Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 18: of Dirty and Armed
The same evening.
"My Lady?"
Lothíriel came out from her bedchamber to find Gamling standing at the door of her cottage. She welcomed the old rider with a warm smile.
"Yes, Lord Gamling. What can I help you with?"
"You might want to join everyone outside if you don't want to miss your first Rohirric Yule feast. My Lady, if you would please."
He raised his right hand. It was an invitation that Lothíriel could not decline.
"My pleasure, my Lord."
She put her left palm on the back of his wrinkled hand lightly with the grace of an educated woman. She had grown fond of Gamling. The old Rohír certainly reminded her all the wisdom and courtesy that an old man could offer. She liked Gamling's unbiased opinion and judgement that often did not necessarily agree with either hers or Éomer's. He reminded her very much of her father whom she missed dearly.
Dusk was gone and the curtain of bright stars drew across the sky. She could smell smoke of birch wood and tempting aroma of roasted meat. As they made their way to the open area between The Terrace and Midvale, a risen object slowly came into view and became clearer and bigger.
Completely surprised by the view in front of her, she brought her hand to her open mouth.
"I hope that brings a little feel of home to you, my Lady," the old rider turned to her and smiled.
"Oh Gamling! Thank you so much!"
She threw her arms around him and hugged him fondly, kissing him on his cheeks, like a daughter to a father. Words could not describe how happy and grateful she was. She felt warm liquid creeping into her eyes and wanting to fall but she must not bend to them for now. For a moment she felt loved. Very much.
In front of them it stood a tall heap of logs, branches and twigs. It was for the bon fire. Surrounding it, there were campfires ignited for roasting animals. Tables and benches were lined outside with all kinds of food, most of which she had not seen before.
"Let us join them," he offered his arm again and she happily accepted it.
Many were gathering in front of the pyre, not wanting to miss the majestic moment of lighting it. The children and women danced, happy as larks. Men, old and young, sat around singing their folk songs. Light tunes of flutes filled the air. Lothíriel was more than delighted. She was overwhelmed by the spirit of these people in front of her. She did not know they could sing so well. She went around embracing as many as she could until she nearly crashed into a wall of muscle.
Éomer stood in front of her. He wore his signature green tunic with royal interlace embroidery around the collar and sleeves. He looked kingly and she admitted silently to herself that there was certain appeal in his appearance tonight. She could not tell if he was smiling or not under the dim flickering fire.
"You should sit. We are going to start the bon fire and the Boar's Head Feast will follow."
He gestured her to a space next to the pyre.
"Boar's Head Feast?"
Her eyes shone again with great enthusiasm.
"It is a Rohirric tradition on the first night of Yuletide. The banquet does not start until the boar head is present."
"That is why we went boar-hunting this morning!" she realised it a bit too late. Rohirrim never did anything for no reasons or purposes.
"If you please sit."
This time he almost smiled at her.
She could feel her ears burning and it spread to her cheeks very rapidly. She blushed once not out of embarrassment. She lowered her head and obeyed, waiting with hidden anticipation. She saw him taking a torch and approaching the heap of wood and slowly lowering it down. The orange embers flew up swiftly and the fire leapt in life, scattering stars of gold and brightening the dark sky. The cackling noise of fire soon became unheard when the sounds of trumpets echoed endless and the songs of minstrels delivered the melodies of winter.
The Royal Guards descended from Meduseld with a stretcher on their shoulders. On the stretcher, the boar's head sat on a silver dish with an apple in the mouth. Lothíriel immediately recognised that beast. It was the giant hog that Éomer killed this morning. The songs and ballads of minstrels peaked at their highest notes for a long while then stopped. The host gradually came down and arrived in front of the bon fire. Another trumpet was sounded and the silver dish was laid to rest on the table in the middle of all. Shortly after that, all the smaller boars were brought out from the kitchen and placed on the tables. There were also deers and lambs and sizzling on the campfires. The whole banquet was heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread.
After all had been seated, toasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and then Éomer turned to his adviser, "Let the feast begin."
Gamling motioned to the residents of Edoras. The crowd cheered. Children were among the first to circle around the table to get the first taste of the wild beasts.
