser, he was a calm, steadfast man who didn't lose his patience even as Sighard undermined the troubles which Aldred's family was going through. He had ridden back to his farm in the evening, but Ormar suggested a messenger be sent to fetch him back again so that the King himself could hear his side of things.

Meanwhile, Sighard had acted pleasant and welcoming, but not very helpful. He didn't seem to think there really was a problem. He believed things would calm down soon enough, although he had made a couple of pointed comments about the Queen and whether her presence here truly was helpful in "healing old wounds".

Which rather gave Éomer an easy path to his next question.

"Who was that woman Wulfrun with my wife and Mistress Eadhild?"

"She is the local midwife. Her mother was a Dunlending who married a man of Westfold. Wulfrun learned her trade from her mother, who was said to be very skilled. Some even thought her knowledge of healing and herb-lore were, ah, beyond mortal ken. But Wulfrun herself is well-known for her skill with aiding expecting mothers and newborn babes. That is partly the reason she first came to Snowbourne, for the village was in the need of a midwife at the time. She knows the herbs of this land like few do – although some say that her mother also taught her much of a more secret lore."

Ormar saw his look, and added, "You guess right, my lord. Wulfrun is the midwife who was helping Eadhild to keep from conceiving by Ceorl."

Éomer almost snorted in laughter. It was quite fitting – so like her. Lothíriel had found the very person who had most knowledge of herb-lore in the area, and who had sent Eahdild her way in the first place. Then she had invited Eahild to join her and Wulfrun. No wonder the locals were riled up.

"And I suppose some people feel badly over them being friends?" he asked dryly.

"I am afraid that is the case", said Ormar with a sigh. "As it happens, Mistress Winfrith, wife of Sighard, is second cousin to Ceorl. I believe Sighard's pig-headedness is coming at least partly from her."

"Has the Queen made any attempts to win her over?"

"I have seen them talking on an occasion. Well, they have to, since Sighard has offered us rooms at his own hall. I'm not privy to their conversations but I do not think Mistress Winfrith has warmed much to your lady wife", Ormar replied.

Éomer frowned. He knew Lothíriel could be charming and lovely, and she was savvy enough to realise making friends with Winfrith could be the key to turning Sighard's head. But whether she had tried this and had any success, he did not know, although Ormar's words implied the answer was negative. She was spending time with the local midwife and the town pariah rather than the most powerful woman of the area, which probably seemed strange to most people. There was a brief unkind thought in his mind that she was just indulging her own interest in herb-lore, but Éomer briskly reminded himself that Lothíriel had seen herself here, and it could be she was also aware of other things that made befriending Wulfrun even more important than actively trying to persuade Winfrith and her husband. What it could be – well, only his foresighted wife would know.

"What of Ceorl himself? Has he made an appearance?" he asked at length.

"No, my lord, and I don't expect he will do that now that you're here", Ormar said with a crooked smile. He would recall well the occasion when Eadhild and Ceorl's divorce was discussed in court. He had stood close by, had probably seen Ceorl's hateful look when he stared at Lothíriel, and how he had made a movement towards her… at which point Éomer himself had stepped down and made it clear Ceorl wouldn't survive if he laid a hand on the Queen.

"But his family and kin are", Éomer sighed.

"Indeed. I have exchanged some words with them, but… my lord, Rohirrim can be exceptionally stubborn", said Lord Ormar with a shake of his head and a frustrated look.

"Don't I know it", Éomer muttered. "What do you suggest? How might we best approach the issue? I see now my being here might not have been such a good idea."

"I wouldn't say so, my lord. It is good that you came, for your wife's sake. Not that I expected direct aggression towards her, but people are aware of how poorly you tolerate disrespectful talk against her. That should help some of them to keep their passions in check", the adviser said mildly. "As for the strategy, I would go for a softer conduct. Show them friendship and patience, my lord. Let them know they have not yet made any irreversible mistakes, and there's still time to return to the fold. Your presence alone could be enough,"

He thought about this and agreed. There was no reason to make conflict while reconciliation could still be reached. The greater concerns were elsewhere and he'd rather use here as little of of his influence as possible.

