Emissary of the Mark

(Elfhelm’s adventures in the land of Rhûn)

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see Introduction, because in this story it’s rather long.

Author’s notes: The marriage and courtship customs described here are based on the old pagan Anglo-Saxon beliefs and rituals. My profound apologies for the abundance of detail. For the lack of actual currency names I invented the taler as the largest unit of silver coin and the ducat for gold.

Beta read by Larner, thanks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 11 – The Purchase of the Bride

Elfhelm did not go to sleep after Imogen had left his chambers. Although he was weary, for various reasons – some of which had been most pleasurable, he had to admit – he still had much to do ere he would face Ragnar Jarl at the negotiations, and very little time to do them. Therefore, after a quick cat wash to clear his head, he went over to Strider’s chambers and shook the Ranger awake.

“I regret to rob you of your well-earned rest,” he said, “but I need your help.”

Strider was awake at once. Like those who spend much time in the great outdoors on their own, he tended to be a very light sleeper.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Ragnar Jarl chose to pay the life debt of his son by the gift of his daughter,” answered Elfhelm bluntly. “I chose to accept it in the manner of wedding Imogen Ragnarsdaughter. She accepted my courtship and my bridesgift. Now I need someone to negotiate the marriage contract for me.”

“And you want me to do it?” asked the Ranger when he found his voice again. Few things could still shock him, but this news was clearly one of those.

Elfhelm shrugged. “Back at home, prestigious friends would do it; here, I have none of them at hand. You, however, seem to know our customs well enough – and theirs. I could not think of anyone better suited to purchase my bride for me.”

He grinned a little as he saw the Ranger wince from his choice of words. Strider might know the customs of the Mark but he clearly did not understand their true meaning. Otherwise he would not think the Men of the Mark would treat their women like cattle.

“I am not certain that I can do it properly,” admitted the Ranger, his discomfort obvious. “My people do not have this custom and…”

“You must,” interrupted Elfhelm. “There is no-one else I could turn to. Someone must negotiate the bargain between her cynn and mine, and this person must not be from either family, so that he or she can build up frith between the two clans: a relationship founded on peace and trust.”

Strider was familiar with the concept of frith and its extreme importance for the Men of the Mark as well as for any alliance, be it friendship, sworn brotherhood, marriage or a peace agreement with another clan that they were willing to enter. He did have his doubts, though, that the Easterlings would see themselves honour-bound by such a lofty concept. Even if they did have similar ideals.

“Between you and her, between your cynn and hers, between the Mark and Rhûn, there is no foundation of frith yet in place,” he said. “How do you hope to establish it, after so many years of hostility?”

“Such things have their proper way to come,” replied Elfhelm. “For frith to be built between us, ’tis necessary for trust to be there. For trust to occur a bargain has to take place; and a bargain is created and sealed by the giving and accepting of gifts, rich in meagen and luck. Marriage, like every other alliance, is founded on gifts. Of greatest importance are those of the bridegroom – or rather of his clan – to the family of the bride. Those are supplemented by smaller gifts and trinkets and gems, given by the bridegroom to his betrothed, and later his wife. Further gifts are bestowed on the kinsmen of the bridegroom by the family of the bride’s father, upon the wedding guests by the woman, and ’tis also a custom that the bridegroom presents each of his brothers-in-law with a proper gift.”

“That is a lot more than you can probably have hidden in your saddlebags,” said Strider, “even if there were naught else in them.”

Elfhelm laughed. “Of course. No-one would expect me to present al those gifts at once – that is why you shall have to negotiate the terms for me.”

“And Ragnar will trust you to hold your word?” Strider knew the Rohirrim were honourable to a fault, but he also knew how mistrustful the Easterlings could be; more so towards foreigners.

Elfhelm nodded. “What little I have learned about their customs from Aelfgifu’s scrolls tells me that in some areas they are very much like ours. Perhaps our ancestors had once dwelt border to border in the North; who knows? All I know is that they, like us, believe that there is holiness in treasure; that possessions can absorb meagen – or hamingja, as they call it – and luck from their owners. Ancient treasures passed down in the family line have their meagen enhanced by each generation and can reach legendary proportions thereby.”

