To The King

Chapter Ten

The Needs of the Many

“t is not enough to be good. You must be good for something. You must contribute good to the world. The world must be a better place for your presence. And the good that is in you must be spread to others. In this world so filled with problems, so constantly threatened by dark and evil challenges, you can and must rise above mediocrity, above indifference. You can become involved and speak with a strong voice for that which is right.” Gordon B. Hinckley

“Farmeer?” asked Thela, looking adoringly at the fair haired man sitting beside her. “Why is your face red?”

Faramir started and looked down at the little girl, flustered and still embarrassed by Hildegard’s comment. Clearly the plain spoken and earthy humor of his intended’s people was something to which the genteel Gondorian would need to become accustomed. “Am I?” he finally managed to stammer, somewhat chagrined to be stuttering like a schoolboy caught out of turn. He hoped the clattering of pans and the chatter of the ladies would cover the conversation.

“Um humm,” nodded the girl, her blonde curls bobbing up and down with the enthusiasm of her reply. “Are you going to make a baby with Éowyn?”

Faramir actually choked on the mouthful of porridge he had just taken. Oh, and it was so good with the melting butter and sweet, rich honey!

“Thela!” chastised Hálith gently, as he pounded the Steward of Gondor on the back, “you must not ask that question of Lord Faramir.” ‘Could this day get any more unbelievable?’ wondered the boy. ‘First he was sleeping in the king’s old room and now he was eating break of fast with the Steward of Gondor!’

“Why not?” demanded the three year old, frowning back and forth between Hálith and her Farmeer, her gaze finally settling on the latter. “Don’t you want one?”

“Well yes,” stammered Faramir, clearing his throat of the last vestiges of the choked upon porridge and wiping the tears from his eyes, “of course I do.” ‘Yes,’ he noticed, ‘there was a definite drop in the level of noise coming from the kitchen behind him.’

“Then you are going to make a baby with Éowyn!” cheered the exited little girl. “Can I watch?”

Feminine giggles from the kitchen staff thankfully covered the strangled gasp from Faramir. ‘Oh, but they were enjoying this too much,’ he realized. He would have to find a way to turn the tables on this lot, he decided, thankful, at least to have provided a bit of levity to their long day. Faramir knew these faithful women had been working in the kitchens since many hours before dawn and if he could help to lighten their load, then he was gratified his embarrassment could have some positive result.

“Farmeer,” insisted the undistracted child, “you didn’t answer my question.”

“Which question was that, Thela,” answered the Steward smoothly, as he wiped his mouth with a soft cloth provided for that purpose. Truthfully, he was still attempting to regain his breath after nearly choking to death on this delicious porridge.

“Why-is-your-face-red?” responded Thela very slowly, as though he was having trouble understanding her language.

“Oh, that question,” answered Faramir with a twinkle in his eye. “My face is red because of this bowl of porridge that was placed in front of me. I don’t believe I’ve ever had anything quite like it.” Faramir winked at Hálith as all sound ceased behind him and he knew he had the complete attention of the ladies of the kitchen.

“Don’t they have porridge in Gondor?” asked Thela.

Even the children at the table had stopped eating and were staring at him. Aware of the sudden tension in the room, Márta and Meela looked close to tears, Thela was confused, and the boys were just wide eyed, especially since they could see Hildegard and other women ladies frowning at Faramir’s back.

“Why yes, Thela, we do,” replied the Steward smoothly. “It’s just not, not…”

“Not what?” demanded Hildegard.

Faramir spun around on the bench to face the wrathful Hildegard and antagonized women, anxious to savor the moment completely. “Why, it’s not nearly as delicious as this!” smiled the Steward as he watched Hildegard’s wrath deflate like one of Gandalf’s malfunctioning fire works.

At his wide-eyed, innocent look the fiery cook shook her wooden spoon at him sending bits of porridge flying in every direction, and finally burst into loud guffaws. “That was good, you rascal, that was good.”

The nervous tension in the room evaporated as the group joined the laughter. Thela beamed, sure that her question had caused everyone to be so happy.

“What is this?’ ask Éowyn entering the room to see everyone laughing happily.

“Éowyn!” exclaimed Thela, “Faramir is going to make..umph..” Thankfully Hálith clapped his hand over her mouth before she could complete the sentence, setting off another round of hilarity in the room.

“Come, love,” Faramir exclaimed as he slid smoothly to his feet and took her elbow. “Goodbye children,” the Steward nodded to the little ones at the table. “Ladies, Hildegard,” he bowed to the women, setting off a round of soft sighs and thudding hearts.

