Chapter 27: In the Absence of the King
It was best not to dwell on Éomer's departure, partially because she was prone to strong emotion these days and also there was work to be done. He would make the journey without conflict, for only a fool would attack a company as fierce and strong as his. Still... a part of her worried for her husband's safety on the long road to Gondor and back again. Yet another part of her longed to accompany him. It'd been ages since she'd seen her father. Though she agreed travel at this time was imprudent and likely uncomfortable she couldn't deny a pang of regret at missing out. She would, however, endure as long as Éomer's child was born healthy. Her husband's excitement upon hearing of her pregnancy was palpable, the pride and love in his eyes giving her immense satisfaction. The threat of miscarriage still hung close, the wounds having yet to heal entirely. But this was a good step and she was beside herself with excitement.
Truthfully, the past two weeks had been the happiest for Lothíriel during her short tenure in Rohan. She was beginning to feel the stirrings of contentment here in the country, her longing for the sea diminished somewhat. And the people of Rohan seemed to have more faith in their Queen with winter over and the Healing House of Edoras thriving. They respected she was not a woman of Rohan but had their best interests at heart all the same. And as Elfhelm assured her that was what truly mattered to these people. Show them a ruler who loved and fostered their way of life and differences mattered little.
Her pregnancy had been announced to the court a few days prior and still folks were offering their well wishes and tributes, bouquets of coralberries and snowdrops left at the steps of Meduseld. It filled her with a sense of well being and appreciation. Twirling a sprig of winter-glories between her fingers the Queen made her way to the council room of Meduseld to meet with Elfhelm. She acted in Éomer's stead and assured him business would progress as usual in his absence. While she did not have the absolute authority of her husband, Lothíriel had displayed the political wherewithal to make decisions and function as a steward until the King returned.
Joining Elfhelm and his men, the Queen canted her head in greeting as the men bowed respectfully. Lothíriel made a conscious effort to stay abreast of the happenings in her land, often attending her husband's meetings or joining him in rides to the outlying villages. Winter had been rough but not as damaging as most feared. And the spring was promising to be merciful. The villages of Upbourn and Underharrow were thriving and there were generally positive reports from the Marshals of the Mark.
"Hail Lothíriel Queen," Elfhelm stated, waiting until she was seated before he found his chair.
"And you, Elfhelm," she responded in kind as a servant filled their mugs. Brushing a dark strand of hair from her face, the woman regarded the five men with a pensive gaze. "Marshal Leod, what news from the Eastemnet?"
"News of prosperity, Majesty," the man answered with a nod. He was a rough-hewn man in his forties, a Marshal of both East and West-mark. It was an intimidating position to command such a large region, but Leod had been in service of Theoden, proving himself time and again. His father retained the same position until his death and it seemed (to the Queen at least) that these positions were both hereditary and honorary. "The horses roam in abundance. Mares heavy with foal have been counted in every herd and it appears they have weathered the winter well. The herders are anticipating a good summer, thank Arda."
"A relief," the Queen agreed. "Keep a keen eye on Emyn Muil for orcs. The King does not trust it to become unprotected. Marshal Baldor, the Wold?"
"Also regaining strength, Majesty," the younger man replied, dipping his head. Unlike Leod Baldor was still young, though he'd served honorably during the War of the Ring. His cousin, the previous Marshal of Wold and Fangorn, fell in pursuit of Uruk-hai thereby leaving the post to Baldor. Éomer was uncertain of the man's potential with such a responsibility thrust upon him though Lothíriel felt the two were in similar situations. As it stood, Baldor was doing his best to please his King and honor his rank.
"Any noise from Dunlendings?" the question was spoken with no apparent concern but Lothíriel was deeply interested in any news involving Beorn or his brother. As of yet neither had been heard from and presumed to have gone into hiding, despite attempts to find them. The Queen found herself hoping the younger of the two had survived his haphazard amputation and the wrath of his irascible brother.
"Rumors but nothing of suspicion," the young man responded with a glance to Elfhelm. "My men report no evidence of their mischief or horse-theft."
