Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I am only playing with the fandom for the enjoyment of myself as well as others.
Author's note: Take care that a spew warning might apply and be cautious when handling food and liquids while reading this.
Chapter 53
Seated on the blanket with the remains of a meal spread in front of them Lothíriel, former princess of Dol Amroth and now Queen of Rohan reached into her pouch. "Sister, I was hoping you would not mind teach me another one of your skills," she said to Éowyn. Her sister by law, and close friend was yet picking through the remains of the offerings. Together with Queen Arwen of Gondor they were seated on the blanket, enjoying the cool shade and pleasant sun away from the pressing heat of the city.
The men, had moved away from them a short distance and she knew not what they were doing, but greatly hoped they were staying out of trouble.
"If it is one I am able to, I shall be glad to do so," Éowyn assured her. "What is it you need?"
"Éomer has a tunic I know he cares for more than he says, but the lacing is torn," Lothíriel stated. "I said I would be glad to mend it for him, and I would, but I do not know how. I voiced my concern, and he gave me this," she put the wooden tool on the blanket in front of her. It was a delicately carved tool, a forked handle. Each of the tines were carved into delicate horseheads, the mane flowing down between them, where they connected at the handle. There was a hole in the wood, roughly the width of her smallest finger. The handle was carved as well, and decorated with the knotwork so common in Rohan.
"It is beautiful," Arwen praised, delighting in the simple elegance of the tool.
"Thank you," the young woman smiled. "I do love it, and I did tell Éomer as much. He insists it is nothing special, he will merely say that they grew bored on patrol and whittling passed the time. Though I do think they are delightful and he takes such care with it."
"As he should, when it is for you," Éowyn stated firmly. "It is very nicely done, and it should work very well. What is your trouble with it?"
"Simply that I do not know how to use it," she mused. "It looks simple enough, and yet I do not know how. Nor do I have anyone I am entirely comfortable asking. I feel many of the women feel Éomer should have wed a Rohir. A Gondorian who does not know their ways, it is not improving matters I am afraid."
"What of Éothain's mother?" Éowyn frowned. "I know she is not so petty or foolish. She has always been kind, and she cares for Éomer. He and Éothain has been friends since before we came to live in Edoras.
"I, find that she frightens me somewhat," Lothíriel admitted with a blush. "I've no doubt she is kind, and I do know she cares for Éomer, but she does have a way about her. It is rather…" she broke off, uncertain how she wanted to phrase herself.
"Brusque and forceful," Éowyn laughed. "Aye, I know. She takes no nonsense from anyone, as both Éothain and Éomer know very well. If she thought they had acted rashly, she would take either one of them to task about it. I saw her drag both of them up to Uncle by the scruff of the neck, and she never was easier on one of them or the other. Éothain and Éomer has always been friends, though they'd get in arguments and fight each other. She dunked them in the rain barrel to get them to stop if she felt like it."
"I do not know if that makes me less scared of her," Lothíriel pressed a hand to her face, though as horrified as she was, she also found the image of her strong and forceful husband dragged up to the Golden Hall by a woman who was, if very impressive in her own way, not very tall or large much amusing.
"Do speak to her," Éowyn patted her hand. "This I will be delighted to teach you, but you need a friend to count on, and she shall gladly be one. She cares very deeply for Éomer, and I know she cares for you as well. You make Éomer happy, and that is all she shall want from you."
"I shall do so," she promised. "It would be nice to have someone to talk to, and go to for advice. I do wish to learn your ways, I've seen so many wonderful things. Such beautiful woven bands, though it looks to me horribly complicated."
"Éothain's mother is very skilled in those, and she shall be glad to teach you," Éowyn promised her. Handing her back the fork she had been inspecting. The first few similar her brother had made for her had been rougher and more clumsily done though she had always been glad for them. The men did tend to whittle and carve items out of pieces of antler and such when they were out on patrol, and Éomer had gifted most of them to her. A beautiful comb as his skill grew. Delicate and yet finely carved needles, she had a few forks like this one. From the first clumsily shaped ones, to ones as delicate and ornament as this one. "For this, you need yarn," she mused.
"Aye, that I thought to bring," Lothíriel took out a green wool yarn, wound into a ball.
"This is a very nice colour," Arwen smiled softly as she looked at it. "It shall make a very nice cord."
"And it is easier than you think," Éowyn went on. "All you need is to make a small loop to start with."
"Then I fear it may be harder than you think, sister, for the loops of the needle binding still give me some difficulty," Lothíriel sighed. "They do not wish themselves to be even."
