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18. Old customs die hard … and new ones die even harder

'Beltane?'

Lothíriel turned around after she had hung her saddle on the saddle post, confusion twisting her features, but she was only met with even more confusion marring Éowyn's face when her sister-in-law stepped beside her to stow away her saddle as well. Only moments ago, when the shieldmaiden had helped her loosen the straps of saddle and reins, she had absent-mindedly chattered on and on about one of the great annual feasts of the Mark that would be celebrated at the beginning of May, pointing out with an almost shocking amount of banality the significance of and preparation that went into the role of May Queen.

'You never heard of it? Don't you celebrated it down in the South?', Éowyn asked then, and though she tried to keep her tone light and indifferent – and Lothíriel secretly applauded her for trying to put all her lessons in courtly conduct into practice – as though the whole affair were of no importance at all, the queen could tell by the widening of those green eyes, that forehead suddenly lined in frowns, that it was in fact of quite some importance.

'I have heard of it, or rather read about it, but only in passing. The Faith of the Valar does not place too much weight on it, and in the Faith of Ulmo we have other feasts.', Lothíriel answered quickly, watching with some growing concern as her sister-in-law huffed and puffed quite dramatically while taking the brush to her horse to dust it off. Dusting off a horse was not a particularly physically tiring or exhausting activity, so the shieldmaiden's heavy breathing and blush-red face, gave the queen cause for quite some concern, 'Sister, tell me of the role of the May Queen.'

'It's not a big deal, Lothíriel, really.', the shieldmaiden countered forcibly nonchalantly, but the queen did not believe her sister-in-law for one second, after all, the queen had been a lady of the court ever since her maiden blood had put an end to her maiden dresses, and Éowyn might manage a decent curtsey and polite conversation, but she knew not how to lie and perhaps never would. Raising an eyebrow as a sign enough of her silent questioning, Lothíriel held her new sister's wavering gaze, and under the pressure of her steel-blue eyes the shieldmaiden caved in quicker than a young foal at its first steps, 'Okay, it is a big deal.'

'How big of a deal are we talking about here exactly?', the queen asked cautiously as she took up a brush of her own to join her sister-in-law in brushing off the horses, and thus they now faced each other, each tending to their own steed, furtive glances exchanged across the beasts' backs. And the longer the silence stretched out between both women, the more nervous the shieldmaiden grew and the more anxious the queen became, and even the horses sensed restlessness of their human companions, shuffling with the hooves on the straw-covered ground, until at last Éowyn looked up and the defeat and shame twisted her features into a painful little smile, 'It's kind of one of our biggest traditions.'

And there it was, the hidden weak spot that had the castle's wall tumbling down or rather the queen's crown breaking and falling down, and with an exhausted sigh her shoulders dropped and Lothíriel closed her eyes. It would do her no good now to blame her sister-in-law for not telling her sooner; the queen knew that had she wanted to know, had she really cared to know, she could have found out sooner. But back then, before her marriage, and even in the first few months, she had stubbornly refused to learn more than she already thought she knew, had stubbornly refused to open up lest she would have had to change. In truth, she had no one to blame other than herself, and the only thing she could do now, was to try and keep the worst at bay. Looking up and straightening her shoulders, the queen gave up a sigh before setting to the task, and it was well done, for the shieldmaiden, by now, seemed to have talked herself into a veritable waterfall of words.

' … and that's not even the main attraction! Honestly, I can't fathom how you didn't notice all the excitement and preparation – the whole of the Riddermark has been in an uproar since the beginning of April, and your handmaid Aida, in particular, has been talking about it non-stop, and her sister – well, you know that pair well enough by now to – '

'Tell me then, sister, and I will try to keep up and do my best.'

And thus it went, between brushing off the dust from the horses' hides and checking their hooves for little stones and dirt, Éowyn talked and talked. She explained that shortly after Spring had seen a fragile momentum of equinox and shortly before summer reached its zenith on Midsummer's eve, the feast of Beltane was observed. Held at the first of May, it celebrated fertility and love, the birth of summer and the peak of life – and in the Riddermark it was especially used to mark the birthing of the first foals of the year. Throughout the Mark Maypoles were put up, great fires were ignited, and girls and women would dance around them with flowers in their hair; the first May foals and soon-to-be-foaling mares would be driven through a lane between the fires to bless them; mead and meat would be drunk and eaten and shared in plenty around the fires, and brave young men would try and break in wild stallions as a rite of passage.

