Part I: Golden Youth Chapter

The lands of the Riddermark were touched by the early morning frost, the lifting hold of winter's cold. The barren stretch of lands were soon to be all green. Now, it was alive with sparkling gold.

A hefty breath escaped her parted lips. It gave life to a wisp of cloud that dissipated before her eyes.

Her palm patted the thick neck of the horse below her. "Good boy." She cooed.

Their pace was slow; each needed a break from the breathtaking elopement that pushed their bodies to utter exhaustion. Her eyes still stung from the fast air. The dull ache in her thighs spoke to how long it'd been since she'd rode so hard. Working at her own stand in the market took up time that used to be used for riding.

Endless vast stretched from Edoras. The only tell of stopping was from mountains on one side. Their tops were coated with a dense white. It would still be months before they were relieved of their snow, and thus a wet season would wash the Kingstead with a flood.

Her outer layers were stripped. She was left in a simple brown wool gown to air out the built heat of the ride. Sudden chills traveled down her spine in a powerful zip. It gave her an excited thrill.

In the distance, a figure emerged. It split the early morning golden light with the color of red and brown leather. The red tunic was bright and brilliant. Long flaxen hair flapped in the wind at their shoulders. The horse was thick, still young. It excitedly galloped in a way the rider excitedly rode.

They tried to wave her down. She turned her back and continued on her ride.

Her nostrils stole a long inhale of the rising warmth of the grasslands. Her eyelids drifted closed to linger in the joy of it.

"Hey!" A voice finally sounded. The hasty clobbering of hooves against rock came nearer. "Hear me, did you not, back there? I was talking to you."

The rider was a young man. About sixteen, same as her.

"No," she replied as she kicked her horse past his.

"I screamed halt five – nay, ten times," the rider declared.

He urged his horse to follow hers. They walked alongside her, though she kept her eyes decidedly on the distance ahead.

"I had no reason to. I'd done nothing wrong."

"Where are you going?" He countered. He tilted his head. It dropped a length of his wavy hair from behind his shoulder. It fluttered in the light breeze that now brushed against them. His round face was red. The sharp winds of the ride pulled the color to his cheeks.

The boys of Edoras were all the same. It was unlike her small town on Eastfold where girls were respected as people, not chased down and given constant tokens of attention. She deplored the compliments on her smile and 'glittering' eyes. It was better when she went unnoticed back home.

She remained quiet to his question. A fact he seemed unbothered by.

"What's your name?" He asked next.

Again, she kept her eyes trained to the distance.

"My name's Eomer."

A morning ride was meant to be peaceful. It was time to be awash in the beauty of a new day. To feel the lifting chill of the earth to the rising of the sun.

Peace. A thing that he was ruining.

He swallowed thickly as he followed her line of sight. "You know, my sister and I ride out here all the time. Alas, it is not morn. Eowyn likes to sleep. You should ride with us sometime."

She bit her cheek, already growing irritated with the sound of his voice.

It was her morning. Her only time alone with her horse. Ever since her mother and her moved to Edoras, she was in that stand at the market until the sun went down. She woke especially early just for this ride. The time of year was her favorite, the perfect time of day for a long strong ride, to forget it all and just run.

This rider – this boy – was ruining that.

"I've never seen you around before," he said. "Edoras is not very big. New, are you?"

If it was small, and he'd never seen her before, then she was obviously new.

Her hands tightened at her reins and jerked them back tight. The experienced horse responded, stopping short. He repeated the action, dark brow flexed curiously, but his stallion responded wildly. It did not like being redirected so suddenly. It gave a warning grunt as it slowed.

"Do the mothers of you Eorlingas not teach you manners?"

The rider was stunned. His eyes wide and big at her sudden tone.

His eyes looked downward. "My mother died."

The anger zapped away to embarrassment. Her mouth. She knew better than to be so blunt. It was a source of contention between her mother and her, as it was wielded very sharply for how powerful it was.

She swallowed and tucked away a thick section of hair half torn from her braid. "Oh." The sting across the bridge of her nose turned hotter. "Well, sorry."

Eomer gave a small smile. The light catching in his big green eyes. "That's alright. Atleast it's got you talking." He urged her horse to walk alongside hers once more. The action felt personal and entirely irritating once more.

Who the hell was this Eomer and why was he so frustrating?

"Care to tell me your name now?"

The way the smile spread across his face, lazily, as if smug to have gotten her just in the position to be told what he wanted. It riled her all over.

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Ugh!" She groaned before she kicked her horse and rode away as hard as they could manage.

She rode back to the city to her family's stable. "Good boy, Eryx." He was awarded his treat for riding so well. She went through the turn-down chores, giving him a good brushing and washing before placing him back in his stall with some hay.

The sun was higher in the sky when she emerged. She cursed herself for lingering so late. Her dress was damp with sweat and entirely improper for the market. It was a quick change to a nicer, thicker dress before she rushed to her family's stand. The air was dense with yeast and warmth as she neared.

Oh, yes. She was late.

She slipped inside, tied an apron at her waist, in the hopes it might escape her mother's notice.

Several batches of dough rested near an open fire. They were covered with cloths. One more was spread on a back table dusted with flour. She helped herself to the dough and began to knead. It used to hurt her arms to knead all the dough in the morning, but with the many weeks of constant bread work, her arms were strong enough to stand it.