"This is easier, the loops shall fall in place of their own," making the first one, Éowyn slid it over one side of the fork. Drawing the loose end through the hole. Winding the long yarn around the other side, she pulled it back between the two and around over the first one. "See, now all you need is to pull your loop over the wound yarn, and then wind it back behind and between them again. All you need is to make certain your yarn lies over the loop. You let the cord come through the hole and it shall shape itself very nicely. Do mind you not pull them too hard, and it is very easy. Surprisingly fast to, so you shan't find yourself stuck with it for a fortnight with nothing to show for it."
"It looks easier than I feared," taking the fork back Lothíriel let the ball of wool lay by her side, slipping the loop over the loose yarn. She found it was not as hard as she had feared. The ladies she had watched doing this had simply moved their hands so fast she could not see what they were doing.
"When we return to the citadel, I have a yarn that would look really well on a tunic for Éomer," Arwen decided as she watched Lothíriel's slightly hesitant effort. She certainly understood how the gentle woman could sometimes find herself ill at ease in a place so unlike where she had grown up. "It should catch the colour of his eyes very well."
"He has very nice eyes," the young Queen blushed as she ducked her head. In Dol Amroth though she had heard women converse about their husbands, she had been too young. Now, she found herself a little too hesitant and shy to always fit the women of Rohan. They all seemed so certain of themselves and their roles. It was hard not to feel a little intimidated by them.
"As his sister, I will say he does," Éowyn teased lightly, putting her at ease as she continued to turn the yarn around the fork, pulling the loops over the ends as she did so. The cord that ran through the hole was a little uneven, though she felt it was not so bad at all. It was just a matter of not drawing the loops tight as you made them, and yet tightening them as you wound the yarn around.
Unravelling more of the yarn from the ball she noticed it rolled away slightly, though she was not concerned. Whenever yarn was in a ball, they were wont to do that.
"Tell my brother to make you a bowl to hold the yarn," Éowyn decided. "One with holes for the yarn to run through. You shan't have that problem then."
"That sounds like a very good idea," she smiled. "I shall have to ask him if he wouldn't mind."
"I do not think he will," Arwen decided. "I rather think he will enjoy being able to do something for you."
"As well he should," Éowyn snorted.
"Oh, he is very sweet," not long ago she knew she would have worried that Éowyn's tone meant she was cross with her brother. Later she had learned it was just how the siblings enjoyed baiting each other. Even when the other was absent, though it was more Éowyn doing so than Éomer. If the shield maiden truthfully was angered at her brother though, Lothíriel had come to know it was very hard to miss. More often than not, she would then strike him. Had she not seen her husband laugh at it, it would have bothered her a great deal. As it was, she had seen her own brothers rough house at times, so she had decided it should not worry her.
Pulling another foot of the yarn off the ball it rolled again, though before she could retrieve it she noted her husband's horse had ambled over to them. Most likely in the hope of a treat from the leftover food. At the ball of wool however, Firefoot paused and lowered his nose, nudging it and snorting at it as if the wool tickled.
"Firefoot," Lothíriel gave the yarn a light tug to hopefully roll the ball of wool away from the horse. However, it rolled the other way, and Firefoot giving a happy whicker nudged it with his nose again. As it rolled over the ground, he nudged it with a hoof. "Firefoot, please do not do that, I need it," Lothíriel urged. Though as she saw her husband's powerful war horse rear up a few feet, to pounce down and bat at the ball she could not help but laugh. "Firefoot, oh, please don't tear the yarn, I do need it."
Whickering amused the stallion danced around the wool, he reminded her of nothing so much as a playful puppy.
"Firefoot!" Éowyn snapped, but the war horse paid her no heed as he dug his nose down and gave the ball a hard nudged, sending it rolling over the ground, following he took it in his teeth and threw it into the air with a toss of his head. Following at a brisk canter he skidded to a stop, rearing up again and trying to hit it with a foreleg. Though it fell past to land on the ground and roll he did not seem detered but took it in his mouth to toss it again.
"Oh dear," Arwen could not help the melodious laughter that escaped her. "I have never seen a horse play in such a way before."
"As despicable as is my brother," Éowyn snorted, though she found it hard to hold back a smile. "No concern for others, or the hard work of some to try and keep their appearance decent. I should be able to see an end to it though, he should well know to heed me."
"Oh, leave him be," Lothíriel put a hand on her arm as she watched the stallion toss the yarn straight up, and jump as it came straight down to hit him on the head. "If it should tear I may put it to other use, and I have never seen him play such."
"Firefoot is indeed special," Éowyn mused as the horse chased the ball of yarn over the grass.
"And I have plenty of yarn that would work very well for this, it is rather endearing," Arwen smiled. "My husband has told me many stories of Firefoot and they do always sound delightful, though I have not got to see many of them for myself. It is really sweet, and I think that it shows how he trusts you."
