Amidst the lazy tolling of the bell the sad-eyed son of Denethor was led down the mountain to the locale chosen for the execution. The Citadel Guard escort did not have much to do before they reached the square, the city still being practically depopulated. It was only on the clearing itself that the Guardsmen had to push into the crowd and use their spears - held parallel to the ground - to push back the crowd and keep them away from the Steward son's passage through the throng. The crowd was silent and grim, unsure what to make of the situation. The Steward Prince was well-loved - same as his brother - and his death for disobeying orders a harsh sentence. Still, most were military people and accepted the ruthlessness of military discipline in wartime.

A few yards before the executioner's dais the spears were swept away by strong arms and two burly men made a path for the Warden of the Keys Hurin and his strange cargo. He had not bothered to mask himself as his height gave him away anyway. The Warden carried a tall maiden in his arms (anybody else holding her would have dragged her legs in the dirt) and in a few long strides reached the Steward Prince. There the maiden - tall, fair and grey-eyed and with one arm in a sling - used her good arm to tear off the wimple holding her golden hair and draped it over the head of the - turned-to-stone with astonishment – son of Denethor. She raised her head, showing her wide-open, brightly-shining, dilated eyes and screeched:

"He is mine! He is not for the sword! He is mine!"

Hurin and his henchmen bellowed in support:

"We claim Ancient Custom! If a foreign maiden claims a man condemned to death he becomes her own!"

This set off an uproar in the crowd.

Denethor was shocked by the disruption and upheaval. Pursing his lips in disapproval he let his brain come to terms with this development. There must be a way he could turn it to his advantage.

The Steward knew he had to let them go. The Ancient Custom was as good as Law and he WAS Law and Order. And this calling upon the ancient custom, the involvement of the beautiful Rohirrim Princess in the whole affair— all that made the conspirators popular with those present in Minas Tirith; the bards will start singing of it before the day midday meal was over, he was sure. Still, his misguided cousin Hurin would not be spared his wrath ... neither his or Eomer's.

And the Warden of the Keys had family, sent out for safety to somewhere in the Western Vales. A few trusted men would have to be sent their way ...

He would have to send a letter about the whole mess to the Horselord King. But with a high level and bright courier. The man will be instructed to pick the time to pass on the missive at his own discretion. Certainly not before the battle, so as not to distract the King from more weighty matters than his sister's unexpected, putting it mildly, marriage. Some assistance to the young King would not be out of place either. Denethor smiled at the thought of pointing the young Lord of the Rohirrim in the "right direction".

Although the Wimple Casting Custom gave the newlyweds time to leave "before the first crow of the next day", a small party left the White City not long after midday. Three riders accompanied a wain carrying a driver, a woman and a boy, and two prone figures buried under blankets. Passing the ruined gate the party turned left and set out on the Great West Road towards Anorien and beyond.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

"Lord Elfhelm! Lord Elfhelm!" - the outrider cried, running from his horse to the tent occupied by the commander of the Eorling contingent clearing Anorien of orcs and Easterlings sallying from Cair Andros.

"The Princess Eowyn ... in a wagon ... escorted by Gondorians ... " - the messenger panted out his message.

[a few hours later]

Looking at the bodies in the wagon Elfhelm turned murderous. He roared at the tall Gondorian:

"What is she doing here, cur? Speak, before I force the answer out of you!"

Once the Gondorians were led away to await interrogation Elfhelm clambered upon the wain. The sight of unconscious Eowyn's pale face with dark circles under her eyes made his heart bleed. Although a sort of niece she was more like a daughter to him. He had known her from the day she was born. And after Eomund's death, with Theodwyn drifting away from the world into grief and despair, he had cared for her like a father. Checking her for wounds now made him go back in time when he checked her for cuts and bruises when she was a little girl some fifteen years ago. He saw that the small nicks of battle had healed as they should, that the broken shield arm was properly set and fastened. At least in this the Gondorian scum had not mistreated her.

The Horselord could not believe what he forced out from the Gondorians. What a bunch of orcs! What gall! What misguided love for their lord! What arrogance and disdain of the Rohirrim! They drugged the Princess with a wizard's brew - prepared by the woman Ioreth now tending to her - giving her the strength to perform the necessary acts and addled her brain as not to question what was being asked of her! And married her off ... his hands shook with fury ... he saw red...

An hour later the slightly battered Gondorians - three men and a woman - were swinging from a tree. In the Mark, the abduction of women and forcing them into marriage was punishable by death. No wergild for this crime.

The abductors swore on all that was holy that there had been no consummation - and with no midwife on hand and judging by the state of the Gondorian groom - unconscious and feverish - Elfhelm decided to believe them. Hence he commuted the sentence of the accomplices to death by hanging. The tall leader got the full sentence, though - dragged to death behind horses. Elfhelm spared the boy Bergil both the noose and the sight of his father strung up. He also let the wounded Denethorsson live. Not only was the Gondorian unconscious in a bad way - and clearly not involved in the whole affair, or only partly - but he WAS one of the Steward's sons, exiled or not.

