To The King

Chapter Nine

The Honored Dead

“What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.” Albert Pike

Gamling motioned for the doorward to open the great, carved doors to the Meduseld and allow the people to begin entering to take their part in this ancient ritual of the Riddermark, the passing of one king and the coming of another. It was the virtual continuation of their people. In a land and a people which faced such daily hardship in even the struggle to survive in what many would think a hostile environment, it was a sign of faith that their way of life would continue. The Horse Lords lived the same way they fought, with reckless abandon, never taking anything for granted. Life here was difficult, but it was a good life for this hardy people. Rohan was a land where possessions meant little and honor meant all.

The first ones to enter and pass by the bier were members of the King’s Honor Guard. After standing at attention at the bier they filed by singularly before Éomer, kneeling to give him their oath. One by one they intoned the ancient vow of the Rohirrim. “By the grace that Bema grants me, by the mighty steed that bears me, by the strength of my arm, by the honor of my soul, and by the blood of my body, I pledge my oath to Éomer King, in peace and war, to be his protection, to be his guard, and to stand by his side until death calls.”

Next came the serving women, most of them wives, sisters, or mothers of the King’s own guard. First of these was Hildegard, all of about four foot three inches tall and with the demeanor of a banty rooster. Tanned and still firm for a woman of her years, she kept her long gray hair bound tightly behind her head. Hildegard had served in the kitchens of the Meduseld for many years. She was the undisputed head of the household, and very zealous for its running. For all the long months when Théoden had been under the spell of Grima, it was Hildegard that had been the only one who could talk back to the worm, and talk back she did – quite often. Hildegard was something of an institution around Edoras. Crusty and opinionated, she was the undisputed queen of the kitchen, and she had dearly loved Éomer and Éowyn since the two orphans had been brought to their new home by Théoden.

Following a respectful pause and more than a few tears of goodbye to Théoden, who was the only king most of them had ever known, the women too knelt before Éomer to swear fealty, though with bowed heads instead of spoken oaths as the guards had done.

Once all the household had filed through, the citizens began their journey, led by the Marshals Erkenbrand of the Westfold and Ceorl, the new Marshal of the Eastemnet. These two men bowed before the bier and stood for many minutes in silent contemplation, each making their goodbye in their own way. Then they moved as a pair to kneel before Éomer, Erkenbrand with a twinkle in his eye. “Éomer King, today is that day that I told you would come, and I am proud to serve you as I will be proud to ride beside you.”

Éomer smiled as he remembered the day the Marshal had literally dragged him through the Meduseld in a rage because the boy had stowed away in his éored, causing them to lose almost an entire day by the time he had turned the troop around and brought him back. The two men shared a moment of reflection as they both remembered how Théoden had dealt with the boy.

Eomer rose and exchanged a warrior’s grip with his Marshals. “I would like to meet with both of you tomorrow. There is much to decide.”

The men nodded their assent. “We will be here, my lord,” responded Erkenbrand for them both.

Éowyn excused herself to go to the kitchens to check on how the arrangements were coming for the meal being prepared for the people camping outside the city gates. Hildegard was in full swing with seemingly every pot in the kitchen bubbling away on the vast wood stove. One full wall of the immense kitchen was a countertop that was covered with extra loaves of bread the cooks had turned out to accompany the soup for this night’s meal. Mounds of fresh vegetables had been gathered in preparation for peeling and chopping to go into the venison stew that would be served.

Hildegard spotted Éowyn as she entered the steamy room. “Now, my lamb, don’t you go bothering yourself with the doings in here. You’ve got quite enough on your mind as it is, and I have things well under control in here.”

Éowyn gave her a quick hug. “You have always had this room under control, Hildegard, as long as I’ve ever known you! And you usually managed to have some seed cakes around that I so love.”

Hildegard laughed in delight. “And I have them for you now, not that you’ve taken much notice of food since you got home. You’re too thin by half, my lamb, and don’t think I haven’t noticed you picking at your food and falling into bed exhausted. You’d best be eating more or you're going to be too skinny for that fine young man of yours. It takes meat on your bones to attract a lusty man like that to make babies with.”

“Hildegard!”

“Now don’t you go ‘Hildegarding’ me! I know you’re not married yet, but you will be soon enough and I won’t have Gondor thinking that Rohan can’t feed its own Princess.”

“Oh Hildegard, I do so love you!” smiled Éowyn, giving the woman a big hug. “Is there any chance you would come to Gondor with me?”

“And trust my kitchens to these ninnys?” she shrieked in mock horror. “Who would take care of that great oaf of a brother of yours? Who would make that apple cobbler he used to beg me for? No, I’d best stay right here. My old bones wouldn’t know how to act in a city kitchen. Besides, I’d be awake all the time if I could not hear the winds barreling down from the White Mountains singing me to sleep at night.”

“All right, all right,” laughed Éowyn. “You stay here and take care of Éomer. I’m sure he’ll need you more than I will, and it will give my heart rest to know that he has you.”

“Now don’t you go worrying yourself about the king. I’ll see that he’s taken care of, and those little lambs you’ve brought to live here too.”

