Chapter 37
Minas Tirith, June the 5th, 3019
With only one day to spend in Minas Tirith, Lothíriel had no choice but waking up at dawn if she wanted to take care of all her queenly duties and still have enough time for a couple of more pleasant endeavours. By mid-morning, she had already sat through three different meetings, ensured the wounded riders that were not yet able to take the ride home would be taken care of and made ready to avert the diplomatic crisis that was sure to break out the moment Éomer found out Faramir wanted to ask Éowyn's hand in marriage. Not that he didn't like her cousin, but he was simply being exasperatingly overprotective towards his only sister.
Personally, she thought they were a perfect match and she was glad they had found each other.
Pleased with what she had accomplished so far, Lothíriel summoned Théocanstan, Eofor and Balláf and set out towards the city's fifth level, chatting about this and that with her guards while trying very hard to contain her excitement. They stopped in front of a large scanty courtyard, where an elderly man in plain baggy clothes was waiting for them.
"Your Highness".
"Maethon, I suppose?".
He nodded gruffly, his bow ungainly.
"My cousin spoke very highly of you. I appreciate your availability on such short notice".
"Lord Faramir is too kind", he mumbled, her praise obviously adding to his discomfort rather than dispelling it.
There was an awkward silence, with her guards likely wondering what they were doing there and who this strange man was, while Maethon just stood there, wiping his palms on his trousers and glancing furtively at her direction. "Would you be so kind as to show us in?", she asked when she realized the man was rooted on his spot and wouldn't have been able to invite them in even if he had wanted – which she didn't think he did.
"Of course. Follow me, please".
The courtyard was a disorderly combination of gravel, grass and wooden scaffolds, fully fenced with a high brick wall. Though far from the opulence of the sixth and seventh level, the fifth was still considered an upscale neighbourhood and an establishment such as that was clearly at odds with the surrounding buildings. A growing sound of yelps and squeaky barks accompanied their steps, until they stood in front of an austere three-storey stone house. Most of the ground floor windows were shut, sturdy metal bars ensuring no one would easily come in – or get out. Lothíriel looked over her shoulder, confident that her guards would have understood by now what that place was and why they were there. Instead, she was met with three pairs of befuddled eyes looking back at her.
Not very bright today, are we?, she thought, sniggering to herself.
Maethon held the door open and let them in. Inside, the entire space was occupied by a tidy pattern of different sized kennels, all nicely equipped and kept perfectly clean, so much that there was barely any unpleasant smell in the air. A chorus of wails and wagging tails welcomed their entrance, and Lothíriel squealed in delight at the sight of the first pups. "Oh my, aren't they cute?".
All three man came standing by her side, Eofor and Balláf openly grinning, while Théocanstan's eyes had imperceptibly widened in stunned understanding.
"I haven't forgotten your beloved hounds, nor the way you lost them in order to save me", she told him, "Maethon here has been raising Gondor's best hounds for over thirty years and I for one think Meduseld has plenty of space to accommodate one of them – or more, if you so wish".
He moved closer and stared thoughtfully into the kennel. "I can… choose?", he asked a little hesitantly, like a child being unexpectedly asked to pick his gift.
She nodded and gave him space to look more closely at the four pups.
"Look at the gray one. I bet he'll grow into a beast!", Eofor interjected, while Balláf seemed more taken with the dark brown one who kept on wrestling his other siblings – bigger or smaller than him, it did not matter. "Nay, take that one. He's a fighter, look at him!".
Théocanstan observed them some more, then silently moved on to check the other litters. His steps came to an abrupt halt in front of the third kennel, where his eyes fixed on a dark, empty corner. "May I enter?".
Lothíriel looked at Maethon, half-expecting him to say no, but for some strange reason the old man seemed to have grown soft all of a sudden. He pulled a set of keys from his belt and unlocked the door, letting them all in. There were three pups inside, all sporting a dark brown coat much alike that of their mother, who responded quickly to the kennel master command and sat on her haunches, her smart golden eyes never losing sight of her cubs. Théocanstan barely spared them a look however, stretching instead an arm behind an empty crate to lift a tiny, shaky pup. He was all white except for a black stripe across his eyes and the tip of his tail, which was also black, like someone had deliberately dipped it into a paint can.
Absolutely adorable.
Théocanstan's interest in the small pup seemed to please Maethon. "He's the runt of the litter, barely survived birth. I hadn't expected anyone to be interested in him, so much I had decided to keep him for myself. He's still small but he'll grow eventually, and he has a good temper. Would you like to take him with you, young man?".
"Yes", he just said and strode out of the kennel, his oversized hands making the pup look even tinier than he actually was. Then, turning towards her, he announced: "I am one of the Queen's personal guards. I don't have enough time to care for more than one hound. Thank you, my Lady".
They all stifled a laughter. Théocanstan had a habit of using the third person to refer to people who were standing right in front of him, that was just hilarious.
After she had settled the account, they made their way back to her father's estate. It was a warm, awfully humid day, and Lothíriel couldn't be any happier of returning to Rohan's milder summer. Truth to be told, she liked the Mark's weather – all year round: she didn't mind the cold and had always detested Gondor's endless, scorching summers. Not to mention, there was something about the way the landscape in Rohan changed so dramatically from one season to the other, that simply resonated with her. "Have you thought of a name for the pup?", she asked Théocanstan.
"Blot. Or maybe Bandit".
She chuckled, surprised by his choice - she had no idea Théocanstan would be one for funny names! "You'll have to teach Blot – or Bandit, to get along with Endien".
"That won't be a problem, Lady. My hounds were never aggressive towards my cat. One just needs to teach them".
"You used to have cats?".
"One – Crumb was her name. She kept mice away and was good company. She died last winter. I'd have taken another cat coming spring, but then things changed".
That was quite the understatement, Lothíriel thought.
Behind her, Eofor stared pensively at the tiny scar on his arm: "I think the real challenge will be teaching Endien to get along with Blot, not the other way around. If she reacts to him the same way she reacted to me the first time I tried to pet her, you might find your dog missing an eye".
"You dislike cats. Furthermore, you are unable to read their body language", Théocanstan stated matter-of-factly. "That's why you always end up being scratched. It's your fault, not hers".