Her mother exited the back flaps of the white canvas stall and entered the open air section. Steaming loaves were in her long apron as she carried them to the display tables. It was still early. There were plenty of people who would be in need of bread, the day after a holiday. The prior feasting often left them all in need of more.

"Those are for buns," her mother stated.

Instead of kneading one large mass, the dough was then separated into smaller batches.

The smell of raw flour was a mixture of emotions. It reminded her of time in the kitchen with her grandmother, back in the East Fold, on the farm, where they would bake little sweet rolls together and eat them greedily. Of course, it also reminded her of the constant work at her mother's stand now that they moved to the city.

A rush came later that morning. People awoke with the realization that their partying left them without breakfast. They bought loaves and sweet rolls and buns and flat breads. All of it was equally purchased.

She kept the front of the house for the customers as her mother stayed in back and prepared more dough, kneaded and baked more of everything.

The market lined the main path of the city with dozens of tents and canvas stands selling wares of every imagination. It was the life blood of the people. Every day, Eorlingas poured through the path to purchase their daily needs of milk and flour and eggs and fabric and leather and even horses. It was the most important path of their life. Most of the city people made their living from their stand. Her own family was no different. The money they made from their baked goods paid for their own way of life.

Her fingers were busy braiding strands of dough that she forgot to keep her eyes on the open stream of people filtering by the stand. She felt a sensation crawl across her face. Her skin tensed, went hot. The dough fell away from her grasp as she casually raised her eyes.

"Hello."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you following me now?"

Eomer leaned against the table looking at her work. "What's that?"

"Challah bread," she replied hiding it beneath the spread of her fingers. Braiding dough took patience. Sometimes it did not turn out as perfect as she liked. The last thing she needed was him noticing the uneven sections. "What are you doing here?"

"I am not the only. Everyone is in market." His arm gestured at those around them. "You ride very fast, you know. I tried to catch you." He followed her as she turned from the front table, deeper into the tent with the other tables of baked goods. "If you don't want to tell me your name, that's okay." She hesitantly raised her eyes to his, uncertain where he was going with it. "I can make one up."

Her nose wrinkled. "Make one up?"

"I have to call you something."

The tenacity of Eomer was starting to feel less annoying. She felt the slight slip of her own, and even contemplated answering his question, when a loud hum sounded outside the front of the stand. It was the hum of voices over top one another. The source of excitement: King Theoden and his son, Theodred. They were traveling down the main path when Theoden turned to the stand.

"Ah. My newest acquisition," he told his son.

"Oh my," she mumbled beneath her breath. "The king."

King Theoden entered the bakery tent and gave a small smile when she bowed low to his arrival. "Mildritha. Your mothers' breads make the city smell sweet."

She blushed. "Thank you, my lord."

His eyes then jumped to Eomer to her side. "I see you've met my nephew. Eomer. Has she enchanted you with her sticky rolls?"

She cocked her brow. Nephew of Theoden. Unbelievable.

"I haven't had the pleasure," Eomer replied.

Sticky rolls were her own specialty. Not her mothers. Her own.

She carefully grasped the nearest one, struggling not to tremble under the pressure of the many lordly eyes upon her. "Allow me, your grace."

Eomer's fingers brushed her own as he took the offering with a small smile. "Thank you, Mildritha."

The way he said her name made her heart flutter strangely. She felt her flush as its sound slid all over her. The heat of the tent grew tenfold.

Thankfully, her mother entered from the back. Her eyes went big with surprise. "Your grace." She dipped her head in acknowledgement. "You honor us again with your presence."

Her dull brown eyes looked at her daughter with a tense stare. A warning of the king's arrival would have been appreciated, it said.

"My love of your bread brings me yet again. Your lovely Mildritha was just showing my nephew her sticky rolls. What say you, boy?" His chin tilted.

Eomer's head bobbed in delight as he ate the sticky sugary bread. "Delicious."

Her mother gave a sharp elbow to her side. It was accompanied by a sharp stare.

"You flatter me, my lord Eomer."

His chewing slowed. A small curl toyed at the corner of his mouth. Sparkles glinted inside his eyes in the split moment they lingered in hers.

"Nonsense," King Theoden interrupted before more could be said. "I'll take a dozen. My niece Eowyn will love some."

"Of course, your grace." Her mother turned to her. "Mil, pack up the kings order."

She did as she was told while her mother showed some new bakes of the day. He listened intently. The man held a softness in his stare. A calm piece of heart, it appeared. It lived in his son, also. There was an air around them that perfumed not only respect but of their gentle nature.

King Theoden was a figure in her life as long as she remembered. He'd ride through her small town with his riders and buy so much bread that her mother worked for hours just to replenish what he'd bought. His smile was that of a kind man. He'd hand her a coin or two if she lingered around. Sometimes he'd offer her pieces of the bread as a small token with a smile.

"I'll send my servants to come fetch my things," the king proclaimed.

He gave a thankful expression before he bid his leave and moved on down the line of tents. She leaned against the table to watch him go. A teenage boy lazily followed after, still taking bites of his roll. He looked over his shoulder more than once. She pretended not to notice his stare despite the traveling warmth it left down the backs of her arms.

"Such a good man," her mother hummed beside her.

The servant came the next hour to fetch the rolls. She'd given an extra sticky roll in the box just to give her own thanks for loving them. If her mother asked, she'd say it fell to the ground and was eaten by some children.