“What was that all about?” laughed Éowyn as he escorted her down the hallway.

“Oh, just my attempt to lighten their hearts,” quipped Faramir. He sobered and stopped Éowyn, looking into her tired eyes. “How fare you?”

Éowyn smiled at his concern. “I am well, Faramir. I knew this day would be difficult, but with you and Éomer at my side, it is bearable. I was concerned when you were gone for so long.”

Faramir kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry, Éowyn; I did not mean to stay away. I saw the children and went in to say hello to them, and Hildegard gave me porridge with butter and honey. I did not realize how hungry I was until I smelled it.”

Éowyn laughed, “I should have warned you that no one goes into Hildegard’s kitchen without being fed.”

Faramir glanced quickly in both directions to assure their privacy and took Éowyn’s face in his hands, kissing her tempting lips. “Hildegard was right, you know. We’re going to make lots of babies.”

It was Éowyn’s turn to blush.

O-o-O-o-O

Éomer had been receiving the vows of fealty from his people for hours and finally the lines were beginning to thin as dusk added a gathering gloom to the vaulted room. A fire had been lit in the fire pit sending shadows dancing across the ornately patterned floor. The king nodded as Gamling stepped up to announce that Erkenbrand and Ceorl were awaiting his pleasure in the ante room off the King’s apartment. “Thank you, Gamling; I will attend them as soon as I have received the last of the people here. Please see that they are made comfortable.”

“Yes, sire”

As Gamling walked away, a commotion beside the bier caught Éomer’s attention. An ancient woman, dressed all in black, had fallen to her knees and was rocking back and forth, keening loudly. Concerned, Éomer went to the woman’s side and dropped to a knee. “Come, Mother, let me help you,” he offered kindly, taking her hand and slipping his arm around her for support.

The old woman turned watery eyes to the king and place her weathered palm against his cheek. “He was a good king, and a good friend to my husband and me. It near broke his heart when he realized what he’d done to you, Éomer.”

The pieces fell into place for Éomer and he recognized the woman he’d known most of his life. He was staggered at the changes that had taken place in the woman in the months since he’d last seen her. She was unkempt and shockingly thin with almost translucent skin. The veins of the hand he held were clearly outlined underneath papery skin. “Come, Elena, let me help you to sit down and rest. You need eat something and recover your strength.”

The woman attempted to rise, but even with Éomer supporting her, she collapsed. One of the guards stepped forward to assist the king, but Éomer waved him off, preferring to carry her himself. He swept the fragile woman into his arms and started towards the guest rooms.

Gamling, who had heard the disturbance and started back towards Éomer, met him half way to the side entrance. “My lord, is she ill?”

“I fear so, Gamling. Is your wife in the Meduseld today?”

“Yes, sire, Berga is helping Hildegard in the kitchens.”

“Please ask her to come to the guest room nearest my apartment and to bring some tea or broth. Also, send someone for her husband.”

“Sire, he was killed at Helm’s Deep.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” Éomer looked down at the stricken woman, remembering that she was childless and therefore now alone in the world. “Thank you Gamling.” Éomer hurried to the guest room and was met in the hallway by Faramir and Éowyn.

“Elena!” exclaimed Éowyn. “Éomer, what happened?”

“I thought at first she was just overcome by grief, but I fear she may be ill.”

Éowyn hurried ahead of Éomer to open the door of the darkened room. The walls were bare stone, but warm fur pelts covered the window and the floor near to the large bed. A wooden table stood at bedside, and there were pegs on the wall to hold cloaks or clothing. Two chairs sat against the wall near the foot of the bed. Éowyn turned down the bed covers so that he could lay the woman down. She pulled off Elena’s slippers and tucked the soft blankets up to her chin, for the woman had begun to shiver. “Oh, you sweet thing,” Éowyn crooned as she sat on the bed holding Elena’s hand and patting it.

Éomer used the tinder box to light the oil lamp and on the table and the soft glow chased the shadows to the corners of the room. He leaned over the stricken woman to smooth back the hair from her forehead letting his hand pause to caress her feverish skin.

“She looks like she’s starving,” observed the ever analytical Faramir.

Éomer jerked up as though he’d been struck and turned stricken eyes to the Steward, shaking his head sadly. “Old people, orphans, babies…how do I feed my people this winter?”

Faramir had not really even meant to speak the words aloud and was now grieved to see that he had so upset the king. He had truly not meant the observation as an indictment. He reached out to grasp the man’s shoulder. “Éomer, Rohan mustered to Gondor’s aid, and as Steward I swear to you that Gondor will not turn from you in your hour of need.”

