Rider of the Mark

Rider of the Mark 34

Uhm... sire... about tommorrow...

***

"Gamling! Attend me!"

If the Marshal was taken aback by the commanding tone so like Théoden's, he made no physical notice of it, simply fell into his accustomed spot at the King's left shoulder.

Éomer had ridden into Edoras, met and escorted by a hastily gathered éored. Gamling traveled at the head of the line, bearing the king's standard, and waited patiently in the dust. Introductions to warriors he remembered and Elves he had only heard of and thought were legend were passed around before the party entered the gates of Meduseld.

The reception the Rivendell wedding party received was much more joyful and animated than given to the four members of the Fellowship not four months before. Planters and pathways around neatly thatched dwellings were in bloom and the people, rather than being down-trodden and sullen, were out and about, calling praises to the King. Smiles and greetings were passed freely. They were openly curious about the Elves, regal in their bearing, who looked back at the people of the Riddermark under hooded eyes and with faint smiles.

They were very interested in the handsome young Ranger from Gondor who rode so closely to the Lady Eowyn.

The Hall was bustling, food being brought out and laid on the tables. Squires and young Riders in training were waiting to take the horses of those who would allow their horses to be handled by strangers. It was not lost on Gamling that every Rohirrim in the party took his mount to the stables, including Éomer. Firefoot was as cantankerous as Dréogan and would tolerate few tending to him besides his master. Gamling had quite a time with him when he had removed his king's warhorse from Pelennor Fields.

Aefre was in her element, directing serving women and younger children hither and yon. With the aid of Aelwydd and Beornia, they found rooms for each and every guest; many of the guard were billeted in the barracks. If she was awed by the Lord of Rivendell or the Lady of Light and her husband, she didn't flinch. With the speed of a seasoned and more than capable chatelaine, she had baths drawn and servants assigned to rooms, to individuals. Among the guests, a diminutive young woman stood, regal in her bearing, but bent over, trying to converse with Gamling's youngest niece. Her long dark hair cascaded loosely over her shoulder, the little girl enamored with it.

The Gondorian noblewoman did not speak Rohirrim.

But then again, neither could the child. She was not yet two summers and spoke gibberish.

Aefre decided they were on equal footing. She was coming around a corner, directing Beornia in an opposing direction, when she heard the order plainly.

"Gamling! Attend me!"

She met her future husband and King in the hall, both heading towards the King's study. Gamling had assumed his customary spot already and the two were striding down the corridor. Éomer's face was set in a scowl Aefre was not comfortable with.

"Sire. Welcome home."

Éomer nodded curtly, not really seeing her. As Gamling passed, she whispered, "Tea or ale?"

"Ale. Wine, if we have any." Éomer's voice had a sharp tone to it and behind his back, Gamling winced.

"He is not happy." Aefre concurred quietly. "I will be quick."

"No, I am not happy and yes, be quick!" Éomer's voice boomed as he went around the corner. "Gamling!"

"Sire?"

Éomer jumped as he turned to find his Marshal standing at his shoulder, obviously unaware and shocked that his Marshal was still at his shoulder. With a nod, he bade the older Horse Lord shut the door, although it would do little to stifle the upcoming outburst.

"You had a nice time with the Elves?" Gamling was blithe.

Éomer turned red.

"How was Rivendell?" The delivery was smooth.

Éomer was growling.

"Are Faramir and Eowyn still starry-eyed, my lord?" There was a faint hint of a smile hidden in the beard of the Horse Lord.

The howl was deafening. Éomer lifted his hand, making to sweep the colored stones and marks from the map on the table in front of him. Before he could swing, a strong grip grasped him by the wrist. "Do not do that, my lord. Those stones tell me much." Gamling swung Éomer's fist away. "What offends thee, my lord?"

