Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 17: of Mōdraniht and Boars
To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.
~Federico García Lorca
She stiffened slightly at his words. She was schooled and brought up with the understanding that a woman should never spend a night alone with a man even if it did not involve any act of promising courtship.
She leaned down and brought herself to his level. Her hand clasped his and another laid gently on his chest. She could feel the steady beating of his heart beneath his muscled flesh. She spoke, "All the strengths you seek in life are deep inside your heart."
She made no intent to mask the compassion in her voice. Her heart ached for this man yet she could do no more.
"I can't," she replied softly to his earlier request.
He raised his head up to look at her. Their gazes met and locked.
His face was more mature, more shuttered than ever before. His dark eyes always seemed to hold all the mysteries. She had known every line, almost each texture. She would like to believe for that a moment she knew and understood everything about this man, yet there were always some air of enigma around him. She could not explain.
His dark eyes swept her out of reality on a tidal wave of emotion, like always. She felt she missed a beat in her heart.
His hand rose slowly close to her face. The residue of leathery odour lingered between his fingers. He slid his knuckles lightly on her face and brushed away the incipient moist that started forming at the corner of her eyes.
Her chaotic mind wailed upon his touch. She was not certain she had prepared herself for this. Prepare herself for a man who had drove her insane and had the ability to subside her rationale in every possible way. Months of warring tension spoke a fearful truth at this moment - she was helplessly attracted to him. Why had nothing changed? She had tried to withhold her feeling as best as she could, any reaction to him should have been mild. It should have been!
"Sshh…"
His voice was the gentlest ever rang in her ears. It held the seduction she did not know he possessed.
He held her chin up with his thumb and forefinger. She could smell him – his scent primal and raw, enveloping her. She saw him leaning forward slowly. Now she had not only lost her train of thought, but also all her coordination. She heard her own heartbeat and bated breathing in the eerie absence of sound. Instinct ruled over her and she closed her eyes and waited with beating heart for something to happen.
Seconds went passed like years.
She felt his breaths getting heavier on her face and she waited.
KNOCK!
A firm and loud tap on the door sent her startled. She opened her eyes instantly. As if awaking from a reverie, she came to immediate terms of their current situation. Being mortified by her earlier trivial impulses, she cast her eyes onto the floor away from the man in front of her. What was she thinking? This was madness. The palpable anticipation should not have any ground in reality. Certainly not now or in the future.
She heard him cursing lowly in Rohirric. She looked up and saw he turned his face away from her, rubbing his temple.
Knock!
Another tap on the door.
"My Lord?"
That voice was Gamling's.
Éomer slowly turned around and threw her a quick glance. The usual frown sat between his thick brows. She could not tell if he was apologetic or annoyed. She had feeling akin to regret. She should have left.
She stood up and went to the table where the basin and towels were sitting. She must not panic or go bolting for the door. This might look suspicious, meaning she might be guilty or ashamed whilst trying to hide some inappropriate doing. Pretending to be busied with the fabrics, she took the opportunity to regain her composure; she cleared her throat and said flatly, "I should go."
Without saying a word, he rose and headed to the door.
The door opened and Gamling's hand hanged in midair. Gamling appeared a bit surprised; perhaps he did not expect to see her still in his king's bedchamber after this hour. It was more than two hours since Éothain told him that she would be tending his King.
"I am sorry, my Lord. I did not know Lady Lothíriel was still tending you. I did not mean to interrupt."
"No need to be sorry, Lord Gamling," she held her head up and explained in a calm voice, "I am finished. Lord Éomer will need to see a proper healer tomorrow." She felt the words were being forced out of her mouth as she tried to hide her trembling interior. She could feel his hard stare on her. She did not want Éomer or Gamling to notice her embarrassment.
"I will see to it, my Lady."
"Good night," she bowed and took her left.
It was difficult to keep her feet at their normal pace when she exited his bedchamber. She wished to have varnished like thin air since the moment the knock came at the door. She dashed through the main hall as soon as she went past the fire pit. Their voices were fading behind her.
Her steps went hammering down the stoned steps. Her face was flushed with anger and shame. She was angry and also ashamed of herself. Of her stupidity. Of her action. And most of all, her inability to detach herself from him.
Burying her face in a pillow, she screamed her lungs out, hoping to release all the rage and erase the embarrassment. She must have been a lunatic to expect something might actually have happened just now and to have that feeling of disappointment when they were interrupted. She was a fool to keep blinding herself with some false hopes!
"I am only a damn diplomat!" She reminded herself and kept repeating it until she fell asleep. It served a convincing lie to herself until a little surprise at Yule broke the spell.
The next few days went smoother than she anticipated. Éomer appeared as his usual self and did not seem to be affected by their eventful exchange as if nothing had happened at all. He held on to his ungenerous verbal reputation and only bartered a few words with her at their usual business at the morning council.
It was a day before Yule. Lothíriel noticed the city was waking up with some peculiar excitement. Children were scampering with loud giggles. Old folks were greeting her with warm grins and smiles. The workers at forges and foundries stopped at mid morning break and returned to their home to get changed.
Nobody had mentioned anything. She was at the kitchen of Meduseld and getting ready to prepare lunch. There were some unusual big wheels of cheeses on the tables. There was a wax seal on each of them – a horse pulling a cart with a milk barrel on it. She recognised it was the emblem of Farmer Barwick in Edoras. She poked one of them with her knife. The knife tip could barely pierce through the dusty-brown rind. It was very hard. She lifted one and sniffed it. Surprising it was not unpleasant at all but with an attractive nutty odour. Inspecting the circular disc in her hand, she found it incredibly heavy and soon she had to hold it with both hands. And, these wheels were much larger than the average. The diameter stretched more than the length of her forearm.