"Well, let us hope I can find a way to soften them up a little bit. I'll have a word with my wife as well and see if she can contribute somehow. Come now, Lord Ormar. We should get back before Sighard starts to miss us."

"Very well, my lord", said Ormar and hid his hands inside his sleeves again. He gave an unusually stern look at Éomer and said in a low voice, "I say this with all respect, Sire: keep your head while we are in there, and do not lose your temper, no matter how justified it might seem. We will not win these people over by frightening them."

"I wouldn't do such a thing", Éomer grumbled.

"Not on purpose, my lord. But you can be a little bit… ah, intense when you get angry and impatient, especially about your lady wife. Some people might take it in the wrong way", Ormar said delicately.

The young king fumed quietly, but he couldn't deny Ormar had a point.

"All right then, I will be patient", he muttered. He glanced at the man walking by his side, and as they neared the village centre again, he added, "Keep a close eye on things today. If these people had anything to do with the staffs, my being here could make them nervous enough to give some sign."

"Of course, my lord", Ormar replied, and so they made their way back to Sighard and Winfrith's house.


Sighard didn't budge. He was endlessly polite and friendly as they talked for a couple of hours, but apparently he knew nothing of who had been making trouble at Eadhild's farm and kept insisting things would soon calm down. Éomer knew he had to tread carefully here, because pushing too hard could make things worse. Seeing this initial prodding didn't seem to take them anywhere, and he had other duties for his people, he asked to meet some of the locals. Showing interest in them could also be helpful in winning Sighard's trust.

It was late afternoon as the chieftain took him around the village centre to meet the people of Snowbourne. Most seemed delighted to meet the King of the Mark, even some among Ceorl's kin, and one young mother went as far telling him that his wife was a lovely woman. Éomer hid his surprise but his smile was genuine.

Overall, he thought his company made a good impression on the locals, and his Knights most of all. Outside the village, a few of his Riders were performing some tricks for the amusement for Sighard's sons and other young folk of Snowbourne; their cheering often rose so that it could be heard on the other side of the settlement. When they finished their show and Sighard's sons returned, their eyes were brighter than ever. Éomer could overhear them talking heatedly of what they had seen and apparently making plans of joining the éored of Edoras as soon as possible. Their father's smiling face did not reveal what he thought of such plans.

At this point, Lothíriel joined him at last, trailed by Alfwen and her guards. Wulfrun and Eadhild were not with her. The atmosphere shifted a little bit with the Queen's arrival, but she showed her usual mask of propriety when she put her hand on his arm and smiled at the people around them. He noticed her fingertips were stained green.

Éomer exchanged a quick look with Alfwen and the Shieldmaiden gave him a tiny nod, which he took for a sign that everything was all right.

When sunset came, Sighard invited the King and his company for dinner in his hall, which was soon so packed that people had to take turns eating. The King and Queen were offered the seats of honour at the chieftain's own table, and no matter how unhelpful Sighard had been before, he was beaming while he sat next to his liege-lord and showing him and his wife every respect. Winfrith did not sit with them at the table; she was busy directing the dinner and giving orders to her household servants. But Éomer did have time to notice that the smiles she gave to the Queen were small and not very warm.

Yet maybe Lothíriel already knew his strategy, or had herself figured out it was Winfrith she ought to use her powers of persuasion on. For the youngest of chieftain's sons came to pour her some ale, and she was quick to draw the boy into a conversation. She asked him how old he was (he had just turned eight summers), if he had been watching the King's Riders perform today (naturally), and what he had thought of it (it was simply wonderful). The lad looked rather excited and would have filled her ears with stories, hadn't Winfrith come to remind him there were other thirsty guests in the hall. Éomer thought the ice in the woman's eyes had thawed just a little bit.