"What offends me?" It was a hiss and any other Rider would have stepped back. "What offends me?" Éomer was standing tall and slowly coming around the table, as if to corral Gamling to a corner. "We have guests traveling through the Riddermark; Elves, royalty of Belfalas, high - ranking officers of Gondor." His fists were clenched in white-knuckled fury. "Our land, Gamling. My people! And what do we see?" He flung his hand outward to indicate the landscape outside the window. "Razed land. Burned and abandoned farms. Poorly dressed people trying to eke crops from malnourished soil. Tell me," he ran his fingers through his wind-blown hair, pulling it tightly away from his face, "what I saw is a-"

"It is not." Gamling had not moved an inch, had not given up any ground. Blue eyes the color of the sky stared a hole in the King. "What you saw was only the tip of the haystack." With an angry nod, he went around Éomer and stood by the map. Picking up marks and stones, he ranted off the litany. "Burned crops, few trees, no trees, no suitable shelter." The door opened and Aefre entered, carrying a pitcher by the neck and two heavy tankards. Without thinking twice, Gamling took the pitcher from her, the aroma of strong Rohirrim ale wafting from the top. Setting the tankard down, Aefre took the pitcher back, pouring from the side, a fine head rising in the tankard.

Éomer took it from her without thanking her, hardly noticing she had given it to him. "What provisions do we have? They need food, clothing, shelter." Aefre sighed and Éomer looked up to see Gamling and the noblewoman exchange tired glances. "What?" he snapped.

Aefre was exhausted. The pregnancy was wearing on her, the sudden influx of Gamling's family, the constant bickering of Eadignes and Helgarda, the running of the hall, the wedding preparations and now the sudden arrival of the Rivendell wedding party. She was tired, everything was coming to a head and for an instant, she wished she had allowed Aelwydd to announce she had caught them in Gamling's cloak. Her bottom lip began to tremble.

"Do not bark at me!"

"Excuse me?"

"I said don't bark at... mmmme!"

Éomer looked at Gamling in shock. "What did I do?"

Gamling shook his head sorrowfully, clearly not wishing to ire either ruler or woman.

***ooooooooh you've done it now...***

"I did what? What did I do?"

"You Barked At Me!" Aefre was just getting wound up. "You asked a question and before Gamling or I could answer, you barked at me!"

Éomer's eyes darted back and forth between the enraged noblewoman and his silent Marshal. Fury that had been slowly building since entering the Mark, dispelled with a sudden ferocity that was unnerving.

"Woof?"

Aefre inhaled sharply, her eyes glinting in the shadows of the room. The growl that hissed from her throat was not one meant for a king and Éomer was relieved that she said nothing when she turned her back and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Éomer exhaled and ran his fingers through his long blond locks. "I suppose if you tell me what I did, I'll apologize to her later?"

Gamling was scowling, not that that was unusual for the taciturn officer. "You barked at her. Now, I'll spend all night having to-" he stopped himself, remembering that he was expected to find other sleeping arrangements this evening. With the Golden Hall now filled with Elven and royal guests, he suspected if he did not pass out drunk at the Blue Whale, he would be spending the eve of his wedding before the great fireplace or with his horse. He looked up to see his king grinning sardonically at him.

"Still making her scream at night?"

Gamling's scowl deepened. Returning to the map at hand, he proceeded to point out the damage and shortages his people faced.

"What provisions have been made so far?" Anger dispelled and joking laid aside, the young king was all seriousness, taking in the full effect of the tenuous position of his subjects.

"The East has given its stores for the Westenmet. Cattle, sheep, barnstock, grain harvested from last year that is still useable."

"Fish?"

Gamling shook his head. "The Angren is wasted, spoiled for at least one, possibly two years. It has become a sewer for Isengard. The Snowbourne and Entwash yield little and the farmers of the East do not catch much in the Anduin as they are not fishermen."

"How long will the additional provisions last?"

Gamling was scowling, shaking his head, as his hand swept over the map. "A few months. Villagers that are left are scavenging from abandoned and destroyed farms and dwellings. The winter will be-"

"Deadly."

"Aye."