The following morning was her day to rise early to start at the stand. She wiped the sleep from her eyes. Her breath was dense in the early morning chill. Only a faint shedding of light filtered above her head. Silence filled the city with its soft slumber. Few rose yet to start their day.

She pictured what the Kingstead looked like that morning. Probably perfect. Rays of early morning pink and orange and yellow sky. Blades of grass still tipped with faint ice. The steady crunch of the frost beneath a horse's hooves.

Sweat dripped down her forehead and the edges of her jaw as she worked at the oven. Bursts of heat against the cool morning air had the sweat beads dripped like snowflakes against her skin. Like a sudden chill between her breasts as the perspiration rolled farther down.

Her mother came later that morning once the house chores were done and helped finish the morning's batches. They each had their own space to roll and shape dough. She was given the task of making her sticky rolls. This morning she stuffed fresh strawberry in the middle before she rolled the strips of dough into the rolls. It differed from her usual nutmeg and hazelnut filling.

They were fluffy and stained with a pretty pink hue from the strawberries. She rather liked to stare at their perfection.

She just set them out for purchase when a tall burly figure stepped into view.

"No ride this morning," Eomer stated.

"No," she answered softly, with less bite than she'd usually give to a boy with his tenacity. "Someone has to make those sticky rolls the king likes so much." Then she remembered the fact that the king was his uncle. "My lord," she added quickly.

He was adorned in an emerald green velvet tunic with gold woven trim with a thick green band at his waist as a belt. The top length of his hair was secured at the back of his head with a braid.

His forearms crossed against the table as he relaxed into it.

"Why didn't you tell me you were the king's nephew?" She questioned. There was the hope that it would hide her embarrassment. "I'd have never - ."

Never what. Yelled at him? Been annoyed? Yes, she would have.

She untucked her ash-colored hair from behind her ears. It fell against her chest, bristling gently in the morning breeze and picking up flecks of white flour from the front of her dress. The white of her sleeves rivaled the bland tan of her work dress. It was thick wool, unflattering, with nondescript embellishment. At home it was normal to wear something practical, but the longer time she spent in Edoras, the more she realized that attire meant more.

Her throat was taut. She was uncertain what to say to him now.

There were still plenty of batches of dough to be kneaded. She ducked inside the tent and began to push her fists against the soft texture. It was still faintly sticky against her hands. More flour picked up and stabilized it.

Eomer lingered. He was unbothered by her work.

"When can you ride again?" He asked.

"I'm not sure." She brushed a bit of hair out of her face. Lines of flour smudged against her cheeks, but it was too late to wipe them away. It'd only leave more. "It's the only time since I moved here that I'd gotten away. I doubt it'll happen again with the way market is."

"They are not used to skilled bakers. We live off of wild game, dried or boiled. Cuisine that is done off the back of a horse."

"I know," she replied. "I remember reading about that."

His shoulders went back in their sockets. His head tilted to the side. "Read?"

She looked up from her kneading. "Yeah. Like in a schoolbook."

"Really?"

"Yeah, a man and his son from Gondor would come stay with us. He taught me how to read and write in exchange for room and board. I read everything about Rohan there is written. Not much though. Not very invested in written culture, are we?"

They spoke of what little they knew of Rohan and its delicacies, considering they both knew very little of the world around them. Neither were experienced apart from the backs of their horses.

When her mother emerged, half in a ramble, she stopped short when she saw the young lord.

"My lord Eomer." She brushed the frayed waves from her face. "Pray tell what brings you to our stand? Is your uncle in need of more?"

"I don't doubt it," he said. His body shifted side to side awkwardly. His eyes looked to Mildritha for help.

She took pity on him. "He's just come to beg for one more sticky roll, Ma."

"Get him one quickly, Mil, before Theoden king sends us back to the East Fold."

Her mother, Mildred, was a happy woman. Her eyes went thin from how often she smiled. The crinkles at the corners of her mouth were smile lines that she complained of in the mirror. How she detested their appearance, but never forwent a grin.

Eomer stood very tall inside their tent, near touching the top of it. Her mother craned her head back just to look up to his face.

"Take an extra one for that little sister of yours. She likes a sweet, I'll bet."

He nodded. "She'll steal mine if I don't bring one back for her."

Mildritha placed two inside a small cheesecloth and tied it with a piece of strand. She handed it over to the awaiting boy. When her mother did not hide away in the back, he shifted a moment before he decided to take his leave. There was a shuffling of feet, not so confidently stomped as he had been when he arrived.

Mildred shook her head with a gentle breath. "That boy resembles so much of his father."

"Does he?" Her voice was forced indifferent to the idea.

Eomer, perhaps, was a tad bit handsome. His face was not unappealing.

"Like a memory, he does. Eomund was just that tall with those broad shoulders. I remember him well from my days."

Mildritha glanced over her shoulder. "Ma."

The pleads of a young daughter did little to simmer her recollections of a handsome young rider whom was popular in the hearts of all the other women who swooned at the toss of his hair.

It was strange how times were different.

Sure, Eomer was tall and showed signs of becoming bulky as he grew into his body. The broadness of his shoulders made him wide like a shield. His brows were dark and expressive. Just the whispers of a mustache rested above his lip. Eomer was not the prime stallion of Edoras.

