Rider of the Mark

Rider of the Mark 35/?

A man of constant sorrow

***

***What is he going to do with me? Béma’s great hairy ba-***

Éomer tilted his head sideways, a boyish, mischievous grin on his face. The Elves and Imrahil, realizing a night of Rohirrim-style debauchery was about to begin, quietly excused themselves, leaving Faramir to watch the goings - on with vast amusement.

“I think a trip to the Blue Whale is in order.”

“Sire,” Gamling shook his head reluctantly. “No.”

Éomer scowled hard. “No?” He leaned over and whispered loudly to Faramir. “Gamling has gotten old. Rumor has it when he was born, his face was scrunched so, he looked like a little old man and his father named him such.”

Gamling crossed his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. He wasn’t insulted by the proclamation; indeed, Éomer had accused him of it since his arrival in Edoras - a sullen, grieving young lad.

***

Théodred had allowed the boy to sulk; however, when Éomer was discourteous to Gamling, the king’s son had allowed the young Captain to discipline him. Éomer found himself picked up by the scruff of the neck, tossed in a water trough and set to mucking stalls for a month. To make matters worse, Gamling had drolly informed him - while sitting on a stall door, eating an apple, that his uncle, the King, had assigned his nephew to his command, to oversee his training.

Éomer’s training began with watching the Horse Master train his younger sister in battle arts.

It had been a humbling comeuppance.

Éomer had responded in a rather ungentlemanly manner, making disparaging remarks about - in his young opinion - Gamling’s rather questionable parentage.

He was immediately sent packing to Gamling’s parents for a season.

Gamling called it ‘fostering.’

Éomer called it torture.

The boy had returned still sullen, but not so willing to speak out. However, after a brutal day of training, the king’s nephew blurted that the reason why Gamling’s father had named him ‘the Old’, was obviously because of the way he looked when he was born.

Gamling, who was only in his early 30's at the time, cocked his head sideways, regarding the youngling who would eventually become king.

“Is my mother still telling that story?” He dropped from the fence and strode towards the barn. “Thirty more lunges on your horse, without falling off. If you fall off, start counting again. They-” he pointed to the other younglings training, “will tell me if you skive off. Do not forget to care for your horse and feed mine as well when you are finished.” He then ducked through the planking in the ring and strode off towards the Hall, no doubt looking for food, a bath and more likely, some feminine company.

He did not see the slow smile spreading on the features of Éomund’s son.

But he knew that it was there.

***

“I still think a trip to the Blue Whale is in order.” Éomer watched Gamling open the door to the hallway. “Send your brooding bachelorhood off with a bang!”

“My Lord, my bachelorhood was not brooding.” He motioned with an inclined head. “We have a problem that must be dealt with, however.”

Éomer grabbed a slice of ham, stuffing it in his mouth, and refilled his goblet, before following. “A problem? This sounds like a job for the King!” He stepped into the hallway behind his Marshal and pointed with his empty hand. “Where is this problem?” He turned back towards the room. “Faramir? Come with us!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Faramir was busy refilling his goblet and stuffing several wedges of cheese in one cheek. He picked up several slices of roast mutton and followed the two Rohirrim from the room. The Gondorian knew in the span of the next few hours he would learn more about the Rohirrim than all the time he had spent with Eowyn and her brother these last few months.

The trio strode into the Great Hall, honored guests milling about. For a moment, Gamling saw Aefre, the center of attention with a gaggle of females; Eowyn, Beornia, Sulis, and he supposed Arwen and Imrahil’s daughter-

***What IS her name again... Lothiree...Lottiray... Lollyloo...***

Arms and fingers pointing in differing directions. For a brief moment, Aefre looked up, seeing him, smiling...

***wrapyouinmycloakandneverletyougo***

For an even briefer second, the Marshal saw the Princess look up and for the blink of an eye, hers met Éomer’s.

Éomer ducked and headed towards the door.

But not before Gamling had seen it.

“Faramir?”

Eowyn’s lover was standing a few steps behind, slowly turning in a circle, taking in the beauty of Meduseld. Aefre and all the women had worked hard during the war, restoring the Hall to its former glory. Brass work shone, the tapestries were cleaned, repaired, their colors no longer faded by smoke and low light. Realizing the two Horse Lords were waiting for him, he blushed, and hurried out the door. “Eowyn told me of the beauty of your Hall. Words do not do it justice.” Stepping into the afternoon light, he looked anew at the city built on the hill. Squinting into the sunlight, he continued. “You have much to be proud of, Éomer of the Riddermark.”

