I woke the next morning before dawn with someone whispering nonsense at my bedside. Raising my head off the pillow, I opened bleary eyes begrudgingly. A slender woman of perhaps twenty- five was kneeling beside me. She smiled when she saw my eyes had focused and kept up her stream of nonsense words. Rohirric, I thought as the realization of where I was crashed down on me.
I pulled the pillow over my head and rolled away from her. "Go away," I mumbled. "It's not light out yet." Gently she pulled the pillow from under me, and grumpily I sat up. "Listen, I don't know what you're saying. I don't speak Rohirric."
She nodded and said something else, pointing at a basin of water and a small covered tray sitting on a low table on the other side of the room. I shook my head. "Later," I insisted. "Come back later." I gestured to the door as if to shoo her out of it. "Come back when it's light outside."
She shook her head too, and pointed again at the basin and tray.
"Later…later…later." I repeated, pointing out the window. "When the big, bright, yellow thing in the sky is almost directly above us, I want you to come back. Until then, just let me sleep you, harpy of the north."
She shook her head and began to pull the covers down. I snatched them back and glared at her with my most withering glare. To my surprise she didn't stop. At home my maids would never presume to make me get out of bed before I wanted, much less pull away my covers like I was a petulant child. But she just laughed and shook the covers once so that a great billow of cold air went shooting down through them, and said something in Rohirric.
I glowered at her, vowing to get her put on clean-up duty in the kitchens as soon as possible and find a more subservient servant to be my maid. But for the moment there didn't seem to be anything left to do except to get out of bed, wash my face and have my breakfast.
I was pleased to find that she had heated the water for me, and when I got to it the breakfast was quite good. I ate a boiled egg with some dark, hearty bread that had a good flavor and drank a mug of warm milk. There was even a small pot of salt and some rich yellow butter. I normally had light pastry with butter and jam but as I was still tired from the journey I was glad to have something more substantial than my usual fare. I felt much more charitable toward her by the time I had finished for she didn't rush me but continued to flit about the room, opening the drapes and then looking through the – compared to my closet in Minas Tirith – meager assortment of dresses. She pulled a simple cotton dress of dark gray out of the closet and turned to me for my approval. I nodded agreement, and she began to brush out the wrinkles and air it.
Erchirion and I had taken a rather modest house in the shadow of the main hall. There was a small dining room and kitchen as well as a solar for each of us and three bedrooms. It was by no means very grand, but it was cozy and well built. He had let me take the largest bedroom and the solar that faced the light. "You'll be here more than I will after all," he'd said.
Under normal conditions it would not have been a difficult household to run. The house was small and with just the two of us there wasn't much to do. We had three servants — the young girl who had woken me, whose name turned out to be Eadgyth, a shy old woman who was our cook and a formal, taciturn young man who was our guard. The cook and the guard had the good fortune to be able to almost completely avoid me by staying at their respective posts, but Eadgyth did the shopping and she had to come to me for money. I had expected this and so the first time she came dressed to go to the market I pulled out some coins that would have been roughly appropriate for Minas Tirith and pressed them into her hand. "Don't buy any more of that awful venison we've been eating," I said, though I knew she didn't understand.
She shook her head and pressed the coins back into my hand. She pointed at me and then at the door and said something in Rohirric. Both of us had decided on a tactic of pretending that the other understood our language which sometimes infuriated me to the point that I would just leave the room while she was taking. I breathed deeply. "What do you want?" I asked, voice poisonously tight.
She went to my closet and pulled out a pair of soft, doe-skin boots and brought them over to me, placing them in front of me. "You want me to go with you?" I guessed.
She pointed at the boots and said something else.
"No," I said shaking my head.
She nodded her head – yes.
"Eadgyth," I said, very firmly, "there is absolutely no way that I am going to go strolling around this rusticated city with you buying more of that awful venison and getting stared at by your barbaric brothers and sisters."
But somehow twenty minutes later I found myself in the bright sunshine, padding after Eadgyth down to the market, feeling murderous.
As we walked through the market I began to realize that though a Gondorian lady would never accompany her servant to do the shopping it was perfectly acceptable in Rohan. Not all, but many of the girls were accompanied by their ladies, some of whom were even carrying baskets themselves. Éomer would explain to me later that Rohirrim women took pride in being directly responsible for the quality of their table. It was seen as careless not to do the shopping yourself.