It was silent for a few moments as Éomer perused the map, taking in the stones, the markers. "How long will it take for you to provide me with a list of what will be needed to feed and house our people over the winter and into the next harvest?"

"Now."

The young king raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"I have not been idle."

A slow smile spread on Éomer's face. "No. You wouldn't be."

Gamling's finger went from stone to stone, listing what each stone meant and what was needed. Timber, cattle, grain, wool...

Men.

Riders to protect and to guard.

Éomer was nodding all the while.

"You have a plan, sire?"

Before Éomer could answer, the door opened and Aelwydd entered, another pitcher of cool ale in her hands. "Sire." Her greeting was clipped. "I know my son and I suspected you would need another pint each by now."

"You suspected correctly, my lady. I thank you." He waited for her to put the pitcher down. "I would ask you a favor?"

The white haired woman inclined her head. "Sire?"

Éomer grimaced. "Several favors, it seems. First, stop calling me ‘sire.'" He waved Gamling's protest off. "Any woman who could birth and put up with such an arrogant and difficult Rider as my Marshal is a pillar of the Riddermark. You have my gratitude and awe. I only hope to find a wife who is half the woman you are."

Gamling was sputtering into his goblet and his mother smirked. "If I were twenty years younger, I would show you what a true Woman of the Riddermark was!"

Gamling was now hacking. "Mother! That was-"

Éomer was laughing and he pounded his Marshal on the back. "I bet you could! Second, would you send Prince Imrahil, Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, Lord Elrond of Rivendell and Lord Celeborn of Lorien to these chambers? I need to speak with them."

"As you wish."

"Third, please send Lady Aefre to these rooms. I took my temper out on her and I wish to apologize."

Aelwydd grinned sardonically. "That might be a while. She was... very upset."

Éomer's brow furrowed as he glanced at Gamling. "My apologies, old man, but I thought your lady was made of sterner stuff."

"My lady has carried a heavy burden since I returned her to Dunharrow."

Gamling's tone was quiet, yet the rebuke was there, gently placed. Éomer's breath caught.

"Yes, I suppose she has. And with your return, it has not eased?"

"No."

Éomer chewed on his bottom lip, a habit reminiscent of his sister. "Please tell her that I wish to apologize and to come as soon as she is able." Aelwydd dipped in deference before leaving the room. Éomer waited until the door shut firmly behind her before addressing his Marshal. He laid his hand on the map, the palm pressed against the area showing the Wold.

"An entire garrison did not answer Théoden's summons, Gamling."

"I know."

Éomer's finger stabbed an area to the northeast. "This garrison. No one answered."

"I know."

Éomer's mouth was in a grim, tight line. "Do you know who commands this garrison?"

***Ah.***

Gamling's smile was humorless. "Originally, that stronghold was held by Lufian of the Wold."

It took a moment for the name to register. "Aefre's husband."

"Aye."

Éomer tapped his finger in a steady beat on the map, as if to push the imaginary fortress into the wood of the table. "His... cousin holds it now?"

"No. Gifre was no relation to Lufian." Éomer's eyes slowly drifted upwards to his Marshal, his eyebrows lifted in question. "It was stolen, stolen land, a stolen garrison, a stolen Éored. She was lied to, frightened, and ran. It does not belong to the man who holds it." Gamling's voice had dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. "And he did not answer Théoden's call to arms."

"You know what you are accusing him of."

"Aye."

"Treason. Theft." It was a hissed whisper and Éomer was livid. "One who is guilty of such ill deeds does not live under the rules of the Riddermark."

"Aye."

Éomer's gaze returned to the map. "Where did you get your information?"

In short, clipped sentences, Gamling told his King of his meeting with Ceneden, Lufian's first in command. Éomer listened to the story, taking in every word. By the time he had finished, Éomer had sunk into the chair at the head of the table, his hands folded on the table.

"I will need to speak to this Captain. Do you know where I can find him?"

There was a moment of silence.