“Faramir,” sighed the king tiredly, “Rohan does not beg. With the devastation of the war, I know that Gondor’s food coffers will be spare this winter as well.”

“Be that as it may,” Faramir insisted. “What we have to offer, we will offer. None shall starve. And I will hear no more of begging. The hand of a friend holds no shame.”

Berga bustled into the room followed closely by a concerned Gamling. “Here we go, my lord, some fresh broth and tea for the Mother.” The kindly and efficient Berga set the tray down onto the table beside the bed and quickly assessed the situation. “Out with you men, now, Éowyn and I will see to her.”

The men began to back reluctantly towards the door. “Gamling,” Berga, called. “Ask one of the caretakers to fetch some hot water for us. The poor dear is needing a bath and something fresh to wear for sleep.”

“I’ll bring her one of my sleeping gowns,” offered Éowyn, rising to follow the retreating men out the door. “It’s all right now; leave things to those of us who are accustomed to nursing. She will be well.”

When the three still stood there looking somewhat uncomfortable, Éowyn shooed them off with little motions of her hands. “It’s all right; I promise you. Berga and I will take care of her.”

Faramir smiled at the take charge spirit of Éowyn. Gamling would do anything for the Shield Maiden of Rohan, and Éomer stared deep into her eyes before giving a single nod of his head. “Let me know if you need anything, Éowyn. Anything,” he stressed.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she agreed. “Now off with you and let me get the sleep gown.”

“Sire, the Marshals await you,” reminded Gamling.

Faramir tactfully excused himself to go check on the children, allowing Éomer to attend the meeting without seeming to neglect his guest.

“All right,” sighed Éomer, “let’s get this over with.”

As Éomer entered the room the Marshals came to their feet and bowed. Both were curious as to why Éomer had requested this meeting now rather than after the formalities of the funeral when all the Marshals would be gathering to deliver their reports on the state of the Mark.

Éomer started without preamble. “I will come straight to the point. Marshal Erkenbrand, immediately following the king’s funeral, I want you, accompanied by Gamling, to ride to Snowbourne to accompany Garoth back here. Take a number of your éored with you, but leave enough so that the Westfold will be protected. Marshal Ceorl, you will need to oversee both the Westfold and the Eastemnet while Marshal Erkenbrand is away.”

Both Marshals were momentarily dumbfounded. Gamling had heard the king’s feelings regarding the situation on the journey back from Gondor, so he was not surprised. He had thought at the time that the flames of Éomer’s ire might be banked by the time they reached Edoras, but that was obviously not the case.

“My lord,” began Erkenbrand cautiously, “what reason should we give Garoth for this, er, request?”

If anything Éomer’s frown grew fiercer. “Reason? He is coming here to give me a reason why the riders of Snowbourne forsook their king at Dunharrow. I will know why he refused his king’s call and withheld his éored.”

“May I ask, sire,” questioned Ceorl, “what your intentions are towards Garoth?”

Éomer spun to look at the Marshal and fixed him with a glare that caused the man to flinch. “My intentions, Marshal, should I not like his answer, are to sever his head myself. Hear me and hear me well. I will not abide disobedience from the éoreds. We are facing the threat of starvation, the Dunlendings are still on our borders, and the men of the south still exist. Additionally there were hundreds of orcs that escaped the destruction of Mordor and may yet threaten our people or our herds. I cannot, and I will not tolerate a Marshal of the Mark withholding he éored when the call goes forth.”

Marshal Erkenbrand cleared this throat. “Well, that certainly explains our mission. It will be as you say, my Lord.” He dipped his head in salute. “We will leave immediately following King Théoden’s funeral tomorrow.”

Ceorl followed suit. “My Lord, I will distribute the éoreds so that both the Eastemnet and the Westfold are protected. No harm will come to our people while I draw breath.”

Éomer grasped his arm in the warrior’s salute. “Thank you, my friend. I am counting on you for the welfare of the Mark. There are still dark days ahead that may call for harsh measures.”

“You have our complete confidence, my King,” vowed the Marshal. “Forgive me for questioning you earlier.”

“No, Marshal, do not apologize. I need to hear your questions and your doubts. I trust you to give me your thoughts and your suggestions. The more facts that I have the better my decisions can be.”

Ceorl bowed, “Sire, I take my leave now to begin preparations.”

As the Marshals left the room Éomer turned to Gamling. “You think me too harsh?”

TBC

A/N: Éomer addressed Elena as “Mother” as a term of respect for the elderly woman.

In most cases, a healer would only be summoned for injuries or severe illness. All other care giving and nursing was done by the women.