“Like the drinking horn from the dragon’s hoard, Théoden-king’s gift to Ragnar the Smith,” said Strider, beginning to understand the true depths he had never considered while living among the Rohirrim – or among the Easterlings.

“Or Ragnar Jarl’s gift to me, aye; or my bridesgift to Imogen,” Elfhelm nodded, relieved that he could make the Ranger see things through the eyes of a Man of the Mark. “If such treasures are shared, as part of forging an alliance – marriage, friendship or peace agreement – then the alliance is strengthened, proportionally to the meagen and luck carried by the gifts.”

“And thus the foundation of an alliance between Nimwarkinh and the Mark has already been laid yestereve, when Ragnar Jarl and you exchanged gifts on Théoden-king’s behalf,” realized Strider. Elfhelm nodded.

“Gifts are the basis of each bargain; and the bargain is the basis of any alliance, including marriage,” he explained. “If a suitor can but get so far as to lay his gift in the maiden’s lap, he has already won her favour.”

“Hence your gift to Imogen,” said Strider. Elfhelm nodded again.

“Aye, but there is much more that needs to be negotiated. First of all the morgengifu – the morning gift due to the bride, meant to confirm the consummation of the first embrace. Usually, it is promised on the day the union of bride and groom is decided upon and must be given on the morning after the pair had slept one night together.”

“Which would be now, I deem,” said Strider.

“By custom, aye, but our case is a little more… complicated,” Elfhelm sighed. “Therefore I must prepare you thoroughly, so that both the marriage and the alliance between our two peoples can be forged on the solid foundation of frith that would provide us with equal terms, in both cases.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ragnar the Smith summoned his counsellors to the Lesser Hall in the next morning. Aside from Master Dallbenn and the druid Amanar, some of the lesser – yet still powerful – jarls were also present – the ones known for their shrewd and moderate nature. These were also the ones with whom he had already discussed a possible alliance with the Mark and the gain they could hope from it.

While they were understandably sceptical, at least they were agreeable. Detlev Jarl, a true bear of a man with a long white scar across his left cheek, whose people lived closest to the Ash Mountains, considerably more so than the others. Fortunately, he had great influence among his peers as well as among the smaller tribes who followed the lead of the Tribe of the Bear. Ragnar counted on Detlev’s support greatly.

He had not told them about the marriage proposal of the emissary, though. Not even the witan, although he would have liked to hold counsel with them first. Alas, what remained from the previous night had not been enough for that. Neither had there been enough time to summon the chieftains of the smaller tribes that had sworn fealty to him. The emissary had come unexpected and unannounced. They had to begin the negotiations at once, despite the concerns of Detlev Jarl that their vassals might feel slighted.

Well, at least negotiating the alliance in the form of a marriage bargain would enable him to avoid that particular offence. Or so Ragnar hoped.

Besides the two witan, the six lesser jarls and Ragnar himself, Ingolf had been summoned to the negotiations, too. ’Twas high time for him to learn something about dealing with strangers – without a sword, that is. He came in the company of a lean, yet muscle-bound, russet-haired and bearded man, who was clad in the drab grey tunic and brown leathers of the scouts yet girdled with a heavy weapons belt richly set with jewels and with a bejewelled bronze circlet upon his brow.

Ingmar Karason was the captain of Nimwarkinh’s scouts – basically the spymaster of the warlord’s seat – and related to him on his late mother’s side. Ragnar trusted him more than any of his vassals; more than his own heir, in fact, for while he had no doubts about Ingolf’s unwavering loyalty, Ingmar was more level-headed and more experienced, and one could build on his carefully weighed opinion.

The head scout was in his late thirties, but his deeply lined and tanned face made him look older; much older. He had recently returned from a long and dangerous journey, gathering news about the movements of Mordor’s troops east of the Ash Mountains, and had not yet found the time to rest. Being second to Ingolf only, his presence at such important negotiations was required.

Ragnar and his counsellors discussed Ingmar’s news briefly before the arrival of the emissary, and they all agreed that in the light of those tidings an alliance was more important than ever. That messengers from Mordor had repeatedly visited the tribes dwelling on the northern shores of the Sea of Rhûn was more than disturbing. Those were the tribes that counted as their greatest rivals: the Tribe of the White Kine and the Tribe of the Wolf… always eager vassals of Mordor.