Mildritha found herself wondering about him. Her body knew the motions of her work, but her mind was far in the distance remembering what he looked like as he pushed his stallion hard to ride through the rolling hills, chasing her down. It made her chuckle to think how frustrated he got trying to catch her.

She was at the tent early that next morning to go through the same routine. Make the dough, let it rise, shape and rise again. A tray of her rolls were just stuck in the oven when Eomer appeared.

"Don't tell me you're out already, my lord." Her mother declared on sight.

Eomer hopped to standing from his casual lean against the tent's center post. "I only inquired whether she had any other flavors to try." He glanced over. "I liked the strawberry kind."

Her mother's face lit up. "Oh. Well, I do believe Hilde has berries at her stand down the way. Mil, take the young lord down to find some new flavors for those rolls. We have to keep this boy fed now."

Mildritha ducked out the tent with Eomer on her heels. She carried her chin high. The sight of Eomer with her was an apparent sight. Many leered with very obvious stares.

Heat rose the sides of her neck.

"So Milly -."

"Milly?" She snorted.

He towered over her like a shadow. It casted her steps in darkness as they walked. "Uh, yeah. Is that alright?"

Whatever possessed her in that moment was not her own. It was the pressure to please a horse lord. That's why she nodded shily.

"Do you have many friends?"

She swallowed. Her fingers twirled with the end of her braid. "Not really." Her lips released a shaky breath. "Do you?"

He shrugged. "Some. Not many."

Eomer was so calm as they strolled. He was unbothered by the peoples notice. It was interesting, almost, to watch. He lingered close as they walked. More than once he brushed against her. It was innocent touch, to guide her through the crowd to the tent they needed or to just stop her from running into a cart of melons.

They found the produce stand with a collection of foraged berries. There were little round ones of deep indigo, bunches of plump purples, and a wide variety of picked strawberries in every size. The little bowls were overfilled. The weather was good for the spring berries.

"Which ones do you like best?" She asked.

He shily leaned down to inspect the berries. "What are your favorite?"

She swallowed. "These." She pointed to the small tart berries. They were not a fan favorite. "But these rolls are for you. You pick."

His fingers pulled a coin from his pocket. It glinted in the sun.

"Wait," she called.

It was too late. He'd already bought the bowl.

"For you, my lady." His head gave a small bow.

Her tongue clicked. The overabundance of berries was tempting. She hadn't tasted them in a long while.

"Go on," he urged her.

"Only if you take some, too."

He showed a genuine grin. "As you wish."

They slowly ascended the path back to her mother's tent stall. Each popped a few berries in their mouth, savoring the sour twist of their mouth. The time of year made the berries especially tart. She laughed at the silly look on his face after one strongly sour berry. It had slipped out, even surprising her.

She turned back to the path, avoiding the gaze she felt locked at her cheek.

"My uncle told me that he insisted your mother moved to Edoras, that her baked goods would fare better in the city," he stated.

Her throat was tense and taut. Parts of her were harder to hold on to with Eomer around. He was too charming and easy going that it tricked her into forgetting who he was. What his purpose was.

"Yes." She gave a short nod. "And he was correct. We sell so much here."

"Did you leave much behind?"

She thought a moment. "No. Not really."

"What about a boyfriend?"

Her neck snapped to her side. The young lord deflected her gaze by looking off in the distance of the market stalls, one after another, filled with customers shopping for their daily needs, and vendors proudly sporting their prices with bellows that echoed down the main road.

Eomer shrugged. "Girl like you. Figured you'd have a boy's heart. Somewhere."

"I do not." Her voice lacked the confidence it should have had.

His brow peaked at its edge. "What about that traveling schoolteacher's son…are you bound to him?"

Breath choked in her throat as disbelief and absurdity fought for dominance. "I am bound to no one," she blustered. "I've never even been kissed."

"Oh." His cheeks flared a bright red.

It served him right for being so nosey. Though, her face reflected the same flush as his.

They reached the bakery stall to find lots of people inside it, haggling for their daily loaves and buns. Her mother was lost in conversation with multiple people – at the same time – and was unbothered by Eomer's trail of her daughter. He, himself, did not seem uncomfortable to be there.

He was not local celebrity like his cousin. Theodred could not walk the streets without being accosted by everyone. A moment's peace was not found outside palace walls.

The young lording, though, had free reign.

He settled in a chair, put his ankle across his knee and whittled a piece of wood as he waited.

Mildritha hated herself for liking Eomer's cavalier attitude about his station. He did not take it upon himself to remind her to address him properly. Nor did he care about the fact that a king's nephew should spend his time studying and learning and doing as he pleased rather than spending time in a market stall.

She gritted her teeth and chastised herself once again for being so charmed by a boy.

A boy. One of those creatures that would tug at her apron strings and ask for a smile. Gross.

The whole group of them were despicable. What women found so enthralling about men that they decided to marry them was beyond her understanding. The boisterous ridiculous attitudes of every man she encountered only proved the fact that she was not in the least interested in men.

There were few she tolerated. One being Theoden king. And he was a royal! That was a rarity amongst men. It was too difficult to expect another man without higher breeding to behave similarly.

Ingredients to her sticky rolls were ingrained in her mind. She need not measure. Or even look. She memorized the way her body moved as she made batch after batch that her mind did not have to consider the rolls to perfectly create the dough. Her mother called it muscle memory.

