Chapter 14 – Chosen

Belecthor rapped excitedly on Ceorl’s door, shifting his weight from foot to foot until the door opened. Pulling his friend eagerly outside, he shut the door quickly. "What has you so ebullient?" Ceorl asked curiously, searching his friend’s face with his eyes, a passive smile flickering in his eyes.

"Uncle Éomer wants to see you," Belecthor answered, his breath coming in gasps; he had run the entire way from the palace.

"Social or formal occasion?" Ceorl questioned calmly.

"Formal, but not too much so. I believe you are presentable the way you are. Come quickly."

Ceorl put a restraining hand on his friend’s arm and went back inside, shutting the door behind him. "I shall be at the palace, mother," he called, buckling on his sword before rejoining Belecthor outside, leaving Beleg in the kitchen. He found Belecthor impatiently tapping his foot, his arms crossed, his fingers drumming against his arm.

"Are you ready?" he demanded as soon as Ceorl stepped out the door. Ceorl nodded and they started out for Meduseld at a fast walk. Upon arrival, they were shown into the Golden Hall where sat Éomer King upon his throne. Ceorl bowed slightly before continuing up the isle at a beckon from the king. Belecthor followed close behind. When he reached the bottom of the dais, Ceorl halted.

"You wished to see me, my King?" he inquired respectfully.

"Yes, son of Aldor. First I wished to express my joy and the joy of my family at seeing you fully healed."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"I wish also to tell you that I watched you in battle, and was impressed with what I saw. You have courage, but what is more, you have skill and potential. You reminded me of your father in more ways than one."

"Thank you, my King," Ceorl said grimly, a shadow of sorrow lingering deep in his eyes, "there can be no greater complement."

"This brings me to the purpose of my calling you here today. We now have need for new captains, as many have fallen to the enemy. The Royal Court has chosen and appointed a great many already, soon after we returned, actually."

"I was aware of this, my Lord," Ceorl replied as if in defense, "and would have attended the ceremonies, but my kind mother would not allow me from the house."

"I understand," Éomer grinned, glancing sidelong at the women of his own family. "But," he continued, "we still have need of a captain to fill your father’s place. Several of my soldiers have been suggested and considered carefully. After much thought, we have chosen you." Speechless with surprise, Ceorl simply stared. "Do you object?" Éomer asked.

"No," Ceorl managed to say, "I have no objections. It is just such an unexpected event."

"No doubt," Éomer said cheerfully, "but I suspect you shall want to tell your mother straight away. Therefore, I shall keep you no longer. We will discuss the details later. Farewell, Ceorl."

"Farewell, my Lord," Ceorl answered, bowing slightly. Belecthor took his friend’s arm and led him down the hall. "Where are we going?" Ceorl asked curiously. "I thought I was to return home now."

"After we tell the family," Belecthor answered as they arrived at their destination. "I am sure they will all want to know."

"But the king told me to go home!"

"No he did not. He merely said that you would want to go home, and so he excused you. He never said you had to go straight home. Come, Hirilian would be upset if you do not tell her right away." Without another word, he opened the door and pulled Ceorl in.

"Good afternoon, my boy," Narion said standing with a welcoming smile.

"Ceorl!" Morwen exclaimed happily, rising from her place at the table. "How are you?"

"He is doing well," Belecthor answered for him. "He has something he wants to tell us."

"Really?" Hirilian said, squeezing her betrothed’s hand gently. "What would that be?"

"Go ahead, Ceorl," Belecthor prompted his friend who had still not fully gathered his wits. "Tell them."

"Um . . . Oh, yes, Éomer King has just informed me that I am to be promoted to captaincy in my father’s place."

"Congratulations!" Narion replied happily, smiling like a proud father. "Do you know when the ceremony is to be?"

"No, my Lord, Belecthor dragged me away too quickly."

Lady Annariel laughed. "Belecthor, what a nuisance you are! I am sorry, Ceorl, but he was rather spoiled by his father when he was our only child."

"No he was not," Narion exclaimed in his own defense. "There is nothing wrong with the boy, and I did not spoil him. If you remember, I was the one who was always taking him in hand."

Annariel simply smiled up at her husband in her womanly way. "If you insist," she replied patiently, as though dealing with a child.

"Here we are, keeping you with us," Hirilian said suddenly, "when you no doubt want to be with your mother. Do not let us hold you a moment longer, Ceorl. You should have gone to your mother first."

Ceorl threw Belecthor a smug, rather aggravated, grin before slipping through the door. "You see," he said pointedly as he closed the door behind him.

Belecthor scowled at the door as his friend left. "Women," he muttered under his breath, "so unpredictable."

~*~*~*~

Admittedly not my best chapter, but it was necessary to the story and I really don’t know what else to put in to make in better. So bear with me.

Also, Ceorl seemed rather deadpan to me, but maybe he’s tired. :)