Eofor appeared a tad offended. "Excuse me, but that's not true! See this scar over here? I got it after I tried to offer her some food!".
"Food that reeked of vinegar. No wonder she attacked you. You'd do it too, if I awoke you to the smell of decomposing flesh"
"How is that even the same thing?".
Théocanstan shrug his shoulders. "Cats hate vinegar. Everybody knows that".
The tiff went on and on, with Eofor recounting at least a dozen instances in which he claimed Endien had needlessly attacked him, and Théocanstan promptly rebutting him in his usual flat, brook-no-argument tone. Needless to say, Lothíriel found she agreed with her white-haired guard: Eofor's attempts at familiarizing with Endien had always been somewhat clumsy and to make things even worse, the young man had a booming voice that her feline friend obviously disliked.
In his defence however, Endien was indeed a cat and as such, lunatic by nature.
Halfway down the courtyard of her father's palace, Théocanstan lost interest in the quarrel and shyly approached her. "My Lady, do you think, perhaps, that I may be excused from my duties for a couple of hours? You see, I know Beyrith will be busy with you later today, and I'd really like to show her the pup".
Lothíriel tried her best to keep a neutral expression, while out of the corner of her eye she caught Balláf and Eofor furiously nudging each other. She gave Théocanstan the rest of the morning free and as soon as he had left, she allowed herself a big, smug grin. For the past four months, she had watched her guard and her maid growing close. It was clear they had become friends, but because none of them showed emotions the same way most people did, none could say with certainty whether there was more going on between them.
Now, they all had their answer.
She had a quick lunch with Éomer and after they had worked out the last details of their journey home, she set out once again – this time with her guards as well as her maids in tow. Their arrival at the Rohirric encampment on the Pelennor Fields went mostly unnoticed, what with everybody being too busy with the preparations for their imminent departure. On the southmost side of the camp, a large enclosure had been built to host their horses, with large troughs on one side and a wooden canopy to offer shelter form the sun.
It was there that Fastfara welcomed them. "Lothíriel Queen", he greeted her, his eyes soon narrowing on Runhild in a plainly assessing look. "Is that her?".
Her maid answered with a glare of her own.
"She's a wee thing. You sure she'll be able to keep up?".
"Have you spoken with Wulf and Wíddig?".
"Aye. Both had nothing but praises for her".
"Then you already know what she lacks in size, she makes in attitude and determination".
Runhild turned to look at her, the expression on her freckled face swaying between confusion, outrage and devotion. "What is happening, Lady? Who is this man?".
"His name in Fastfara, I'm sure you've heard of him".
"Edoras' stablemaster?".
"Yes".
"What do I have to do with him?".
"Rohan has lost much in the war, Runhild. Over two thousand good men and about as many horses. It will take us years to restore the strength of our chivalry and you don't need me to explain you that when it comes to horses, our herdsmen and stablemasters will play a pivotal role. There will be much to do, and that includes breeding and training our mounts, as well as trading them with Gondor. Fastfara approached the King some weeks ago, with a request for additional staff to cater with the increased workload. Furthermore, he's in need of someone who not only knows his way around horses, but can also speak, read and write the common language. And I just so happen to know a person who matches all these requirements".
Probably for the first time since she had known her, Lothíriel saw Runhild being left completely speechless.
"If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be standing here today", she spoke to her softly, "You've helped me making it through my first months in Rohan and the day I run off, it was you who rode in the middle of the night, sick and feverish, to find Éomer and raise the alarm. If it wasn't for you, I'd have died in that ravine, Runhild. You are the first true friend I've ever had, and I'll be forever grateful for what you have done for me. Sixteen months ago, before you had even had a chance to meet me, you left a job you loved to help me settle in. Well, I think we can all agree you were quite successful in your efforts and I owe it to our friendship not to forget who you are and what you have always dreamed to be. You never managed to complete your apprentice at the stables because of me, and now I'm asking that you do".
Runhild drew nearer. Face pressed against her chest, she sobbed quietly. "But… but… even if I do, we will still be friends, yes?", she managed to ask.
Tears welled in Lothíriel's eyes. She could blame it on the pregnancy and say it had turned her into a bit of a weeping mess lately, but it would have been a lie. Truth was, letting Runhild go was not easy. "Of course. I will make sure to visit you as often as I can and as Queen, I demand that you visit me too. And you don't need to move out of Meduseld. In fact, I'd be more than happy if you were to stay with us".
Forcing herself to take a step back, Runhild wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "I will not, Lady".
"You won't?".
"No", she said with an almost defeated sigh, "I had meant to tell you, I have decided to move into one of those cozy cottages that have been built nearby the market".
Ah. Lothíriel mulled over it until eventually, it dawned on her: "You won't be living alone in that nice cozy cottage of yours, will you?".
"No".
"I can't believe it. At last, you're about to confess who's the man you've been seeing in great secrecy for the past six months?".
"It's Éothain, Lady. We are to marry as soon as we are back in Edoras".
At another time, Lothíriel might have found her disheartened tone amusing - why, Runhild almost spoke like it was a terrible tragedy that had befallen her! But right then, she actually felt dizzy. "Éothain? Like, that Éothain?".
"Yes. When we started seeing each other, we decided not to tell anyone. We figured that because of our respective positions, had things not work out well, it might have led to difficult, embarrassing situations".
Lothíriel shook her head in disbelief, moments of the past five months flashing in her mind and taking a whole new significance. Among them, was one in particular: "That's why Míririen invited Éothain to her wedding. That's why she was so puzzled, when I inquired her about it. She knew you are a couple!".
"I have no idea how she found out, but yes, she knew. Maybe she saw us sneaking into the stables…".
Fastfara grunted. "You, Éothain and yer fancy cottage won't need no sneaking in Edoras' stables, will ye?".
Runhild's cheeks turned a dark shade of red. "No! Of course, not!", she shrieked, causing the whole group to burst into a roaring laughter.
Finally managing to overcome her initial shock, Lothíriel hurried to congratulate her friend: "I'm so happy for you. It was just an unexpected thing to discover. It's like… like one of my brothers confessed, out of the blue, that he was to marry Éomer's sister! It's a lot to take in, but I am happy for you".