To balance out the power within Rhûn, Ragnar had only two choices: to compete with Siltric and Grotharr for the favour of Mordor – or to forge a strong alliance elsewhere.

“And as we know that the Lord of the Black Lands has no true goodwill towards his vassals and would willingly sacrifice us all to further his own plans, we need to find allies elsewhere,” summarized Ragnar, not for the first time. This time, ’twas for Ingmar’s sake as he had not been there when the choice had been made.

Ere the head scout could have formed an opinion, the heavy bronze doors of the Lesser Hall opened, and in came Yvarr the Weak-boned, Ragnar’s youngest son, with his brother Ruríkr, probably the tallest of the warlord’s sons. Despite his byname, Yvarr was no weakling of course; he was more slightly built than the average Khimmer warrior, but more than made up for the lack of huge muscles by being lightning-fast and tougher than cooked swine-hide. He was also said to be shrewd and cruel and cold like a snake.

“Lord Aðalbrandr, on the behalf of the emissary of the Mark,” he announced.

“Let him in,” Ragnar hid his smirk, seeing the surprise of the others. Elfhelm Hengestsson had been wise to choose the man to negotiate the bargain for him: a man who had lived both in the Mark and in Rhûn, had gained respect among the warriors of both peoples and knew the customs of both fairly well.

The man who now entered the Lesser Hall had little in common with the battered traveller Ingolf’s men had captured together with the emissary. He was clad in the fashion of a Khimmer nobleman, in fine leathers and wool – most likely a loan from one of the older warriors who had known him in their youth – and his proud carriage commanded respect from all that saw him. He was very tall, taller than the emissary even, towering over the rather squat Khimmer men like a giant. The folds of the heavy woollen cloak – dark green, in the colour of the Mark – made him look even larger.

His greying black hair, now neatly combed and ordered upon his broad shoulders, was bound with an unadorned silver circlet. Nonetheless, he looked as kingly as if he had worn the Winged Crown of Gondor – an item of legends yet unseen by any living man for many hundreds of years. His clear grey eyes mirrored wisdom and strength of will one could not but admire. A large sword in an unadorned scabbard hung from his weapons belt; the hilt, however simple, revealed to the trained eye that it was the handiwork of an excellent weaponsmith.

He came in with long, purposeful strides, stopped in the middle of the Hall, and extended both hands, with upturned palms towards Ragnar’s throne.

“Westu Ragnar hál!” he cried in a clear, ringing voice, using the tongue of the Mark; the party that he represented. Then he switched to the local dialect, for the sake of his bargaining partners. “I offer you the greetings of Lord Elfhelm Hengestsson, kinsman and emissary of Théoden, King of the Riddermark. He asked me, according to the time-honoured custom of his people, to bargain for him for the hand of Lady Imogen Ragnarsdaughter, whom he desires to take as his wife.”

The shock of the gathered Khimmer nobles was palpable, and Ragnar had to admit that he enjoyed their reaction. They may have agreed that closer ties to the Riddermark would be advantageous, yet secretly hoped that such efforts might remain unsuccessful. After all, why ask for something if you could simply take it? Khimmer warriors were not known to think in long terms or to consider the possible consequences of their actions. Raiding and pillaging was in their blood, and as Mordor openly encouraged such actions, it was hard to make other, more fruitful – yet slower – ways appealing for them.

If Ragnar the Smith became kin by marriage to the Lord of the Eastfold – and through him, however indirectly, to the King of the Mark – then at least the Tribe of the Bear would have to build different relations with the Riders of the Mark. Kinship through marriage – or frith, as the Men of the Mark called it – did not merely lead kinsmen to spare each other. It also forced them to support one another’s case, to help and vouch for each other, and to trust one another.

Kinsmen by frith were the doers of one another’s deed and could be called upon to perform that responsibility. Even if Ragnar himself, too, wondered how that would be possible between him, his tribe and his vassals on one side and the third most powerful ealdorman of the Mark on the other. More so as said ealdorman was, by all means and purposes, oath-bound to his King, and the Men of the Mark took nothing as seriously as their oath of fealty, not even family obligations.