A bittersweet look crossed the features of the young king. “Aye. I do and I am.” He started down the stairs. “I do not deserve one grain of its soil.”

***Deep run the wounds of your cousin’s death...***

“So, Gamling,” Éomer’s tone was jerked back to a more light-hearted timbre. “What is this problem that is so dire to be dealt with on the eve of - -”

“Damn you, woman! Have I not earned a moment’s rest?”

All three men stopped at mid-step, as the elderly healer and her still not-quite respectably clothed apprentice came around the corner.

“I will tell you when to work, when to eat and when you have earned a moment’s rest.” Helgarda was stalking around the edge of the stair, her hand brushing the stone wall, guiding her way. “Right now, you must weed the herb-”

“I finished that over an hour ago!” Eadignes was bouncing behind the elderly woman, her face flushed with anger. “The herb garden has been weeded, the larger plants pruned and staked. I have crushed the thyme, the coriander, sliced several cucumbers, soaking in the witch hazel water-”

“Why did you do that?”

“BECAUSE!” Eadignes was screaming and even Éomer stepped backwards, up a step. Gamling was now used to the noise, and was simply staring off towards the stable, as if contemplating the lay of the roof. “In case you forgot, you absent-minded crone, there is a wedding tomorrow and the bridal party will wish them for their eyes!”

Helgarda turned and glowered at the younger girl. “Why in all of Arda would you even-”

“BECAUSE GAMLING’S MOTHER TOLD ME TO!”

Helgarda reared up, her spine rigid. “Oh. Aelwydd did?” She blinked twice. “Well, that’s different.” She turned and continued on. “Well, in that case, we need to get bath salts and herbs ready for the bridal bath...” She went around the corner muttering, with Eadignes following behind, cursing like a soldier.

Éomer stood watching them, his mouth hanging agape. His finger twitched back and forth, ticking from the corner where the two bickering women had emerged to the corner they had disappeared around, echoes of their argument still bouncing off the walls.

“I hate to intrude.” Faramir had stepped around Éomer, who was still in shock and now stood next to Gamling. “My Rohirrim is rather... vague-”

“I would imagine so.”

Faramir smiled nervously at the imposing man, who despite being on the step below him, still looked him in the eye. “Eowyn has taught me a few of your more... colorful phrases-”

“You understood what the younger woman was saying at the end?”

“Uhm... yes.”


Éomer was still in shock, finger flicking.

“She taught you well. Sire?”

Éomer’s eyes were squeezed shut, his finger now pointing straight up and pressed against his nose and forehead. “Eadignes was with... Helgarda?”

“Yes, Sire.”

“But,” the finger was back in the air, beating a rhythmic tatoo, “Eadignes works at the Blue Whale!”

“Not anymore, Sire.”

“Stop that!”

Gamling arched an eyebrow. “Stop what, Sire?”

“Stop calling me ‘sire!’” Éomer raked his fingers through his hair, pulling it back. “I was going to drag your arse down to the Blue Whale and pay Eadignes to give you a lap dance, just so I could watch you squirm! And now you are telling me she no longer works there?”

“That is correct,” Gamling nodded thoughtfully. “And that is the problem.”

Éomer was now continuing down the steps. “Lead on. Béma! I was particularly fond of Eadignes!”

***So was I...***

“She was... talented?” Faramir asked tentatively.

“She was...”

“Cuddly.”

“Yes!” Éomer picked up on Gamling’s one-word answer. “She wasn’t skinny, like a lot of the younger girls try to be. She was a-” he lifted his hand, inspecting the curve of his palm, “a handful, nice and soft to hang on to. No bones!” Éomer looked up from his musings to see his Marshal blushing furiously, heading stiffly towards the lower barn and stockade. “She was very fond of my Marshal-”

“Sire, if you please.”


“I think,” Faramir whispered conspiratorially, “that you are embarrassing the man.”

***I am getting married tomorrow to the woman who is everything I have ever desired. The last thing I want to be discussing tonight is the... cuddliness... of a woman I paid to sleep with me.***

“Eh!” Éomer waved the Gondorian Ranger off. “He’s used to it.” The two followed behind Gamling, who was cutting a path to the lower barn. “Where are we going?”