"Thank you, my Lady. For everything". Then, with a quick glance at the stablemaster, Runhild added: "If you and Fastfara agree, I'd have a request. I'd like to postpone the start of my apprentice for another couple of weeks, so that I may still serve as your handmaid during the journey back home. It would mean a lot to me, Lady".
Lothíriel didn't even ask the man whether he saw any problem with it. Damn it all, she was the Queen and if she said he could wait, then wait he must! Luckily and judging by the half-grin on his face, he didn't seem to mind. "It's a deal. You shall start your apprentice no later than your first day in Edoras".
Runhild was beaming. She hugged her again. Then she gave Fatsfara's hand a vigorous shake. Then she snatched Beyrith and gave her a good squeeze. "I wouldn't even consider leaving my position, if I didn't know you'll take good care of our Lady". Smiling, the girl returned her embrace.
Her hand resting on her belly, Lothíriel looked around let out a deep breath. She was happy, life was good and soon, they'd be home, their days no longer filled with the dread of war but rather with the effort of restoring Rohan's greatness.
Life in place of death. A gift they had all fought for, and that she intended to honour.
Edoras, July the 1st, 3019
Éomer strode out of the Council Chamber a happy man.
He had only been in Edoras for a couple of weeks and would be soon leaving again. There had been no shortage of things to take care of, but two in particular he had wanted to get out of his way as soon as possible.
First of all, upon arriving in the capital he had immediately appointed four new advisors. Three of them were the eldest sons of councillors who had died on the Pelennor Fields, while the designation of the fourth one had been less obvious because Grima – whose whereabouts were as of yet uncertain, had left no family behind and even if he had, he doubted anyone would have accepted a relative of him to retain any sort of political influence in the Council. For days Éomer had pondered who shall take the vacant spot. The first name that had come to mind was Elfhelm. A nobleman of Edoras, he had governed the garrison of the capital for many years. Together with his riders, he had answered Théodred's summons and rushed to his aid at the Fords of Isen. He had fought valiantly during the campaign in Gondor and all considered, he was an ideal candidate to take over a seat in the Council.
Problem was, he was also an ideal candidate for another, equally important position. That of Marshall of the East-mark, which he had quickly decided he would entrust to him and him alone.
With Elfhelm out of the game and Erkenbrand already settled to take over the role of Second Marshall, Éomer had feared he was out of trustworthy options. He needed someone loyal, someone he could rely on to be his eyes and ears inside a Council he did not trust. Another name had come to mind then: Lord Haleth. His was one of Rohan's most respected families and in the Westfold, nine war mounts out of ten had been sired and trained in their stables. Even more importantly, the man had been one of the very few his cousin had trusted. He had discussed it with Lothíriel – who had met Lord Haleth during the chase, and she too had agreed he'd be a good candidate.
With the Council finally restored, he had wasted no time and pushed them to endorse his decision to make Lothíriel a Queen regent. Technically, he did not need it – he was the King and that gave him absolute power. But it wasn't lost to him the significance of having the Council backing his decision and after hours of heated discussions, he managed to have it his way.
As they exited the Council Chamber, Haleth hastened to keep up with him: "You claim little experience in politic, yet you handled that like a seasoned politician, Lord".
"You've been a Councillor for less than a week, and already you're trying to appease your King?".
"Isn't that what this job is all about?".
Éomer smirked and once the remaining members of the Council had dispersed, he invited Haleth to join him on a visit to a nearby village. They left shortly after noon, together with Elfhelm, Erkenbrand, Amrothos and ten additional riders – the King's guard, which, much to his chagrin, was going to tag along everywhere he went from now on. He had appointed Éothain as its Captain, while Balláf had taken charge of the Queen's one.
He and his Marshalls spoke at length about the state of their respective lands and what were the most pressing needs that needed to be addressed. Having been Lord of Deeping-coomb for many years, Erkenbrand appeared to have things in hand whereas Elfhelm – who had a limited knowledge of the East-mark, sought eagerly his council. Amrothos followed attentively the discussion, trying not to disrupt it too much while at the same time inquiring about anything he could not quite understand.
Éomer had to say, he was positively impressed by his brother-in-law. Lothíriel had managed to present the opportunity of coming to Rohan as a favour they were asking of him and not only he had promptly accepted their invite, but he had taken it very seriously. Even before leaving Minas Tirith, he had already started making enquiries and learnt as much as he could about the Mark. He often kept Lothíriel busy for hours on end, asking all sort of questions – some of which they didn't even had answers for. That in itself had proved helpful already. Even more importantly, Amrothos appeared to be in a better frame of mind and although he still had troubles sleeping, he had at least almost quit drinking. Only once, on the third day after they had arrived in Edoras, he had gotten completely drunk and as a result, the following morning he had overslept and missed a meeting he was supposed to attend. His absence had irked him but upon speaking with him later that day, Éomer had been confronted with a version of Amrothos he had never seen before. Utterly mortified and visibly ashamed, the Prince had looked like a beaten dog and apologized profusely. Since then, he had curbed drastically his alcohol consumption. He often joined his men at the Hammer, but he never drank more than one ale and retired early to his room.
Éomer could see the struggle, he could see that it was not easy for him. But for the very first time, the young Prince did not appear bogged down with his own demons and unable to move an inch forward.
As if willing to prove just how true that was, Amrothos took advantage of a lull in the conversation for an unexpected advice. "Have you considered the idea of building small settlements along the Great West Road to make travelling between Rohan and Gondor more comfortable?".
Erkenbrand cocked his head to the side. "Comfortable? Do you mean safer perhaps?".