Similar thoughts must have occupied the other nobles present, for one of the lesser jarls, an old yet still powerful warrior by the name of Swain, asked with a heavy frown upon his broad, bearded face, “How does the young one hope to fulfil such obligations? Does he, or does his father have power enough to go against the wishes of their King, should Théoden Thengelsson choose to make war upon us?”

“Théoden-cyning is an old man who has known no true war all his life,” answered Lord Aðalbrandr. “Now more than ever in his youth, he wishes to keep his people safe and prospering. But yea, Hengest Lord of the Eastfold, Clan Master of the Éowain and Chief Stallion Master of the Mark, does have the ear of his King. For he is entitled and empowered to rule over all East-mark regions in the name of Théoden and yet mostly independently.”

“Aye, but can the young one, indeed, can his father promise to aid the Tribe in our struggle against the rival Tribes… or other enemies?” asked Swain doubtfully.

“They can promise to aid you against the rival Tribes… or the Dunlendings, or pillaging Orcs,” replied Lord Aðalbrandr, choosing his words with meticulous care. “They can promise not to start a war against you. But if the Tribe of the Bear makes war on the Riddermark, then all promises will be nullified. As long as you keep your promises, though, they will be keeping theirs. The Men of the Mark never break an oath, be it given to a lord or to an ally.”

“But what if his King orders him to ride to war against us?” demanded Ingmar Karason.

Lord Aðalbrandr shook his head decisively.

“Théoden-king would never give such an order. The ealdormen of the Mark know what they owe their vassals. And more than any other lord, the King holds the honour of those oath-bound to him in his hands. When they accept the oath of a lesser thegn, or even that of a simple Rider they accept the responsibility of keeping that man’s honour intact. And the Horse-lords take their responsibilities very seriously. Théoden-king would never ask Lord Hengest something that would make him an oathbreaker whether he obeyed or rebelled.”

“The Lord of the Dark Lands will not be so courteous,” muttered Detlev Jarl bitterly under his breath.

Ragnar heard it, though, and nodded.

“That is true. Would the summons come now, we would have no other choice but follow. Yet even then, we would still have the freedom to choose where we would fight in his service. There will be many battlefields, I fear, once he had set his plans in movement. We could turn to the North, against the Dwarves in the Iron Hills, the Men of Dale and of Esgaroth, the Elves in Mirkwood. Or we could turn to the South, against Gondor. We could afford not to turn against Rohan; there would be enough other Tribes for that.”

Lord Aðalbrandr kept his face carefully neutral. Ragnar knew, of course, that he was of the blood of the Sea-kings of old, and thus the Men of Gondor were kin to his own people. But if he wanted to forge this alliance with the Mark, Ragnar could not afford to spare the feelings of the mediator.

He only hoped that Lord Aðalbrandr understood that. Fortunately, it seemed that he did.

“You are free to do that, of course,” said the Ranger neutrally. “Although you might find that Gondor is not so easily subdued as the Dark Lord might hope. But that is neither here nor there at the moment. We are here to negotiate an alliance by marriage between the Tribe of the Bear and Clan Éowain of the Eastfold, manifested by the union of Lord Elfhelm and Lady Imogen. That alone will be a difficult enough task.”

“Why would it be difficult?” sneered the old Weohstan. “Is he too poor to pay a handgeld worth a chieftain’s daughter?”

Lord Aðalbrandr gave the boisterous old warrior an icy stare.

“Elfhelm Hengestsson is wealthy enough to pay the handgeld of a royal princess; as indeed one of his brothers did a few years ago,” he replied. “But the Lady Imogen is a shieldmaiden; her oath needs to be dissolved ere we could even begin our bargain in earnest.”

“The norna can and will release her from her oath, for the good of the Tribe,” said Ingmar Karason dismissively. “That is how my marriage was forged, too.”

“And that is why you are still going in holy fear of the old hag,” laughed Ingolf. “She was less than pleased when she had to release Thyri, if memory serves me well.”

