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17. And summer follows upon spring

After this first day of joyful riding, they were out almost every other day, roaming the wild vastness of the Mark, and he came to learn that she was indeed a good and sure rider, and it had only been her fears and insecurities that had kept her from riding. Sometimes on these trips and exercises she would ride with him on Firefoot, in a manner of their first ride, especially in the beginning, and sometimes, she would ride her own horse, a pretty little mare with a white hide and black mane. It had been a gift to her from her husband, a gift to reward her for her diligence in relearning her old skills, once she had regained much of her old trust and confidence, and she remembered well the day she had been surprised with this most cherished gift by her lord and husband …

… with his hands clasped before her eyes, shielding her gaze from any hidden sight, her king had led her towards the stables at the foothill of Edoras, or rather, he had pushed her on, since he was walking so closely behind her, they would bump into each other more than just once. And what a sight they must have been! Akin to a monster with four legs, four arms and two mismatched heads – one black, one golden – and one pair of hands blinded one pair of eyes, leaving that unique monster to sway and stumble over each other's feet again and again, leading to fits of laughter in-between cries of more or less serious pain. But no matter the hardships of this stumbling trip down to the stables, and no matter how much she bemoaned the blows their feet had to suffer through, he would not release her from his arms.

Only when they had reached the stables would he let go of her, and even then only under the heartfelt promise that she would keep her eyes closed until the every moment he permitted her to open them, and with eyes shut fast and excitement gnawing at her just like she was gnawing at her lower lip she waited while he rushed into the stables. Moments of eternity passed by, and had she not guessed by now that he had led her to the stables (by the direction he had led her before), the smell of straw and dung and the sounds of stomping feet and neighing would have been unmistakable.

And while she waited, she was wondering, wondering what surprise her lord and husband would have in store for her now – perhaps he wanted to show her one of those monstrously pregnant mares that the whole of Edoras had been muttering about for about a month now already, or perhaps even present one of the prized breeding stallions that had been used in the process and explain to her in painstaking, awkward details the proper customs and rules for a successful breeding. But perhaps, she was misjudging her husband here quite wrongfully, perhaps he had nothing so vulgar in mind and instead had decided to play the proper gentleman and to surprise her with a Southern side saddle despite all Rohirrim sensitivities and favouritism towards riding astride?

She had been torn out of her thoughts then when her king returned and after he had asked her to open her eyes, she had realised that all her fears and hopes had been for naught, for indeed he had brought a mare to meet her, but one young in years and with no belly to show yet, and indeed on her back sat a brand-new saddle, made of subtle dark brown leather, polished to gleaming perfection, even if it was not the proper side-saddle she had hoped for. For a moment she had been too stunned for words then, which was fine since her lord husband had words in abundance for her, and as she admired the mare before her, rounding her with slow steps, her wide that eyes took in every last detail, she only barely registered her king explaining the tradition of gifting a newly-wed queen with a mare of her own in the first year of marriage, or how prestigious the line was from which the horse before her had sprung, even if not sprung directly from the line of the fabled Mearas.

'I thought you would like her. With hair quite like you.'

'We are sisters alike then.', she responded enigmatically then, and after she had finished her appreciation, she proceeded to hold the intense but gentle and trustful gaze of the mare, admitting that her husband indeed had been in the right to state their similarity, given their black hair and fair appearance, and given their similarity in appearance, might not a similarity in character and status be a sound conclusion as well?

'Cwén. Mae govannen.', was all she had said then, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing around her features, before she had bowed her head in reverence and greeting, and now even Éomer had no longer questioned or even been surprised to see the horse before her bow its head in return.

'A truly queen-like name indeed.'

'Well, the Queen of the Mark needs a queenly steed, does she not?', she had countered quietly, the expression in her gaze intriguing, as she had turned to him, smiling still, 'I do not see why I should carry the title of Queen, and this fair beast should not, when it so obviously is the mistress and Queen of all mares.'

She had been smiling evermore as she petted the mare with budding affection, smiling still as she groomed its mane and dusted its hide, smiling as she mounted her new companion for the very first time, laughing as she bade her take her first steps, and yet in her heart she had cried out in fear. For despite all smiles and joys she displayed for him, on the inside she was screaming, panic gripping her, horror striking her. She had never told him of her recurring nightmare, never in all the nights she had shaken with terror had she been brave enough to confide in him – the shame and embarrassment had simply been too great, and in the light of day the nightly terrors had so often been easily forgotten.