Curious and tempted to uncover the mysterious object, she lowered her knife slowly until it was nearly touching the wheel. Alas! She was interrupted abruptly when Éothain entered and screamed at her, "STOP! Don't touch the cheeses!"
She nearly jumped at his shout. Confused and upset by his impolite reaction, she barked at him, "What is that for? It is just cheese!"
"It is not just cheese," he threw her a sharp look, scooping up all the three large wheels into his arms.
"Oh, my poor cheeses!" he muttered at the dairy produce and caressed them fondly as if they had just been rescued from some form of misfortune.
He turned to look at the puzzled face and pointed at her, "They are not for the table! Well, at least not now!"
"Then why were they sitting in the kitchen? More precisely, next to my chopping board, begging for my attention! Isn't that a conflict of interest if I just stood there only to admire them?" She raised her knife and pointed at the wheels in the young rider's arms. To say she wanted to admire them was understated, in fact she wanted to eat them!
"Did anyone not tell you, today is Mōdraniht!"
"With my rather limited linguistic knowledge, I know today is Mōdraniht, Éothain!" She crossed her arms.
"My Lady! You need to go out more! Leave this damn stove to someone else!" He rolled his eyes, expressing his disbelief. After instructing the other maids to take care of lunch, he dragged Lothíriel out of the kitchen.
"Where are we going with these big wheels?" She asked as they descended the stoned steps.
"You'll see!"
Most dwellers of Edoras were already gathering at the main entrance and cheered happily when they saw Éothain. Lothíriel saw Moriel and Hannor among the standing. Éowyn was talking to some of the Rohirrim. She had been away at Minas Tirith for more than a month and had just returned to Edoras a day before. Her wedding was due to happen next summer and she spent the last month overseeing the design of a ford in Emyn Arnen, where her home would be with Faramir.
Studying the excited faces, Lothíriel could not help but soon noticed that the people were not cheering at Éothain but at the cheeses in his arms.
"Éothain! Do you have the cheeses?" Someone asked, merging from the standing crowd.
"My Lord, I have them!" He grinned, lifting one of the wheels.
Gamling came to the pair and took the cheese from Éothain. They exchanged quickly in Rohirric and Lothíriel only managed to catch a word or two – ríce and cēse, which did not help much in understanding Éothain's protective reaction over those cow produce.
Éothain returned to the standing pack and they all went out of the city.
Lothíriel somehow felt a bit confused by the whole situation and she could no longer withhold her curiosity, turning to the old rider next to her, she probed, "So did Éothain father these cheeses?"
Gamling burst into laughter. "No, my lady. It would be extremely worrying if it had come to that!"
"He seemed to be overprotective of them while we were back in the kitchen!" She gestured towards Meduseld. "And he was also caressing creepily them as if they were his offspring," she explained and then added on second thought, "Or, I did not know he had a fantasy of…cheeses."
The old man continued to chuckle. "Fantasy or not we will see."
He then turned his eyes to the bottom of her robe.
"What, Gamling?"
"I hope you have some decent boots, my Lady."
Pulling her robe up, she extended one of her legs to reveal a brown leather boot. "These boots have been married to my feet since the day I left Minas Tirith, Gamling!"
"Very well, my Lady," Gamling smiled.
"Thank to the courtesy of someone that I should never have the chance to wear normal suede shoes again," she muttered dryly.
Seemingly to ignore her last statement, Gamling led her to the entrance. "Now, let me tell you the Rohirric celebration of Yuletide."
"We still retain the tradition of our forefathers before we came to the Mark," he continued as they made their way around the thorny fence circling Edoras, "every Yuletide, there is an event purely for amusement purpose, which you might find surprising, it is unrelated to horses."
"Amusement? And no horses?"
Lothíriel drew her eyes narrower and remained unconvinced by his words. Now these were two terms that should never go together as far as the Rohirrim were concerned. These people built and lived their life around horses and they actually had some time for other non-horse related interests? This was going to be an eye opener.
"Indeed, my Lady. This tradition came all the way from Brego, son of Éorl. At the completion of Meduseld, he felt there was a need to reward the hard work of his people, so he marked the day today four hundreds and seventy five years ago that Mōdraniht is the day where we could pamper ourselves with pure enjoyment. "
They continued their way until they reached the east side of Edoras. A little steep hill came into sight, just behind the walls of the horse closure. The snowfall a few days ago was still evident with some residues of white patches on the green rugged slope. A stair of wooden steps paved along the wooden fence of the city, to ease the climb onto the hill.
There were people everywhere especially crowded on the promontory and along the slope. They were all excitingly happy and cheering at Gamling when they approached. The wind blew from the south and it was very cold. She wrapped her arms around herself. She had left her cloak in Edoras when Éothain pulled her out of the kitchen.
She followed Gamling up the winding path. The weathered stones beneath her feet were rimed with frost. The wind swirled around her, blowing her hair into her face; white snow crunched beneath her boots, while ahead the dark ribbon followed the lines of the hills, rising higher and higher. It was unforgiving and not easy to walk up.
Her bare cheeks were ruddy with the biting cold, and her body complained more loudly with every step. It was freezing.