"Well done", he muttered from the corner of his mouth when Winfrith and her son had gone. Lothíriel looked straight ahead and made no sign that she had heard him.

A little while later, she finally glanced his way.

"My lord, do you mind if I retire? I am tired", she said quietly.

"Go ahead", he replied. Lothíriel rose up on her feet, and for a moment he watched her back, hesitating. This could be his chance for a private conversation… if she was up for it… but then he recalled the situation he was in. This was also a chance to talk to Sighard and his folk, maybe 'soften them up' a little bit like he had said to Ormar. If he retired now, it would be noticed and commented upon, and might make Sighard even more unwilling to co-operate. He gritted his teeth and fought against the desire to go and see his wife, and bitterly swallowed it.

It was a few hours later, after many songs and tales, that Éomer was finally able to make his way to the chamber which he'd share with his wife; Sighard's hall was not quite Meduseld and everybody had to share with others – he and his lady at least had a little more privacy than most people tonight. He had already visited the room earlier that day to change out of his armour.

He didn't know what he expected to find. Would she be up and waiting for him, or already asleep?

The room was dim when he entered and there in the bed she lay, her back turned towards the doorway. She was so quiet that he wasn't sure if she was really sleeping or just pretending, but he decided not to try and find out. If she wanted space, he would give it.

The bed was narrow, though, and he would have to touch her if he laid himself down there, probably put his arm around her, too. The thought was tempting – no matter what their troubles were at this moment he missed sleeping next to her – but she might not welcome it. He still recalled the way she had trembled at his touch earlier today, and if it had been in fear or disgust or something else negative, then she was sure not to want him pressed against herself for a whole night.

So he grabbed a spare pillow from the bed, took his cloak, and laid down on the floor next to the bed. There he got as comfortable as he could. Well, it was more comfortable than some campsites he had spent the night at in the past, and soon enough he drifted off to sleep.

In the morning he woke up to see Lothíriel already sitting up in the bed and slowly brushing her long dark hair. She made no sign as to imply she had noticed he was awake.

"Morning", he said cautiously, watching her profile.

"Morning", she said, not turning her face. "Why didn't you come to bed?"

"I wasn't sure if you wanted company", Éomer replied warily as he got up on his feet and headed to the washing basin. He splashed his face with some water before glancing at her again and asking, "Why did you bring Eadhild here?"

Ormar had said Eadhild had come on her own, but he had no doubt she was here because of Lothíriel.

"She doesn't have many friends. I thought she could use the company", Lothíriel simply said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you think it was wise in this situation? What about that Wulfrun? Why are you spending so much time with her?"

"She knows more about herb-lore than anyone I've met in this land. She has taught me some valuable things. Wulfrun even knows something about the poisons used by orcs and Dunlendings and their antidotes", she said, her voice nonchalant.

His temper flared.

"Indeed? Mind sharing some of that information with me, so that maybe we can at least pretend you are not wasting your time here? Or is your work and learning poisoncraft more important than winning these people over? I could really use your help!" he asked sharply.

Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"That is between us 'witches'. I'm afraid it is quite important, although I don't expect you to understand", she said coldly.

"I might, if once in your life you explained yourself", he growled and stormed out.

But even as he was walking down the narrow corridor, Éomer already regretted his angry, unkind words. He hadn't meant to talk to her that way, undermine her interests, or make her feel like he thought she was useless. And he had been unfair, too: Ormar had told him she had also spent time talking to the locals, which was everything but a waste of time. It was his damned temper, which was so much touchier than usual because he was so tired and frustrated and he missed his wife painfully. And so he had once again lashed out and stabbed himself in the leg.

He was thinking of turning and going back to apologise, but he met Alfwen in the corridor carrying a tray in her hands, and he guessed she was on her way to the Queen.

He nodded silently in greeting, which gesture she returned. Then she hurried to speak, "My lord, you should really talk to your -"

"Thank you, Alfwen. Stay close to the Queen and keep her safe", he said briskly. He did not say out loud: I don't trust these people. You never knew who was listening, but he thought she could probably read it in his eyes, for her face became grave.