"Well, safer too, I guess. But I was more concerned with comfort". Seeing the scowl on everyone's faces, he hurried to explain: "Our countries have eyed each other suspiciously for many years, trade was close to non-existent and almost no one dared travelling between Edoras and Minas Tirith. The war has changed that. There isn't a soul in Gondor who hasn't been told at least a dozen times the tale of the Rohirrim descending on the Pelennor Fields to defend Minas Tirith. There's curiosity, excitement, and many now wish to travel to Rohan and see with their own eyes the land of the Horselords - among them many nobles lords and their ladies. You also know that early next year, our countries will be blessed with the birth of a conspicuous number of children whose fathers are Rohirrim, and whose mothers hail from Gondor. Some marriages have been celebrated already and I'm sure many among these new families will choose to reside in Rohan, thus strengthening the ties between our countries. My point being, in the years to come, there will be people willing to travel regularly to the Mark. If", he said after a short pause, "travelling is adequately facilitated".
"Rohan's charm will quickly wear off if the only way to get here is spending fifteen or more nights sleeping on thin cots, inside cold tents, eating simple food by the fire and bathing in freezing rivers. This is especially true for nobles, but I'd not dismiss it for commoners too. If I wanted to visit a relative in Rohan and could not afford the luxury of maids and the safety of an escort, I'd feel way more inclined to take the road if I knew I could rely on easy, safe accommodation along the way".
"Prince Amrothos has a point", Haleth agreed, "Having people travelling regularly to Rohan would not only be undeniably good for diplomatic reasons, but also for business. Travellers sleeps at inns, eat at taverns, buy crafts to bring back home...".
Éomer took a moment to think about it. Especially, he thought about his recent journey with Lothíriel and how concerned he had been that she'd always get a comfortable place to sleep at night and decent food to eat. And this in spite of having maids seeing to her most immediate needs and plenty of riders to ensure the safety of their encampment. As a husband and as a father – he wondered, would he be more inclined to take the road if he knew that at the end of each long day spent in the saddle, he could at least count on a roof on their heads and a warm meal?
The answer was rather obvious.
"It takes about ten days to cover the distance between Edoras and the Mering Stream. That means ten inns to be built along the Great West Road. Resource wise, it's not an impossible feat and it could be accomplished within few months - we could start with small establishments and allow them to grow as time goes. The Crown would have to bear the costs and lend ownership, of course. What's your opinion, Haleth?".
"I don't want to sound too optimistic, but I'd be surprised if it took more than a couple of years for the inns to compensate the Crown for the initial investment. Perhaps more difficult will be finding ten innkeepers who we can trust with running the business the proper way".
Éomer chuckled inwardly as he recalled the way Lothíriel at come to term with the existence of a Council. After days of half-muttered bitter comments about this and that councillor, she had very pragmatically decided to consider the Council a tool – her own words. One wouldn't trust a tool with important decisions or sensitive information. One would only use a tool to make bothersome tasks somewhat less aggravating. And although he was new to kingship, Éomer was fairly confident finding trustworthy innkeepers fell precisely into that category. "Raise the matter with the Council, Haleth. Ten inns, ten advisors. Each should present me with a suitable candidate".
"Yes, Lord".
"If I may", Amrothos interjected, "I think the upcoming journey of King Elessar and the entire Gondorian nobility alongside him, is a perfect opportunity to advertise Rohan's plan to make the Great West Road more easily accessible. Your guests will arrive in Edoras in about a month and supposedly leave after a week or two. This is hardly enough time to build ten inns, but perhaps you might want to showcase the construction of a couple of them. A glimpse of what traveling to Rohan in the future will be like".
"A valid suggestion", he conceded, once more impressed by his brother-in-law's resourcefulness. "Elfhelm, most of these inns will be built on land under your control. Tomorrow, we shall sit together, find suitable locations and identify at least one or two sites where we could start building already. Haleth, you will oversee the construction of the inns and should you encounter any difficulties while I'm away, you are to discuss them with the Queen".
With a polite nod, the lord fell back and spent most of the ride discussing animatedly with Amrothos . As they approached the village they were set to visit, they came across a patrol making its way back to Edoras. Only fifteen men, led by Fenda – a grizzled warrior with a fiercely gained reputation. Haleth approached one of the shieldmaiden riding with the group and spoke with her in hushed tones, while another one removed her helmet and approached him: "Éomer King".
"Aldwyn", he greeted Lady Aldwyn's granddaughter. She did not only share her name with her grandmother, but the looks and the spirit too. "I didn't know you had returned to Edoras".
"Ah, I could have stayed in the Westfold – I was bound to be far more useful there than here. But I want to be present for the birth of Tidhild's first child".
"Make sure to visit the Queen before you return to the Hornburg. I'm sure she'll be happy to see you".
"I will, Lord", she told him with a mischievous smile that was all too easy to read. The last time Lothíriel and Aldwyn had spent time together had been over a year ago, when Grima had summoned them to the capital in the hope of getting his wife killed. Together with Tidhild, the three young women had indulged in ale and games of cards at the Hammer and to this day, Lothíriel still claimed she had never drunk – or won, as much as she had that night. As per himself, he had an especially vivid memory of the morning that had followed, when he had had awoken to the feeling of his wife's soft body nestled against his… So much had changed since then, that one year seemed a ridiculously scant time to squeeze in everything that had happened. Yet there he was, King in a time of peace, married to a woman he adored, with whom he'd soon share the blessing of a child.
Still trying to get acquainted with that feeling of inner peace that was so foreign to someone like him, Éomer bid Aldwyn and Fenda farewell and spurred Firefoot at a faster pace. The sooner he'd be done with his kingly duties, the sooner he'd be able to return to Edoras and worship his Queen.
Amrothos cast the dark sky a disgruntled gaze.
Three consecutive days of rain in the middle of the summer.
Absolutely preposterous.
He crossed the Markthalle at a quick pace and headed straight for the Hammer. It was crowded inside – it always was and for good reasons, but luckily Éothain and Háca had saved him a spot at their table. Runhild was there too, as well as four other riders and a young woman who he recognized from the patrol he and Éomer had stumbled upon a couple of weeks earlier. Seeing him approaching, the group switched to the common language and he was quickly served a mug of the dark ale he had grown so fond of. It was much stronger than the one he drank back home – whether because it was brewed differently or because most of taverns in Gondor tended to water theirs down, that he did not know. It also had a very distinctive aftertaste of herbs – yarrow and juniper perhaps, though he couldn't be sure.
He drank it slowly, trying to savour every little tiny sip.