"He is a menace, as is my brother," though now Éowyn was no longer trying not to smile as the horse disappeared from their view. "We shall see what can be saved once he is done."
"At least I now know the method," Lothíriel regarded the fork in her hand and the short bit of cord on it. "And I think I shall go visit Éothain's mother as we return home."
"She will be glad for it," Éowyn agreed. "And should Éomer give you any trouble with his stubbornness and foolishness, she shall be a very good ally for you."
"Though I am glad to know it, I do not think I would need it," the young Queen decided. "Though I am very well familiar with the traits you speak of, so far he has not given me any undue grief." She paused as she heard a horse neigh, and looked up to see Firefoot coming back. Though he was not alone, seated on his bareback as if he had not a care in the world was her husband, leaning down continuously to gently tug the yarn free of whatever knob of grass or rock it had caught on. Winding it up back into the ball it had been as he did so, though she noticed he had not been overly careful with extracting the bits of grass or leaves that had caught on the wool. Clearly not something he felt was of any great importance.
"I think, my dear lady, that I owe you an apology for my inconsiderate brute of a horse," he offered a half bow. "I beg you forgive him, though to his defence, he knows no better."
"You need not worry horse lord, for I was not overly cross with him," Lothíriel smiled. "Though I had meant to use that, I must say it was very endearing to behold him at play. I find myself glad for having witnessed it."
"His most redeeming trait would indeed be his way of charming his way with his misconduct," Éomer shrugged. Leaning down to hand the wool back to her. She was certain she would never dare lean so far over his side as did her husband. Not without a saddle to support herself. Truly, her husband acted as if he was more at home on the back of the horse than he was with his feet on the ground. "Yet I hope he caused you no grief, for if he ruined the yarn for you, I shall endeavour to find some way for him to replace it."
"Your horse is very talented, but that I do not know if he would be able to do," Lothíriel mused.
"Oh, t'might be possible to take the fleece as is done with sheep," Éomer shrugged, while Firefoot threw up his head with a startled whicker, sidestepping and dancing worriedly though his master never seemed to waver on his back. "Aye, you heard me right, you dumb mule," Éomer cuffed his ears lightly as he leaned forward. Yet the action was tenderly as was his tone of voice. "You would not like that I think," he mused. "How the mares would laugh at you."
"It would be too cruel a fate for just a little bit of yarn," Lothíriel decided. Reaching up a hand to stroke the mule gently. "You are a very dear friend, and a worthy companion. I am not cross with you."
"For that, I would think he knows to be grateful, and if you would excuse me I should see what the other two have got up to in my absence," Èomer mused, sketching a half bow.
"Do please not let them get up to too much mischief," Arwen told him with a smile. "We should head back in an hour or two."
"Aye, your wish is my command," bowing deeper, Éomer turned his mount around with just a nudge of his leg. Setting him into a gallop that still sent a shudder into Lothíriel as she watched him do so without saddle or rein. It always seemed risky to her, though she knew Firefoot would never intentionally harm him.
"It is good to see Éomer light of heart," Arwen decided. "He oft seems far too troubled."
"He has always been dour and sullen, ever since our father died," Éowyn mused. "Our Uncle took great care of us, though Éomer never could stop thinking about wanting to be a warrior."
"It is understandable," Lothíriel gazed where her husband was already out of sight. "Though it saddens me sometimes. "He oft worries so much about our people that I wonder if he sometimes wears himself out from it."
"We shall see to it that he is able to have some light fun afore you head back," Arwen patted her hand gently. "Aragorn shall only be too glad to indulge in it, he can be quite irresponsible when given half the chance. He most certainly shall not mind."
"I should say the same for Faramir," Éowyn decided. "It is rather endearing, how men like them can still turn into little boys with such little encouragement."
"And such magnificent horses, into little colts," Lothíriel giggled. Turning her attention from the cord she was making, the yarn had surprisingly not torn, she looked through the remains of the food for some treats she could sneak her husband's horse when he was not looking. Oh, he would know, but she had come to know he did not mind as much as he liked to pretend he did.
Truthfully, she thought it amused him, and Firefoot certainly did not mind. Not at all…
A Temporary End... Please review, the Cricket is hungry...
Additional Author's note: Some of these stories might not fit into the Tolkien timeline, I apologise for this, I have not yet been able to procure an English copy, and therefor there has been things I was unaware of while writing. Some I've changed, some I've left as I liked them.
Most of the Rohirric I use, is, as I believe Tolkien himself used, Old English. Though some is modern Swedish, as, frighteningly enough, these are quite often the same. In order to give the story a more pleasant flow for the reader, I have opted not to use a glossary at the end, rather, I try to make the meaning very clear in the story.