But now she remembered, remembered it with a clarity that shook her to the bones. A horse, crazed with fear and desperation, burning as it went, running towards her, running her down – and in her nightmares the horse was always the same: a black mane on top of a white hide. Oh, she knew it to be a bad omen, a sign of evil that carried some truth within, of that she had no doubt whatsoever. She knew that there was some truth in the saying that Elvish blood bore Elvish gifts, and that her dreams and nightmares were more than just mere figments of her imagination.

But despite all that, she had smiled for him on that golden April afternoon: what good would it do to unsettle his mind with talk and knowledge of bad omens and ominous futures to come? Knowing the path the waves would wash to had never saved the rock from being struck before, and she had never been as solid as a rock in the ocean, as she herself was like the ocean, rising and falling with its tide, and if that river of her life was to take her down that path, who was she to try and change its course? After all, only the fool believed he could command the currents …

… it did take her some time to get used to the riding styles of the Rohirrim, and the lack of a side-saddle wasn't even the worst of it – far more difficult proved to be the unfamiliar custom of bitless bridles. In the South, you have to understand, riding was an enjoyable past-time at best, that was used to appreciate the landscape or to provide the chance for intimate conversations out of earshot or even other far more intimate flings; it was very seldom used for anything remotely practical or professional, other than perhaps the Swan Knights – one thing was clear though, in the South a typical bridle always used a bit stuck in the horse's mouth, and it was generally used to grant greater control of the horse even for unskilled riders (which most people would be considered to be).

In the Riddermark, however, a person submitting a horse to a bridle with a bit was considered an unskilled rider at best and a cruel blasphemer at worst, for in the Mark horses were deemed sacred and to harm a horse, in whatever way, in whatever circumstance, was seen as a great sin. However, for someone like her, who had used a bridle with a bit all her life, well, it proved challenging, to say the least, to gain control of the animal once she had to sit her own horse, and she doubted not that it was not so much the memory of her riding training or the gracious tutoring of her husband and sister-in-law that was helping her with that (although she would not be so ungrateful as to say so) but that it was her usage of the Elven language which managed to form a quick and lasting bond with her mare, making her very accommodating to her needs and wishes.

Of course, in those first weeks of training, when her confidence and skill had not quite returned yet, her lord and husband had sought to ease her worries with his own advises, well-intended albeit less helpful. Her husband, again and again, assured her that there was no real danger in riding, though she knew this not to be true: why, the last two husbands of her aunt Ivriniel had been tragically killed in riding incidents, although it was a little bit strange how those two could have ever got so close to a horse so as to fall from its back, as one of them had been as fat as a whale and the other a cripple, who hardly, if ever, had left the bed he was rotting in – strange indeed.

So, instead the queen sought her own method of learning and boosting her confidence: by observing her husband and her sister-in-law, their way of movement, their firmness of grip, the tipping of the heels, and also by learning through first-hand touch and experience. For as inappropriately close as their first ride-out together had been, him flanking her with both his thighs and her in-between, it had been a neat means of learning, and, though she would blush to admit so, it also proved a pleasurable reminder of what else those thighs could do.

And of course, it was impossible not to notice the change in her: were once a shy maiden had tiptoed down the halls of power, a strong women had emerged, fully aware of her own strength and fully aware of her own desires. Gone was the princess from the far-away Sea, she was a Queen now that sought to command a horse as well as any discussion in the council, who would claim her right to take control in the echoing workings of power as much as in the quiet of a bedchamber. For after almost every ride they would come together, not as the passionless encounter between wife and husband or king and queen, but as lovers, desperately seeking each other's embrace, desiring to explore, to experience, to learn, and over time they grew bolder and more comfortable with each other. Sometimes they would not even make it to the bed, or even fully out of their clothes, sometimes they would attend to each other's needs, playfully, without even really coming together, or they would dare and explore whatever felt good – sometimes he would bury her under him, sometimes have her right then and there, pressed tightly against the wall, clever fingers replaced by an even cleverer mouth, or sometimes she would overpower him, and ride him down as though she were a true Rider of the Mark.

'You seem changed, sister, you both do. You seem happy.'