“The stockade.”

“The stockade?” Éomer now broke into a trot to catch up. “Who have we put in the stockade? What did he do to be...”

“Fugol. Fyren’s eldest.” They reached the door to the lower barn, an area where grain and unsavory guests were housed. Gamling nodded to the Rider standing guard, his hand out for the key ring held at the young man’s waist. “Where?”

“Last stall, on the right.”

“Fyren’s get?” Éomer hissed. “Why should I not be surprised?” The three men ducked into the cool darkness of the earthen basement, dug under the Royal Stables. Light was filtered from highly placed and barred windows and Gamling strode to the far back of the corridor. It appeared that he backed up, standing as far from the bolted gate as possible, his hands held behind his back.

“Get up, Fugol.”

“For you? Go get-” the churlish young man stopped when Éomer stepped into the single ray of light shining down the gallery.

“You were saying?” Éomer stood, Gamling clearly seen over his right shoulder. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Fugol snarled, before turning around, his back to his liege lord and heading into the shadows. His left eye was black and swollen shut.

“Nice bruise, Fugol. Want to tell us how you got it?”

Even in the shadows, one could see the young man look over his shoulder. “Willan has a heavy fist.”


The King of Rohan frowned and turned to his Marshal standing behind him. “Willan hit him? Willan is the gentlest soul in Rohan. The boy must have done something dreadful.”

“Very.”

Silence.

“Well?” Éomer actually sounded a bit perturbed. “Are you going to tell me?”

In the dimming light, Gamling’s facial features could barely be seen. “Eadignes said no.”

“She’s a whore! I would have pa-”

“Be quiet!” Éomer didn’t glance in Fugol’s direction, instead pinning his most steadfast knight with a stare. “She said no?”

“She is training to be a healer and left the Blue Whale some weeks ago. He asked. She said no. He refused to take no for an answer and Willan reinforced her decision.”

“Oh.” the young king pondered Gamling’s words, nodding in agreement. “No means no.”

“I would ha-”

“No. Means. No. Regardless of what she did or does for a living.”

“I-”

“Gamling!” Éomer had raised his voice just enough to make the young man back down. “Do I detect the youngling’s inability to see the direness of his situation?”

“Yes, sire. That is also a problem.”

“Hmm.” Éomer stroked his chin, smoothing the hairs in his beard. “I don’t think we’ll get a straight answer out of him. Would you care to enlighten me?”

“Certainly.” Gamling relaxed, his hands still behind his back. “Eadignes was in the healer’s garden, when Fugol approached her. She rejected his advances and he became angered. That’s when Willan stepped in.”


“So the bruise happened before you reached him?”

“No.” Gamling shook his head. “Eadignes came and got me and when I got to the garden, Willan had Fugol pinned to the wall.”

“By the throat and off the ground!” Fugol had come to the barred gate and pressed his battered face to the coolness of the irons. “He damn near strangled me!”

“If you do not shut up, I’m going to strangle you.” Éomer responded tersely. He turned back to the Horse Lord. “Continue.”

“In short,” Gamling continued, matter of fact and to the point, “Fugol continued on in the same manner as you see here. She said no and he refused to take no for an answer.” He stopped for a moment, contemplating his next words. “She had been slapped, my lord.”

Éomer heard Faramir’s hissed intake of breathe. On a deep level, he realized the Gondorian Prince was quietly assessing his ruling and leadership abilities, but Faramir’s opinion mattered little to him in truth. “When did Willan hit him?”

Again, Gamling thought deep on his words. Éomer knew not to rush the older man; every opinion, every piece of advice, was heavily weighed, carefully thought of. At times, others teased him for it; Éomer had himself in his younger years, but Théoden had reminded him often to give the Marshal his time, his thoughts. Everything would come out specifically placed and unquestionable.

“I gave Willan permission to hit him after Fugol admitted to slapping her.”

Éomer turned back to the young man in the jail. “And yet, he is still insolent?”

Gamling was still weighing words. “Sire,” he began softly, “the night she left the Blue Whale, she had been... ill-used. Eadignes has stated it was Fugol.” The look Éomer gave Fyren’s son was pure fury. “At that point, I allowed Willan to hit him twice.”