The simmers of embers lit against the dark cauldron of the night. Sparks drifted like fireflies. Lothíriel took in everything with complete amazement and compassion. She never thought she could feel so festive in a foreign land. There might not be Yule gifts but the spirit was there, so strong and warm. The smile she had since she arrived had not left her face. Her eyes were locked on the blazing flame in front of her. She recollected the first time she met the Rohirrim in Minas Tirith. First time she met Éomer and her initial impression of him. Dirty and armed.
"Dirty and armed?"
Someone repeated her words.
Waking up from her sea of memory, she must have spoken her mind out aloud. She quickly adjusted herself and apologised to the person before her.
"I am sorry, Éothain. If you could kindly rephrase your question please?"
"I asked you how you would like your boar-steak and you said, 'dirty and armed'!"
Éothain's voice was loud enough to attract some attention around them, including Éomer who was standing not far from the table.
She lowered her face, feeling the blazing from all the eyes on her. He just had to repeat her words again. Éothain was not very smart sometimes.
"I meant cooked, not too old, just mature, but juicy. Oh my Valar, just give me anything please," she felt her tongue tied and she struggled to find the right word to ease her embarrassment.
The young Rohír passed her a plate with a huge parcel of meat on it.
"Here you go! A nice, hearty piece of boar—steak, sizzling in its own juices! You should try it with our Yule bread made especially from the famous black barley flour of the Riddermark! It is lip-smacking!"
"Thank you, Éothain. I think this will suffice," she wanted to escape to a corner where nobody could see her blushing face.
"There are some mutton hotpots too! Scrumptious potato scones just there!"
"I will help myself. Thank you," she eyed at him to shut him up.
She settled herself on an empty bench and turned around to fill her wine cup from a passing flagon. The sweet, fruity scent of wine filled her nose when she brought the cup close to her nose, inhaling the aroma with her eyes closed. Nice wine. This brought a satisfying smile to her lips. She felt a heavy object just sank her bench. Her hand and her wine cup hanged in midair. She opened her eyes slowly and glimpsed from the corner of her eyes. It was the same green tunic that she had seen before - the King of the Riddermark now saw next to her.
What should she do? Ignore him? Smile at him?
Just when she was digging her heels, her festive courtesy paid off. She turned to him and raised her wine cup in both hands at him, "Wes þu Éomer hāl!"
The moment the words left her lips, it shocked her for the admiration she still held for him. She had never addressed in this way, she had always and only called him Lord.
"Thank you," he smiled, accepting the wine from her and sipping it.
She could not bring herself to look at him. His voice sounded very different. It was less cold and more passionate?
"You should try the boar before it turns cold."
"I will," she lowered her cup rather clumsily and almost spilled the wine over.
She tried to gather all her attention and focus it on the steak in front of her. Picking up a small piece with a fork, she sent it into her mouth. And the first thought that it brought was it was terribly delicious! The meat simply melted on her tongue. So good that she had to cover her mouth while chewing it down.
"It is good," he agreed with her expression.
After taking her time to swallow the juicy portion, she turned to him, "How can it be this good?"
"Old folks say the Ent Draught flows under the springs into the forest and the boars drink from it. Maybe that explains."
She nodded to agree and reached for her wine. Just when she was in the middle of sipping more, she came to sudden realisation that he had just drunk from her cup and she froze, unsure if it was better to stop drinking from the same cup at all or pretending that it did not happen and continue as usual. Then she heard a light chuckle. From the corner of her eyes, she could see him trying hard to suppress his lips from moving upwards. Slightly irritated, she tilted and drained the wine.
"You have a man's thirst, my Lady."
"I could do another to the raucous delight of the crowd," she lifted an eyebrow at him.
Surrounding the roaring fire, there was the clangor of plates and cups, and the low mutter of hundreds happy Rohirrim. These people were fine company. She relished the conversation they were sharing, tales of battles, hunting adventures and old folk stories. Lothíriel watched Éomer with amusement as he shared jokes with his men. He was still very sharp-featured and huge as a bear even without his armour. There was a hint of laughter in his dark eyes.
She refilled her cup and swallowed another gulp of wine.
"I wonder how many men could beat your drinking," he observed.