After that I knew better than to resist when she came with her basket. I plodded along behind her like a dark rain-cloud, giving her as much money as she wanted and staring vacantly into the distance as she bargained. Only much later would I realize how kind she had really been to me. It would have been remarked upon had I never gone with her to the market, and not to my benefit. And during those first few weeks she'd never complained about me to anyone, though I'd given her more than enough material for it. In fact, I got the distinct impression that she made quite a few excuses for my aloof, disdainful manner.
Erchirion offered to hire more servants—some serving girls, a real handmaiden and a porter—but I refused. "Whatever for, Erchirion?" I snapped. "Who exactly do you think we will be entertaining that we will need serving girls and porters?"
And it was true, for the first week absolutely no one came to call at our house. This was of course my fault. Éomer had given a small welcome feast on our arrival to introduce us to the society in Edoras and though Erchirion had been quite charming, I had barely said a word. At the time I had thought it was a kind of disdain for the Rohirrim and their ways that kept me apart from them but later I would begin to wonder if it had been fear instead.
Our black hair and clothes set us apart distinctly from the Rohirrim and wherever we went in the Mark, Erchirion and I drew stares. Later I would learn to take it for what it was: a genuine and open curiosity. But at first being stared at had felt intolerable. I wanted to scream at them that didn't they know that they were the strange ones, the backwards ones, the barbarians. I felt out of place for the first time in my life, and I couldn't stand it.
So I stayed in our house, reading, and writing long letters to Amrothos full of complaints. But then one morning Lady Gænwyn of Underharrow came knocking.
Her first words, when I opened the door and found her on the steps, were: "Welcome you to Edoras, Lady. My name is Lady Gænwyn."
Gænwyn was easily old enough to be my mother. She was tall, and while most Rohirrim are slender, she was thick and quite stout, if not exactly fat. Her face was tanned and weather-beaten though she wore a very fine crushed velvet gown and a golden belt worked into a pattern of clasped hands that I liked very much. She had the kind of mouth that was made for laughter and a mead cup, and her bright eyes were those of a much younger girl.
Many of the nobles spoke Westron passably well, but hers was so heavily accented that I barely understood her. "Yes. Hail to you, Gænwyn and thank you for your warm welcome," I said. "Now I apologize most profoundly but I am just about to step out of the house to go..."
"Rohirrim say: Westuhál," she cut me off.
I was so taken aback that she would interrupt me that I wasn't offended at first. "What?" I said.
"When they are meeting Rohirrim, they are say ''Westuhál,'" she repeated slowly. "So when I see you I say WestuLothírielhál. Now you say."
"Fine," I said, "but really I am going to be late for..."
"Westuhál," she repeated, enunciating each syllable.
"Yes, yes, Westuhál," I repeated impatiently.
She beamed at me. "Good. Good. Now we go sit together."
"I really had planned to go..." I began, but she was already walking down the corridor.
She seemed to have been to my house before because she walked straight to the best room and settled herself on my couch. When I rang for Eadgyth and asked her to bring some tansy tea and scones Gænwyn shook her head. "Too late for that," she said. "Drink tansy, bring long night. We drink chamomile tea."
With some rapid Rohirric she countermanded my order. It irked me greatly that she would tell me what to do in my own house and I tried to tell Eadgyth to bring both but she was already gone. "I assure you that I am quite accustomed to drinking tansy at this hour." I said haughtily.
"Too late for that herb," she repeated. "Now you tell me about Minas Tirith."
By the time Gænwyn finally took her leave of me, hours later, I had decided that there wasn't a single thing that I liked about her. She was loud, rude, blunt, bossy, pushy, and she didn't know anything about anything. And worst of all she was nearly impossible to insult. My well aimed, clever and biting jabs about her lack of culture, education, sophistication, breeding and manners, slipped right through a gap in her Westron, leaving her wholly unscathed. My sour looks broke like a ship on the rocks on her doggedly cheerful manner. And whenever I tried to give up on explaining something she hadn't understood, she just wouldn't let me.