"His ashes are scattered on the plains of Pelennor. He was crushed by a Mumakil and I have his identifying mark on the board over my fireplace."

Éomer scowled and grimaced. "Damn. Will anyone else attest to his story?"

Gamling was now leaning over the map, his finger sweeping the Wold. "As I recall, her sister-in-law knew of it and pushed Aefre to return and ... cater to him. Somewhere within a hard day's ride is the home built for her grandmother, but I don't know where it is. Several retainers loyal to Lufian resided there, but I have no idea if they are still there."

Éomer was now drumming his fingers. "You know of no one else to back this Captain's story?"

"No."

"Damn!" The king thumped the table once. "We need-"

Before he could finish his sentence, the door opened, Faramir holding it for Aelwydd and Beornia. The two women carried several carafes of wine and goblets for all, Beornia blushing under the attention of the tall, stately Elves. For the first time, Gamling studied the equals to his King.

Prince Imrahil was tall and slender. His silver streaked hair was clipped short and his beard was neatly trimmed. His clothing carried no dust and Gamling wondered if he carried a locket of incense as he did not smell as if he had been riding for days.

Faramir, on the other hand, looked windblown and ruddy. His locks were tousled and it was obvious he had been in the saddle for a long time. He decided that Eowyn was attracted to his scruffy beard.

The Elves were a puzzle. Lord Elrond was tall and slender, but his face was creased with care worn lines. Grey eyes missed little and his fingers never ceased their movement. Celeborn had a more ageless look, noble in bearing. It was difficult to comprehend these two beings were thousands of years old.

"Gentlemen, I have a problem." Éomer slowly stood, his hand sweeping over the map of Rohan. "No, that is not right. Rohan has a problem." He swallowed tightly. Éomer was a proud man; he hated to ask for anything, but right now, he was laying his pride aside. His people came first. "According to my Marshal, whose opinion and word I trust as my own, what destruction we have seen is a mere drop in the bucket." He picked up a stone from the map and squeezed it until Gamling knew it had made an indentation in the palm of the king's hand. He placed it back from where he had picked it up and swept his hand over the Westenmet, gesturing as he went. "The Westfold is razed, the soil scorched. It will yield little to nothing this season. The fields are burned, cattle slaughtered. There is no timber to rebuild. The River Angren," here his finger traced the outline of the northernmost river, "is wasted, according to Gamling, for one to two years, thanks in part to the armies and destruction of Isengard. The Snowbourne and Entwash do not produce palatable fish and the Anduin cannot feed an entire country." His hand swept the East. "They are farmers, not fishermen."

"What," Imrahil was leaning over the map, carefully taking in every line, every marker placed so carefully across the Riddermark, "do you need, Éomer?" The young king sighed deeply, obviously at odds and hating that he was so close to begging. "Éomer, tell us exactly what your people need and do not attempt to downplay the seriousness of your situation."

Slowly, Éomer began to rattle off needed supplies; food, sheep, cattle, other barnyard animals, grain, hay, timber, food. When he slowed, Gamling filled in, certainly not taking over, but thorough, well-informed. Faramir once brought up horses and was met with such equal Rohirric glares, he took two steps back, head dipping in supplication, feeling the need to apologize when no insult was intended. From nowhere, a long, elegant finger appeared, tracing upwards into the Elven realms of Lorien and Mirkwood.

"I believe we have timber to spare." Celeborn's voice was sonorous, a rich timbre, pleasing to the ear. His finger tapped the lower borders of the Great Wood. "Thranduil has-" He was interrupted by a litany of what appeared to be Elvish swearing, Elrond clearly making a point. "Thranduil," Celeborn interrupted Elrond's tirade, "can afford to be generous. If he does not wish to be, I will remind him of such." This brought on a humorous snort from the dark-haired Elf. Celeborn did not take notice of this and continued on, his finger now waving in the air as if to announce its direction. "The Nimrodel River runs through Lorien and the salmon has been plentiful this past year. Éomer King," he fixed the Rohirrim Lord with a gaze that had caused many a woman to melt, "have you had Lorien salmon, grilled over an open fire-"

"With lemon." Elrond cut in, his thumb circling the pads of his fingers. "If you cut the lemon in wedges and squeeze the juices over the salmon while it is cooking-"

"Or," Imrahil cut in, "one may pan fry it, with butter, with a touch of sage-"

Gamling's stomach growled.

