Something was ill in Edoras, Ailith could feel it in her bones. She stared around as her horse walked through the city. It was deathly quiet. The citizens all hurried about their business as if there was a pox. She met the gaze of one old woman and her heart flipped with recognition. This particular woman had been a merry old soul, occasionally a little worse for the drink, and had shouted out greetings to anyone who passed by; peasant, Rider or even Théoden if he rode out. Now she stayed silent, although she did nod respectfully as the company of Riders passed.
"Is it always like this?" she asked Éomer fearfully. He didn't say anything but a muscle tightened in his jaw. She knew that well, he and his sister both did it when they were holding back. She glanced up at the Golden Hall above them and wondered what she would find within.
"Ailith? Really? You were a scrawny girl when you left, look at you now!" Háma said warmly. He enveloped her in a hug and then held her at arm's length, scrutinising her again. "The King will be thrilled to see you again," he said, his voice slightly hollow.
The slight ching of a blade being drawn made Ailith turn. Éomer had indeed drawn his sword but he was laying it on a table by the door.
"New rules," he explained. "No-one may stand armed in the presence of the King."
She nodded slowly and placed her own sword next to his.
"Do you want to change into something more suitable before your audience with the King?" Háma asked. Ailith frowned and looked down. She was wearing her armour; it was clean and her overall appearance was neat and presentable. She realised what he meant by suitable and met Háma's eyes with a glare.
"Do you want me to walk up the Golden Hall stark naked?" she asked coldly. "I had no space in my packs for dresses."
It was a complete bluff, Merewald had ensured that three dresses (her mother's blue and two plain) had found their way into her packs, but Háma nodded and stood aside.
"Lord Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshall of the Riddermark! Lady Ailith, daughter of Ailred, Lord of the Fortress on the Wold!" he shouted as the door opened.
If Ailith had thought that the city was quiet, it was nothing compared to Meduseld. The only sound in the Golden Hall were the heels of their boots upon the stone as they walked up the Hall.
"Hail, Théoden King!" Éomer called and bowed. Ailith did the same, her eyes fixed on the figure in the throne. First her father, now her King. When they separated, they were men in their prime. Fierce warriors, strong men and loving fathers. When she saw them again, they were shadows of their former selves.
"How strange," a voice said, sending shivers running up and down Ailith's spine. A figure stepped forward out of the shadows. He was clad all in black, his skin as pale as snow and his icy eyes stared intently at her, a dark humour dancing inside. "The doorward tells us that a man and a woman grace the Golden Hall. However, I see before me a man and a peculiar creature with the face of a woman but the body of a man!"
He laughed coldly. Ailith narrowed her eyes.
"Who are you who speaks for the King?"she asked.
"My name is Gríma and I am the King's counsellor, man-woman! May I enquire as to what you have done with our beloved Ailith, brightest wit of Meduseld?"
"Gríma? The pathetic being who couldn't hold a blade without trembling?" she sneered. Her eyes raked over his long robe. "It would seem we have traded places. I am in armour defending our country, you are in dresses whispering sweet nothings into the ear of the King."
"Some are more suited to the court than the battlefield, " he replied. "If it is the custom up North to send young girls out to wave a sword around in the hopes of striking an enemy, one can only understand why you would return to us in such an unwomanly fashion. Pray, what are you supposed to be? Did you decide to play dress-up for the amusement of the court?"
Her mouth fell open. She couldn't believe that he was speaking to her in such a way. She turned to look at Éomer for support but his head was down, his eyes drilling into the stone floor. She looked back only to see Gríma walking back towards the throne, shaking his head sadly.
"How dare you speak to me in that fashion! I am a Rider of the Mark!" she snapped. Gríma turned, his head tilted towards her in interest. She stopped and took a deep breath, calming herself, before continuing. "I have killed orcs and Wargs and wildmen for my King and country! In my blood is the blood of Eadric the Shepherd who built the Fortress as a refuge on the hills! It is my blood that has governed the Wold! We have seen sixteen Kings pass while we protect your lands and sixteen more shall pass before we leave. The lordship has passed from father to son for generations and will pass to my heirs when their time comes. I have my father's ring as proof of my stewardship for he died with no living male heirs."
"A pretty speech. Tell me," he said, his pale blue eyes boring into hers. "Did your father give you his ring or did you pry it off his cold, dead finger?"
She screamed wildly and tried to leap at him but Éomer grabbed her and locked his arms around her shoulders. She couldn't shake him off, she could only pull helplessly against his grip, fighting to take even a step towards Gríma.
"Don't you dare speak of my father!" she bellowed. "He was twice the man you ever were and ever will be, you craven!"
"Oh, such anger! Does it make you proud, Éomer, to see an old friend and a fellow Rider behave in this manner?"
He stepped forward, his face inches from her. She felt Éomer's grip tighten around her. Gríma reached out a pallid hand and lifted some of her hair off her face. He stroked it to one side, his fingers tracing down her jaw line. His touch would have been almost loving if it were not for the chill of his fingers and the sneering malice in his eyes. She felt revolted, she wanted him to stop. And if Éomer held her arms...
Her knee shot up and hit Gríma squarely in the groin. The counsellor doubled up, spewing horrific curses, even as Éomer dragged her backwards away from him. She aimed a kick at his head but her boot failed to connect.
"If you ever touch me again then my dirk shall find a sheath in your stomach!" she spat.
"How dare you strike me! I will mount your head upon a spike above the gates of Edoras!" he returned with equal venom.
A cold, derisive laugh echoed through the Hall. Gríma halted and turned to look at Théoden in his throne. The King's hands came together in a slow clap.
"Excellent, excellent!" he wheezed, his watery eyes rolling in their sockets. "Such fire, such anger! Step forward, my dear."
"My lord, I must protest!" Gríma said but Théoden waved him away. Ailith shrugged off Éomer's arms and walked forward.
The King looked at her without recognition. He laughed again; his entire, frail, little body shaking with each cackle.
"You shall stay," he said. "What a splendid creature you are, little Rider."
"My lord, a woman cannot bear the title of Rider!" Gríma shouted, striding forward to stand equal with Ailith.
"I believe my counsellor is correct. No woman may bear the title of Rider of the Mark," the King said to her. Gríma glanced at her, triumph in his eyes.
"I have taken my Oath; I have fought on the battlefield to defend your people! Why am I not worthy to bear the title?" she asked through her teeth.
"Choose a title of your own, if you will," Théoden said, smiling horribly. She looked around, thinking wildly. All she wanted to be was a Rider. She didn't want to change it; how could she? Rideress? No, that wasn't right.
Her eyes met a pair of grey in the crowd and she found herself looking at her oldest and dearest friend. Éowyn smiled encouragingly at her and gave her a tiny nod, her eyes wet with tears. A tiny scar on Ailith's hand suddenly throbbed and she turned to face her King.
"Shieldmaiden. I choose the title of Shieldmaiden," she said, her mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
Théoden stared at her, not saying anything. She wondered if she had somehow crossed a line. Suddenly, the King threw back his head and roared with laughter.
"Yes, yes!" he crowed. He leant forward in his throne, his eyes finally seeing her clearly. "A Rider you are not, but a Shieldmaiden! The Shieldmaiden of the North!"