“You showed great restraint, my friend.”

“Oh,” Gamling followed cheerfully, “I hit him first.” He smiled at Éomer. “I will admit that.”

“You didn’t beat him to a pulp?”

“I left that for you.”

“But she’s just a wh-” It hit Fugol that the former prostitute was held in higher esteem than he. “-woman!”

“Just a woman?” Éomer queried softly. “Do I detect a complete lack of respect for the women of the Riddermark?” The full fury of the King was aimed at this one, very young, very stupid Rider. “Just a woman?” he repeated, stepping closer to the barred gate. “Just a woman slew the Witch King of Angmar. Just a woman oversaw Edoras during war. Just a woman birthed your miserable arse.” Fugol couldn’t see it, but Gamling clearly observed Éomer clench his fists tightly. “Where is your cloak?”

Fugol had moved back into the shadows, but his eyes gleamed with the burning anger of a cornered animal. “Idonthaveone,” he mumbled.

“I did not hear you, Ri-”

“I said I don’t have one!”

“Oh,” Éomer inhaled sharply. He looked over his shoulder to Gamling. “I thought one had to earn a Rider’s cloak before they were allowed into the Blue Whale.”

“Typically, one has by the time they reach his age.”

“Hmm.” Éomer tapped his lip, as if in deep thought. “We should rectify that.”

“Sire.” The honorific was spat, as if the word itself were distasteful, “my father is dead. I am the eldest and provider for my siblings.”

***I know women who are shouldering their husband’s responsibilities. You would take care to learn from them...***

“Really?” The king appeared astounded. “Tell me, how can you provide for your brothers and sisters if you are pestering the women at the Blue Whale, accosting women in the healer’s herb gardens and cooling your heels in the stockades for pestering and accosting women?” He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. “What woman would want a man who hasn’t earned a Rider’s cloak?”

“Who says I need a woman?” Fugol had retreated further into the small cell, completely hidden in the shadows.


The smile on Éomer’s face was not a nice one. “Who says you need a woman? Gamling, have you ever said that?”

“When I was young, sire.”

“Ah.” Éomer nodded in agreement. “When you were young. And yet, tomorrow, you are getting married. Funny, how the world changes.”

***Very funny indeed, hardyharhar we are so laughing Éomer. Discipline him and be done with it.***

As if he heard Gamling’s inner thoughts, Éomer turned back to the young man in the small prison. “How many brothers do you have over aged twelve summers?”

“Three.” It was churlish, pulled from him by force.

“Three and you. What ever shall we do? Gamling?” Éomer asked over his shoulder, “does Elfhelm still have that particularly difficult Captain in charge of his garrison?”

An evil grin split Gamling’s face, knowing now what fate lay in store for Fugol and his brothers. “To the best of my knowledge, aye.”

“No!” Fugol rushed the gate, hands clenched around the bars. “Elfhelm is in the Eastemnet! Who will watch after the little ones?”

“You are one to talk about your siblings.” Éomer showed no mercy. “It is a bit late for that now. Now,” he tapped his lip thoughtfully, “what to do with you...”

***Beorniabeorniawhattodowithyou...***

“Sire, please-” A single finger in the air silenced the imprisoned man.

“Gamling? What say you?”

“I say,” Gamling began slowly, “we send him and the one beneath him to Elfhelm. Elfhelm’s captain is known for... adjusting the attitudes of problematic Riders.” Gamling glanced at Faramir, who was watching the scene play out with infinite precision. He knew, as did Éomer, that Faramir was watching closely, watching how the King interacted with his Marshal, dealt with an insolent young man. For all of the Rohirrim King’s light-heartedness, he could rein it in with the swiftness of a summer storm.


And then there was that temper of his.

Lightning.

“I suspect he and his brother,” Gamling continued, “whose reputation is equally vile, will have their heads knocked on a regular basis and therefore, I would suggest we send the next two to Erkenbrand.”

“Perhaps, it would do them good to see their brothers-”

“No.” Gamling was shaking his head, eyes now squinting in the dim light. “Erkenbrand has a lighter touch with the younger ones. Besides, he has twin sons aged thirteen summers, of age with the two. Best I recall, they are mischievous, full of energy, but well behaved and steadfast. The brothers will have each other and they will make friends will Erkenbrand’s sons. It would be a healthier home life for both of them.”