Coming to the Hammer every evening was a matter of carefully planned timing. If he got there too early, it would be hard to resist the temptation of drinking more than one ale while he waited for the sun to set. On the other hand, if he got there too late, most of his companions would be already so deep into their cups, that he couldn't help but feeling strangely out of place in his sober state. The secret, he had learned, was arriving somewhere in between, stick to his one-ale-rule and then call it a night.
Alas, that led to a number of other problems - namely the fact that without dulling his senses, he found it impossible to get more than a handful of hours of sleep and inevitably ended up spending his nights either staring at the ceiling of his room or walking aimlessly around. It was damn hard, but also the only way he could possibly keep up with the tight schedule his sister had forced upon him. He didn't want to disappoint the trust she and her husband had put on him and was especially proud of how well his idea of equipping the Great West Road with inns and taverns had been received. In fact, he was determined to see it coming into shape!
"Another round, Prince Amrothos?".
He lifted his nose from his ale and declined politely. "Not nearly done with this one yet".
The woman shook her head in disappointment. "That how a Gondorian drinks? I must say, I'm disappointed", she taunted him.
Runhild looked uncomfortable, and so did Éothain and Háca. The four of them gathered regularly at the Hammer and as it was to be expected, the group had taken notice of his self-imposed discipline and never dared challenging it. Their guest however knew not of it and decided to order him another ale.
"Just because the Lady insists - and also because I feel I have a duty to preserve Gondor's honour", Amrothos said with his most charming smile while, as inconspicuously as he could, he pretended to empty his first mug and then placed it on the tray of a passing maid.
"There's no such thing as a Lady in a tavern. Call me Aldwyn".
"Then we shall both dispense of titles. We have met before, haven't we? You were riding with that patrol some days ago…".
"Yes – and a bloody successful one, if you don't mind me saying that. Eight orcs slain and not a single wounded among our ranks". She clashed her mug against his, laughing at something the rider sitting beside her was whispering in her ear.
"Do you often join the patrols?", he asked. Since the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, he had grown accustomed to the sight of women in armour - there had been plenty among the Rohirrim, and even a few among the Gondorian ranks. Yet somehow, he had thought they would all hang their swords once the war was over.
"I do. I entered service last year, but because Prince Théodred had me assigned to a scouting unit, I rarely ever got the chance to draw blood. Then last February my group was ambushed by a pack of Uruk-hai and had it not been for Erkenbrand's timely arrival, we would have been decimated. We did not suffer casualties but in the midst of the battle I was thrown off my saddle and badly broke my leg. I was bedridden for almost two months, forced to seek shelter in the Glittering Caves during the Battle at the Hornburg and couldn't ride to war afterwards".
Amrothos listened to her story and thought she sounded annoyed. Like she wasn't as much bothered by having been unable to do her bit in the war, as she was by the missed chance of glory. She reminded him of himself from his younger years and the moment the thought formed in his head, he had to scoff.
Valar, he was really starting to think like an old man!
Behind him, a group of musicians entered the tavern. One held a psaltery, one a flute and another a set of tambours. They stepped onto the raised stage that had been arranged in the middle of the room and as Amrothos had learned to expect, the exact moment they started playing, the level of merriment went right through the roof. Runhild dragged a reluctant Éothain for a dance, Háca was snatched by some blonde beauty and Aldwyn let one of her fellow riders claim the first dance.
Knowing it was time, Amrothos put down his ale and with some difficulty, he navigated the overly crowded place. He had almost made it to the exit, when Aldwyn grabbed his arm and pulled him back in: "Come on, Gondor. Don't be a killjoy and have some fun!".
He laughed and decided to indulge her, emptying the small cup of grape liquor she was offering him and then following her into a dance that felt more like a fight to remain on his feet, what with so many people pushing on each side. They changed partner and before he knew it, he had danced with at least five different girls and drunk just as many cups of various spiced liquors. He spotted Aldwyn at the far end of the tavern, standing atop the counter together with one of her friends, laughing breathlessly as they jumped and spun around.
So beautiful. So happy. Not a care in the world.
Their eyes met and he winked at her, beckoning to the door. "And? Was it that bad?", Aldwyn asked when she joined him outside.
"No, it wasn't", he grinned.
"Are taverns in Gondor much different from the ones in Rohan?".
"Not really. Different food, different type of drinks and different music, but otherwise remarkably similar. And I'm an expert, if I may say so".
"Are you? Seeing you drinking like a wuss and then running at the first sign of fun, I thought perhaps no one in Gondor had ever taught you how to have a good time!".
He laughed and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Now that I think of it, there is another notable difference I can think of. In Gondor, noble ladies from respectable families do not ever hang around taverns. In fact, it's considered unseemly - shameful almost".
"Did you just praise me for being a noble lady, and then insult me for my allegedly inappropriate behaviour?".
"Absolutely".
"And here I thought Princes were gentlemen!".
With a snort, Amrothos pulled her towards the side of the building and within moments, they were all over each other. There was a dwindling voice in his head warning him that he had drunk too much and that for all their banter, Aldwyn was a young lady and he should be treating her better. But it was just that – a dwindling voice, easy enough to ignore. Luckily for him however, a drunkard appeared and promptly emptied his stomach right at their feet, putting a revolting end to their fondling.
Obviously embarrassed, Aldwyn stepped back into the well-lit street. She tried fixing her tousled hair, but something caught her attention: "Ealith!", she called, and run after the cloaked figure that was crossing the other side of the Markthalle.
Amrothos observed her hugging the stranger and thought it odd that someone would wrap himself head to toes into such heavy-looking garment. He was the first one to complain about weather in Rohan, but a woollen cloak seemed really unnecessary. Aldwyn returned a few moments later, her mood obviously sobered by the strange encounter. "Is it a habit of yours to chase after shady individuals?".
"That shady individual is a childhood friend of mine and…". She paused like she had wanted to add something but thought better of it. "Never mind. Shall we go back inside?", she proposed with a stretched smile.
"Go ahead, I'll join you in a moment", he said, his eyes only briefly darting towards the latrine so to give the impression he needed to relieve himself. As soon as Aldwyn had left however, Amrothos turned tail and left.