His mood was everything but bright and happy when he got to the hall. He still remembered Ormar's words yesterday, though. He had to keep his calm, no matter how frustrated he felt – he couldn't let it take over, because it was a sure way to make a mess of things. Ormar would not be happy with him. And so, somehow he was able to smile when he saw Sighard at the table, already beaming at him. His wife Winfrith was busy giving directions to the servants who carried food to the tables, but the boy from last night was not among them. Inside, Éomer suppressed a sigh and a desire to jump on Flamefoal's back and race far away from everyone in this hall.

That's what an angry boy would do, you stupid oaf. Now try and act like the King, he told himself firmly as he took a seat next to the chieftain. And maybe that includes your wife, too, added another small voice at the back of his head, sounding disturbingly much like Éowyn.

They had scarcely had time to dig into their morning meal when one of Sighard's men rushed inside the hall, looking quite alarmed. He came half running to the main table.

"What is it, man? Is something the matter?" asked Sighard, half standing up.

"Chieftain, someone has stolen your horse!" came the breathless answer, at which Sighard cursed heavily.

"Well, why are you still standing there! Go ahead and find out who did it!" he exclaimed. The man, apparently a stablehand to have noticed this incident, practically jumped around and raced out again.

Sighard looked apologetically at the young king.

"Sire, I'm very sorry, but I must go and find out what is going on. Please enjoy your breakfast in peace", he said anxiously.

"Of course. Go ahead", said Éomer, and as soon as the chieftain had gone, he turned to Éothain. He told his captain to send a few men to make sure all the horses of the King's Guard were untouched – and also to check on the Queen's horse. Éothain nodded and quickly left to give the orders. Éomer was not yet very worried about the steeds of his own company. They were all fully trained warhorses, powerful and usually just as fierce as their Riders. It was not worth the risk to try and steal one, because the chances were you would be trampled to the ground. He was more concerned about Lothíriel's horse, a beautiful animal with much milder temperament.

But Éothain returned soon to inform him that all the horses of his guard were untouched, and so was the Queen's steed. At that point, Éomer began to wonder about the nature of the apparent theft. Why would anyone take just the chieftain's horse? No doubt it was one of the finest in the area, but it wasn't like the thief could openly ride the horse, and punishment for such a crime was often severe. He was not left to question for long, because Sighard returned to the hall looking angry and alarmed, and Éomer was close enough to hear his conversation with Winfrith, who, for some reason, was looking a bit worried at this point.

"… I can't find Alfar anywhere..."

"That's because he took my horse! Those idiots in the stables, they had been drinking last night, and slept right through it! But at least some people in this damned village still have their wits about them – old Osythe saw him racing out on the back of my horse! What was that stupid boy thinking!" Sighard was saying angrily.

"He's not stupid, he doesn't mean ill, he just wants your attention..." Winfrith replied, wringing her hands, and growing more overwrought by the moment.

"Now he surely got it! That beast is too big for the lad, he'll get himself killed..."

"No! Please, Sighard, you must go and find him before he gets hurt!"

"Might I be of assistance? I can take my Riders and go look for your son", Éomer finally said, standing up on his feet.

Sighard and Winfrith both turned around at the same time. He looked a little bit reluctant, but Winfrith's feverishly bright eyes lit up. She took a couple of quick steps towards him and grabbed his hand in a quick, desperate motion.

"Would you, my lord? Please, help us! Please find our son!" she practically begged him.

"With pleasure. I feel like maybe I am responsible for your boy's disappearance – my Riders' riding tricks yesterday probably made him too excited to show his own skills. Let me just have a few words with my captain. How many men can you collect for search parties, Sighard? When was the lad seen riding out? If he has been able to stay on the back of the horse, they could be a long way from Snowbourne by now..." said Éomer, and with that, threw his entire focus into the task of finding Sighard and Winfrith's son. He was secretly glad for the distraction, but also for the fact that maybe this was the chance he had been waiting for.