Faramir’s eyes showed open admiration. Several times, Éomer and Eowyn had spoken of the quiet, taciturn Marshal, with obvious respect and in Eowyn’s case, adoration. Éomer had made jokes of the man, but they were good-natured, his veneration of him obvious.

“But,” Fugol spoke up, his agitation again stirring the storm, “the younger one-”

“Yes, the young ones.” Éomer interrupted. “How many more are there?”

“Seven.”

Faramir gasped. “Seven more? Your people must breed like rabbits!”

“We try,” Éomer agreed dryly, “It was one of the few things Fyren was successful at.”

“Very successful,” Gamling agreed.

***Beorniabeorniawillyoucanyouwouldyou...***

"As for the others, I suppose we could farm them out among the families here in Edoras. that would mean splitting them up more, which I hate to do."

The answer to the problem Gamling had been wrestling with for days was formulating quickly in a normally over-cautious mind. He stepped closer, into the ray of sunlight, almost even with the King.

***itcouldwork... it would work...***

“Sire. My sister-”

“Fuck your sister! My sibl-”

!CRACK!

As it had before, Gamling’s fist came from nowhere, a furious fire contained within four knuckles. Éomer moved sideways, when he felt the older man bow up and he seemed amused when Fugol’s eyes rolled in the back of his head, his body sliding slowly to the floor. Both he and Faramir grinned at the Marshal, who shook his hand before inspecting the skin on the back of it closely.

***Dammit! Dammit! Aefre will kill me if I show up to our wedding with bruised knuckles from fighting!***

“Need an alibi about that?”

The Horse Lord glared. King or no, he-

“I will not go into my marriage lying to Aefre. She’ll understand.”

***I hope...***

The threesome stepped closer to the gate, looking down on the knocked out young man. “Should we wake him?” Faramir asked gamely.

“Nah. Won’t matter anyway.” Éomer nodded decisively. “You were saying?”

Back to that. Fine. “The elder of my sisters - Beornia - is recently widowed and grieving deeply. Her sons are of age to begin Rider training; in fact, the elder is training his first horse, and needs much guidance, but there are no Riders near her home to teach him.”

“Is fostering them out of the question?”

Gamling was scowling, his head nodding negatively. “They are all she has. As with many, she is having a difficult time, and clings to all she has left.” It was clear that Fugol wasn’t going to wake anytime soon, so Gamling nodded towards the door, and the trio made their way towards it. “My mother will be returning to our garrison after my wedding as there are still repairs and the harvest coming up.”

***Not to mention she is determined to be here for the arrival of her grandchild...***

They stepped into the yard, eyes immediately adjusting to the sudden light from the sun that was glinting hard from the roof of Meduseld. “I would ask that she be allowed to stay here and help Eowyn while we are in Minas Tirith. Fyren’s household has not had a strong feminine influence. They need mothering and she needs a reason to get up in the mornings.”

“That way, her boys can train with Elfhelm while he is here and you can take over upon our return.” Éomer was now moving towards the courtyard, away from the barn and stockades. “And she will have a reason to stay. Question however; who will tend to her farmstead?”

“She and her family lived with my mother. My mother will have plenty of help. Beornia can be spared.”

Faramir was mentally ticking with his finger. “So that is how you will settle them. The young ones will go to your Marshal’s sister, who will remain here. That way they stay together and she can remain behind with her sons while they train in your ways.”

“Aye.” It was a duet.

“The two middle ones will go to your Captain Erkenbrand, where they will not only be trained by one who is patient with young squires, but has sons of his own the same age.”

“Fostering.”

“And the two elder ones, will go to Elfhelm, with the...” his voice trailed off as Éomer’s face split into a grin and Gamling’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter. “What is it about this ‘captain’ of Elfhelm’s that has the two of you snickering like children? I remember Elfhelm well. Tough soldier and comrade in arms, but he was easy-going and had a rather earthy sense of humor-”

“Elfhelm’s captain,” Éomer began, “is his wife. Elfhelm loves her deeply, but-”

“She’s in charge.” Gamling finished. “She runs a tight garrison and any married Horse Lord will tell you that once married, a warm bed is better to sleep in than in the stall with your horse.”

“She swings a mean frying pan, as well.”

“Oooooh.” Faramir nodded in understanding.