"Go back. Speak better. I will understand," she would say.
I had expected that my rudeness, and I had been quite rude, would keep her from coming back but she came at least every third day after that. Sometimes we would sit together and she would make me tell her about Gondor, about which she was quite curious. Sometimes she would tell me about the Mark in her broken Westron. This was slightly more interesting to me, though I lacked the patience to decipher her and after a while I would begin to simply let her talk, not bothering to try to understand.
Other days she made me go with her places. She walked me to the hall and took me to sit with other noble ladies. Once she even took me to her tailor and bought me a dress in the Rohirric style, though I refused to wear it. Not everyone was as immune to my sullen manner as Gænwyn and often the women would sit in almost complete silence as Gænwyn chatted on gamely in her awful Westron. Most people spoke better Westron than her but, unlike Gænwyn, let me cow them into silence.
The breaking point came after a week and a half. She came to my door particularly early and though I protested I didn't want to go, down we went to the stables where she commanded two of her horses to be saddled. When I saw that she hadn't found me a modified saddle that allowed me to ride side-saddle, I crossed my arms over my chest. "I can't ride like that," I said firmly.
"What problem?" she asked.
I pointed accusingly at the saddle. "I can't ride with that. I ride side-saddle like a lady. I can't ride like that and more than that, I won't, Gænwyn. It's not proper."
Her brow wrinkled. "What problem?" she asked. "Speak well."
By speak well she meant speak slowly and use words that she knew. Suddenly I was furious. Speaking so that she could understand me wasn't speaking well, it was speaking poorly! How could she not see that I didn't want to go riding with her? How could she not see that I didn't want to be her friend? Why was she so stupid and stubborn?
I choked down a scream of frustration. "I…cannot…ride...in… that… saddle," I said, enunciating every word. "I… ride…like…this." I mimed riding side-saddle. "Like a real lady," I added spitefully under my breath.
She shrugged. "No trouble. You learn ride like people of Mark."
"I can't!" I suddenly exploded. "Why can't you see that! I don't want to learn to ride! I don't even want to be here! I want to be home asleep! What is wrong with you? What in Valar's name is wrong with you that you can't understand that?"
For a moment she looked shocked. Perhaps she hadn't understood my words but my tone of voice was unmistakable. But then to my surprise she threw back her head and laughed heartily.
For a moment that made me even angrier and it occurred to me to strike her. But then just as suddenly as the anger had flashed up, it vanished and surprisingly I laughed too. All my rage melted suddenly and unexpectedly away like sugar dissolving into tea. When we stopped she began to unbuckle my saddle. "All right", she said. "We find you right saddle, Lothíriel."
For some reason after that I quite liked Gænwyn . The strange kind of pushy affection she lavished on me was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I got angry with her quite a bit. But she had this way of laughing just when I was getting ready to shout at her and after that day it was somehow easy to laugh with her.
When I told her she needed to improve her Westron she shook her head. "No. You in Riddermark now. We speak like Horse-lords."
"You want me to learn Rohirric?" I asked, nonplussed.
"Why not? Black hair means good head."
I puzzled over that for a moment. "You think black-haired people are intelligent?"
She touched my locks. "This means you can read books and..." here she mimed writing, "in them too."
"Yes, I can read and write."
"Therefore speak like Riddermark people no problem," she said. "I teach."
'Therefore' was a word that I think Gænwyn felt made her seem intelligent. She used it in every sentence she could fit it in. I had gone on a walk that morning therefore I must rest that afternoon (she felt that the ladies of Gondor were roughly as physically capable as a Rohirric infant). I had worn the blue dress today thereforeI looked nice. And I found for some reason that I had adapted the habit, parroting her own awkward, bastardized Westron back to her. I was from Gondor,therefore I did not wear the clothes of the Rohirrim. I had run out of ink therefore I needed to go to the market to buy more.
But Gænwyn stuck to her promise of teaching me Rohirric, though I had never actually said I wanted to learn it, and it quickly drove a wedge into our blossoming friendship. I learned the greetings easily enough and a few simple words but past that I was useless. I didn't have any of the grammar and there was only so much I could remember. I wasn't used to being treated like a child, an idiot child at that, and began to resent it and to fight her when she tried to teach me new words. But she never let my sullenness deter her. Until I had repeated it she would just keep saying the word and pointing to something.