Once the dough was set to rise by the fire, she dropped into a chair next to Eomer. They spoke of horses. He had a stallion named Firefoot that he'd been given as a present by his mother just before she passed. It was a beloved creature to him. Then he asked after her own mount.

Eryx was a horse her family had for years. They worked very well together. Their motions moved in fluidity like the wash of water through a riverbed. Eomer had yet to reach that understanding with Firefoot.

Soon enough it was time to roll out her dough. She sprinkled the berries inside along with some sugar. To cut the sour.

Eomer watched her with interest as she made the long loaf of dough and then cut each roll from the main loaf. He appreciated the swirl that was highlighted by the deep hue of the berries.

Her mother kept to the front of the tent. She sold loaves. Her voice was absent from their conversation. Not once did she butt in with her own statement.

Curious.

Mildritha kept a close eye on her after that. As she moved through the tent, pretending not to listen to Eomer and her as they talked. Once he called her 'Milly' the size of her mother's eyes doubled in their sockets.

The rolls steamed as they were packaged up for Eomer. He handed over his coin. It felt awkward to accept payment from him, but she did as she was supposed to and placed it in the stall's purse.

"Have a good day, my lord." Mildred waved.

It was strangely quiet in his absence. Mildritha felt overcome with boredom. The day's batches were done. A few remained in the oven, but otherwise, the work was done. There was only the waiting to sell out.

She leaned back in her chair, head craned against the tall back, with nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs.

"Mil." Her mother's voice suddenly snapped her out of a trance. She looked up slowly. "Go down to that stand with the bolts of fabric. Pick out a pattern. You're in need of a new dress."

Her nose wrinkled. "I had dresses made before we moved."

"Yes, well, you need more. Now go on. Take these coins. Pick something you like."

Dress making was an activity her mother and her did together. It was a long process. On the nights that they sewed, they would leave their windows and doors open to listen to the general hum of song from the local pub. Now in the city, they didn't need to leave anything open. Song was ripe within the city pathways after dark.

Mildritha found a bolt of fabric that she enjoyed. It was a cranberry red with little golden leaves that looked like dots from far away. The pattern appeased her mother so as soon as they left the market, she set to work making the dress. Then there was need for a new under dress to compliment the red and gold. So she dyed one of their old white ones in a brown dye. The puffy sleeves emerged a tan.

There was no surprise when Eomer showed up the next morning or the one after that. It became routine to have him emerge before the busiest time of market and ask for a sticky roll just to bide his time near her.

One night after a long day at the market, Mildred decided to do something they had not done since moving into Edoras.

"I think its high time we go see what this city hall is about," her mother said as they entered the cold empty house they hadn't seen since that morning. "The other vendors talk about it nonstop. Everyone goes."

Mildritha wrinkled her nose. "Everyone?"

"Yes. It is popular. They have food and drink. Song and dance. That's the music we hear every night. It's the city hall!"

A large gathering in a new city did not sound fun. It sounded awkward and tiresome. She'd hear questions about where she came from and why she was bolting for the door every second.

Her mouth opened to tell her mother so, but the excitement glistened in her mother's eyes. She was half through washing her face and arms of the day's flour dusting. Her skirts were freed of it, too. Shook clean.

"I do like music," Mil admitted.

"Me too!" A large smile flashed her way. "Let's live a little. We haven't danced in months."

Not since the harvest festival in the early autumn. Those were the best memories Mildritha had. A night of dancing and song with warmth in her chest and a healthy pant to her breath.

She rose. "Let us go before I change my mind."

Mildred's excitement paused. "Oh, Mil. You must go change. Wear your new dress."

"A city hall is not a festival," she grumbled. Her eyes cautiously appraised her skirts. They were not that bad. "I don't see why they need my best."

Wearing a new dress for a new city hall reeked of desperation for a good impression.

It would be her dead body run over by her own horse before she seemed like she needed to be liked. That was the last thing in her heart. All she wanted was to live her life. Without intervention. Or attention.

Living in her body was difficult enough. A dozen sweaty, horny young men pawing at her in a new dress with idiotic ideas of needing to talk to her was not a challenge she wanted to endure. The object of her existence – her body – was all they saw. All they wanted. If they simply would talk to her…

"You are a headstrong filly determined to charge past the point." Her mother shook her head. "It is to have fun. To feel good about yourself. Oh, to see you happy again. That is what I wish of this night. Not to see that forlorn soul you've taken to wearing." Two cool palms cupped the burning hot of her cheeks and pulled her close to her mother's face. It was reminiscent of her childhood. They would put their faces together and share the same breath in silence. Mildritha calmed. "I know once things started changing, they didn't stop. But change brings us blessings we never think possible. Does the summers heat seem possible in the depths of winter's snow? Spring births grounds anew. Crops grow of floodplains. Should we stay in one season, we miss the beauty of all the others."

Mildritha held still. She let what her mother said sink in a bit deeper.

The change in her body was unwelcome, awful, like it'd turned against her. She was once nimble and small, slender and dainty. Parts of her grew with swells and lumps, everything different and met with disapproval in her own eye. Her body bled. It smelled. Sometimes, it ached in want with a whole body feeling she could not name but knew was a problem.

Too long she'd hanged onto the hatred of becoming grown. Too long she'd yearned for her days as a small girl growing in the wild open, of no interest to any other.