"What rumors?"
"Dunlendings are migrating to Isengard and beyond the Misty Mountains. They have no leverage here with which to offend our King so they will retreat."
Lothíriel mused on the gossip for a moment while Elfhelm stared at Baldor. Like the Queen Elfhelm appeared suspicious of these rumblings, though it appeared the young Marshal didn't perceive a whole lot of concern. Leaning back, the man massaged his jaw beneath a trimmed beard, his eyes still on the Marshal.
"What manner of folk spreads these tales?"
"My Lord?"
"Be they villagers of the Wold? farmers? men of your company?"
"I," Baldor paused to think, clearly wondering if he was about to be chastised for something. "My men have relayed fragments of gossip they heard when encountering herders and the like. It seemed idle talk borne of supposition."
"Indeed," Elfhelm grunted, still in thought.
"I would not trust it," the Queen stated, her tone reassuring as she surveyed the young man. "Idle gossip it may be, fact even. But it is neither reliable nor likely."
"Keep your ears tuned to these rumors, Baldor. I suspect all manner of treachery from the Dunlendings that does not discredit spreading lies of retreat."
The younger man nodded silently, straight-lipped and determined to obey. Talk turned to the spring birthing of calves and foals. The men spoke candidly of their concerns and reservations, which pleased Lothíriel though she mostly kept silent. She was glad they could discuss what worried them before her without a filter. She had little to say on the matters, her knowledge far surpassed by their own. She was content to listen and understand the ways of Éomer's people.
When the council broke, the Queen took her leave for food. In the great hall she dined with Lady Berewyn and Cellwyn, the latter looking far healthier and happier than months passed. As the day passed Lothíriel began to dread the hour she would turn in to a lonely bed. Éomer had been beside her nearly every night since their marriage and now that she was with child she found a daunting challenge in sleeping alone.
As evening touched the purple-streaked sky, the sun sinking low the Queen stood in the royal stables, a brush in one hand. Though she'd groomed Dergh free of dust and grime the bristled brush remained in her hand, her arm resting against the narrow gelding's back. He paid her little interest, head dropped as he consumed the rest of his dinner loudly. Her grey eyes were trained on the view his stall window afforded, the mountains rising into the twilight. It was a lovely sight to be sure, but her thoughts strayed to Baldor's concerning report. The Marshal didn't seem perturbed by the rumors and while they may be of no consequence just the mention of Dunlendings had Lothíriel on edge.
"There you are," a familiar voice called out from the darkened aisle. Appearing from the grey shadows Elfhelm rested his forearms on the bottom door of Dergh's stall, a grin on his lips. She turned from the windows and dropped her arm from the horse's back. He barely noticed, raising his head to sniff expectantly at Elfhelm's arm. When nothing of value was detected the gelding resumed ignoring the humans.
"You were looking for me?" Lothíriel came closer as Dergh moved to the other side of the stall. Elfhelm nodded, his eyes on the bay horse.
"Aye. Didn't figure you'd be grooming at this hour."
"Me neither," she conceded with a glance to the gelding and a smile. "Though I'm not making good work of it." She placed the brush in Elfhelm's open hand and he deposited it into the grooming bucked outside the stall before opening the door for his Queen. Lothíriel stepped through and waited for the Marshal to secure the gate.
"It isn't a terribly difficult journey," the man stated, reading her thoughts. She cast a glance at him as they made their way to the Golden Hall.
"I am glad for it," she replied as they walked, crunching small stones underfoot. Lothíriel's dark blue dress nearly faded into the thickening darkness, lit only by the torches alight on their ascent to the Hall. Elfhelm waited until they cleared the steps before speaking again.
"Do you credit the rumors Baldor spoke of?"
So he was equally disquieted by the day's earlier conversation. It relieved her that she wasn't alone in uneasiness. Of course, of all the men in Edoras Elfhelm would be the most distressed by news of the Dunlendings. Though they hadn't spoken of their shared experience it was connection made clear by the young Marshal's statement.