"Not many, my Lord," she smiled proudly, "my brothers trained me well."
He chuckled at her swelling pride.
"My Lord, my Lady, may we?" An old rider and a young man stood opposite them.
Éomer nodded at both his henchmen. Gamling sat, facing them whilst Éothain straddled the bench, with long legs and filled the wine cups for both himself and Gamling.
"To health and Rohan!" Gamling raised his cup.
His three other companions responded simultaneously. "To health and Rohan!"
"I hope you have found your first Yuletide Festival in Rohan pleasant, my Lady."
"Thank you, Gamling. It would be quite an unforgotten Yule indeed," she smiled at the old man, "It is very different. We only speak tales of ocean fairies, myths of Forochel and boast about ourselves being the best angler in Dol Amroth. The tradition of Yule and table conversation of the Mark, I must say, is very fascinating."
"You should be at the dining table in Meduseld. Whenever the éored returns, they bring news of adventures beyond imagination, funny stories of how enemies flee like headless chickens upon hearing the mighty gallops of our horses!"
"Really?"
Her eyes shone with inevitable amazement, Lothíriel felt she had gone back to her childhood when her father would tell her stories of the old kingdoms in Evendim and Fornost.
"Perhaps you want to join us in Meduseld. I am certain that you would not be disappointed!" Éothain inserted without giving any thought.
"I-" she wanted to continue saying would love to, but she hesitated, realising that it meant dining in Meduseld and spending more of her time being around Éomer's presence, something which she still wished to avoid. The joy on her face quickly died down.
"You should."
The words interrupted her thoughts.
All three pairs of eyes turned to the King.
Wiping off the wine with back of his sleeve, he rocked his empty glass gently in his hand and spoke to nobody in particular, "Mægen always ate with us."
"Oh."
She did not know how she should reply to that. It was not a request, was not a demand either. It sounded almost a suggestion but came more closely as an invite?
He pushed himself to his feet. "If there is no objection, we will expect your presence in Meduseld from tomorrow onwards."
"I think my King has just agreed to it," Éothain hissed to her as they watched Éomer ascending to the Golden Hall.
"Éothain! I would appreciate if you pass your words twice through your mind before letting them out! That was unnecessary!"
"I was doing a favour, I thought," he defended innocently.
She sighed. She looked up and saw Éomer almost reaching Meduseld.
His action clouded her thoughts. She felt the strong urge to demand his reasons behind it.
"Excuse me, my Lords," she could not hold herself back any longer. Perhaps it was the wine that bolstered her courage.
And she went after the Horselord.
He stood, with his hands behind him, outside at the porch of his hall, peering across his city and observing his people.
"My Lord!"
She went up to him, a little breathless.
"May I enquire what has made you to decide that?"
Her voice sounded more infuriated than she thought.
"My Lady, if you have no gratitude in your heart and prefer to be a giant snapping turtle, then do feel free to spoil your first Yuletide in Rohan."
He frowned lightly, not very happy with the dissatisfaction in her voice. He knew her character and attempting any reasoning with her would only result in another fight. And he rather not ruined the first evening of Yule with this.
That sent her silent. She pressed her lips together and said nothing.
"I've heard Hannor has showed some talent."
He decided to change the subject.
"According to your people, he is deemed quite gifted with horses despite being a son of Gondor. He spends most of his time working with them and taking care of them."
"My stable masters speak highly of him."
"He has helped with a few rather difficult tasks."
"I hope he has been properly rewarded in that case."
"I got him a saddle as a Yule gift."
She finally smiled. Talking about Hannor always brought some joy and made her proud.
"A destrier."
"I beg your pardon?" she prompted, confused by his sudden blunt.
"I offered him a yearling."
"He-…" she wanted to say that Hannor was too young to take care of a horse alone but quickly realised the man in front of him knew more about horses than she ever did in her whole life. She was thrilled with his offer, most importantly his gesture of appreciation.
"Thank you."
She knew not what else to say.
"He is an intelligent boy, I must say, more than his other Gondorian party."
She knew this was too good to be true without some sarcasm.
"What do you mean?" she asked with a downward twist of her mouth.
"I am certain if it were him in the kitchen, he would not have cut his finger."