"The dress compliments your colors," her mother added, in hopes it would convince her. "You do look beautiful in it."

Her stomach churned with fear. The taste of sick almost on top her tongue.

"Alright," her voice waivered.

Best dress and hair tamed by her mother's fingers, she went to the city hall, just following the music until she found the bustling place almost as large as the Golden Hall at the top of the hill. Lights and noise filled the paths around it. Music vibrated her chest. Feet stomped along to the stringed instruments that played lively melodies.

Her mother flashed an encouraging smile before she looped her arm within hers and pulled both their bodies through the threshold.

It was no festival – there were dogs all around chewing on discarded bones, mugs of ale in every hand, plates of half-eaten food atop the tables – but it filled her chest with the same warmth. Her heart pounded. It rivaled the fear of her stomach. She was battling herself while her mother pulled her along to the long wooden bar with giant barrels stacked behind the server.

People were everywhere. The same faces she saw at market all lined the walls and benches and tables. Children of the city danced on the floor near the band.

The vendor of the stall next to theirs invited them to their table. It was filled with numerous relations, varied in age, shape, size, and personality. One thing rang true for all the Eorlingas: they were loud.

Mildritha was placed with the other young ones of the table. She took an awkward seat next to a girl her same age with long perfect waves of golden hair. Her eyes were a dull murky green and brown. They appraised her up and down without concern of reproach.

"You're the country girl?" The girl asked.

Mildritha clenched her jaw. "I am from outside the city, yes."

It gave pause, before the conversation continued.

"I am Denegyth. This is my brother, Tilian, and my other brother, Kenric."

The two teenagers across the table were blonde haired with the same hue of eyes. Tilian sat tall. His lips pursed in a thin line. The other, who looked the younger of the pair, had full cheeks with crinkled eyes. He seemed pleasant enough. When they met eyes, it felt like he was a talker that would talk and talk if she did not put stop to it.

She squirmed in her seat. "Hello. My name's Mildritha."

"What is it that you sell at market again?" Denegyth questioned. Her eyes looked down the length of her nose. "Oats, flour? Something crop related."

"Bread."

Her brother's interest peaked. Excitement very clear through their expressions.

It reminded her of Eomer's statement. Bread was luxury not many in Rohan were accustomed to.

"Bread," Denegyth said in surprise.

"Like real bread. Not hard tack or biscuits?" Tilian gripped the edge of the table.

"Loaves, rolls, buns, flatbread." She relayed casually. "Name it and I can bake it."

The tides turned. She was no longer under examination but fawned over. As hard as Denegyth fought her intrigue, she eventually succumbed to the mention of her salvation at the smell of their baking breads. Their conversation was less stilted. It turned to discussion of their family stall: woven baskets.

The intricate braids of Denegyth's hair made sense in that moment. Her fingers were skilled.

They were given mugs of mead, less strong than ale, but none the less, it started to hit Mildritha after a while. Laughs pulled from her chest with ease. The urge to smile came more frequent.

A sudden explosion of joy surged through the hall at the start of a melody. Denegyth grabbed her hand and pulled her along to the dance floor. Two lines of dancers formed. Girls on one side, boys of the other. Denegyth was aligned with Kenric. Mildritha found herself opposite Tilian.

The energetic jig was exhilarating. Tilian held her close as they danced. His fingers took a moment longer to release her than the other couples near. Her feet moved faster than her eyes could see. Mead started to fill her mind with warm waters, dizzy and cloudy.

She was at a loss for breath when they returned to the table. Her body dropped to the bench.

"Wow. That was fun," she breathed heavily. "Do you dance…" she breathed again, "like this…every night?"

The siblings looked around. The general consensus was yes.

"I might need more practice," Mildritha said.

Breath came a pinch easier as her body relaxed.

"Nonsense. It looked perfect to me," Denegyth chimed. Her teeth were stained from the mead. It gave her a peculiar, almost menacing, smile.

Tilian agreed. "It was." His eyes met hers in a bright stare. "You are very good."

Her mouth opened to thank him, but a sudden shadow dropped over her. She felt the light retreat from the corners of her eyes.

Tilian and Kenric's eyes traveled high above her head.

She turned around in her seat to find a face she knew well. It gave her a soft fluttering at the center of her chest. How long had he been there?

"Friends you've made, I see," Eomer said suddenly. The blare of his eyes dropped away from the boys to her face. Their harshness softened. It shuttered to some unknown place.

"My lord Eomer." Denegyth bowed as low as she could manage in her bench seat.

In the privacy of their acquaintanceship, Eomer never forced her to address him as 'lord'. It felt rather silly, how often they spoke, to declare it all the time.

Now, in public, she had to show her respect as all the others of the city must.

She, too, bowed her head in acknowledgement. "To what do I owe the pleasure, my lord?"

"I did not realize you frequent this establishment."

He said it so quickly, in haste that was unexpected in the relaxed cheer of the hall.

"It is my first time," she answered.

"Who are your friends?"

The young lord tilted his chin at the boys across the table. She felt rather strange introducing him to the boys she'd just met. Like, there was some reason why she knew them and he did not. Which was not true. They'd only just met that night. Hardly a friendship.

She swallowed. "Their family runs the tent next to mine. That is Tilian, and his brother Kenric. Denegyth here is their sister. We've just met."