Lothíriel was torn out of her moment of peace and quiet and opened her eyes, and because she had spent quite a few minutes with her head thrown back, enjoying the warming rays of the late April morning sun with eyes closed, she now blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging from the sudden onslaught of blinding light, and the mare beneath her, sensing her momentary unsettlement before she had adjusted herself, grew uneasy and started to snort and stomp a little. And so, for a few moments, she busied herself with calming her mare, Cwén, patting her neck, making cooing noises and whispering quiet words in Elven tongues, and soon enough the animal was calm and steady again. Perhaps, too soon, she mused, as she sat up straight again, meeting her new sister's forward gaze, and she knew the shieldmaiden expected an answer to her seemingly simple assessment, which, however, spoke to so much more than just mere superficial confidence.

'Indeed, sister, but only thanks to you. It was your advice that changed us.', Lothíriel made herself answer at long last, feeling her cheeks burn, and by the way Éowyn smiled at that she knew that she understood. And with that, it seemed, this topic, bordering entirely too close on the far too intimate, was finished, but she had come to know her new sister too well now to believe that she was actually already done with this, and true enough, the shieldmaiden chimed in once more – always polite and restrained, of course (she was still brushing up on her Southern conversational skills), but to the trained ear, the true intent was always quite clear.

'Well, I, for one, am glad for it.', Éowyn said, and though she smiled, Lothíriel did not mistake the grave undertone of relief she believed to hear, and she knew better than to begrudge her such a tone. Strangely enough, after that first riding trip some weeks ago, at the end of March, much of the rumours and whisperings surrounding the royal bedchamber had stopped. It appeared as though the misgivings and worries folk seemed to have about that royal marriage of theirs had dissolved into approval, or at least acceptance. After all, the going-ons of a royal affair had always been of public interest, especially if a royal house was in desperate need of an heir; and while the first three months of their marriage had been marred by public pressure (in particular during that time her lord and husband had shunned her bed, for some strange reason), of late, however, people kept a respectful silence. Perhaps her new sister, just like the rest of the Mark, expected things to calm down and even out now; that now, as the royal couple seemed to have settled down, the question of a royal heir was soon to be answered. Lothíriel, for her part, kept quiet on the subject, keeping her own thoughts, hopes and fears to herself, and simply responded, 'As am I, sister, as am I.'

For a while then, they remained silent, and the only disturbances of the silence between them were the pieces of advise her sister-in-law gave her, to remind her of the correct posture or to instruct her on the right type of grip for the reins, always given in a respectful tone, kind and not patronising. And then again both women were entirely focused as they both put their horses through their paces; Lothíriel, intent on putting her relearned skills into practice, and Éowyn, intent on checking in on her new sister's progress. And it was only when both women were out of breath, their horses' flanks pearling with sweat, that the shieldmaiden sought to break the silence once more.

'I can only hope I will be just as happy.', Éowyn threw in then, seemingly out of the blue, but Lothíriel could tell instantly that this thought must have been on her new sister's mind for a long, long time, and there was an uncertainty in her voice that was so unlike her. The queen took notice, and her brows creased in confusion. While her sister-in-law would join her sometimes on a riding trip, especially when regal duties kept the king from attending, to keep her company, more often than not, however, the shieldmaiden seemed too caught up in the preparations for her upcoming wedding and departure in a few months time. It was a wondrous thing indeed that, despite all her sister's claim of rejection of womanly dreams and girlish fantasies of the perfect wedding, she spent rather a lot of time busying herself with the whole subject: the pattern and cloth for the wedding dress, the style of her hair, the chosen customs and guest list for the ceremony, the cloak for her husband-to-be that she had planned to embroider as part of a secret bet, the other dresses she wished to take with her to her new home, but also how many horses she wished to take with her, and whether one sword, scabbard and whetstone would be enough – or perhaps, a whole arsenal would last longer …

All in all, Lothíriel had had the impression that her sister-in-law was crazed with excitement for the wedding, but perhaps, the shieldmaiden had learned more than just a thing or two from her and managed to fool even her, 'Doubting your happiness already? Are you having cold feet?', Lothíriel threw in at long last, trying to gauge her sister's troubled thoughts, and yet cautious to keep her tone light, Éowyn, after all, was as hot-headed and short-tempered as her brother, 'I thought your were madly, blindly, annoyingly in love with my cousin.'