He blushed and seriously studied the tips of his boots. "Sorry."

The Marshal was waved off with a smile. "Do not be." Imrahil was now waving over the map. "If you must know, it makes me hungry, as well. Lorien salmon is spectacular, but have you had catfish from the Ringló?"

"Don't forget the trout!" Faramir bounced back from the imagined slight of the horses. "Trout from the Erui!"

"I have heard such rumors." Imrahil was staring at the young Steward with mock severity. "I have yet to sample such a well-touted delicacy!" He turned his attention back to the young king of Rohan. "Regardless, between all of this, the shellfish found in the bays and the ocean waters off the coast, as well as the promise of a strong and plentiful harvest in Belfalas and Anfalas, and any extra cattle and barnyard animals we can find, I do not believe your people will lack for food or shelter."

Éomer was obviously overwhelmed by the generosity of the lords before him. "We will repay your kindness. It might take some years-"

"You'll repay nothing!" Faramir was quite adamant. "I realize I speak only for Gondor; however I feel the others will agree. Your people answered a summons none would have condemned you for had you not! If anything, I would consider aid rendered as repayment for your service in keeping the free peoples of Middle Earth free!" There were murmurs of agreement.

Éomer looked from ruler to ruler, studying each for any hint of subterfuge, any glance of uncertainty. Before he could agree and thank them, the door flew open, Eowyn and Aefre entering with trays of meat and cheese, more wine.

"Ah, Lady Aefre. I wish to have a word with you, please." Éomer motioned to Gamling, who took her tray from her and began to pour wine into the goblets.

Aefre had her back to the men, busy clearing the sideboard to make room for the tray of meats and cheeses that Eowyn carried. "You are busy, sire. Surely this will wait." Aefre was calm and if she still harbored ill thoughts, it was unnoticed by all except her future husband. Gamling was well aware of her slightly red-rimmed eyes.

"I am not too busy to apologize." He stood up and came around the table. Taking her hands into his, he bowed his head and took a deep, steadying breath.

"Woofwoofwoof bark bark woof. Woof. Woof. Barkbarkbark woofwoof."

Gamling snorted basely, his chuckles clearly untamable. Elrond leaned over to Celeborn.

"Very plain spoken, these Rohirrim."

Aefre narrowed her eyes and leaned back. "Thank you, sire. I will take your thoughts to heart. If there is anything else?" She turned to leave, only to be stopped by a gentle restraint as her hands were still encased by his.

"Lady Aefre, I spoke harshly and took my ire out on you. I understand that you have shouldered responsibilities that were not yours and rather than commend you and thank you, I... barked at you. Please accept my apologies." Éomer's tone was sincere and had her heart not lain elsewhere, Aefre would have been mesmerized by the velvety timbre. As if to solidify his position, he turned her hand over to expose the pale wrist, and placed a gentle kiss upon it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gamling's eyes narrow, his scowl deepening and with a well-placed sigh, decided he had pushed his faithful Marshal to his breaking point. Releasing her hand with a sigh, he looked up, mirth in his eyes. "I wish to ask you for a request."

"Sire?"

Éomer had turned his back on her, was looking at his sister with a definite gleam in his eye. "You have earned a respite. I wish for you to journey with us to Minas Tirith for the royal wedding."

Aefre looked at Gamling, before shifting her gaze to Lord Elrond and to the occupants in the room in general. "Sire, I do not believe that I-"

"You are invited." Elrond dipped his head, a gracious, elegant nod, to be sure.