After two weeks, when Erchirion finally came back from his first ranging, I was so grateful to have someone to talk to I poured out the whole story at the first dinner, complaining bitterly about everything that irritated me. Most of it was about Gænwyn . But as I spoke I found that I had quite a bit of good to say about Edoras too and strangely most of that was about her.
I told him about the day she'd taken me to pick berries in the wild tangle of brush and bushes that grew along the south edge of the outer dyke. I had struggled through the thorns and thickets for three hours, filling my basket. I had torn my dress and cursed Gænwyn , Rohan and berries thoroughly in Westron. But once we had finished the ladies had stripped off their dresses and dove into the stream that fed the dyke to swim.
"Come,"Gænwyn had said, "last time to take bath here. Cold soon."
It hadn't been proper, of course. Amrothos would have said it was positively unsanitary to do it with barbarians who had Valar only knew what sort of catching illnesses. But it had felt incredibly good to soak off the sweat, juices and scratches in the late afternoon sun.
I also told him about making candles with Eadgyth and the cook (whose name was too difficult to pronounce). It was something I had never done but I had brought some rose oil with me from Gondor and after three afternoons in a row when Gænwyn hadn't called I had decided to try. It had been quite a struggle to explain to Eadgyth what I wanted and it was backbreaking work that took all day. By the afternoon I had been almost ready to forget the project and leave Eadgyth and the cook to finish but somehow I couldn't. Amrothos would have laughed at me. Servants after all were there to serve. If I wanted rose-scented candles it was their job to make them for me. We had finished well past dark and ate a simple meal of bread and butter in the kitchen. Eadgyth and the cook had looked almost as tired as I did but had gamely started to put on hot water for me to bathe but I had waved them off and gone to bed still sweaty and with wax in my hair. I had rarely slept better.
"Still, I will be raving mad in a week if Gænwyn doesn't stop trying to teach me Rohirric," I said at the end of my rambling. "I can remember the words she teaches me just fine but that doesn't help me put together sentences. I know the words for fish and meat and pumpkin spice soup, but I can't ask for it to be served for dinner. I know how to greet, but I don't know what any of it means."
"I suppose I could talk to Éomer or Elfhelm and have them explain to Gænwyn that you don't want to learn Rohirric," he said.
"If only that would stop her!" I sighed. "No, what I was really hoping for was that you could maybe see if there was a book of basic grammar and words for Rohirric I could find somewhere. I think if I could study some basics on my own maybe I would get a little farther when Gænwyn tries to teach me," I explained.
He nodded, a strange little smile on his lips. "Well yes...if you think that would work."
I was writing a letter to Amrothos in my bedroom, sprawled over the bed carelessly, when Eadgyth, came in. Normally she scowled when she caught me writing in bed because I had a tendency to spill ink on my sheets but today she looked too flustered to care. She beckoned me to come into the front room.
"What is it?" I asked lazily, though I knew she would only beckon me again.
I had expected Gænwyn, but to my surprise Éomer was waiting for me. I knew he had gone on a visit to the Westmark, and thought him still there. He was leaning over my writing desk looking at a map I had been copying from the book on Rohan I had brought with me. I dropped into a deep curtsey. "Good day, my lord," I said. "What a pleasant surprise. I didn't know that you were back in Edoras."
He smiled and kissed my hand. "I returned last night. Your brother told me that you were looking for a book on Rohirric." He held out a small book bound in handsome red leather. "We have few books written in our language, but my grandfather commissioned this to help my grandmother when she had to come to live in Edoras.' He paused, frowning slightly. "Although I am told she took little interest. I'm pleased that you're intent on learning our language. You do us honor."
That surprised me more than I would have thought.
"Mostly I'm concerned with figuring out how to get my handmaiden to stop waking me up before dawn," I said. "But sure...also other things too, I suppose. Your songs are quite good I hear."
He smiled. "We are early risers in the Mark."
"Why do you call it the Mark?" I asked. "And not Rohan, I mean."
"Riddermark is the name we give these lands. Rohan is the Gondorian word," he explained.