"I don't know," she answered honestly as they entered Meduseld. Rubbing her hands against the cold the Queen took a seat at the long table. Others were milling around the hall, offering polite nods and quiet greetings. Elfhelm sat opposite her, accepting a tankard of ale and a piece of bread. "It concerns me that such rumors are even being spread."
"It is troubling," the man agreed between sips. "It does not seem likely they would shove off like that."
"Did you know of him? Beorn, that is." This was the closest they'd come to discussing the incident, both knowing it upset Éomer greatly to even think upon it. Elfhelm gave a half-shrug, the firelight glinting in his green eyes.
"His name was familiar to me. He's something of a leader among their people. Can't say I know much else. I half wonder if he's a descent of Wulf. Do you know of him?" Lothíriel shook her head so Elfhelm paused for a drink before continuing. "Wulf, son of Freca, invaded Rohan to avenge the death of his father at the hand of King Helm Hammerhand. He succeeded for two seasons but was slain and his men driven from the land. Dunlendings never quite got over that, though they had no claim to Rohan. Anyhow, no one quite knew what became of Wulf's lineage after they were cast out. Beorn's insistence that you salvage his brother's life might have something to do with their ancestry."
"Perhaps he guilt for his brother's predicament and did not wish him to pass. Not that way at least."
Elfhelm eyed her with a skeptical gaze, which made Lothíriel realize her suggestion was both naïve and highly unlikely.
"It may be so, my lady," the Marshal said though the tone implied he was trying to be polite. "But they are hard men. I have seen them leave their wounded to fend for themselves and burn homes with families inside. I do not think they feel obligated to save a kinsman's life if he is so unlucky to put it in jeopardy. That man didn't speak with any gratitude or affection when he spoke of his brother." Elfhelm's brow furrowed at the recollection, his expression lilting between ire and disgust. He took another quick swig before averting his eyes, his words released in a growl.
"They are pitiless beings with souls like orcs, you see. That they are human I am baffled for they share all the brutality and foul temper of Mordor's ilk. I imagine the only desire in their ignoble hearts is vengeance against Rohan." It caught Lothíriel off guard to see the usually jovial, kindhearted Elfhelm express such venom. And while his words were unexpected it was clear the Dunlendings were seen as heartless irritants to the folk of Rohan. Few could speak of them without an acerbic tone. Having recovered from his dark reverie, Elfhelm ducked his head in awkwardness.
"Forgive me, my Lady Lothíriel. I do not mean to infect our hall with such talk."
"It is alright," she replied with a smile. He returned the gesture and finished his mug. They spoke for a while longer of the spring in Rohan, Elfhelm offering some idea of what the Queen could expect of the land and her people. She was appreciative of his ability to shift topics and demeanor so quickly, his laughter lighting the hall once more. After some time Lothíriel bid the Marshal goodnight as she retired for the night.
As she prepared for sleep, Lothíriel's thoughts were consumed with the memory of their abduction. She hadn't thought of it at length for some time, pushing it aside if only for the sanity of her husband. But now she was confronted with strange tidings and the possibility of treachery from the Dunlendings. Though she trusted Elfhelm with her life and his opinions were of the highest regard to her she couldn't help but wonder. His opinion was understandably biased. And the bitter distrust in his voice was evidence enough that nothing good could come from a Dunlending.
Yet Lothíriel was plagued by Beorn's final words to her. He'd thanked her, though he could've easily killed or injured her and fled. Why he did not she couldn't imagine. Part of her feared his offhand dismissal of her despite being relieved that she left with her life. What game was he playing at? And what of Eofor? The boy was sent into the arms of danger, though Éomer's men reported finding none of the Dunlendings that's taken her and Elfhelm captive. It was all to baffling for her to try and piece together.
With a pang of guilt Lothíriel realized she'd spent most of the evening pondering the Dunlendings rather than her husband. She missed him sorely and slipping into the cold bed left her wishing she'd spent her time thinking of him. Closing her eyes against the solitude, the woman sent out a silent prayer for Éomer's safety and swift return. She fell asleep with his name on her lips and her hand on the womb which held their precious child.