“Oh,” gasped Éowyn, “I’d completely forgotten about the children! I should be getting them up and ready for break of fast.”

“You just go back to the hall with that handsome man of yours and support your brother. He likely needs you today. Berga has gone to see to the children. We’ll take care of them for you. Besides, as many children as we all have, what are a few more running in the halls, eh?”

Feminine giggles verified Hildegard’s sentiments. Éowyn was teary-eyed, smiling her thanks to all these wonderful women who had been a part of her life for as long as she remembered. They were like treasured family. She would miss them all so much when she moved to Gondor.

“Go, go,” shoed Hildegard, “get yourself back to the great hall and let us get back to work in here.”

“I’m going,” laughed Éowyn. “You will send for me if you need me, won’t you?”

Hildegard just snorted and turned back to her work, winking at Éowyn as she did so.

O-o-O-o-O

Anor, rising in the east, was peeking through the window around the pelt that covered the opening, and crawling into the eyes of the sleeping boy. Hálith awoke with a start, for a moment not remembering where he was before his brain assured him he truly was awake and not in a dream. The morning light revealed a chamber much larger and grander than any in which he’d ever slept. It was, in fact, almost as large has half of the cottage in which he’d lived with his mother and father.

Whilst his mother was alive and working in the service of the king’s household, he’d spent many happy hours playing in the back halls of the Meduseld. After her death, when he was just nine winters, he had not come as often. His father, the doorward for the king, did not feel that he could fulfill his duties and properly supervise his son. Háma would have been ashamed had his son disturbed the king, so Hálith had found himself alone more and more often.

He snuggled back down under the covers, content to awaken slowly, enjoying the luxury of being able to awaken in a room of his own – especially this room - after spending the past few months in the barracks with the unmarried warriors. He could still barely believe that he was here in this place, at the behest of his king, the man he had idolized since he was just a boy.

He doubted that Éomer even remembered the incident, but it would never leave his memory. He had been only 4 or 5 winters old and playing in a hallway across the Meduseld from the buttery when two older boys had pushed him down and then called him names when he cried. Even at that tender age he had known it would be the worst thing he could do to run to either of his parents, but his skinned knee hurt and he wanted the boys to go away.

Suddenly the king’s nephew had been there. He stood quietly behind the boys long enough to hear their taunts and then had sprung into action, grabbing them both by the ears and positioning them against the wall. Kneeling down to pick up Hálith, he smiled at the tearful boy, standing him by his knee. Turning back to the older pair, Éomer had crossed his – to the young boys – massive arms across his chest and patiently explained that a true warrior would always protect the women folk, the weak, and the smaller ones among them, that it was dishonorable of them to have hurt a little one. Both of the older boys were swallowing hard and blinking back tears by the time the young Horse Lord finished speaking to them, and they immediately apologized to Hálith and promised Lord Éomer that they would not forget what he had told them. Éomer had then invited all three of them to the kitchen to eat some of Hildegard’s seed cake with him, and the boys had been fast friends ever since. At least, Hálith was saddened to remember, until both of his friends had died in the defense of Helm’s Deep.

Thinking of the seedcake elicited a growl from Hálith’s stomach bringing him back to the present, and the boy decided that he would make his way to the barracks to see if there might be some oat cakes left from the soldier’s morning repast. He was not completely sure what his position in the king’s service was to be, only that Gamling had told him to sleep in this chamber instead of the barracks until the king had decided his future.

The boy groaned as he crawled from the warm bed and the chilly morning air hit his bare flesh. At least there were warm pelts on the floor to protect his feet from the icy stone of the floor. He poured water from a pitcher on the wash stand and plunged in his hands, shivering when the cold water hit his face. That chore done, he hastened to dress before he became any colder.

The sound of children chattering in the hallway outside his door piqued Hálith’s curiosity and he cracked open the door to investigate. He saw one of the serving wenches – Berga, he remembered her name being – herding several small children down the hall. She spied the boy and motioned for him to join them.

“Come along, young master, you’ll be needing something to fill that stomach of yours, I’ll wager. We’ve enough porridge to feed an army, and if I’m not mistaken there’s fresh churned butter and honeycomb to go in it as well.”

Hálith’s eyes lit up at the prospect! Hot porridge with honeycomb and butter sounded much better than the oat cakes he was used to in the barracks. He bent down to pick up the smallest child, a little girl with blonde hair the color of corn silk, who was lagging behind, and fell into step with the others. “Hello, my little friend. What is your name?”

The moppet smiled brightly at Hálith. “My name is Thela. Am I really your friend? I saw the king! What’s your name? Are you a Horse Lord? My Da was a Horse Lord. He died fighting the bad ones. Did you fight the bad ones?”

“Whoa, slow down there, Thela,” laughed Hálith. “It’s much too early in the morning for talk of battles. You’ve fair got my head spinning with so many questions.”

“She’s a talker, that one,” chuckled Brega, as she led them all to the kitchens. The children were greeted by a flurry of activity as servants were busily lugging the larger pots of porridge to the wains that would carry them down to the people camped outside the walls.