Search parties rode out less than a half an hour later. Unfortunately, old Osythe had not been able to tell which way the lad had been riding, so they did not have a direction to start with. Éomer thought the old woman may be a little bit senile, but she was the only eyewitness and since neither the horse or the boy could be found in Snowbourne, they had to assume she was not making it up.

Éomer took a few of his own Riders and they went to search the north-eastern didn't think Alfar and the horse had gone over the river – the crossing was some league westwards closer to Edoras, and the closer the stream got to Entwash, the deeper it became and its current stronger – especially now in summer as the snowmelt from the mountains fed the river. It would be difficult to cross for a young and less experienced rider, especially on a horse too big and strong to handle.

But a couple of hours of searching yielded no results, and eventually Éomer decided to turn back to the village to get some news – maybe one of the other search parties had been more successful.

By the time he got back to Snowbourne, Winfrith was near hysterical. She was sobbing and pacing the yard of her and Sighard's hall, and of all the people Éomer expected to see comforting her, he did not think it would be Eadhild; other women of the village seemed to be keeping their distance, either because they were busy with chores, or because they were pretending so – though some more experienced riders had gone to look for Winfrith's boy. Lothíriel was not there, which instantly roused his ire – was she off learning poisoncraft from Wulfrun – at least until Eadhild whispered to him nervously that the Queen had ridden out a while ago.

It took him only a few seconds to realise the reason for her absence: Lothíriel knew where the missing boy was and had gone to get him. Had he not acted like an orc this morning, she might even have told him all this. How long had she known? Maybe this was the reason she had not made so much effort with Winfrith – she already knew how to get the chieftain's wife on her side. And the amazing thing was, she reminded him so much of himself. Only a couple of years ago, he would have skipped the politics and intrigue in impatience, and instead taken direct action to achieve his goals.

Éomer almost laughed out loud, and his expression was probably rather peculiar, for Eadhild looked at him curiously.

"It's all right, Eadhild", he said, fighting against the strange mirth that still twisted his insides, "Did you see which way the Queen rode?"

"They went north, my lord", she replied softly.

He raised an eyebrow. That sounded like maybe the boy and the horse had crossed the river close to the village, after all. If Alwen was with Lothíriel, as he assumed, she'd probably get them safely over the stream. But help might still be needed, and he decided to go meet them on the way.

"Good. Stay close to mistress Winfrith and console her, as you can. I'm now more sure than ever that the boy will be found soon", he said to the woman, nodded his head, and then turned to speak with Éothain again.

The Captain had been listening to the conversation.

"The Queen knows how to find the child?" he asked in a low voice, having guessed the same as Éomer.

"I believe so. Let's go, then. They may need some assistance, if the boy is injured", Éomer replied.

Sighard's stablemen had just had time to water their horses and the animals were now ready to go out again. So the young king and his companions turned to the northward path, looking for any signs that might show which way Lothíriel had gone.

It didn't take him long to find them. He saw her small party, the Queen and Alfwen and a couple of guards with the boy, at the other side of the river Snowbourn. His wife was holding the lad in her arms in the saddle and he was huddled there, his small face buried in her bosom. He was holding one of his arms in a way that suggested it was probably injured somehow. An unfamiliar chestnut horse was tied to Alfwen's saddle by a bridle – there was Sighard's steed – and the Shieldmaiden looked to be negotiating with the other guards on how to best get the company over the river. The young king smiled. Both the boy and the horse would be coming home in one piece.

Éomer lifted up his hand to greet them, and shouted loudly so that his voice carried over the babbling of river, "Do you need some help over there?"

"Sire, that would be more than welcome!" Alfwen shouted back, grinning at him.