And here Elfhelm felt out of his depth. Would Eomer King prefer that he free his sister of such a "husband" and - by widowing her - made her available for an alliance again? Would killing the son of Denethor be cause for strife with Gondor, regardless of the pertinent son being exiled or not? Not for him to answer such questions. Let Bema decide - should he live, so be it and let Eomer judge him then. Should he die - Bema's will ...

He decided to abandon the wain and to ride with Eowyn to Aldburg himself. Eothain could command the army in his steed. In the old capital of the Mark the princess would be under care of her own folk. And Aldburg lay less then three days ride away from their current station. He sent several messengers to Eomer King, some to risk the river, some to take the long route through Osgiliath. Eomer HAD to know what was being done to his sister behind his back! The Gondorian would ride with them, carried by one of the Riders. His life was in Bema's hands now.

"Lord Elfhelm" - one of the older Riders spoke, eyeing the princess in his commander's lap.

"Once we cross the Mering Stream we should find a village and look for a woman wiling to travel with us, to tend to the Wraithsbane."

"No need, my good fellow, I will tend to her myself. Past the stream it is less than two days ride to Aldburg."

The Rider, whose dress and accent identified him as being from an eored raised at Muster from men from the far fringes of the Eastemnet, near the fens of the Mouths of the Entwash was evidently flustered.

"But 'tis mighty improper -"

"I am her kinsman," he interrupted the obtuse Eastemnt rustic, Karl, he now remembered his name.

"Propriety is assured. I'm family enough," – Elfhelm said, his tone cutting off further discussion.

Elfhelm then gave the Rider a fleeting thought - did he have daughters as to bother him over propriety so?

He arranged Eowyn across his lap. This brought memories ... it was the summer after the Snowbourn had flooded ... the summer before Theodwyn died and Theoden had taken Eomer and Eowyn to Edoras. Elfhelm protested against Eomund's children being taken from Aldburg but he was judged too young - and unmarried to boot – and thus incapable of raising them. During that hot summer Elfhelm had cradled his younger cousin in his arms exactly like now. The scrawny little thing had pinworms and he kept her hands in his own to keep her from scratching herself raw. He had rocked her in his arms, biding her sleep, and dabbed her bony bottom with a damp cloth to lessen the itch.

The thoughts of kinship brought up by the Rider suddenly made Elfhelm freeze and feel cold all over. He suddenly remembered that two of Thengel's daughters - Theoden and Theodwyn's sisters - had married in Gondor. The high nobles of Gondor sometimes consented for surplus daughters to marry someone from the Mark - and such a union indeed brought prestige to the house of the Horselord in question. But they never let their sons marry any women from the Riddermark as to keep their Numenorian bloodlines pure. The daughters of Thengel were a special case, being both royalty - whatever the Gondorian might think of it - and half-Numenorean, from good stock. What if any of those Princess' had sons?

Elfhelm personally did not have much knowledge of the Noble Houses of Gondor as these were too high for him. If any of those two Theoden's sisters had sons, then their claim while Eomer lived would be irrelevant. Eorling folk wisdom held that sitting on a horse was half way towards owning it, hence Eomer - on the spot and Third Marshall to boot and with the whole Muster at his command - would be out of the blocks in the running for the Throne before the Gondorians had saddled their horses. Their mothers' seniority over Theodwyn would not matter.

His mind began to throw up ever scarier scenarios. But what if Eomer died? What if such Gondorian sister-sons of Théoden made their claims then? They could then claim precedence over Eowyn as a woman. And a woman without sons to pass on the inheritance to. And being ... wed to that Gondorian ... And if both Eomer and Eowyn died and there were NO Gondorian sister-sons of Théoden? His hair stood on end and he felt cold sweat run under his gambeson. HE was Eomund's sister-son! Bema's wrinkled ballsack! Eomer! Please don't die!

Riding westwards Elfhelm worried for the state of Eowyn's mind. From time to time she raised her eyes - sometimes clear, sometimes hazy - and looked around her. Bema knows what she saw as sometimes she giggled and babbled nonsense, while at other times she gave out gasps of fright and with a whimper buried her head in the blanket and clutched him desperately. Damned wizard's brew! Bema knows what herbs, berries, mushrooms, roots, or whatever the hag had used!

They rode for as long the light permitted. As they were travelling light, with no train, the men simply wrapped themselves in their cloaks and slept sitting or prone next to a fire. They had slaughtered a lame horse and eaten well, full stomachs helping against the springtime cold. The two run-aways were cocooned in blankets taken from the wain. Elfhelm was not particularly surprised to find himself sharing the fire with Eowyn and the Eastemnet stickler for propriety. With said stickler watching him like a hawk while pretending not to. As he was furthest possible from doing anything improper and found the man more amusing than annoying he did not command him to seek his unit's fire but ignored him instead. One more watchful eye on Eowyn would not hurt. Elfhelm then slipped into a light sleep.