Aefre licked her lips - an unusual, nervous gesture. "Sire, there is much to be done here-"

"Which was my job and I am grateful for your aid." Eowyn smiled and grabbed the older noblewoman by the same hand her brother had just kissed. "I will stay. I tire of travel and," with this she looked at Faramir, shyly, "I have things to think over. The busyness of Edoras will help me put things in perspective. You go to Minas Tirith. You and Gamling."

"Uh... no." Gamling shook his head. "I have done all the traveling I wish to do."

"I won't go without you!" Aefre's brows were knit together in a manner similar to Gamling's.

"I'm not going! Edoras needs a sitting Marshal-"

"Yes, you are going." Éomer was jovial, enjoying the power he now held over his Marshal. "I'd stay, but I must escort Théoden's body back home, therefore, I will send a runner to Elfhelm - his wife can run the Eastenmet without much aid." Both women and Marshal nodded enthusiastically. The eastern Marshal's wife's reputation was notorious, her skills and temper an equal match to her more affable husband. "And Elfhelm can aid Eowyn with the running of Edoras for a few weeks." He smiled benignly. "Any questions?"

Gamling was rubbing his eyes and Aefre sighed in resignation. "When do we leave? We will need to pack."

Éomer pounded the older Horse Lord on the back. "See? That was easy!" He nodded with a grin to Aefre. "We leave in the morning."

He did not miss the exchange of worried glances between Gamling and Aefre. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Yyyyeeesss...."

Aefre squared her shoulders, her chest rising. "I am sorry, sire. I have other... plans tomorrow-"

"Change them."

"No." It was said at the same time by both Marshal and Lady. Gamling could see Éomer turning red in the face and in attempt to stave off the coming explosion of temper, he spoke up quickly. "We could catch up with the bridal party the day after -"

"No!" Aefre was totally unrepentant and not aware of the King's impending outburst, having beat him to the gate. "I refuse to charge all over the countryside and you-" she shot an accusatory finger at Gamling, "are in no condition to be rampaging about Rohan!"

Éomer made a perfect ‘o' with his mouth and grinned. Leaning over the sideboard, he snatched up several cubes of cheese and moved towards the backside of the desk, "You might want to take a seat," he whispered to Imrahil, as he walked by. "Once they get started, it's an amusing explosion that never seems to end!" He thumbed over his shoulder and addressed Faramir. "It's the strangest courtship I've ever witnessed. You might want to take notes." As he settled down and propped his feet on the top, he raised his voice above the rising din. "And pray tell, why is Gamling in no condition to ride the Riddermark?"

Before Gamling could shush her, Aefre screeched, "Because your Marshal was attacked by Orcs over the rise and rode into Edoras damn near dead!"

"Oh," Celeborn whispered. "Very plain-spoken." No one paid heed to the two imposing Elf Lords taking steps back into the shadows.

Éomer planted both feet on the floor with a very audible ‘thud'. "He did what?" He fixed Gamling with a mithril gaze. "What happened?"

Gamling was not paying attention to his King, rather his entire being was focused on the woman in front of him, who he had every intention of marrying the next day - if he didn't gag her first. Although his words were to his king, his gaze and his fury was focused on the rather incorrigible woman in front of him. "Nothing."

***Don't you dare don'tyoudareyoubetternot iwillthrottleyou so...***

"Nothing? You lying TROLL!"

Imrahil's jaw had dropped. Éomer tapped him on the elbow to get his attention. "Don't be alarmed," he whispered. "Pet names, sure sign of true love!"

Aefre hadn't taken a breath. "Nothing?" She rounded on the king, her fists planted firmly on his desk. "He and his Éored encountered a renegade Orc party just over the rise and he passed out when he entered the gates!"

"Gamling? Passed out?" Éomer was wagging his finger. "Before or after he got off his horse?"

"Aaaaffffreeeee..."

***Don't tell them I-***

"He fell from his horse!"

***Dammitdammitdammitdammitdammi-***

She turned sideways, showing the placement with her own hand. "He was sliced from hip to underarm and he had to be sewn!"