They stopped at mid hill. That was when Éothain reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and shouted down at them.
"My Lady, I must leave you now. I hope you will find your first Mōdraniht in Rohan pleasant, in the company of my Liege."
But she was not paying much attention to Gamling's word. She was busy catching her breaths and feeling warm from the sweat and cold again from the wind. Brushing off the sweat on her forehead wearily, she gestured for him to head off. Only when his figure became smaller, she suddenly understood what he had just said.
"Gamling!" She shouted.
"He is too far. He won't hear you," the Horselord said casually, standing behind her.
"I will go up there," she pulled up her robe, motioning to climb up. It was very difficult to meet him in the face after that night. It was embarrassingly awkward.
"If I won't do that if I were you. It only gets steeper and harder the higher you go. And besides, this is the best location to enjoy the whole sport in case you have not noticed."
"Best location?"
She turned around and looked back the way they came from. She was momentarily breathless and taken away by the scene in front of her eyes. For all those months she had spent in Rohan, she did not know its beauty could stretch beyond describable words. Under her feet, the rest of the world was a bleak emptiness of windswept plains and green fields spotted with snow. There was an endless spread of earthy prairie.
Another gust of wind went swirling from the south. Instinctively, she pulled her arms around herself tightly. She could feel her legs shaking beneath her robe.
"You are cold."
"I am not," she turned her face away, refusing to face him whilst rubbing her hands vigorously and blowing warm air into them.
She heard him letting out a sigh and then the cold breeze varnished and warmth enveloped her. She looked up and saw him wrapping his fur cloak around her.
"Keep it."
His words bore no affection or any sort. He had always behaved this way, never generous with words. She never understood his thoughts. But the tiniest kindness ever leaked from his act always managed to cause a ripple in her heart which she exhausted with every effort to keep still.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Clasping the cloak around her robe, she felt the sudden urge to cry. His scent was floating in the air and overwhelmed her. He always had such a strong and overpowering presence. It was hard to tear herself away from his duende.
"You should look up, otherwise you will miss it."
At his word, she directed her eyes to the top of the hill and saw Gamling and Éothain standing at the front edge.
"What are they doing? They are not going to roll down the slope, are they?"
"Brego started it with some cart wheels but it did not turn out too well as they all broke before they reached the bottom. So a farmer suggested some cheeses. Since then, it has become a tradition that we always hold this event on Mōdraniht with the same cheeses that were made more than ten generations ago by the same family," he replied not directly answering her question.
"There were some years that we had to give up this privilege," he added with a very quick flash of regret in his eyes.
Lothíriel knew he was referring to those years when Gríma was poisoning his uncle.
Gamling's loud voice rang in the air. All eyes turned to him. He stood high with a wheel of cheese in his hand.
Lothíriel managed to understand a little more since Gamling was fairly slow with his speech. He was telling the young ones of the story of Brego the same one he told her earlier. But he added this year was special because it was a new beginning that people of the Riddermark should no longer suffer from war. The crowd applauded loudly at his words.
He called forth Éothain and passed him the wheel. The young Marshal was getting in position.
"The previous winner will roll the cheese down. When it has travelled one twentieth of a league, then the race starts," Éomer continued to explain to her.
"Roll cheese and race?"
She was certain that she was hearing the echoes of her father telling her not to play with her food.
"Yes, and watch. First to catch it will be the winner," he pointed to the top of the hill again.
Her eyes studied the slope and the hill appeared steeper than she thought and there were holes and divots. The cheese fell in a rather slow motion and began bouncing down the slope. A whistle broke the breeze of the air. It looked and sounded very simple at the beginning – be the first to catch the cheese. But it all changed at the drop of a cheese wheel. Men, old and young, poured down from the top. Some ran and skipped trying to avoid the holes and stones. Some waddled down the course cautiously.
It rapidly plunged into complete chaos. There had to be at least a hundred bold men running after the mighty wheel. The ground was damp and muddy, slick footing, with rocks and hidden roots to trip the brave souls. There were bodies flying everywhere as the men threw in their caution to the winding, steep path and gave the hill everything they had to offer. Some were clumsy and looked extremely awkward. They were crashing into each other with reckless abandon and showed no regard for their personal well-being. Everything was havoc and out of array. Smell of mud and grass filled the air. The cheering from the women and children were deafening.
Lothíriel's eyes widened and brightened with bewilderment. Never in her life had she witnessed any sport so free-spirited and wild such as this. She screamed and cheered for the running men. She kept clapping her hands like a child. Her face etched as a thud echoed when someone took a tumble. Her expression was fantasying to the Horselord standing next to her. He had seen her smiling, heard her laughing and giggling. But never such a heartily one. She howled louder as the men were catching up with the pace of the wheel.
Out of the hysteria and frenzy of it all, a champion revealed himself. Dirty and muddy, the same man, who won the previous, emerged from the pack like a bolt of lightning. His gleeful grin was unmistaken. Éothain stood there proud and satisfied when he continued to enjoy the admiration from the entertained crowd.
"Oh my Valar! Éothain has won!" She exclaimed, clapping and jumping. Being overly gratified, she turned around and, to Éomer's surprise, threw her arms around his neck, giving him a bear-hug and screaming in excitement, "He has got the cheese!"
Before his mind could respond to her shocking reaction, she quickly released herself and ran down the slope happily to join the rest of the cheering pack. Her dark hair flew in the air like out-stretched raven wings as he watched her. His brows drew close. He stood there a few moments until the hill came clear of the overjoyed people.