The next day, with bags under his eyes and a throbbing headache, he joined his sister for breakfast. Her belly was starting to show but aside from a few short spells of dizziness and a couple of times when her nose had suddenly started bleeding, her pregnancy was proceeding remarkably smoothly. Too smoothly according to Éomer, who had troubles coming to terms with her busy schedule and worried constantly she would exert herself. They quarrelled almost every morning about it, which was quite entertaining to witness.
It always started with Éomer solemnly announcing she should slow down. It went on with Lothíriel flatly denying him. A squabble ensued. Lothíriel would come out the winner – she always did, leading to abundant grumpy mumbling on Éomer's side. Then, as he stood to take his leave and start the day, they'd both instantly forget they had been bickering and kiss each other passionately.
Disgustingly adorable, that's what those two were!
"Are you sure you don't mind me leaving you alone while Éomer is away?", he inquired over a bowl of hot porridge – one of those foods he had never liked, but that he had inexplicably started to appreciate in Rohan.
"Of course, brother. I have Éowyn to help me and this whole inn endeavour has been your idea, so it's only fair that you accompany Haleth. Has Éomer shown you the spots they chose for the various settlements?".
"No, but he seemed very satisfied and also mentioned something about a certain Inn at the Crossroads. Do you know anything about it?".
"Yes, it's an inn halfway between Edoras and the Hornburg. Last summer, after it went up in flames, Prince Théodred took the matter in his own hands and together with his men, they helped rebuilding the place and even equipped it with a palisade".
"Ah, that's why Éomer decided each inn should have a stockade…".
"It's a sensible decision. Orcs are no longer a threat to Rohan's existence, but they still roam our land and will likely plague us for months – years perhaps. A tavern packed with defenceless civilians would be seen as a tempting target. Give it a sturdy wall however, and it's a whole different matter. Éomer is also making plan for having a couple of steeds from the royal stables hosted in each settlement - rested mounts to be kept at our messengers' disposal".
"I hadn't thought about it, but it does make sense".
Lothíriel peeked into his plate. "You are not eating that?", she asked pointing at a piece of cold chicken. He shook his head and she quickly cut into tiny bits. "Has Haleth told you where you will be traveling to?".
He took a piece of meat and fed it to Endien. Through many sleepless nights spent wandering around the hall, he had grown fond of the cat and, even more importantly, the cat had grown fond of him. "He says we'll first head to Caerdydd to meet with some tradesmen and acquire the lumber needed for the construction of the first inn. I understand his niece and nephew-in-law will then join us".
Lothíriel nodded and fended off Endien's repeated attempt at stealing the cheese from her plate. "I have never met his niece and her husband, but I was told she knows the people of Edoras better than the most. Her father – Háma, was Théoden King's Doorward". She hesitated, a sad look veiling her eyes.
"He died in the war?".
"He was slain in the Battle of the Hornburg". She shook her head, like she was trying to scare away unpleasant memories. "Anyway, Haleth's niece offered to help him finding a good candidate for the management of the first inn. Quite a few taverns in Edoras went bust during the past couple of years, and she thinks she can convince one of the former owners to relocate. Once that is accomplished, they will join you in Caerdydd and travel with you to the construction site".
There was a light knock on the door and Eofor entered. "My Lady, Dernwine and Elfere are here. Shall I let them in?".
Lothíriel drew a sharp breath and closed her eyes, like she was dangerously close to lose her patience - admittedly, her stocks were pretty thin when it came to the councillors. "No, tell them I'll receive them in the library".
"May I escort you there?", he offered.
"No. You might soften my mood, and I always want to be at my worse with those two".
Gondor, July the 24th, 3019
Míririen found it hard to take her eyes off Queen Arwen.
She was beautiful – unfairly so. Flawless and graceful, she did not have a single mean bone in her body and bestowed kindness and graciousness upon all – nobles, squires, maids and peasants alike. Two days into their journey towards Rohan, she sat astride in the saddle of her beautiful gray mare, not a smear of dirt tarnishing her pale riding attire, not a drop of sweat trickling down her perfectly arched brow and naturally, not one single hair out of place. Indeed, Míririen was starting to suspect the Queen of Gondor might be capable of taking a plunge into a pool of mud, and still come out sparkling clean. Like, the grime would slide off her skin and clothes without leaving a trace behind. And a gust of wind would just so happen to fix her hair.
"I'm starting to wonder whether I should be jealous of the way you keep ogling at our Queen".
"And I'm starting to wonder how can you not ogle at her!", she argued.
"You want me to ogle at another woman?".
"Not any other woman. Just this one. I'd forgive you if you did".
Erchirion run a hand through his hair and laughed. All thoughts of the Queen's beauty instantly forgotten, Míririen shifted her attention to her husband - he really was the most handsome man she had ever met! "Don't give me that look. Not with another couple of hours until we set camp and I can get my hands on you".
She blushed and glanced around, but luckily no one seemed to have heard their conversation. Either way, Erchirion's cheeky comment earned him a playful slap on his shoulder.
Holding the reins of her mare, Míririen fell back until she was riding alongside the Halflings. She had come to appreciate their company, especially that of Meriadoc and Peregrin – Merry and Pippin, as they insisted she should call them. Being part of a host consisting of, among others, two Kings, an ethereal Queen, a whole party of Elves and the entire Gondorian highest nobility, she often found herself looking for more humble companions. The Hobbits – who by all means could have afforded some haughtiness based on their deeds during the War but simply didn't have in them to be anything but the lovely creatures that they were, were among her favourite ones. She had also befriended a couple of noble ladies and one of them especially – Manadhel was her name, had taken her under her wing and was trying to introduce her to the rest of the lot.
That evening, as she sat alone in front of her tent, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of aged cheese, she heard heavy footsteps approaching her. Looking up, Míririen found herself staring into two sets of dark gray eyes that were vaguely familiar, though she could not exactly place them. What she could place though, were the fine clothes and the proud stance that was the trademark of any Gondorian noble.
"Lady Míririen, I hope you don't mind us disturbing you. My name is Harnon, and this is my eldest son, Narion".