O-o-O-o-O

Éowyn quietly rejoined Éomer and Faramir. She lightly rested her hand on Faramir’s shoulder and smiled down at her husband-to-be as he glanced up and graced her with a look of such love that it fairly stole her breath away.

“Éowyn,” he said softly, as the people continued swearing fealty to Éomer, “you come sit here for a while. I am in need of a walk before I become stiff from lack of movement.”

The Steward took Éowyn’s hand and kissed it lightly. Once his lady was seated, Faramir gave a bow to Éomer before leaving the Hall through the side doorway. He truly had no idea how much this simple act of respect for their king would win him the hearts of the people of Rohan. It was considered a great tribute that a Lord of Gondor would so honor their King.

The people were proud that their beautiful Éowyn had won the heart of the Steward of Gondor and pleased to see that he respected her people and the traditions of Rohan. What Faramir considered a simple act of courtesy for his brother-to-be would be held up and discussed about campfires throughout the countryside as proof that he was a worthy man and fit to marry their Shield Maiden. To have won the respect and affection of the people of Rohan was no small matter, for this people did not generally trust strangers.

Nomadic and pastoral by nature, the people of Rohan were generous and loving, but somewhat distrustful of new ways or people. Years of strife and war had made them somewhat insular, tending to trust only their own kind and fear the unknown. Those who had contact with Gondor, the warriors and traders who provided horses for goods, were often met with disdain and contempt by the more cosmopolitan of Gondor, especially those of Minis Tirith, a fact which did not fail to make its way back to the people of Rohan.

Faramir had made his way outside through the armory, when the clamor of activity coming from the kitchens drew his attention. He had to dodge two men emerging through the doorway with a tremendous smoking pot of porridge suspended from a pole carried across their shoulders. Peeking into the door from which they’d come he was delighted to see the children all sitting at one of the tables.

“Farmeer!” squealed Thela in delight when she spied the Steward. “Come see me.”

“Hello, Thela,” laughed Faramir. “Hello children,” he nodded to the rest. “What are you eating this fine morning?”

“We’re eating porridge with honey and butter,” announced Bergoff. At eight years old, he was the oldest of the children Éowyn had brought to the Meduseld and the natural leader of the small group.

“That sounds very good, Bergoff. I’m quite fond of honey myself.” Faramir moved around the table speaking to the children, enjoying the break from the formalities taking place in the great hall. “Hello, Hálith, isn’t it?” he asked, bowing slightly to the boy who had Thela sitting on his lap. “I am Faramir. I was on the journey from Gondor with you.”

Hálith quickly sat Thela down onto the bench beside him stood up and to give a proper bow to the Steward. “Yes, my lord. My name is Hálith.” The youngster was momentarily unsure of what to do. Meeting the Steward of Gondor was not something with which he was at ease.

“Please, Hálith, sit, finish your meal,” smiled Faramir. “I simply came in to say hello to the children. I hope that we will get to know each other better while I am here.”

“I should be honored, my lord,” answered Hálith, wide-eyed to actually be carrying on a conversation with so great a man

“Faramir, Faramir” called Márta and Meela, seven and eight year old sisters with ginger colored hair and bright green eyes. They were precious little girls whose mother had died in childbirth, never knowing that her husband had been killed on the same day in the Battle of Pelennor Fields. The infant son had died with his mother. Faramir’s heart had melted the moment he saw them.

Faramir walked around the table and knelt down between the pair, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. “And how are my darlings this morning?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

“Márta says the magic is gone,” pouted Meela, holding up her chin to point to where the yellow flower “magic” had been.

Faramir caressed her cheek and smiled his most winning smile at the little girl. “When you go outside today, look for one of the flowers and we shall check tonight to see if the magic has returned. Is that acceptable?”

“Oh yes,” breathed the excited child. “I shall find flowers for Márta and Thela too.”

“Faramir,” interrupted four year old Gandafin, “will you tell us another story tonight? Will you tell us about the Rangers of Ith, Ith, Ith…”

“Ithilien?” supplied the Steward.

“Yes, that’s it,” smiled the boy. “I want to be one of your Rangers when I grow up.”

“Then you had best eat all of that porridge, for you will need strong arms with which to pull your bow,” instructed Faramir, noticing that the too thin boy was not eating very much.

From across the kitchen Hildegard watched the Steward chatting and laughing with the children. Relaxed and completely at ease with the little ones, he seemed much too young and vulnerable to be in such a position of power. Yes, he would make her Éowyn a fine husband, and would be a good father, but he was a bit too thin himself. Picking up one of the wooden bowls, Hildegard filled it with some of the fresh porridge. She scooped on a generous amount of butter and honey before marching across the room to plop the bowl down in front of Faramir.

“You best sit and eat with them, my lord, or they’ll never get finished. Besides, you’re a mite on the thin side. You’ll be needing stamina to make babies with my Éowyn.”

Faramir’s eyes grew wide and he flushed scarlet, but Hildegard just chuckled and went back to her work smiling. Yes, he would do; he would do.

TBC

A/N: We’ll get back to Éomer in the next chapter!