Éomer and Faramir continued on, the conversation changing to other mundane things; the trip from Rivendell, Gamling straggling further and further behind. From the corner of the Great Hall, Aefre emerged from the side, women traipsing behind; Eowyn, Beornia, Aelwydd, Sulis, Maida, Arwen, and Lothiriel following close. They each carried baskets, oils and soaps piled high. They were closely shadowed by servants, baskets piled with fluffy towels...

The Bridal Bath... That important female ritual where the bride and her family and friends oiled and soaped and washed and...

***
“It’s for you and your friends!” Gamling had chortled when Aefre had told him what important rituals brides performed the night before the ceremony. “I’m your friend! Why can’t I join you?”

“Because you are supposed to do the same with your male friends and have your hair and beard trimmed!”

“I’m not trimming my beard!”

“Well, you’re not bathing with me tomorrow!”

***

***dammit dammit I’m getting really hard here...***

Lothiriel’s eyes were darting everywhere, taking everything in. Her eyes widened in surprise and she ducked, blushing, when she caught Gamling inspecting her.

snapsnapsnap

Éomer was clicking his fingers in front of Gamling’s face. “Gamling! Gamling! Over here! Stop looking at your bride like she is the final feast!”

A rather silly grin split his features. “Oh, I could tell you stories...”

“Well, don’t!” Éomer grimaced playfully. “The two of you are old. I’m sure your joints will creak as much as the bed tomorrow!”

Faramir chose that moment to lose his breath. “So,” he managed to wheeze, “part of the bride-y things is a community bath?”

“Gamling?” Éomer looked damned well pleased with himself.

“I expect they will give her advice on what to expect tomorrow evening.”

This set off more rude jokes, nudging and winking. This time, as the younger men moved on and started up the stairs to the pavilion in front of the Great Hall, they took no notice that Gamling was not with them. He watched as they moved upwards, before turning and darting back, climbing the watchtower in the corner. He sent the young guard down for dinner, reminding him to return upon finishing.

***Peace peace peace and quiet...***

For a long time, Gamling stared over the expanse of wide - opened plain, the fields surrounding beginning to burgeon with planted crops. Over to his right, simbelmyne nodded and swayed over mounds that rose and fell gently. The mound that cradled Elfhilde, Théoden’s late wife, would be re-opened upon their return from Minas Tirith, in order to place Théoden within. Deep down, Gamling felt that this was truly the reason Éomer wanted Gamling to attend Aragorn and Arwen’s wedding. They would be bringing Théoden’s body back, and it would be a difficult task for the young king.

***At least he will be returning home, to rest next to his wife. Too many did not; too many empty marks were returned...***

“Scoop of grain for your thoughts.”

Gamling looked over his shoulder, to see Éomer standing there. For a change, the young man wasn’t bursting with humor or temper, but was restrained, almost shy.

“Just thinking.” Gamling turned back to the fields, admiring the patchwork that lay before him. The sun had begun its slow descent and shadows from the mountains was spreading over the fields.

It was quiet for several minutes before Éomer spoke up again.

“Are you scared?” He recoiled slightly at Gamling’s glare. “I mean, this is a huge decision and you’ve been alone for so long. Isn’t it frightening to suddenly bind yourself forever to one woman? I would be terrified.” Éomer was rambling, and Gamling realized he wasn’t asking him for his sake, but rather the king was chewing on something that bothered him. Éomer was now looking over the same stretch of land, not really seeing it. “How do you know? How do you know that she’s the one?”

Gamling turned his back on the horizon, arms spread and braced on the railing. “You just know. There is a peace within that you wouldn’t trade for anything or anyone.”

If Éomer heard him, he didn’t let on. The King was now contemplating the seeing glass, left behind by the guard. He picked it up and fingered the workings, used his sleeve to polish the glass. “Faramir has formally asked me for Eowyn’s hand. It’s her decision and I’ll not say no. She told me she was staying behind to think, to see how her heart lies after he leaves, but she will agree when he returns and I’ll lose her to Gondor.”

Éomer had been skirting the subject and Gamling put it on the table for him. “Perhaps you should consider marriage yourself. As you stated, there are plenty of eligible women-”

He looked up with a growl. “When we entered Rohan from Rivendell, every inn, every place we stopped, women threw themselves at me. Riders tried to foist their daughters on me.” He paused for a moment. “Young, old, thin, fat. Béma, one was old enough to be my mother!” He wagged his finger at Gamling who was now chuckling quietly. “And she was toothless! Her breasts hung down about her knees!”