"Aefffffreeeee..." It was growled.

Aefre didn't move from her spot in front of the King, but she turned to Gamling, shaking her finger at him. "He had to be sewn! He was unconscious for three days and was the most dreadful patient! Never in my life have I dealt with such a hard-headed, insufferable-"

"How bad a patient was he?" Éomer was definitely enjoying Gamling's comeuppance.

***Do NOT tell them about the chamber pot...***

Aefre contemplated the request for a moment, giving Gamling plenty to worry about. "He was despicable, loathsome!" She glared at her husband - to - be. "He was a man!"

"Awful patient," Éomer agreed.

"Only recently has he begun to regain his strength! So, no! We will not be riding pell-mell across the Riddermark the day after tomorrow!"

Éomer reached for his wine goblet and took a sip. "Then it is imperative that you leave with us on the morrow."

"NO!"

"No?"

Aefre's fists were clenched and her knuckles were white. For that matter, so was Gamling's. "We have," she enunciated very slowly, "something planned for tomorrow."

"Change it." Éomer was not joking.

"No."

"And why not?"

"Because," it was gritted between teeth, "I am marrying this wretched beast in the morning!"

"Very strange courtship, indeed." Faramir's eyebrows had risen off his forehead and he now stepped back, joining the Elf Lords in the shadows. "I think I'll come stand with you."

"Oh, Blessed Béma!" Eowyn gasped. She set her wine goblet down with a solid thunk. "We are eating your wedding feast."

The look on Gamling's face clearly showed he could care less.

A slow smile was spreading on Éomer's face. "Well, you are correct! This is a joyous occasion and it cannot be changed. Lord Elrond," he addressed the Elf Lord in the back corner, "I hate to ask but-"

"A day will not hurt. Your Marshal and his Lady deserve that."

"Good!" Éomer had returned to the jovial and indulgent man that most knew him as. "Who was going to officiate?"

***grrrrrrrrrrrr***

"We planned something simple, Éomer." Aefre cut into Gamling's suddenly disparaging thoughts. "Just the two of us and family to witness our vows."

"Well, you can forget that!"


***noooooooooo...***

"Gamling! You must have a marriage ceremony befitting your station."

"Something small and quiet is very befitting-"

"Befitting who? You? I don't think so!" Éomer slammed his goblet down with a resounding thud. "It's settled! I'll officiate!"

Gamling groaned and Aefre was obviously nervous. "Sire, you don't have to-"

"You don't even know what to say, you over-grown youngling!" Trust Eowyn to cut to the crux of the matter.

"I'll think of something!" he snapped. He quickly returned his over- exuberant grin on his Marshal. "I love weddings! Drinks all around!" He stood up and motioned to Aefre. "You have... bride-y type things to attend to, right?"

"Well... really... sire..."

"Good!" He waved her off in the direction of his sister. "Go... do..."

"Yes, yes, bride-y things." Eowyn was rolling her eyes. The King of Rohan, acting like an over-grown colt.

"Tell you what!" He continued to gesture wildly. "Take Lothiriel... it's Lothiriel, right? ... yes... take Lothiriel and Arwen with you! We'll make sure the groom doesn't go for a long ride that he won't return from." He gave Gamling the thumbs up. "You are so going to be married."

***Great. Wonderful. May I die now?***

Aefre started to leave and then thought better. She moved across the room and kissed her future husband, reveling in the fast embrace. "I have had your things for tomorrow moved into my old chambers. I'd rather you sleep there than at the Blue Whale tonight."

"You will never have to worry about that," he whispered back. He kissed her one last time before reluctantly turning her loose. He watched her leave, not taking his eyes from the door even after it shut.

"What?" Éomer called after her. "No kiss for me? I'm the King!"


***This is not going as planned.***

Éomer was rubbing his hands together. "Oh, what to do with you first..."

***
tbc
***







A/N. I have several chapters ready to go. Do you want all three now, or would you prefer I straddle them?