"Oh?" I said. "That's very interesting."
"That map is very good," he said, pointing back to my writing desk.
"Oh, is it? I have been wondering about that part of the Mark. We rode through the Eastfold on our way up, but I haven't seen the Westmark at all," I said.
"Oh...no I meant that your copy is quite good. The map itself is quite bad."
I was surprised. "What? Why do you say that?"
He smoothed it out and showed me two villages. "These are both equal distances from Edoras. But on the map one is almost twice as far away. This lake isn't anywhere near where it really is and the river runs through these two valleys, not these two."
"How frustrating," I said nonplussed. "Have you got a better map I could perhaps copy then? I would be very careful and promise to return it immediately if you need it for anything."
He shrugged. "I have perhaps one or two that are a little better but no one has ever really mapped the Mark seriously. Some Gondorian scholars have come to do it before but none of the Rohirrim have ever taken an interest in it. Are you interested in maps?"
"It's a hobby," I admitted. "I've even made a few myself. But I have no formal experience. No one really thinks to hire the Princess of Dol Amroth to survey their lands."
He laughed. "I would imagine you would have better things to do."
"You would imagine," I said with a sigh.
"Come, take a walk with me through Edoras," he said suddenly. "Your handmaiden tells me you only leave the house when someone comes to fetch you away."
Despite the slightly mocking form, I was surprised at the offer, which was generous. "Do you have the time, my lord?" I asked.
He offered me his arm as a response.
I was surprised at how grateful I was to be out of the house as we walked through the town. We drew a lot of stares and attention as we walked. Both because of my black hair and because I walked on their King's arm, I imagine. But I was surprised at how little the daily life of the Rohirrim was disturbed by our passing. They dropped bows and curtseys perfunctorily but only the smallest children were stunned into silence. I had the impression that Éomer walked often through the city.
Conversation flowed easily between us as we walked. It had been almost a month since I had spoken with anyone who was fluent in Westron, except Erchirion, of course, and it was like a sip of cold wine after a long walk. I perhaps shouldn't have wasted the King's time with questions that I could have asked any citizen but he seemed pleased enough to answer them for me. At first I tried to limit my questions but when I found that he was quite knowledgeable about almost every aspect of the life in Edoras my questions came almost faster than he could answer them. He laughed as he tried to keep pace with my curiosity.
Perhaps naturally for him, halfway down the hill our path turned towards the stables. He didn't even seem to notice that I had never expressed interest in seeing them. Perhaps his feet went there of their own accord, as water flows down hill.
The grooms seemed even less perturbed by their king than the other citizens of Edoras. A few called out a few words to him in Rohirric and he answered in the same language. He led me to a particular stall where I recognized his horse: an enormous gray charger. The horse snorted once and walked to the stall door, sticking his great head out to gum Éomer's shirt, looking for treats. The King laughed and stroked his head, mumbling a few words in Rohirric, but finally he found an apple in his cloak and a knife in his boot.
I almost laughed at that. What king walked around his own capital city with a knife in his boot like a common foot soldier? But then again he hadn't always been a king. He had been in the war and at the court of Rohan when Grima Wormtongue had held the mind of King Théoden. Suddenly the knife reminded me of the part of my own mind that was always ready with an insult or a retort. Neither of us ever let our guard down, I realized, though that meant different things to us. I felt an unexpected pang of empathy for Éomer. The insane urge to take the knife from his fingers and bring them to my lips came over me. The man who stood before me was such a strong, fierce warrior and king but only because he had been made into one. No one had ever protected him, so he had learned to protect himself. That made me, quite unexpectedly want to offer him shelter in that age-old womanly way: by taking him into my bed and letting him sleep there soundly. I almost laughed at that too. What silly, strange creatures we both were.
He cut the apple in half and gave a piece to the horse.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" I asked.
He laughed. "Ah yes, where are my manners? This is Firefoot. Firefoot this is Lady Lothíriel."
"Oh, so he speaks Westron?"
"As well as you speak Rohirric, I'd wager."
I grinned. "Lady Gænwyn says that 'black hair means good head'" I tried my best to impersonate Gænwyn 's accent as I spoke her words. "So give me a few weeks with this book and I'm sure I'll be speaking like a native."