She also explained that on this day marriages were often held and blessed; Lothíriel, however, understandably confused, pointed out that neither she had been married on that day nor would Éowyn be married on that day, and the shieldmaiden went on to explain that indeed not all marriages were held on that day, and exceptions were sometimes made. Lothíriel, for example, holding with the Southern Faith of Ulmo, was married in the heart of Winter, as their raining season was considered their season of fertility, and secretly the queen felt moved by the heart-warming gesture of her king and husband even before he had called himself thus. And Éowyn, marrying into the princedom of Ithilien, where the Faith of Varda, Lady of Stars, was held in high esteem, would be married on Harvest Day in September, a day considered especially holy to the Ithilians. The important thing was, as the shieldmaiden pointed out energetically, again and again, that new marriages were blessed on this day, as it was a day celebrating fertility above all other things.

'By fertility, you mean – ', Lothíriel questioned vaguely, the continuous repetition of that word making her wonder what in particular it entailed, and though an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach foretold the true meaning of the word, the queen refused to accept any other truth beside the facts stated by her sister-in-law. The shieldmaiden smiled at her new sister's lingering, half-finished question, knowing full well that the Southern princess was too much of a lady yet to put into words what others put into deeds. Having put away the brush, Éowyn returned with a cat-like grin and jumping eyebrows, declaring matter-of-factly, 'Sex, of course.'

At that, the queen's face twisted into a mask of shock; eyes wide, cheeks redder than blood, and she turned to her task of dusting off her mare with a passion that spoke of her desperate attempt at covering up her own embarrassment, and perhaps even to bury this whole awkward discussion under such a mundane activity – and if the shieldmaiden had not grinned before, she did now; laughing wild and loud, throwing her head back, more akin to a horse whickering wildly. But for all her amusement, Éowyn was not cruel, and after she had had her fun, she turned to her task with more severity again.

'Well, it's not just about sex. It's actually all about this – ', and with these words the shieldmaiden reached out towards her sister-in-law, and Lothíriel, too stunned by this intrusion in her personal space, not understanding her intentions, actually backed away only to be met with the solid flanks of her mare, Cwén. Éowyn, however, already knowing her new sister too well, took no offence at her instinctive reaction, and instead simply smiled and put her hands on her belly, and at last the queen understood. A feast for the blessing of the soon-to-be-foaling mares after all, she thought, touched in an odd mixture of warm gratefulness and cold, depressing despair.

After that, Lothíriel quietly went back to her task of grooming her mare, absent-mindedly listening to her sister-in-law going on and on about the rest of the particularities of the May Day celebration. There was one thing she spent a noticeable amount of time on, but what made it truly suspicious, and what made the queen prick up her ears to listen more closely, was the obvious effort with which the shieldmaiden tried to appear casual and indifferent about it. Lothíriel sighed, resigned to play along; Éowyn was no true lady of the court after all, and no amount of lessons would ever change that – manipulation was simply not her forte.

'So, the Great Ride, as you call it, it goes back to your gods – Béma and Vána?'

'YES!', Éowyn cried then, in a mixture of laughter and relief, and one could see just how much she had hoped for her sister-in-law to catch her bait and engage in the conversation, 'I mean, yes, quite good of you to pick up on that.', and with another strangely nervous and very obviously false laughter, the shieldmaiden soldiered on, 'The Great Ride actually evokes one of their most famous tales. H-how much do you know exactly of our great god and goddess?'

'Well, not much, to be honest.', Lothíriel answered slowly, now halting in her task as she turned around with caution in her eyes and suspicion on her mind. Something strange is going on here, she thought the moment she caught her sister-in-law biting her lip nervously, and thus as she continued she remained wary and guarded, 'Just the story of how they met. Éomer told me about it some while ago.'

'Did he now?', Éowyn snorted and the forced smile on her thin lips was telling enough; now, Lothíriel was actually worried – worried that there was more to all of this than just a national holiday forgotten. Even if she had not been brought up the way she had been, even if her aunt Ivriniel had not taught her in the wiles of the Southern courts, even if she had been blind and deaf – even then she would have been able to tell that her sister-in-law was painfully straining herself not to reveal more, but finding herself failing miserably, quite like a rider failing to reign in a tempestuous horse caught in one of its moods, and the queen could feel the shieldmaiden slipping as she slowly caught on to what her new sister might be insinuating.