“Her pleasure or displeasure is of no importance,” replied Ingmar. “My marriage was needed to end a decades-long blood feud between our families as long as there were still sons or daughters on either side. Imogen’s marriage is needed to protect the whole Tribe. The norna will obey.”

“Are you offering to talk to her?” asked Ingolf shrewdly.

Ingmar Karason shrugged. “I will, if I have to. At least I would not insult her and bring down her wrath upon us all. Unlike you.”

“That is enough,” said Ragnar, ere his heir and his spymaster could have launched into another one of their endless verbal fights. “I shall speak to the norna. ’Tis my burden both as Imogen’s father and chieftain and as the Warlord. As Ingmar says, the norna will do that which serves the Tribe best. She always does.”

Then he turned to the Ranger. “Well, Lord Aðalbrandr, Lord Elfhelm has already given my daughter the morgengifu proper; so let us discuss the handgeld and the brydgifu proper, as well as the wedding ceremony.”

The Ranger nodded, being somewhat familiar with the customs of Rhûn as well as having been given every necessary detail about how things were done in the Mark. The terms were different but their meaning surprisingly similar, he found.

The handgeld – or, as the Rohirrim called it, the brydcéap – was paid by the groom to the family of the bride, to prove that he could support his future wife. It also carried the maegen (or hamingja) of the groom, and its intent was to reimburse the bride’s family for their loss of maegen – the spiritual luck or power of the family – carried by the bride.

At least that was how the Rohirrim saw things. Among the Rhûnim it might have been simple reparation for the loss of the bride’s labour. Or, in Imogen’s case, the loss of her sword in battle; which, in the case of a shieldmaiden, would be considerable.

The brydgifu, on the other hand, was paid by the family of the bride. Basically, this was the bride’s dowry – forever hers and untouchable by her husband. It was to ensure, in the event of the husband’s death or a divorce, that she and her children were provided for.

Mostly in case of the man’s death; divorce, while in theory possible (when one of the spouses proved barren), hardly ever happened among the Men of the Mark. Not even Prince Théodred would release his barren wife, making young Éomer his heir instead. The Rohirrim took their marriage oaths – or indeed any oaths – very seriously.

Again, customs in Rhûn – where women counted little more than cattle – were much rougher. But Ragnar would follow the proper rituals of the Mark to make this alliance work. Of that the Ranger was certain.

“It is custom among the noble families of the Mark to pay the handgeld in lands or horses,” he explained. “However, lands cannot be given to those not of the Mark, thus Lord Elfhelm offers the family of his bride horses; also cattle and sheep, if you agree. Or gold and silver, if that is what you would prefer.”

“Of how much gold and silver are we talking?” asked Old Weohstan with hunger in his eyes, which was understandable. As the father of Ragnar’s late wife, he belonged to the chieftain’s family, so the good fortune of that family was his good fortune, too.

“Lord Elfhelm is offering to pay what counts as the brydcéap of a royal princess; indeed, the same brydcéap his brother paid to Théoden-cyning for the hand of Princess Idis,” replied Lord Aðalbrandr. “That would be the worth of two thousand silver talers, either in horses and livestock or in gold and silver – or half and half, whatever your choice might be.”

For a moment, there was shocked silence in the Lesser Hall, for this was a handgeld the likes of which had never been paid in the Halls of Nimwarkinh, not even when the children of powerful chieftains were given away in marriage. The jarls had only now begun to understand how rich and powerful the Lord of the Eastfold had to be if he could afford to pay such fortunes every time one of his sons married.

And he had what? Nine sons and two daughters? The man had to be richer than his King! Kinship like this definitely bode well for the Tribe!

“We need to discuss the details among ourselves,” said Ragnar finally. “But you are welcome to stay and listen, Lord Aðalbrandr. We have no secrets – not in this matter.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Ranger appreciated the fine distinction, for of all things Ragnar the Smith could have said, this was most likely true; and a promise he could actually keep. So Lord Aðalbrandr sat down a little aside from the gathering and listened with interest to the debate.

It revealed much about the current situation in Rhûn, or at least within Ragnar’s territory. Perchance more than Ragnar would have been willing to reveal under different circumstances. The discussion made it clear that Nimwarkinh’s sources were all but depleted in many ways. The only question was where the need would be the greatest.