He laughed. "Gondorians do have a reputation for being intelligent Very few of my people can read and write. They used to think that you were magicians because you were able to communicate without speaking. You're lucky. A few generations ago we might have drowned or burned you for fear that you would put a spell on us."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Again he laughed. "I would never let anything happen to you."
How very like Éomer to presume so much with a remark like that. I felt heat flush my face and quickly changed the subject. "Gænwyn also says that the Gondorian mares have many teeth but I have no idea what she means by that. When I ask she just points to her own teeth and says, 'many, many, many, lady."
That brought a loud shout of laughter which he quickly stifled.
"What?" I demanded. "What is she saying?"
He shook his head. "It's a superstition here. It comes from the breeding of horses...but it's not quite suitable for me to explain it to you."
I glared at him. "That is unfair."
Instead of answering, he held out the other half of the apple. "You can feed it to him if you want."
I took the apple and held it out, keeping my palm very flat so Firefoot wouldn't take a finger with it. After that the horse allowed me to stroke his neck a few times and I thought back to that night when Lady Harra had made so many jokes about stroking King Éomer's stallion. Was he thinking about that as well? I tried my best not to blush.
"He's very pretty." I said.
Éomer laughed at that, hard. "You don't know very much about men do you?"
I looked up at him sharply. That sort of comment could mean a great deal or very little and could merit almost any reaction from a slap to a mad dash for safety. But he simply looked amused. "When a man takes you to see his war horse he isn't hoping to hear how pretty it is."
"What adjectives were you hoping for?" I asked. "Strident? Overwhelming? Magnificent? You're just as puerile as Lady Harra."
I admired the horse for a little while longer and then Éomer offered to show me the rest of the stables. All the horses in the royal stables were magnificent. There were docile mares, almost wild stallions, elegant geldings and even a few beautiful little yearlings. "Do you think I could learn to ride?" I asked as we walked back up to the keep.
"I was under the impression that you did ride," he said. "Given that you rode here."
I had spent most of the trip in the back of a wagon but I didn't choose to correct him. "No, I mean do you think I could learn to ride like your sister? Not side-saddle...astride?"
"Is that something that you would be interested in?"
I shrugged. "Gænwyn has made it clear that I look absolutely ridiculous when I ride side-saddle."
He laughed. "I admit I was surprised when Erchirion told me you'd made friends with Lady Gænwyn."
I shook my head. "I wouldn't go so far as to say we are friends, though I can't seem to convince her of that," I protested quickly. "She's quite vulgar, I think, though I can't be sure given how little we understand each other. Besides that she's bossy, rude, pushy and devious."
"I've heard all that said about someone I happen to think very highly of."
Washetalkingaboutme? I wondered. I gave him a quick look but his face was completely unreadable. That was one of the surprising things about Éomer: I was usually very good at reading people but I found that his face was somehow difficult. At first I had thought it was the difference in our culture but I found the other Rohirrim easy compared to him. Even when he laughed there was something in his eyes that I didn't quite understand.
"Well, anyway, it's a silly idea," I said with a sigh.
"Why do you say that?"
I shrugged. "It's just not me, I suppose. I'm not the kind of girl who rides astride." The unexpected bitterness in my voice surprised even me.
He considered me for a long second. "I like that you keep pace with me when we walk," he said finally. "Most women can't or won't for some reason and I've noticed that it's not your natural stride. I'm sorry to cause you problems but it is refreshing not to have to slow down for you. And it makes me think that maybe you're the kind of girl who could learn to do just about anything she put her mind to."
It was a strange compliment. Still, I blushed, feeling strangely proud.
When we reached my doorstep he bowed and kissed my hand, taking his leave. "For as long as I can remember Lady Gænwyn has been the matriarch of the Edoras court. Her husband died when she was a young woman and her two sons were both killed in one of Saruman's raids. After that she turned all of her considerable intelligence and force of will to the society in Meduseld. If she wants to be your ally, it would be... a tactical mistake to refuse her."
TBC
AN: I know I say this every chapter but my beta Lady Blue Jay really made this chapter a much more enjoyable thing to read. A huge thanks to her! Also a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed. The more you review the more I want to write!