There was an unspoken strangeness about how Eomer behaved. He lingered fairly close to her. His body rigid.

"Lord Eomer." They bowed their heads in acknowledgement. Neither seemed challenged at his presence, even though Eomer looked ready to fight the pair of them.

"Is Lady Eowyn here?" Denegyth glanced around the hall, as if excitedly searching for a sight of her.

Eomer shook his head. "She remains at Meduseld." His eyes turned back to Mildritha. "I did not know you danced, Milly. I'd have asked sooner if I had known."

The sharp edge came back to his eye as he spied the two behind her back once more.

"I've been known to dance. On occasion."

"Then I must insist you allow me a dance."

No screeched through her mind. Her body repelled the idea of being seen in public, dancing with Eomer. What time they spent together felt private. All their own.

Her confidence trembled in light of so much attention.

"Accept," Denegyth murmured. Her palm pushed at Mildritha's elbow. It lifted her from the bench.

The fixed low edge of Eomer's brow battled her determination to not shrink away. It was strong on her. Aided by the look in his eyes, changing when they were far from the table's sight.

He leaned in toward her ear. "I am surprised to see you here."

The sound of their voices was kept between the pair of them. Loud singing drowned out the carrying sound of conversation.

"People told my mother of it. She wanted to come see for herself," she answered. "I came along."

"Do not hold it against me that I did not invite you. I would have if I'd thought you would come." His eyes scanned the room, as if searching for any who dropped eaves. "A consideration, not oversight." Were it not for the heat of the room, she'd have flushed bright red. "I'll escort you any night you wish in penance."

"You don't have to do tha- ."

"I would not offer if I did not intend to fulfill that promise."

She blushed harder. The heat blistered her cheeks. "Please. Eomer."

The sparkle in his eyes ignited. Hazy overglow of the candlelight above their heads showed a softness opening through his iris, the gentle gaze he held across her face. It no longer prickled or hurt to feel his eyes on her. They were kind to her. As was he.

Quiet turned at the end of the song. It was the pause in the commotion that was the hall.

Dancers abandoned the floor and were replaced with new ones.

Eomer followed close behind her back and took the spot alongside her. Their hands clasped at the start of the melody. It was slower than her previous dance. What it lacked in energy, it made up with intensity. Slow and seductive.

His eyes stayed at hers for the entire song. Even as they moved in motion with other dancers.

They ended chest to chest, breathing close, as the music faded away to the sounds of clapping and drunken cheers for another song.

She caught her mother's gaze as her feet followed Eomer's away from the dance floor. The motion of her lips and eyes burned against Mildritha's face but not in humiliation as she expected, but thrill.

He did not return her to her table but brought her toward the bar and offered her a mug of mead. It was welcome relief to the harsh dryness at the back of her throat. She gulped several times.

Her hand lowered the mug. Eomer chuckled as he sipped from his. Oh so casual.

"We only dance twice a year back home," she explained. "I am not used to it all."

He complimented her ability. "Your dance card was full those two days, was it not?"

Muscles of her body were relaxed. The power of the mead already long worked on her body. Her hesitations melted in the heat of that city hall.

She smiled. "I liked to dance on my own. There were not many other children around anyways. The adults hogged the dance floor."

Eomer leaned his elbows against the bar. "My mother loved to dance. I remember nights in Aldburg where she and my father would dance all night. The singers would change. Musicians would have to take a break. But she would not stop."

Her body mimicked his. It leaned forward just as he did. Their shoulders almost touching.

Her mouth, however, started talking before she thought better of it. "I've heard she was a wonderful woman. A credit to Rohan."

The young lord swallowed back a smile. His lips went for the rim of his mug.

"Yes." He finally said after he swallowed. His eyes lost in a faraway thought. "She was."

Evening turned to night. Excitement died as fewer and fewer remained inside the hall. The music went quieter, the nearing end of the night.

Mildred finally decided she was full of conversation and ale. She found Eomer and Mildritha talking over plates of roasted venison and potatoes. There was a kind explanation of needing to leave which Mildritha had been ready to do for over an hour.

The lord excused himself to Meduseld where he himself wanted to retire a while ago, but Mildritha half believed he did not want to leave her alone, so remained until it was time for her to go home as well.

Mildred and Mildritha walked their way back home under a clear night sky alight with many sparkling stars.

"I'll take the early shift tomorrow," her mother said. The lazy smile on her face said it came from the ale. "You go on. Have a little morning ride with Eryx. He's getting lazy in the stall."

It made her giddy. She rushed herself clean for bed and climbed under her blankets to welcome sleep with excitement. It came easy, thanks to the mead. Her dreams fell quick to her mind. Warm sun rays across an open sky, a fluttering sea of grasses, the strong sharp scent of leather, a spreading heat up her neck toward her cheeks.

She jumped out of bed at first waking. The thick wool of her riding tights hugged her taut. They protected against the stinging chill of the morning. An old, weathered gown was tossed over her head. She gave no thought to the mess of her hair.

Eryx stomped and swayed in his stall when she threw open the stable doors.

"I know. I know." The horse was anxious to get running. He loved a good gallop through the hills. It reminded him of the old days when he was with an Eored. "How come you never give Ma a hard time when she comes to see you? Huh?"

He settled when she entered the stall with the heavy thick saddle for his back. The horse was rippled with muscle. It settled to stillness when she neared. Years of training had the horse on perfect behavior when she came close.