He just had to do it. She felt anger rise inside her.
"Are you implying that I was stupid, my Lord?"
"You would be if you had not seeked a healer after that."
"To your upmost pure delight, I did seek medical assistance! See for yourself!" she held her bandaged finger in front of him, turning her enraged face away. What was this man thinking? Much to her vast dismay, he just had to annoy her every day.
Then she felt a little weight on her arm, she instantly looked back.
"What is this?"
Questioning frown sat between her brows - an ivory bracelet of intricate carving coiled around her wrist. Did he just place the bracelet around her wrist when she was not looking?
This was unexpected.
"The compliment you seeked."
He answered calmly, his tone either warm or cold, gesturing at the object on her wrist.
"For Valar's sake!" She cursed. It was the rudest manner she had ever seen of offering a gift to someone. "Could you at least try to present it with some courtesy, my Lord?"
"I was just matching my tactic to the subject. You do not seem to possess the ability to have moments of rational thought, so the usual courtesy will most likely fail. Enjoy the rest of the evening, my Lady."
He turned his feet and went inside Meduseld.
His words did make her speechless. If he had tried the formal way of offering her this gift, it was certain that she would just decline it immediately. That man knew her brain better than she did herself. Curse him.
She lifted her arm, trying to unclasp the bracelet but it was a dead lock. Then she could not take her eyes off it. She recognised it was made from a boar tusk, probably of those they killed this morning. Stepping closer to a torch, she examined her newly-received gift. Ornate horseheads encompassed around the ivory band. The clasps were made of polished silver and beaten into the shape of horseshoe ring. Sapphire-flecked horse eyes shone with life under the flame as if they were roaring around her wrist. The bracelet was detailed and skilfully carved. As she looked closer, she discovered a very minute engraving that read 'Éomer, son of Éomund, Yule 3019 T.A.'
He carved the tusk himself. She felt her heart missed a beat at the moment.
She turned around but realised he was already long gone.
And, she had not thanked him.
TBC
Chapter 19: When they both nearly lose it...
Footnote
1. Boar's Head Tradition: According to Wikipedia, it was "initiated in all probability on the Isle of Britain by the Anglo-Saxons, although our knowledge of it comes substantially from medieval times...[In ancient Norse tradition] sacrifice carried the intent of imploring Freyr to show favor to the new year. The boar's head with apple in mouth was carried into the banquet hall on a gold or silver dish to the sounds of trumpets and the songs of minstrels." It is still widely practised at some universities and colleges today.
2. Royal interlace embroidery: Rohirric tapestry design is based on Celtic interlace art as based on Jackson's Trilogy.
3. Boar tusk: It is known to have been material for jewellery and weapons.
4. Éomer's behaviour: Has difficulty to express positive feeling openly (evident from the exchange with his sister at Dunharrow camp). Personally I think the war and the loss of his family have a significant and negative impact on his emotion. Not saying he is a miserable man, he is just not used and not good at delivering positive emotion. I have dug in more into behavourial science and will adjust his temperament according with the flow of the story.
5. Destrier: name for war horse, common used in Medival Ages.
6. Gamling: He has always been one of my favourite Rohirrim. Undoubtly faithful and royal to his King. I really like the scene in which he helped Théoden to put his armour on and another which he laughed so happily when the Hobbits danced on the table (even after they kicked off his tankard!) His role will have a major breakthrough in deciding the fate of Mr and Mrs Éomundsson.
Reviewer Acknowledgement
b5delenn: Last chapter was indeed hard to compile. And how did you guess the Yule gift? =p
BrightWatcher: Bannock is a type of bread I think! I have not been to Ireland, despite staying to close (UK, doh!)!
Rogue's Queen: Cheese-rolling is fun! People in UK do it for the fun and sake of completing it. The prize is £10 + a wheel of cheese, not adding the bruises and cuts that come along with it!
You cant rush science: Thank you! :) You can't rush emotions either! ;)
j: I believe it is the first review you left for my story, thank you!
anawe217: Haha! Constant clashing will soon explore one day! :D
Thank you again for everyone who has been supporting my story so far! Without you, there won't be any motivation to continue. And I do welcome volunteered beta!