“That was a vision I could have lived without, Éomer.” Gamling’s mouth twitched, barely able to keep a straight face.

“A vision you could live without? Woman was naked in my bed! I damn near lost my dinner!”

***I bet you squ-eeeeealed like a girl!***

“Laugh it up, old man!” Éomer wasn’t laughing. “It was nasty!” His back was turned to his Marshal and Gamling could tell by the stiff set of his shoulders he was far from happy. Éomer studied the plains before him, the wind weaving through the tops of the rows of wheat, immature corn husks further out, beckoning to young children, to play hide and seek among the stalks. “They aren’t interested in me. They are interested in becoming Queen of Rohan. I will have to wake up next to her every morning! I would like for there to be something more there than the prestige of being Queen of the Riddermark!” He set the seeing glass down in disgust. “I want her to want to be in my bed because she wants to be my wife, not my Queen.” There was a short silence. “I want a marriage, not a political or business arrangement! Already, I have foreign nobles pandering for my throne! Prince Imrahil has gone as far as to present me with a list of eligible noble women from Gondor who would make ‘a suitable match.’ His daughter was at the top of the list! Damn, I wish I were you!”

Gamling turned his back, knowing the young man was agitated and had every right to be. Before Théoden’s death, life was a series of skirmishes, small battles, and the occasional enjoyment of female flesh, readily given and readily accepted. Gamling himself had partaken in such recreational pursuits, not thinking of the future, or his heart. But now, reality had come banging its way to the gates of Edoras. No longer able to freely go and enjoy, Éomer now had a country to care for, to worry over, like a father. Women would pay to claim they had slept in the king’s bed, use this to trap him. Small wonder he now questioned everything.

Reality was a warg!

In the blink of an eye, the joke he and Aefre had made over and over of setting Éomer up with a fat, ugly princess, lost its humor.

Scanning the horizon, Gamling’s eyes fell on a sight he had not expected to see and despite the seriousness of the conversation with his king, what he beheld warmed it and gave him hope. “Do you not like the Princess of Dol Amroth?”

“Not like?” Éomer’s breath came out in a rush. “Gamling! She’s beautiful! She’s intelligent, a capable chatelaine, to hear Imrahil talk. She is compassionate and Eowyn says she has a wicked sense of humor. I have never seen eyes so green. I just want to take her hair down and run my fingers through it. I want to taste her.”

The last sentence was whispered and Gamling’s eyebrows rose at the wistfulness in his voice.

“Éomer! You’re a grown man. You know how to woo a woman!”

“That’s the problem, old man!” Éomer smacked the railing of the fence. “How do I know she would want me for me? Besides,” at this, his voice grew sullen and petulant, “she wears more wealth dangling from her ears and neck than my people will know in a lifetime. She is educated; reads and writes, ciphers in her head. She will more than likely faint at the sight of horses mating! I’ll not have anyone look down on the Rohirrim and pity them!”

There. It was out.

*** I am so glad I am not king.***

“The woman I marry,” Éomer was continuing on, “must know and understand that Rohan is my mistress and not only will I not give her up, she will stand on equal footing with my queen!”

Gamling thought back, to the gratitude and open admiration Éomer and Rohan had received from Gondor, from the guests that currently resided at Edoras. He clearly remembered a glimpse of Lothiriel trying to converse with Sulis’ youngest daughter, a little girl not yet talking. Most of all, he knew the heat in the looks the two had been giving each other. He was not blind.

***If Éomer and Eowyn could shove Aefre and myself into each other’s arms, why can’t I do that to Éomer? One uppity, over-protected...

No.

One lovely, compassionate, intelligent princess for you, my lord...***

“You ask for much from a woman, Éomer, but that will settle itself out. Would you hand me the seeing glass, please?” He held his hand out behind him, waiting for the instrument to placed within. He was not kept waiting and he placed it to his eye, a grin bigger than the plains gracing his face.

“What are you looking at?” Éomer finally came to stand beside him.

“Oh, nothing really. Just my future wife and her friends in their Bridal Bath.”

***
tbc
***