'I am. You know that I am – everybody knows. And Faramir knows that, too. That's not the point.', the shieldmaiden threw in, laughing like a neighing horse, appreciating her queen's teasing remarks, but after the laughter had subsided, she continued with more earnest, 'You know – surely you should know me well enough by now to understand that marriage has never been more than a passing thought in my mind, and an inconvenient one at that. It is no secret that I never wished to marry. All I ever wanted was to ride and fight and win honour and renown. I never thought I would find myself here. I never thought I would look forward to the day I would be wed – but I do. Isn't that strangest thing?'

'So, if you are in love, and you are counting the days to the wedding with excitement – what's with all that gloom? I mean, most women are a little afraid concerning wedding and marriage, but you're positively tense as a bowstring.', Lothíriel threw in, confusion palpable in her face, and she bade her mare halt to better engage in this discussion with her new sister, and Éowyn, clearly at a loss for words, stopped her stallion as well. For a few minutes, she seemed like a fish out of water, opening her mouth ever so often, only to close it without having said a single word. Lothíriel raised an eyebrow, musing silently that the Rohirrim, apparently, were truly a people of few words.

'I never wanted to marry, sister, so I never thought about marriage – never.', she began then at last, and it was clear how hard it was for the mighty shieldmaiden to put her thoughts and feelings into comprehensible words, and all the queen could do was try and follow her sister as she was stuttering her way to an explanation, 'I never thought I'd be a wife – I – and you are so – and the ladies of the South are so – and I – I'm just not – I don't know if I ever could – '

'You're worried you won't be a good wife?', Lothíriel offered then, deducing what she could from her sister's ramblings, and when the shieldmaiden blushed in the colour of her maiden blood, she knew she had pierced the very heart of the matter.

'I love him, sister, more than I could possibly say.'

'But you're afraid that won't be enough?'

'You tell me, Lothíriel – will it be enough?', the shieldmaiden countered then in that forward Northern manner, voice clear, gaze piercing, and it would have been enough to rattle anyone, especially if that one was a princess from the South. Now it was the queen's turn to blush hard while she was at a loss for words. It was true that the last few weeks had changed much and more in the relationship of the royal couple, but to speak of love? They had grown to care for each other, to trust each other, to be intimate in every way – but love? Theirs was a political marriage still, and no amount of intimacy would change that – love had never been the foundation they sought to build on their life together. But Éowyn – her sister's reasons for marriage were different, so would that not mean that their nature of marriage would be different as well? In a marriage of love, shouldn't love be enough?

'Have you told my cousin of your worries?', Lothíriel threw in, opting to steer the conversation into another, more productive direction rather than to outright answer her sister's challenging question and not so subtle insinuation.

'To give him yet another reason to tuck his tail and run away from me? Screaming?!'

'Éowyn, he would never do that.', the queen insisted, countering the shieldmaiden's panicked fears with sound conviction and even a little something extra, 'My cousin knows who you are. He loves who you are. He's not gonna care how perfect your curtsey is – '

' – will you stop it with that curtsey already!', Éowyn cried out but she could not hold back her laughter as she remembered the amusing discussion they had been having about that topic again and again, and Lothíriel knew she had succeeded in easing at least a few of her sister's concerns with regard to that matter.

'It's perfectly understandable to be nervous, sister. Like death, birth and war, marriage is always the door to a new path, and what we don't know scares us.', Lothíriel continued then with a more serious tone this time, hoping that this time the shieldmaiden would be more open to her words, 'I can only give you the same advise you've given me once: talk to him. And who knows? Marriage may open the door to a new path, but that need not mean that the door is shut to other paths of an old life.'

And just like that, her downcast shieldmaiden was smiling again, and it was not a false smile as those court cringers donned in their quest for gossip and influence and manipulation, not yet anyway, it was true and honest and it came from her heart. Perhaps, not all worries had been eased, but at least some doubts had been alleviated, and in any way, what kind of shieldmaiden would her sister be, if she were to shy away from a challenge?

For a while then the two women were quiet and simply contented themselves with riding beside each other, without saying so much as a single word. Instead they took in the warmth of the late April sun of this late morning, putting their heads in their necks and closing their eyes, leaving their horses to walk leisurely and at their own will. Morning turned to noon and then to afternoon within minutes, though it felt more like a short eternity, for some more than for others. It was the shieldmaiden then who cut through the silence again.