They mounted up together outside her stable. She threw her leg over the horse's back, gripping its body as she slid into position, and felt suddenly at home. Her young life was spent atop this steed. It was a connection to home that she did not have to part with.

Their pace was slow as they walked through the city to the outer gate. Eryx knew that galloping near buildings was not allowed.

They'd nearly reached the gate when another rider appeared through the dim of the early morning. Each horse nickered in greeting one another.

"Why Firefoot." She spoke light as a birds song in the heavy silence. "Imagine seeing you so early in the morning."

Eomer wore a vest of leather with intricate golden red swirls. It was lightweight. Perhaps, like armor but not really. The disarray of his hair said he'd readied quick. It probably matched her own mane.

The early morning did not appear to wear on him. His eyes were round, sparkling still.

"Firefoot is half asleep, Eomer. What are you doing here?"

They exited the gate. The guards were weary eyed. They simply waved them through and went back to their post of leaning against the railings.

Firefoot aligned his pace with Eryx as they moved from the sightline of the city gates.

"Every morning I check to see if you intend to go for a ride. This morn, I caught sight of your stable being open."

Oh, the coursing thrill spread through her fingers making them clench so hard to the point of pain.

Why did the beating of her heart surge? She felt rigid and melty at the same time in her seat. Her stomach churned while her hearing cleared.

"What do you do on the mornings I don't?" She questioned with the hopes that it would dissipate the strength of her bodies thrill.

"Fall back in bed." His mouth suddenly parted in a loud yawn.

That did it.

Happiness fell from her face. She pulled Eryx to a stop. Firefoot did the same without instruction.

"Go back to bed, my lord. You need not be out so early."

The dark hairs of his brow gained some height. "Do you not want me here, Milly?"

She flushed at the nickname. "That's not what I said."

"Say it how you mean it then." The tone of his voice bristled.

It felt angry. Like she'd done something wrong.

Oh really. Two could play that game.

"You're tired. Bed is a place for tired people," she grumbled as she urged Eryx forward. "I can ride well enough without you babysitting."

He took offense. "Well, if you could ride during a normal time of day, I wouldn't have to be out here so early, would I?"

Mildritha knew Eomer was too stubborn to turn back. He'd asked every single day when she could ride with him again.

"Had you told me how grouchy you were in the morning, I wouldn't have bothered with you."

"I much prefer it when you're nice to me."

That struck a chord with her.

Whatever possessed her, she was not sure. Embarrassment and anger and maybe pride? She halted Eryx once more. This time, Eomer read the action for what it was. He pulled Firefoot against Eryx's side. Their legs touched as the two large beasts leaned against one another.

"So I'm mean to you?"

His eyes were stormy. "You can be."

"Then why seek me out?" His face turned away from hers. It did not simmer her hot emotion. "I did not find you last night. You came to me. You started it. If I am such an awful friend, why keep coming back every day."

Eomer kept silent for a moment. His eyes focused on a distance behind her back.

The irritation that was there the first moment she ever met him resurfaced. It encouraged her to ride away. The moment her hands moved, his hand shot out and gripped the reins in place.

His face turned back to hers. "You're not awful," he said gently. "Forgive my attitude. I did not mean to upset you. I've been stuck in some thoughts that I cannot seem to shake."

She swallowed the anger with her next breath. It dissipated as easily as it came.

"What thoughts," she asked.

"Thoughts of…you."

There it went. Her heart throbbed harder in her chest. The taste of excitement and fear coated her tongue. "Me?"

He nodded. "I cannot stop thinking of that moment I saw you dancing with Tilian. It hurt me in ways I cannot describe." Small breaths left her slightly parted lips. The frantic pace of her heart was growing out of control. She squirmed in the seat of her saddle. His hand still held hers with the reins still inside her grasp. "You are a presence that I cherish. A dear friend that I haven't had before. And I've become rather, protective over who gets to share in that. I know it is wrong. For you are a woman of your own volition, but I still cannot stop feeling angry that you get to be spoiled by others who aren't me."

Had she been standing, she truly felt her legs would have given out from under her.

Shock did not come close to what washed through her. All the fear and anxiety and excitement and joy tangled into one strong emotion that translated perfectly in a single way.

She gripped his elbow as an anchor to him, leaned over and placed her lips against his cheek.

Her face lingered close to his as he absorbed the moment through the layers of surprise that went through him. He turned partly, observed her through dark lashes, before he leaned closer, brushing his lips against hers until she pushed into him. A shiver went through his palms. He grabbed at her waist and nearly pulled her onto his own saddle, just to keep their mouths connected in splendor, when Firefoot swayed in dismay.

Eomer blinked back his surprise. He released hold of her body and she settled back on her own horse.

She swallowed her excited grin to keep from seeming like a childish schoolgirl. The last thing he needed to see was her bursting into a fit of giggles after being kissed. It would guarantee she'd never get another.

The dumbfounded look on his face was so delightful. He did not concern himself with seeming mature.

Their eyes caught together. Both felt alive with sensation, the other feeding the intensity, and their lips betrayed a smile.

Neither broke the silence as they kicked their horses forward and continued their ride. It was a calm, peaceful sort of quiet. Serene. The time of early morning turned late, with the lighting of air, chill lifting. It was the perfect ride.