'Yes, he said the god heard her singing as he was riding by, and beckoned by her voice and enthralled by her beauty and graces, he took the goddess as his wife.', the queen paused at this, eyeing the shieldmaiden with no little amount of suspicion, spying for any sign that might reveal the real reason behind her sister's so very obvious and tense bearing, before she continued, choosing her words with a care that spoke of her years of training in the art of subtle manipulation, 'I believe he tried to make a statement about me … and him.', and after yet another pause, carefully placed, the queen went for the kill, 'Why? Is there more to the tale?'

'Well, you could say that.', the shieldmaiden giggled nervously, lips frozen in a strained smile that didn't reach her eyes, as her eyes were jumping from side to side, looking everywhere but at her, as though one look into her eyes would reveal the true depth of their scheme, and thus her sister continued with the desperate ramblings of a drowning man clinging to the last rock before the crash of the next tidal wave, 'Yours is the tale – at least, how it is told to children and more … sensitive folks. In less civilised circles, well … ', the shieldmaiden looked up then, an uncertain smile playing around her lips, barely veiling the grin that threatened to burst free from its grip, as though unsure whether or not to continue, and although Lothíriel knew, just knew that she would regret this, the queen nodded nonetheless.

'Well, they don't call it the Great Ride for nothing – only, in our tongue, to ride … well, how can I say it, well, it can have different meanings – some more carnal than others … '

'Okay, I got it.', the queen threw in quickly then, catching up to the meaning lurking to jump out behind that cheeky grin her new sister showed, but the shieldmaiden – whether out of spite or because perhaps she truly did not hear her queen talking, begging her to stop? – simply went on.

'I'm not sure which version I like better?'

'There's no need – ', and again the queen tried, and again all her begging and all her attempts were for naught.

'The version where the proud Rider finds her asleep in a bed of flowers – naked, may I add – and subsequently lays down upon her awakening to deflower her in what becomes their marriage bed – '

'I said, I got it.'

' – or the version where the Rider chances upon the goddess bathing in a forest lake – NAKED, must I really add that by now? – and as punishment for his spying she bewitched his steed Nahar to have a thinking mind of its own (and thus he became the first of the Mearas), and it took the Rider many moons until he tamed his beast once more, and after that? Well, the Rider returned to the goddess in the forest to give her a good ride of her own.'

The shieldmaiden finished her drawn-out tale with wolfish grin and a wink, addressing her sister-in-law with a levity and good humour as though she had not just breached all manners of protocols of what constituted acceptable conversation, 'So? Does that answer your question?'

'I believe that question was answered before you even started.', Lothíriel answered with a sigh filled with as much resignation and exhaustion as she could muster, and with closed eyes she pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head, wondering where exactly they had taken the wrong turn in this conversation to end up with tales of rutting gods and goddesses, 'So, let me get this clear: if the celebration evokes the tale of Béma and Vána, does that mean – '

' – the May King and May Queen become God and Goddess for one night, and they … become one.', the shieldmaiden finished for her, a wicked grin crowning her lips as she emphasised her point to a horrified queen by linking her fingers together, making it abundantly clear what the nature of the ceremony, this so-called Great Ride, would be. Lothíriel's eyes widened in shocked embarrassment and she finished her task of dusting off her mare in silence and much less thoroughly than she usually would have done, wanting nothing more than to leave these stables, her sister-in-law and this uncomfortable conversation behind her.

And yet, as she stored away the brush and left the box, sensing more than really seeing her new sister smile at her obvious embarrassment, she couldn't help her mind wandering and for the briefest of moments she saw flashes of the things that could be, and if she blushed this time, it was not because of embarrassment. But no, she thought vehemently, as she quickened her pace towards the gates of the stables, savage rituals, primitive rutting in the woods, lecherous superstitions – none of this was acceptable for a lady of the South, and no matter how dire the situation was, no matter how much this kingdom needed an heir, no matter how much she needed a child, she was not so desperate yet as to resort to such rustic measures.

'It'll be fine, Lothíriel, really.', her new sister threw in as she followed her quickening steps, unaware or unwilling to accept that the queen was actively trying to outrun this conversation and this issue, 'The ritual itself will be quite the private affair. There'll be no need for witnesses. Not anymore, anyway.'

At that the queen spun around to stare at her sister-in-law and the shieldmaiden lost it at that and started laughing, the widened eyes and expression of obvious shock of this sensitive lady was simply too much for her. It was simply too easy to tease her, and that almost took the whole fun out of it – well, almost. But then again, it also wasn't such a laughable idea after all, the shieldmaiden thought, and then the smile quickly died down again.