Some of the jarls were eager to take the gold and silver, arguing that for riches they could buy everything they needed (preferably weapons). Others wanted the famous horses of the Mark, while Ragnar himself insisted on taking cattle and sheep to keep their people fed and clothed. It was a long and heated debate, as everyone had good arguments and hard facts to back their opinion.

In the end, it came to a compromise – as Ragnar had known it would if he allowed everyone to say their piece and argue to their heart’s desire.

They agreed to accept half the handgeld in gold and silver, as it was a matter of life or death for the chieftain to be able to give out rich gifts to his followers and allies. The other half they wanted in horses and livestock, in the hope to breed better steeds for themselves and to secure, at least for the chieftain’s household, a steady source of food and wool.

It was a surprisingly wise decision from a people that most other peoples considered bloodthirsty barbarians. The Ranger could not help being impressed. He had known Ragnar and his family to be shrewd and long-planning, but he had not expected the lesser jarls to be of the same stock.

Well, the majority of them anyway.

Now that the matter of the handgeld had been settled, they had to discuss the brydgifu. Ragnar, of course, could not offer anything that would match the generous gifts of Elfhelm’s family, but that was not needed, either. He was giving the bride, after all. But he did offer weapons and jewellery and such clothes as the wife of a chieftain was expected to possess, as well as some bond servants and guards for Imogen’s own household.

“Since the brydelea, the wedding feast, is to be held in Rohan, we can hardly take part of it,” he explained, seeing the Ranger’s surprise. “So I shall send two of Imogen’s half-brothers to stand with her for the rest of the family, as well as to be her personal guards.”

“I understand, and I’m sure so will Lord Hengest,” said the Ranger. “But bond servants are not allowed in the Mark. Why would you send them with your daughter?”

“They were born in captivity and will, no doubt, welcome the chance to leave our deep caverns,” answered the warlord. “They are Northmen and have been wilting here; perhaps the wide green fields of the Mark will suit them better. If the Men of the Mark choose to free them, ’tis not our concern.”

If Lord Aðalbrandr recognized the offer for what it was – a welcome chance to get rid of two troublesome sons and a couple of sulking, ailing slaves – he gave no sign of it; nor did he protest any more.

The rest of the agreement was worked out in no time then and, although this was no Khimmer custom, the druid even made a written contract, so that it could not be questioned by anyone in the future. The Ranger read it through carefully, looking for any hidden meaning behind the actual written words, but found none. It seemed that – at least this time – the Easterlings actually meant what they had promised. So he signed the contract in Elfhelm’s name as his role in the marriage negotiations demanded, using both names under which he was known in Rhûn and in the Mark, respectively.

Ragnar then called for mead to be brought and they drank deeply, celebrating the agreement and, hopefully, the lasting peace between the Eastfold and the Tribe of the Bear, at the very least. It was a small victory, true, but the fact that it would be possible at all gave the Ranger new hope.

The eastern borders of the Mark would be a little safer for a while. Ant though it might mean more potential raids for Gondor, the South-kingdom of Men had better natural protection. Most Khimmer jarls would think twice before crossing the Dead Marshes or the treacherous swamps of the Wetwang.

And who knew, perhaps family ties between Rhûn and the Mark would lay the foundation for a lasting peace, sometime in the distant future.

In a time when Sauron had been dealt with and the peoples of the East had been freed from his tyranny – if ever.

~TBC~

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Glossary of Rohirric terms (where available, I gave the Rhûnic term, too):

cyning = king

cynn = kinfolk

frith = very complex term of faithfulness, as explained by Elfhelm

meagen = the spiritual luck or gift of the entire kinfolk, mainly carried by the women

morgengifu or hamingja = the morning gift, given by the groom to the bride, after consummating the marriage; this will belong to the bride forever and cannot be taken back.

brydcéap or handgeld = gift given by the groom to the family of the bride, to prove that he can provide for his future wife.

brydgifu or bridesgift = gift given to the bride by her own family; her dowry that cannot be touched by her husband and is forever hers.

brydelea = the wedding feast