Chapter 13 – May the Powers Protect You

Ceorl, having readied himself as best he could, dismounted before the West Wing of Meduseld. His stomach fluttered nervously. He had never been so scared in his life.

He quickly looked himself over one last time. He had polished his armor and shined his boots, removing all the dust and slight rust buildup they had acquired in battle. He had washed himself thoroughly, having his mother braid his hair for him in order to get it perfectly straight. She had also, upon hearing of the occasion, insisted on caring for his helmet herself, just as she always had cared for her late husband’s. She had polished it until it shone and Ceorl could almost see his face shining in it.

He tucked his helm under his arm, took a deep breath and sallied forth. Hirilian had shown him the correct door the day before and he found it again with no difficulty. He rapped softly.

"Come in," came Narion’s call.

Taking one last deep breath, Ceorl entered; he was relieved to find they were alone in the room. Narion looked up from his paper work which was strewn all over the desk where he sat. "Oh, hello, Ceorl," he said, rising with a knowing smile. His leg had only just healed, but he was able to walk without assistance now.

Ceorl stopped at a respectful distance and bowed slightly, his hand over his heart. "At ease," Narion ordered. Rising to the occasion, he assumed the stance of a commanding Gondorian Lord, his hands held behind his back, his legs slightly spread apart.

"My Lord," Ceorl began in a clear voice, "I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage."

"Have you asked her?" Narion questioned amiably.

"Not officially, my Lord."

"Which is to say, she asked you, correct?" Narion inquired with a smile.

Ceorl grinned sheepishly. "Nay, my Lord, she told me."

Narion laughed aloud. "Ah, Ceorl, there is none to whom I could give her with more happiness, but I deem her too young just yet. As soon as her mother and I see her as fit for marriage, then she shall be yours. But you might also have need of convincing her brother of your worthiness. Belecthor, the dear boy, loves his sisters every bit as fiercely as my mother was loved and guarded by her brother, Éomer King." He crossed the room and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. "Do not worry, Ceorl, if your love was meant to be, then she shall wait for you. Her mother may object at first to her marrying into the lower class, please pardon the expression, but I know she loves you as a son already for what you did for Belecthor, and she shall soon give Hirilian to you with no objection.

"You realize," the Lord continued, "that in Gondor it is the custom to give your betrothed a ring, do you not? Have you the means to purchase one?"

Silently Ceorl reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled forth a small wooden box, delicately adorned with gold tracings. "Do you esteem it worthy, my Lord?" he asked nervously, handing Narion the tiny chest.

Narion slowly unclasped the lid and lifted it. Sitting inside amid soft, green velvet was a beautiful diamond ring. Even Narion, who knew almost absolutely nothing about gems, was amazed. "My dear Ceorl! Where in Middle-earth did you find such a thing? Surely not in Rohan."

"I had Prince Legolas send it," he answered rather proudly. He could only hope that Hirilian was as pleased with it.

"Legolas? How did he become involved in this?"

"It is a long tale, my Lord."

"Very well then, Ceorl, it can wait for a later date as I can see you are anxious to present the ring to the intended recipient. You have my leave. You will find her in the . . ." he thought for a moment, "in the parlor I believe," he finally said.

"Thank you, my Lord," Ceorl replied, tucking the valuable package again into its designated pouch and bowing slightly. "Farewell."

"Farewell, Ceorl, and may the Powers protect you!" Narion called after him as the youth hurriedly departed.

~*~*~*~

Hirilian sat in her favorite chair, a book open in her hand, but she was not even looking at the words before her. Her mind was more pleasantly occupied. Since her private talk with Ceorl two days before she had been able to think of nothing else. His face had haunted her dreams at night and she could almost feel his arms around her as she sat now, remembering every small detail of his face when he smiled at her.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the parlor door opening. She looked up and her heart leapt as her very thoughts came alive and crossed the room toward her. She set her book down on the table beside her and held out her hand to him.

Almost nervously, it seemed to her, he took her hand in his own and descended slowly to one knee on the floor. "Why, Ceorl," she whispered in amazement, sitting up a little straighter "what is the meaning of this?"

He held her hand tightly in both of his own and looked beseechingly up at her. "My Lady," he began softly, imploringly, "wilt thou do me the honor of accepting a token of my love?"

"I would be more than happy to, dearest, but why the ceremony?"

He reached slowly down and pulled out the delicate chest. Silently he opened it, pulled out the ring and slipped it onto her finger. She gasped, watching fascinated as it glimmered in the sunlight streaming through the window behind her. "Ceorl!" she whispered breathlessly. She tore her gaze from her finger and looked wonderingly into his eyes. "Is this . . .? Is it . . .?"

"Yes, my love," Ceorl smiled up at her. "Will you marry me?"

Her eyes brightened, her smile widened and she threw herself into his arms, clutching his neck tightly, her joyful tears falling into his hair. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Oh, Ceorl, yes!"

Ceorl, still kneeling on the floor, laughed in relief. Wrapping his arms around her and holding her close he rocked back on his heels. "Hirilian, dearest" he said lovingly into her hair, dropping his customary ‘my Lady’ in the intimacy of the moment, "you bring such joy into my life as I have never known in days gone by. Your acceptance lightens my heart as nothing ever has before. What would I do without you, my love?"

She pulled back gently so as to look him adoringly in the eye. "You would, no doubt, live as dull a life as I would without you, dearest boy," she chided, kissing him lightly.

"I hate to dim the happiness of this moment with unwelcome news," Ceorl said regretfully as she pressed her cheek tenderly against his.

"Then do not," she whispered happily into his ear.

"But I must," he said, slowly rising and pulling her up with him. Together, Hirilian still clinging tightly to his arm, they crossed to the couch where Ceorl pulled her to his side, his arm around her waist as she lay her head on his broad shoulder.

"What is this unhappy news you insist upon imparting?" she asked quietly.

"It has no immediate concerns, but your father says we shall have to wait for a time before we marry."

"How long?" she asked softly.

"I do not know, my love, perhaps a year or more."

She sat up suddenly. "A year or more!" she wailed. "Why?"

"He does not believe you to be old enough quite yet."

She leaned back on his shoulder. "I understand. My father worries for me, I know. He may believe I am too young, but more likely he wishes only to be sure our love is true. I do not blame him. Indeed, I love him all the more for it; for what kind of father would willingly throw his daughter to the first man who came asking?"

Ceorl kissed the top of her head. "An uncaring one, dearest love, an uncaring one. I understand him better now. But come," he said standing, "you will want to confide the good news to your family and I wish to do the same for my mother. The poor dear has no doubt been worrying the entire time." He kissed her gently and, taking her hand, led her from the room.

~*~*~*~

Again, thank you Éomer for your reviews. I hope Ceorl meets your expectations and approval in this chapter, too.