"It went better than I thought, my Lord."
His old friend came to stand next to him.
"Yes, Gamling."
"I am glad you have decided to revive it. The last game, if I recall correctly, was more than three years ago," the older rider remarked, touching his beard.
"Is it ready?" asked Éomer.
"Yes. Our men are collecting woods and branches as we speak," understanding his King's question, Gamling replied according.
"We will head out to the forest tomorrow after breakfast. Get the men ready."
"Aye, Sire."
Unknown to both Éomer and Lothíriel, somewhere there were a pair of eyes that kept watching them over these past few months. These pupils, flaming with anger and jealousy, took in every moment they were close together and each exchange they made.
Revenge is best served cold.
The next day.
It was Yule. The joyous air of celebration filled every corner of Edoras. Lothíriel now had more time on her hands. Some widows had offered to help out at the orphanage. She was relieved that the children would be able to have the motherly love that she was too busy to offer.
She just realised last night when she came to change at night that she still had Éomer's fur cloak on her. It struck her as she was hardly a forgetful person and moreover she always returned any items she lent to their owners. She ran her fingers tenderly over the smooth soft fur on the hood and the shiny seam along the edge of the red brownish cape. Gold-treaded embroidery of a sun decorated the exterior of the hood. She recognised it was one of the few casual non-ceremonial cloaks that he had. Wrapping it in a parcel, she decided it was best to return it. Keeping it won't change any fact and won't bring any hope either.
After breakfast she left her cottage, heading to Meduseld. While she was outside in the city, she found many men and women were putting saddles on their horses. It was not understandable for her as on the first day of Yule in Dol Amroth, people were supposed to stay at home and celebrate.
Lothíriel caught Éothain coming out from the stable of the Royal Guards with his steed. She hurried her steps and stopped him.
"What is going on? Everyone is saddled up! Are you leaving somewhere?" She grabbed one of his arms and asked.
"Lady Lothíriel, it is the first day of Yule. People are supposed to be out!"
"Out? Not staying at home, are you saying?"
"Exactly, my Lady," said the young rider, "It is boar-hunting! We do it every year on the first day of Yule for our feast!"
"Boar? Hunting?"
Éothain could hear the inevitable excitement and participation in her voice.
"Errr….yeah…" his voice now held significant reservation, knowing what to expect from the woman in front of him.
"Can I come?" her grip on his arm tightened as her face beamed up with expectation. She had always wanted to try hunting. Her father and brothers always forbid her from doing so with unconvincing excuses that she might hurt herself or others. But she was certain that she could tell a man from a hog.
"You will have to ask…."
"Your King," she finished his sentence for him dryly. Her excitement had been just halved.
"Eothain! Have you had everyone ready?"
Speak of the devil. Éomer came descending down on Firefoot, fully armoured with a spear in his left hand.
"I have…..," after a pause, he continued, "….kind of, my Lord."
"Is there a problem?" Éomer asked. He followed the direction of which Éothain's eyes had gone and came to settle on Lothíriel. Excitement had not completely faded and some remained written on her face. So, there was a problem, indeed.
"May I, my Lord?" she asked, taking her chance. She brought herself to meet his gaze.
He let out a long breath and looked away from her briefly. Eyes closed, he took another deep breath and turned to her. "Only if you are saddled up properly."
At his words, her face beamed with utter excitement and appreciation.
Then he turned to his young Marshal and said in Rohirric, "Make sure she has some sort of protection."
Understanding what he said, she obeyed excitingly, "Thank you! I will arm myself to my teeth!"
Éomer stretched his lips into a flat line. "We are leaving in a few minutes. Take your maid if you need to. Meet at the gate."
"Come, Éothain! Let's get me armed up!" She smiled, dragging the young Marshal to the stable where her charger was stationed at.
On the way to the stable, she came across Moriel who was with the children.
"Moriel, do you want to come? We are going boar-hunting!"
"No, my lady! I hate horseback riding. It scares my heart out!" The younger woman shook her head.
"Are you certain?"
"Enjoy your hunt, my Lady. I will stay with the children," she encouraged as she waved at them.
"Good Béma! Scary for the horse too!" Éothain murmured to himself, feeling relieved. He knew for the fact that, unlike Lothíriel, Moriel was not skilled with any kind of mount. She panicked easily and would scream and kick, not only terrifying herself and those around her but also frightening the poor steed which had to bear with her shrieks constantly.
Éothain buckled a pair light leather vambraces and greaves around Lothíriel's forearms and forelegs respectively.
"My King must be in an extremely pleasant temper today that he has agreed to your request, given your last experience in the forest with us," he could not help but add some sarcasm.
"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," she defended.
"Did not say you were not."
"I am not going to cause trouble, Éothain."
"Do you remember what he said to you last time?"
"Stay close," she murmured.
"Precisely. So make sure you stay close. There are boars and boars are not nice. They stink and roll in the mud. They attack people. They snort at you. They scare you. They bare their teeth. They have tusks. They can puncture your stomach and you will die in agony."
"Yes! Marshal Éothain!" She deliberately made an obedient face.
"Yes - thats suit you! And -what is this?" He asked abruptly, pointing at a parcel on her saddle.
She quickly snatched it and hid it behind her.
Pulling a straight face, she cleared her throat before answering, "It…it is nothing. Yes, it is nothing."