Upon hearing those names, she felt her body stiffening and tried schooling her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression. The result must have been rather poor, because Lord Harnon's face warped in what she thought was… chagrin?
"We mean you no harm, Lady Míririen. My son and I came to offer our apologies for Radon's behaviour and to assure you the disrespect he treated you with, is not encouraged nor tolerated within our family".
Narion cleared his voice and bowed his head. "My brother's actions brought great shame upon our family, and we would hate for you to think we are all one and the same. He was sent to our estate in Lamedon and will not be returning to either Minas Tirith or Dol Amroth in the near future".
Míririen looked from one man to the other. She had always deemed herself a decent judge of character and right then, her guts told her their words were sincere. "Lord Harnon, Lord Narion", she spoke more calmly now, "I hold no resentment towards your family. Lord Radon's actions were his and his alone. I accepted his apology and you do not owe me one, though I am grateful for your kind words".
Both men bowed solemnly and perhaps unwilling to bother her any longer, they took their leave. No sooner than they had disappeared behind the next line of tents, Prince Imrahil appeared at her side. "You handled that gracefully, Míririen".
One glance at his face and she knew he had had a hand in it. "Did you ask them to apologize, Lord?".
"No, but Lord Harnon asked for my permission to speak to you.". He proffered his arm and walked her around the camp and towards the fire where Lady Manadhel was sitting. "What do you make of their apology?".
"I thought it sincere, and their regret felt genuine".
"I agree. Lord Radon is the black sheep of that family, I'm afraid".
"They mentioned he was sent to Lamedon".
The Prince scoffed. "Fancy name for in the middle of nowhere. Lord Harnon's estate in Lamedon is remote and far from the only city of the region – Calembel. It's going to be quite the adjustment for Radon, especially after he thought he was going to marry into one of Gondor's wealthiest families".
"He was betrothed?".
"To Lord Pedir's only daughter, and last heir to his House. Their betrothal was announced in April, but when Lord Pedir heard of the rumours surrounding Lord Radon, he didn't think twice before breaking it".
"That must have been a scandal. Breaking an official betrothal is almost unheard of".
"Yes, and had Lord Harnon wanted, he could have opposed it and caused dire repercussions on Lord Pedir's family. Instead, he agreed without hesitation and within a week, he had sent Lord Radon into exile".
"Does Erchirion know?".
"Not yet, but I'm sure the news will please him".
Seeing they had almost made it to Lady Manadhel, Míririen made for dropping the Prince's arm and take her leave. Instead, her father-in-law kept her hand firmly tucked in the crook of his arm and chose to walk some more. "Has Erchirion told you about our plans for the docks in Dol Amroth?".
"He said you are planning to renovate them and possibly build new ones".
"Correct. Some were damaged during the past year and because trade is expected to boom in the near future, I'm thinking we need to expand, least we will have the Amrothian fleet, merchant ships and fishermen all competing for a spot. So far, the House of Dol Amroth has always retained full control over the docks but if we do build different facilities for military and commercial vessels, it might make sense to get the Merchant Guild on board. Indeed, they are very eager to play a role and from the very first moment they caught wind of my intentions, they started breathing on my neck, insisting a model alike that already adopted in Pelargir would be beneficial to all. What's your opinion, Míririen?".
She turned to look at the Prince with wide eyes, half-expecting him to laugh and say it was all but a jest. "My opinion?".
"Is it that absurd of me to ask?".
She felt her cheeks flushing. "No! I just… I did not expect it, Lord". She pinched her chin and thought long before speaking, not willing to make a fool of herself. "The docks in Pelargir are very well organized and the Guild is to be commended for it. However, I disagree when they say it's a model that is beneficial for all. The Guild runs the docks like a business and if the demand for docking spots is high, then you can be sure the fees will quickly soar. For merchants and owners of large fleets, this hardly makes a difference - even a high fee is barely a dent in their revenues. For the fishermen however, it can be a setback".
The Prince motioned at a flat boulder and helped her sit down. "May I ask whether this is what happened with your father's ships?".
He seemed genuinely curious and she did not mind elaborating. "No - at least not until the very end. Our fleet used to be large enough that we could afford docking in Pelargir, where our fish could be immediately sold. Smaller owners however, had no other choice but docking somewhere cheaper – in the case of Pelargir, a village nearby the swamps".
"And the fish would then be transported to the city by road?".
"Yes, which can be quite the challenge - especially during the summer. I'm sure such difficulties are common to all small vessel owners, regardless of the goods they transport. I just happen to be more familiar with the challenges of the fishermen".
"I see. So, you think the involvement of the Guild would a mistake".
"No, not necessarily. But many families in Dol Amroth rely on the sea for their livelihood and they could hardly rival merchants when it comes to dock fees. So far it was never a problem because the fees the House of Dol Amroth imposed were modest and hardly ever went up – or so Erchirion told me. If the docks will be expanded, I think it makes sense to involve the Guild, but also that there should be a way to ensure every ship has access to the harbour, regardless of the size of the pockets of the person owning it".
The Prince stood and stared at the dark sky above them. "Thank you for your input, Míririen", he said at last and nodded at Erchirion who fast approaching them, "Perhaps once we return to Dol Amroth, I will ask you to join me and Elphir when we next meet with the representatives of the Guild. You wouldn't mind, would you?".
"N-no, of course not".
She observed him leaving with her mouth slightly gaping, and Erchirion looked at her curiously. "What were the two of you talking about to prompt that shocked expression?".
She explained what had just happened and he simply nodded: "He asked me what I thought about the Guild involvement, and I told him you might have been able to provide a different perspective. He must have like what you said, if he wants you to join him for the next meeting".
"Will you be there as well?", she asked hopeful.
He snorted. "Not if I can avoid it. In case you haven't noticed it, I'd much rather stand behind the helm of my ship than sit at a desk, discussing atrociously tedious matters with pompous lords".
"Very encouraging".
He smirked and not caring one bit about her complains, dragged her across the nearby woods. It took only a few steps for Míririen to start cursing him: she had changed clothes almost as soon as they had set camp, and her light slippers and flounced skirt might have been aligned with Gondor's latest fashion trends for noble ladies, but were also definitely ill-suited for a hike on uneven ground – in the dark to boot! "What has gotten into you? Where are we going?", she groused after the umpteenth narrowly avoided fall.