The river wasn't too deep at this particular point, but the stream was a little bit strong. Alfwen and the guards could get easily over it – Lothíriel and the child were the tricky part. Éomer and Éothain both dismounted and waded kneedeep through the river. Up close, he saw Alfar's arm was apparently broken and his hands were bandaged with what looked like torn strips of Lothíriel's shift. The lad was whimpering quietly, his face still against the young queen.

"Is he all right?" he asked her as soon as he and Éothain had their feet on dry ground.

"He will be, though I wouldn't move him unnecessarily. I've done what I could, but he needs a proper healer", Lothíriel said. There was no trace of this morning's tension in either of their voices; both knew this was not the time for fighting.

"You stay on the horse. Éothain and I will lead you over the river", Éomer said and Lothíriel surrendered him the reins, which she had held in one hand.

He spent a moment speaking softly to the horse, making sure the mare was calm and trusted him; he didn't want her losing her nerve while they were walking over the river and throwing both the Queen and the injured boy off her back. He smiled a bit when the animal's ears pricked up at his quiet Rohirric words. She was probably more used to hearing Sindarin from her mistress. But apparently the mare did not disapprove of his choice of language, for soon enough she was gently prodding at his hands with her soft nose.

When he was sure the horse would follow him calmly, Éomer nodded at his captain and they began to slowly make their way back over the river. The floor of the stream was stony and little bit uneven, but the mare was able to find purchase with some effort. Éothain walked next to the mare, ready to catch the Queen and the boy, if there was a need for it. The crossing went fairly well, but he still let out a deep breath of relief once Lothíriel's horse had all four feet firmly on dry land again.

Alfwen and the guards followed them suit, and soon everyone was mounted again. Glancing around himself, Éomer could see that all but his wife, the Shieldmaiden and his captain looked rather bewildered. If they had guessed at who would be bringing this boy back home, this was not probably the company of people they had in mind.

"What happened?" Éomer asked his wife when they turned ther horses back towards Snowbourne.

"I wanted to go out riding, take a look around myself and see if we might find the boy. We had some luck, for we found both him and the horse a few miles north from here. The horse had thrown him off of his back and the poor dear was too hurt to try and get any help. Not that there was any to be found nearby. Luckily we found them both – the horse had finally stopped to graze nearby and Alfwen rode to catch him. Pity that nobody else saw it, because it was quite the feat, he didn't let himself be caught easily. I tended to Alfar's wounds as I could, but I can't set broken bones. We were heading back to Snowbourne when you arrived", Lothíriel explained calmly. The boy kept his face hidden, but Éomer caught him stealing a peek at him. He guessed his wife was sparing the poor lad's pride a little bit when she said he had been too hurt to get help.

"Very well. We should go as quickly as we can. His parents are out of their minds with worry", Éomer said quietly. He pressed his heels against Flamefoal's sides, taking the lead of the company again.

The village filled with quite the bustle when the King and Queen returned with the missing boy and the horse. People streamed to the street, all talking excitedly. Winfrith came running, weeping out loud and calling the name of her son as she pushed people from way. She almost had to be held back so that she didn't crush her injured child as soon as he was carefully lowered from the saddle into her waiting arms. Éomer was close enough to catch the look of utter relief and gratefulness which she directed at her Queen, and thought he saw some wonder in there, too.

"Thank you, my lady! Thank you for bringing my son back!"

Lothíriel smiled.

"You are welcome, Mistress Winfrith", she said simply.

In that moment, Éomer knew his wife had just made herself an ally.

To be continued.


A/N: Here is a new chapter! I hope you all liked it.

Éomer's thoughts in this chapter were quite interesting - the way he feels more and more strongly that he needs to make up with his wife, but at the same time, he lacks all the good ideas of how to do it. He really can be his own worst adversary: his temper, which is much thinner than usual, doesn't help him at all, even if he knows deep down that he needs to be more patient if he means to fix things with her. He didn't mean to talk to her in such an unkind manner, and he regrets it almost immediately, but at this moment they both have an unfortunate way of saying the worst thing possible and thus provoking one another even further. He is deeply tired of this situation, and would like to solve it somehow, but his frustration does him no favours. And he's not wrong to say that Lothíriel's refusal to explain herself isn't helping, either.