"It must be something! Is it for your secret admirer?"
"It is not!" She corrected hastily.
"Or, something you received from your secret admirer this morning?"
"No! And I don't have a secret admirer."
"Then what is it?"
"I told you it is nothing!"
"Fine. You can stay here then," he turned around pulling his steed away, knowing for certain she would fall for it.
"Wait!"
He turned around slowly with a victorious smirk.
She sighed.
"It is the cloak that Lord Éomer lent me yesterday at the cheese-rolling game….." After a long pause, she added, "….I meant to return it to him but I forgot."
"Ohhhhhhh.." came the measured response.
She unlocked the door and pulled her mare out of the box."Éothain, let's just get ready. Your King will not be happy if we are la-"
"Lady Lothíriel."
The sudden change of tone in Éothain's tone worried Lothíriel. She turned to him and found his expression stern and grim, ripping off his usual playful nature. A bad feeling crept up her throat.
"Éothain?" She looked at him with a worried face.
He came in front of her and took her hand in his larger ones and squeezed it enough to indicate the importance of his next conversation. His mouth opened and clamped.
And he finally said in a slightly shaking tone, "That morning when you told me to watch out for Éomer King's safety, I thought you were overreacting. When we arrived in Snowbourn, we took out the outlaws. It was a chaotic. There were many of them. Just when I thought it was safe, I let my guide loose. A spear came from nowhere, darting towards him. I screamed at him. He turned around and the spear cut just through his left collar. I shouted and ran towards him. I thought I had lost him."
"Éothain," she could only give him a smile at this moment.
"I cannot thank you enough, my Lady. I owe you that my King is alive today. If there is ever anything you need, that I can do for you, please do let me know," he said, his eye glittering with sincerity.
"I need nothing from you. Just keep your King safe. That is all I ask," she said, squeezing his shoulder. She spoke truth – she did wish that for him.
"Let's move, my Lady. The boars are calling for us."
The woods was not far and was only slightly more than one hour on horse. The Rohirrim set up a small camp just at the border.
"There are several dens here. We are hunting those in the east. Be careful where you are going. The evil that Saruman has sown still dwells," said their King, "we will rest for ten minutes then we will start."
Éothain and Lothíriel founded a shaded spot and decided to have their break there. After sipping some water, she turned to the young rider, "What are you going to do with your cheese?"
Éothain, touching his mouth with his hand, tried to finish chewing his apple before answering, "Eat it! It is food which you know the best of! What else do you think I will do with it?"
"But you must have many! I have been told that you won the previous game too!"
"The previous game was a few years ago. I was only," he drew his eyebrows, making an attempt to calculate his age in his blond head, "twenty one, I think. Hmmm, must be twenty one. That was my first win."
"Oh? Did you not win all the previous game then?"
"No. I only won because the previous champion retired. He held the record for eight years."
"That is impressive. Is that person still alive?"
"He is and is standing in front of you," Éothain pointed at the tall figure, who was talking to Gamling, not far in front of them.
"Lord Éomer?" She could barely hide the disbelief in her voice.
Other than surprises, it was still surprises. Lothíriel failed to tie Éomer with a rolling object down the slope and moreover, him running after it. Her mind only registered comical pictures when she tried to bind them together.
"What are you laughing at?" Éothain was puzzled that she found it funny.
"Forgive me! My limited wisdom fails to establish connection between your King and a wheel of rolling cheese. It just does not add up!" she offered her apology with a smile and then she burst into louder laughter.
"Look, he is really good. He has this special tactic of -" His speech was interrupted before he could finish.
"Form up!" The order came, putting the break to an end.
"We are estimating to get around five boars today. We only hunt for inactive boars today. If you see sounders with sows and offspring, back off and take an alternate route. These are creatures of vicious temperament if provoked. Gamling, take your group to the left side, go along the stream. Stán, take yours to the right and do not go beyond the mallorn trees. Éothain, follow me with your guards. Women stay behind the men. Do not engage until you see my signal."
At his words, the men and women gathered around their respective leaders into the woodland.
"Where do you think you are going?" Éomer extended his arm in front of her.
"You said women stay behind the men. I am going to stay behind your Royal Guards."
"No. You stay with me and right behind me. Always. Understand?" he said in a commanding tone which indicated clearly he did not want to hear any objections.
There was about a mile of dark water between her and any sense of this. Why did she need to stay right behind him? Did he think that she was that incapable?
She opened her mouth, wanted to say something but decided to clamp her jaws tight instead.
"I need you to follow my orders," he reminded her.
"I think I am," she replied flatly, turning her head away.
Grabbing his spear, he waved at his people, "Let's move."
The day was perfect. The sky was a deep blue. Unlike Druádan Forest, this woodland was less dense with some areas of open habitats. Sunshine seeping through the canopy and the light shade cast away the usual eerie air of a forest. The smell of grass and fresh soil filled her nostrils, Lothíriel felt something fall on her head. And again. From the corner of her eye, she looked up, shadowing the blinding ray with one hand, to see a brown squirrel darting back up an old tree. She looked down to her feet and saw some brownish golden cracked acorns. Birds poured forth their singing as they flittered among the emerald clad boughs. Their boisterous tune harmonised the aquatic melody of a glittering stream.
"Don't draw unnecessary attention," he said in a low tone.
"I am not," she hissed as she hopped over fallen trees and tangling twigs.