After so many weeks of quiet, rumours about the royal couple's bedchamber had started to emerge, leading to more than just a few council members demanding proof and evidence of not only the consummation of the marriage but the … ah, productivity of it. It was useless arguing with these old, bent men that the marriage of her brother and his wife was … ah, well and truly consummated, and repeatedly and progressively so, but without the announcement of a pregnancy the only thing they would care to see was a partnership that yielded no fruits. Éowyn wasn't as naive to the workings of the world as some would think her to be – she knew quite well that her sister-in-law was chosen to be little more than just a wife to her brother, and the politics behind it had less her role of queen in mind and rather her ability as a broodmare. It was a sad and unforgiving fact of life that for women in their world, sometimes, the only worth they possessed was in their ability to lie on their backs and … well, to do some foaling.

'And the king always partakes?'

Looking up, the shieldmaiden was torn out of her increasingly frustrated thoughts, and because of it, she had not noticed her sister-in-law proceeding in questioning her, and now she scrambled to get her head back in the mindset to be able to keep on explaining to her what their dear and dumb lord and king should have done weeks ago. And it was precisely because of this distraction that the shieldmaiden did not notice the look of suspicion on her new sister's face or the wary tone or the careful choice of words with which she had phrased her question. She was like the wild foal not minding the lasso until the noose tightened and the trap was sprung.

'Well, yes and no. I mean, not always – with the line of succession secured, or with old age, the ritual is passed over to younger men. So, no, the king does not always partake.'

'But Éomer has.'

And there it was.

It was in that moment that Éowyn understood that she had wandered into a trap of her own making. Turning around slowly (as she had been too caught up in her own thoughts to realise that she had long overtaken her new sister), she was met with a long and unyielding gaze, and it was not a lady she faced now, nor her sweet and sensitive sister-in-law, but a queen – hard and cold and unrelenting as the sea she seemed to have sprung from.

'Lothíriel – ', Éowyn started then, cautiously, when she understood, at last, where the conversation had been heading to all along, but the queen before her would have none of it. It was too late for appeasement.

'Are you saying he has not performed that custom ever since he became king?'

'Lothíriel, please, you have to understand – ', the shieldmaiden begged, running towards her new sister, trying to take her hands, trying to make her see, trying to make her listen, trying to make her understand that the world was not a simple place and that the situation before them was far more complicated than either of them would have liked to paint it as. It was ironic, really, that it was the truth-loving, black-or-white, principled shieldmaiden that now tried to educate the morally ambiguous, grey, unprincipled politician on the workings of the world that cared little for right and wrong, or good and bad, or for the promises made or the heartbreak it brought when they would be unmade.

'No, I don't have to understand anything. But I will.', the queen countered calmly then, almost eerily so, taking a deliberate step back, out of reach for her new sister's touch or any of her soothing words, and Éowyn knew that tone, because she had heard it before, again and again, in the first days after they had tried to get to know each other, in the first few conversations, when the walls between them had been high and mighty still, and even now, in later conversations, whenever the mask of the lady was put on again, whenever her new sister felt unequipped to deal with the newness of her new home or the uncommon social situations she would find herself in. It was a defence mechanism, nothing more – and yet, the shieldmaiden could not deny that it hurt; to see all that progress of trust and openness, of humanity, disappear within an instant, to be replaced by this cool and calculating politician.

And yet, this here felt different, and she knew it; it was a way of defence, but not from overwhelming, unfamiliar social practices, but from hurt – and even if her new sister would probably try and deny it, Lothíriel was hurt. Hurt by the suspicion that the man she started to feel for had been with other women and would, perhaps, continue do so; and even though she would surely try to deny that it caused her pain, stubbornly clinging to the illusion of a solely political marriage, she lashed out in anger. It was not a logical response, but the heart was not a logical place; it was a place for feeling, not for thinking, and what she felt, was hurt. But still, it was more than that, but that Éowyn wasn't able to discern, 'Éowyn, tell me everything.'

FUN FACT #1: As I've been working on this story for many years, I've also developped a very distinct idea of the cultural background of these societies and I'm just dying to let them enrich the story.

FUN FACT #2: I must admit I haven't done any writing this week at all - so far. I've been caught with this show, "Beauty and the Beast", and what can I say? That lead character? What a beast! (HAHA!) So, yeah, I feel a little nervous - because right now I feel like someone trying to lay the tracks with a quickly approaching train coming up behind me.

FUN FACT #3: Well, what can I say? I'll just go back to my show now. *hides behind the laptop* My partner and I live in a non-judgemental household, as we like to call it, and as I always say: the time you enjoy wasting, is not wasted time!