Also personally I enjoyed writing their ways of coming at the situation with Sighard and the issue of Eadhlid and Ceorl. Éomer thinks politics and follows Ormar's advice of a softer approach, and he expects/wants Lothíriel to do the same. But she takes direct action based on something she has seen. Funnily enough, like he realises, she's behaving like he would have only a short while ago: she doesn't try to win Sighard and Winfrith over by words and political discourse, but by acting straightforwardly and going to find their missing son. It surely gains her the good faith of Winfrith, and I would imagine this quality is also what has gained her unexpected popularity among the women of the West-Mark.

Brego, Gram and Helm Hammerhand were early kings of Rohan, but the names of their wives are not given, so I took the liberty of inventing them myself - and giving them importance and agency in the past events of the Mark. I would say it is (along with Léoma's words) an extension of the last chapter and various other parts of this story: the duality of Béma and Læs as an important feature of Rohirric faith, and how their union is re-enacted in the marriage of the King and Queen of Rohan. I would even say it's something that is reflected in the latter part of the chapter: Éomer needs his queen and he's starting to understand how much needs his wife, too.

Thank you for reading and reviewing! If you have time, let me know what you think.

Stay safe out there!


sailor68 - That they are, indeed!

Wondereye - That's what Éomer thinks, maybe.

He does love her so much, but at the same time, he's just as proud and stubborn as she is.

EStrunk - I'm afraid we've not yet seen the end of it! You are quite right about them not having good models for couples fighting and making up, which is partly the problem.

I would say deep down Lothíriel wants to reconcile, too, and that's the reason she came to dance. But at this time it's easier for her to act than to speak (which Éomer may understand better than she realises!).

Sorry, but no reconciliation yet!

Wtiger5 - Well, what can I say? :D I try my best.

Glad you liked that scene, I rather enjoyed it as well. ;)

Interesting thoughts! And you're quite right about him being a block-head, but yeah, the circumstances are not the best for him. "The king dude", I love that! :D But you're right, I don't envy Alfwen's position, either.

Simplegurl4u - Yeah, it went a little bit sideways, and neither of them did anything to help to relieve the tension. I think they both see that their spouse is hurting, but their own pain makes it hard to lay down their defences.

Glad to hear your theories! I can't say anything on that regard, of course. We'll see! A letter might be a good way for them to start mending things.

Boramir - Thank you! :)

Fixing their relationship is definitely going to take effort, but neither are seemingly yet at that point where they are able and willing to start and try. Unfortunately, it looks like politics keeps getting between them!

Interesting to hear your theories, but I'm afraid I can't yet reveal the answers!

You are correct, Éomer has no reason to worry as long as things are stable in the land. There are some tensions in the West-Mark, but actually Lothíriel isn't one of them - she has gained some rather unexpected support there thanks to the way she dealt with Eadhild. This could be a good thing, as he thinks to himself.

Katia0203 - Yes, it is a very frustrating situation! They are being two bull-headed idiots, so to speak. And you are right - they really should make more effort to calmly explain their point of views and listen to one another.

I hear you, and I know people would love to learn what's going on inside Lothíriel's head... maybe she'll get a chance to explain it in her own words soon.

Hope you liked this update!

LOTRLE - That's one possibility, sure!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Mine does, too! But the pain is so delicioius, you know! :D

mystarlight - Thank you! Glad to hear you liked it. :)

Catspector - Yes, the relationship Rohirrim have with magic is rather complicated! Although you could ask whether the traditions of Midsummer's Day constitute as magic or if they should be considered more as ceremonial actions or rites. But this is a complex question best suited to talked about somewhere else, and I don't think I want to turn this story into a discussion on the relationship of religious magic and/or ceremony!

You were quite right - their troubles are not yet over. These poor idiots have really fumbled their way into a painful stalemate.