He did not answer and after what felt like endless miles of rugged terrain, he finally stopped. "I found this spot earlier today and thought you'd enjoy having supper here, away from the crowded camp".
Busy as she was catching her breath and checking whether she had ripped her skirt or ruined her shoes – they were both new and she was fairly sure they had costed a small fortune!, it took Míririen a moment to realize they were on the ridge of a cliff looming over the camp. Getting there had felt gruelling, but they were actually still very close to the tents, the wind carrying the chatter of people and the crackling of the bonfires.
Sitting with her legs dangling from an overhanging rock, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Though she had never considered herself uneducated or clueless about proper manners, becoming part of the Amrothian family had inevitablly took things up a notch. Both Gliril and Gaeril had been incredibly helpful and day by day, she had grown more and more comfortable and self-assured. Still, Míririen treasured that time in the evening when she and Erchirion would retire to their private apartments and she could finally drop the mask and be herself without being afraid of offending anyone or breaking some unwritten rule. Travelling with a host of hundreds of people had however stripped her of that comfort. She was constantly on edge and not even once the flap of their tent had closed, could she ever fully relax.
As such, being out there felt simply marvellous.
She accepted a piece of cold meat and a slice of bread and ate her meal in silence, just enjoying the cool night air. Later on, they trailed along the ridge and wandered a little further from the camp, until all they could see were darkening hills and the glistening stripes of gurgling brooks. Erchirion sat behind her, his hands lightly caressing her sides - innocently at first, suggestively then. Míririen knew fondling with each other in the open and within a short distance from the camp was not something they should be doing, but the light trail of kisses he played along the curve of her neck managed to effectively distract her. He hiked her skirt up her legs and turned her around, her knees resting on either side of his hips. His fingers found the waistband of her undergarments and by the time had pulled them off her legs, all thoughts of possible onlookers had been completely forgotten.
Never breaking contact with his lips, Míririen unbuckled his belt and freed him of the confinement of his trousers. She positioned herself above him and when he thrust his hips upwards, sheathing himself in one single stroke, she had to bite hard on his shoulder in order to muffle a throaty moan.
Evidently, she hadn't been the only one affected by the lack of intimacy that travelling with the host had forced upon them.
One arm wrapped around her waist, Erchirion had her moving at a painstakingly slow pace. He sought the pins that held her hair in place and got rid of them, his hand sliding through her hair. "I love you, Míri, and you are so sweet, so beautiful - inside and out, that I'd be an imbecile to ogle at any other woman", he breathed in her ear, his voice hoarse and deep.
Míririen faintly whimpered, heat coiling in her belly. She struggled with the arm locked around her hips, trying desperately to dislodge it. But Erchirion would not let her, instead pressing her body even harder against his until all she could do, was grinding helplessly against him. When after a while he rolled her on her back and thrust hard into her, she almost spilled tears of relief.
She had no idea how she had gone from being the daughter of a modestly wealthy family, to destitute and now wife of a Prince. All she knew was that her husband was making passionate love to her under a vault of twinkling stars, and that she loved him in a way she'd never be able to put into words.
Author's notes: as you might have guessed, I decided to develop the Erchirion/Amrothos storylines within this same story – thank you for your feedback, I was really happy to read you did not mind having them taking the main stage for a while! This was a bit of a transition chapter, paving the way for some of the new storylines but also closing some of the old ones. There was no way Théocanstan would not have been given another pup at some point and at the same time, I always thought someone with Runhild's spirit belonged more to working with the horses like she always dreamed, rather than being a handmaid. Now that the war is over and things have calmed down, Lothíriel has had a chance to fix both things.
ValkSkadi: thank you so much! Yes, I had dropped a tiny little hint back in chapter 32 about Éothain being unhappy with the way Runhild reacted to Théocanstan, but it was very subtle. I always thought they'd make a good couple! Amrothos has a lot to sort out, so we'll see how it goes…
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: glad you liked the wedding! And yes, they are a couple indeed - have been for over half a year by now. But as they explained, they wanted to be sure of each other's feelings before coming out due to their respective roles. Of course, Lothíriel would never want to remove Runhild. But she's her best friend and she just wants what's best for her, even if that means she won't be her handmaid anymore.
tgo62: I am team Míririen too. I helped a friend with organizing her wedding recently and I swear I almost went insane! :) As per Dol Amroth, I was definitely thinking of Italy/Greece with the harbour. For Pelargir, I had in mind Chania (a town in Crete with a stunning Venetian harbour, so colourful and picturesque). For Dol Amroth itself, I was going for white harbour vibes. My mind wandered to Levanzo and Favignana in Sicily because I was there last year, but also to places like the Abbey of San Fruttuoso for the architecture.
Catspector: that's precisely what Amrothos needs and hopefully, he will find it on Rohan. As for Runhild, it was actually my intention since the very beginning to let her return to finish her apprentice in the stables. She dropped out to help Lothíriel settling in, but it had always been her dream and it is only fair she gets her chance to make it come true. The Council will likely be a thorn in the side but as Éomer said, it would be dangerous to get rid of it so soon.
Katia0203: thank you! I think if I ever serenaded someone (which I won't because I only sing in front of my cats), it would turn out even worse than Lothíriel and Amrothos – really, zero vocal talent whatsoever! Glad you are on board for Amrothos and hopefully, you liked the kick-off of his storyline!
coffeebookchiller: thank you! Lothíriel and Amrothos' talent – or lack of, was most definitely inspired by myself ;) I'm glad you're on board with keeping Erchirion and Amrothos' story within this one, because it was also my first option. As per Amrothos, that makes two of us. I had not intended for him and Erchirion to play any significant role in this story, but they both grew on me!
Rho67: always glad to read your reviews, no matter how late to the party! ;) About the Council I think they are both right - the advisors really did nothing to deserve their respective roles, but Éomer is being wiser and also proving he won't let his supposed bad temper push him towards hasty decisions. In the end I chose to keep Amrothos here - seems to make more sense to me, and found I could not not give Erchirion and his lady further room! ;)