The company moved with caution silently. Éomer was ahead of everybody else. The air soon lost its pleasant odour. A flow of repulsive foul smell sent them pinching their noses.
"We are near. Do you see there?"
He leaned low and gestured to her.
She raised her head a little to follow the direction he was referring.
A loud snort broke the silence. There, she saw it. A large boar was stamping around an old, rotting tree stump. It was its den. The beast made another snort. There were flies buzzing around it. It was alone. There were no sows or young hogs. She assumed this creature belonged to what Éomer mentioned earlier the inactive boars.
"Are we taking it now?" she asked, making no attempt at all to hide the enthusiasm in her voice.
"Try to curb your enthusiasm, my Lady."
"I'll curb it when we get this beast down," she continued to watch their target with great eagerness. To say she was excited was an understatement. Her adventurous nerve completely dominated her sense. Her blood was boiling with anticipation.
He felt her tiniest movement.
"Stay still," he glimpsed at her over his shoulder.
"I know."
They waited a few moments before Éomer gave the sign to proceed. Footsteps closed in surrounding the boar. The beast became instantly alert with the potential threat. Its head rose with ears pulled back. It bore its brown fangs, growling loudly to warn its enemies. The tusked beast lowered its head, grinding his tusks on the ground and stamping its hoofs heavily when it saw the tall figure not far in front of it.
Lothíriel saw Éomer getting up from their position. He was now standing in front of the wild boar with a spear in his hands. The enraged beast appeared much larger than she remembered boars should be. It was certainly huge enough to kill a man if it fell on one.
The staring between the two carried on for a while, either side was backing down. The grey boar let out a final warning snort and it charged rapidly towards the standing man. Éomer stood his ground without flinching as the beast made its way to meet him. The distance between them drew shorter.
"Éomer!" she whispered worriedly as the animal was less than a few feet from him.
Her heart near missed a beat as she watched him standing still and only to lift his spear until the last possible moment, until it was almost on him, before he killed it with a single sure, savage thrust.
"It is done." He let out a huge breath.
"What were you thinking? That was close!" She ran to him.
"They feel pain too. Best way to kill is to let them die in one shot," he threw her a frown before waving at the men to tow the dead animal.
His answer struck her a little. She somehow felt ashamed of herself for momentarily forgetting the agony of animals when they were killed for food.
They went to get hunt a few smaller boars. It was a success. They had more luck than they imagined. They managed to get six boars. Still they swept cautiously when they made their way back to their camp. The dead animals were bandaged to soak up the bleeding. Wounds were dapped with strong herbs. Seeing this and not understanding it, she quickened her steps to be next to him and asked, "Why are we wrapping bandages around them?"
"Blood attracts predators," he scanned the trees carefully, "what else dwells here, I do not know."
The air became humid and dense with some unearthly eerie when they reached a rise land. The trees appeared to be inanimate corpses covered in a thick layer of darkness. Lothíriel felt her hackles behind her back stand. The feeling of safety in her heart disappeared in the silence. Subconsciously, she moved herself closer to him, grabbing his arm. He halted abruptly. She looked at him, thinking he had felt the sudden change in the air too.
He gestured at his people. They leaned down quietly. Without warning, he then ducked and pressed her down, his free arm wrapping tightly around her. His other hand stayed on the hilt of his sword. He felt the woman in his arm trembling. Her face was drained of blood. Her lips were frighteningly pale. Her hands clung on his chainmail so tight that her knuckles turned white. Deepening twilight of fear filled her eyes.
The wind blew again in their direction, whispering through the bushes. The bald trees swayed with each wave. Dread filled the air. It was implacable. The merciless howls continued in the air. The rustling became louder. The frostfallen leaves swirled violently in the air. There were dark eerie sounds that seemed to echo off of the trees, falling back to where they were hiding.
Her heart stopped in her chest as the echoes of coming footsteps drew closer to them and peaked. For a moment she dared not breathe. She closed her eyes, praying that they had not been seen. She felt the arm around her tightened more. Opening her eyes, she looked up at the man who was shielding her with his massive frame.
He said nothing but his eyes told her to stay still. For that very brief moment, she felt protected. Unknown to her, the feeling she sealed around the wall of heart began to leak again.
Then they heard the receding footsteps. They did not rise until it was long gone.
Éomer released her from his arm. Instantly she felt something warm had left her.
"What were they?" She asked, still trying to steady her breaths.
"Barghests! Cursed and corrupted creatures that serve the evil. We are lucky that the wind blew in our favour. Otherwise we would have been their feast!"
"We'd better leave this place. Move!" he turned around to his people, motioning them to increase their pace.
It had gone past lunch time when they returned to Edoras. Many quickly dropped their horses in the stables and hurried to fill their long growling stomachs.
Lothíriel could not eat much. Her appetite had been greatly sickened by the unpleasant encounter before. She stretched her arms and limbs to shake off the after side. Taking a deep, long breath, she marched her way to the kitchen of Meduseld. She carried a parcel which contained the red fur cloak, hoping to return to its owner.
She needed to look for something to keep herself busy. She needed to occupy her thoughts to wipe off the morning fear. The distinct sound of peeling flesh rang from the kitchen. She entered and saw Éomer, a knife in his hand, preparing the huge boar that they killed this morning. He threw her a quick cast when he saw her but said nothing.
Fascinated by his swift skill, she observed with unhidden enthusiasm.
"May I try?" she asked, setting aside the parcel in her hands.