'What would you have done, Lothíriel? If you had had the choice, what would you have done instead?', Lothíriel opened her eyes and at first only blinked rapidly, as much attributed to the blinding afternoon sun as well as her initial confusion. For a moment the queen truly had no idea what her sister-in-law was inquiring about, but then she recalled their conversation from before and she understood. If she had been given the choice not to marry, what would she have done? Well, if she had been given the choice, she definitely would not have wanted to marry, of that she was quite sure – but what else? What more than that?

It was quite clear to her what her sister would have done – the shieldmaiden undoubtedly would have taken up the life of a wandering warrior, roaming the Northern wild, always on the lookout for another fight to win renown; or perhaps become a loyal bodyguard in her brother's shadow; or perhaps she would even have wandered south, to become a glorious curiosity, the first female knight, rising far above the limitations of her sex. But she herself? She was no knight, no warrior; she had no fighting spirit and no lust for glory or renown; the blood and gore of battle was distasteful to her, and direct confrontation an abhorrence. For her peace and quiet were her paradise, to be far away from all this death and hate, this spiteful betrayal and these gossiping hyenas, freed from the stifling constraints of social life and expectation, where she need not be a lady or a daughter or a wife, where she could simply be herself, a woman of her own – free like the river. And like the river, she would have no need for brutal force or clever tricks, she would simply make her way through the world, and if her path were barred by obstacles, she would simply find another way – and like the waves of the ocean, she would simply retreat with the ebb and recede back into sea from whence she had sprung.

'I would have taken a boat and steered it out onto the open sea, without hesitation.', the queen spoke at long last, still somewhat lost in thought, a longing smile on her lips, and as she spoke her gaze wandered along the horizon, taking in the steppe of grass that stretched as far as the eye could see, like a sea of green, so alike and yet so different from the sea she had once called home, 'To sail the Sundering Sea for all eternity, yes, I think I would have liked that very much.'

'That sounds … lonely.'

Lothíriel turned to her new sister and even if she had not been able to discern her expression so expertly, from years and years of practice at court, to read even between the most minute changes in the lines of face and mouth and eyes, she would have known by the distinct hesitant swaying of her voice that the shieldmaiden had a whole range of other words in her head with which to describe the queen's dream of another life – words not quite so polite or gentle. But the queen only smiled; her sister was a wholly different person with a wholly different set of desires, and a life of peace and quiet and solitary was simply not hers, 'Not lonely, peaceful.'

For a very long while then, both women were quiet again, and each seemed lost, and happily lost, in their own thoughts. Perhaps they were thinking on their conversation, wondering upon the implication of advises they had given, or the ramification of information they had revealed or withheld. Or perhaps each was mulling over the dreams of another life they could have had, wished to have had, and perhaps never would have; perhaps the old, uncomfortable feeling of regret was gnawing away at each of the women, filled with the longing for another life, or perhaps relief took its place, and each was glad to be given the challenge of an extraordinarily ordinary life.

And so it was more or less jolting when Éowyn spoke again, and the hesitation with which she spoke and the care with which she chose the words, made the queen wonder for how long the shieldmaiden had been wrestling with herself whether to speak at all, 'You know there is some peace to be found in marriage as well. A sort of quiet understanding. And there are those that say marriage is an ocean sailed upon by love.'

'Look at you, you poet! And here you were telling me marriage was only a passing thought to you.', Lothíriel shouted then, laughing as she turned to the shieldmaiden, and her sister-in-law was not too trained and polished yet so as not to laugh at her own thwarted attempt at peeking behind the curtains of her brother's marriage, and as both women laughed, the gleaming in their eyes was enough challenge to try and race each other back to the hill fortress of Edoras, and with a last cry they both spurred their horses into a gallop, 'All hail Éowyn, herald of love and matrimony!'

FUN FACT #1: Alright, so Aunt Ivriniel, right? You're getting there, right? You catching up on her game? ^_^

FUN FACT #2: So, yeah, Éowyn is worrying - I guess, that shieldmaiden is not as confident as she would have the world believe?

FUN FACT #3: Just wanna say thanks again! Stay warm, stay safe, stay awesome!

FUN FACT #4: Thanks to the advise of one reader I would like to point out and stress that bridles with a bit aren't technically hurting horses. I am using a fictional angle here to make a point story-wise, nothing more.