He rolled his eyes, much to his disbelief that this woman was beset by the blood and the smell, but instead she wanted to try to dress a dead animal.
He titled his head to signal her to the tools on the table.
Taking that as an approval, she washed her hands thoroughly and dried them before putting a clean apron around and unrolling the pack of devices.
"Take that!" Wiping the blood of his hands on a piece of rug, he pointed at a small piece of knife.
"This?" she took it.
He came closer to her, tapping the edge of her knife with his fingertip. "This is called incision knife. As the name implies, it is used to make an initial incision down the belly."
He pulled a small boar onto her table. Lifting one of the hind legs, he pointed at a position in between, "First cut starts from here," sliding his finger along the pink skin, "and it ends here. Do it as light as you can. A punctured bladder will spoil everything."
She pressed the tip of her knife onto the still warm dead beast, gliding its sharp tip along as instructed. Red liquid slowly leaked from the opening and soon crept over the worktop and dripped from the table.
"Are you sure you want to continue?" he turned to her, unsure of her mentality after the ordeal this morning.
"I might be frightened to death by a barghest but I think I can handle a dead animal," she replied disapprovingly.
"I am just offering."
"I am smart enough to know what I am doing. And, I am not a weakling."
"Stupid and tough often make a bad combination," he remarked without looking at her, before drawing an unimpressed expression.
"Now, with both hands, rummage around the cavity just beneath the rib cage. You need to severe the organs from the body and pull everything out," he went back to his dead animal, demonstrating the next step to her.
She followed his instruction, inserting her hands into the dead body. The blood was thick and coating her fingers. It felt slippery and sticky. She found the organs, supple and full. There were many, small and big of different shapes and texture.
"Cut them off the body. Pull!"
She bit her lip, trying to separate the organs. It was harder than she imagined. Another harder pull, then all the innards came all at once slipping out of the abdominal cavity with sloshing noise. They fell and splat on the floor.
"Find the liver, if it is not soiled, it will be a good delicacy in itself," he said as his hands worked on the piece of the fore-mentioned organ.
"I have got it, I think," she brushed off the sweat on her forehead with the back of her sleeve. It was exhausting and plus, she had not eaten much at lunch.
"Gently trim out the bladder and pull out everything else that is left. Keep the intestines aside, the bowyers will come around to collect them. Wash the throat with water but leave the head untouched."
She did as told. He noticed that she did not even flinch once since they started.
"They are a hearty stock, aren't they? We will have enough meat to feed," she said while leaning over to dissection the remaining organs.
"Most tender meat ever. The marrow from the bones gives any dish a richer taste. But not everyone has the stomach for it."
She lifted her head up, her eyes shone with excitement, "So we are finally on the same page!"
"Same page of what?"
He obviously did not get it.
Her short-lived excitement died down.
"Never mind," she murmured.
He responded with a shaking head.
"Pass me the tusks," he demanded extending his arm.
"Here."
"Next, we skin the fur off. Swap to a wider and thinner knife."
"Yes. Where do I start?"
"Where you started just before. Slip your finger beneath the fur and you will feel the layer of fat, start your knife from there."
"Where?" she asked, her eyes searching aimlessly on the dead beast.
He sighed and approached her. Lifting the skin, he showed the opening for her to begin. "Here!"
She inserted her fingers in between the layers, trying to get more space for her knife to work through.
"Watch your fingers, woman!" He shouted. She looked as careless as a child could be with a knife.
She only threw him a quick annoying cast. Her knife slid easily and effortlessly, separating the fur from the meat. Her movement was fluid, almost flawless. His eyes narrowed as he noticed this.
"Ouch!" she screamed, pulling her hand out, blood dripping from her index finger.
Stupid, stupid woman! He cursed.
"Told you stupid and tough is a bad idea," he came around, grabbing her cut finger and pressed it in a piece of spirit-soaked cloth. Although annoyed, he found his voice was soaked with more concern than irritation.
"Do I smelly irony in your voice? Or was it sarcasm?"
"Since when do those two exclude each other?"
Her face etched whilst the spirit penetrated into her open wound, causing sharp needling pain.
He frowned at her face, removing her finger from the blood-soaked cloth and dapping it with another clean one. There was tenderness that slipped through his action, which he did not see himself.
"You know how to use a sword, you should have been more careful with a knife!"
Surprised and shocked at his remark, she pulled her hand off quickly from his clasp. She became instantly defensive. "How did you know?"
He cleaned his hands in a basin of water and said before drying them, "Trying to remove the callused skin with a pumice stone is not a bad idea. It just takes a pair of really keen eyes to notice. There is no need to hide what you are capable of."
"You don't understand," she said coldly and turned her face away.
"I don't not wish to understand. And, your job is done here. Leave the work to others."
"Wait!"
He turned back and probed, "What?"
"Thank you."
He acknowledged her appreciation with a light nod and turned around again.
"Wait again, please!" she stopped him again.
"Can you not finish everything at once?"
He turned back to her, annoyed.
Her gaze was unsettling, drifting around her feet before she could bring herself to look at him.
"Your cloak. I meant to return it to you. It is over there," she pointed at a parcel on the table.
He glimpsed at it and replied in a milder tone, "I told you to keep it."
"I can't. It is yours. It is inappro-"
He cut her off.
"Is there anything you would just accept, my Lady?"
"Yes….," she paused for a while before saying, "…compliments."
She could not deny that she did wish him to approve her work and her effort. She had worked hard to prove her worthiness. If only a single word from him could acknowledge her of her importance or otherwise, then she could sleep better. That eventful night would stop haunting her, stopping her from formulating any wishful thinking. Truth is the best medicine. So simple yet difficult to seek.
"You can find them overflowing from someone else. Have a good day, my Lady. I will see you tonight."
And he left.
She exhaled heavily, uncertain of the emotions going through her now. She felt she had been slapped in the face. She stood there for a long while and she did not know until Éothain woke up from her reverie.
"My Lady!"
It startled her. Putting a hand on her chest to soothe the shock, she turned to him, "Éothain, I would appreciate if you make an effort trying to make a proper presence."
"I called you a few times. You were completely out."
"I am sorry. I must have been dreaming."
"By the look of it, you had some fun with dead animals?" he paced around the kitchen, inspecting the beasts on the tables.
"If you called it fun, then it is fun."
"Oh," he stopped in front of the boar she had dressed, "this looks interesting. What is this? I can't tell with all the blood and mess."
He lifted it up and put it close to his nose.
"It is the genital!" she exclaimed putting a hand to her mouth to hide her shock, then said slowly in a guilty tone, "I pulled it out from the inside…it might not look how it should be…"
He dropped the piece of bloody mess immediately.
"You sniffed it…."
"Does that ….disgust you?"
"No…." she walked away slowly to wash her hands, trying to sound as normal as possible, "it is actually the first…. ever thing you have ever done to…impress me."
The young Marshal smacked his own forehead.
"Good Béma! I have never done anything this potentially stupid before!"
Later in the afternoon.
Whilst at a local store, Éomer stood in front of a grey-haired old man.
Inspecting the item in his hand closely and carefully with a magnified glass, the old man said, "This is of surprising strength and beauty. You can see no flaws in the tusk. A tusk such as this might command admiration from the dwarves, but in the hands of an Elven weaponsmith this tusk could become a deadly weapon. I must say I am still impressed with your skills."
He dropped his magnifying glass and turned to his King, rubbing his beard, "when do you need it, my Lord?"
"Tonight. Before the flame leaps into life. Can you do it?"
"Anything for you," the old man grinned at him.
Tonight Yuletide began officially and surprises awaited those even with least anticipation.
TBC
Chapter 18: Éomer discovers himself? Or, does he not? Losing self-control is a bad thing...
Footnotes:
Mōdraniht: (Old English "Night of the Mothers" or "Mothers'-night") was an event held at what is now Christmas Eve by the Anglo-Saxon Pagans where a sacrifice may have been made. The event is attested by the medieval English historian Bede in his 8th century Latin work De temporum ratione. Scholars have proposed connections between the Anglo-Saxon Mōdraniht and events attested among other Germanic peoples (specifically those involving the dísir, collective female beings, and Yule) and the Germanic Matres and Matrones, female beings attested by way of altar and votive inscriptions, nearly always appearing in trios.
Rice: (noun) people in Old English
Cēse:(noun) cheese in Old English. The cheese in this chapter is based on the appearance of French Comté from Franche-Comté region of eastern France.
Cheese-rolling: It is an annual event held on the Spring Bank Holiday at Cooper's Hill, (grid reference SO892146) near Gloucester in the Cotswolds region of England. It is also known as The Cooper's Hill Cheese-Rolling and Wake and is traditionally by and for the people who live in the local village of Brockworth, but now people from all over the world take part. The event takes its name from the hill on which it occurs. (Note: Gloucester was part of the Anglo-Saxon region in the UK.)
Barwick: Old English name for a farmer, meaning outlying barley farm
Sounder: Sows and their offspring (both sub-adult males and females) live in groups called sounders
Inactive males: Sexually inactive boars, usually less aggressive
Barghest, Bargtjest, Bo-guest, Bargheist, Bargeist, Barguist, Bargest or Barguest is the name often given in the north of England, especially in Yorkshire, to a legendary monstrous black dog with huge teeth and claws, though in other cases the name can refer to a ghost or Household elf, especially in Northumberland and Durham.
I have spent the last week trying to compile a chapter for Yule, digging into the Yule celebration of Anglo-Saxon people and engrossing it into this chapter (Both Mōdraniht and boar-hunting were the actual Yule culture of Anglo-Saxon). But by the length of it, I will need another chapter. There was also a lot of work to study the correct way of dressing a dead animal (if you have a weak heart, I am sorry) and trying to capture the spirit of cheese-rolling game.
A big thank you to the reviewers without whom I would never find the motivation to continue! I was really surprised by the number of reviews that I received!
Sic Vita Est: I really hesitated if I should include this night scene in his bedchamber. I am glad I did :)
AHealingRenaissance: I think many did not see that coming either ;)
Glory Bee: Hope this chapter will leave you with the same level of anticipation too!
Shy: I won't reveal too much yet. The road to happiness is always a bumpy one!
B5delenn: I am sure she is a clever lady but you never know as love is blind!
Talia119: Glad you like my story! Thank you for your kind comment and reminder that Rohirrim is plural and Rohir is singular. I am yet to find a beta-reader.
BrightWatcher: Thank you! In my opinion, Éomer always has a very strong presence. This man has character and I enjoy writing him
LadyAvi: to stay or not to stay – that is the question.
Rogue's Queen: Don't we all love cliffhangers? And curse it when it finishes just there! :D
Hope you all have enjoyed this chapter!