Chapter 15 – Promotion

There was gathered a large crowd at the palace, for a new Captain was being appointed. The populace of Edoras took great interest in the forces of Rohan and any ceremony held outside Meduseld was sure to attract a crowd.

The éored posted near Eodras, of which Ceorl’s company was a part, sat now, abreast of one another, upon their horses, along the edges of the main streets of the city while their Captains stood, lining the ascent up to Meduseld, their swords held unsheathed before them, their blades glinting in the light of the early sun. At the top of the stairs stood Éomer King himself, surrounded by his family, the wind playing gently through their hair and clothing, awaiting the arrival of the new Captain.

Ceorl, son of Aldor, trotted his proud black steed up the rows of horsemen to the palace where he dismounted at the foot of the stairs. As he passed, each soldier in turn bowed his head slightly and backed his horse a step. Removing his helm, Ceorl slowly approached the palace, the swords of the Captains rising above his head as he passed. As he reached the top, Ceorl unsheathed his own blade and handed it haft first to his king. He then knelt upon the top stair, his head bowed, his hand over his heart.

Holding the falchion over the young man’s head, Éomer proclaimed in a loud voice, "People of Rohan, you have gathered here to witness the appointing of a new Captain of the Riddermark. He has proved his valor in battle and his selfless solicitude for his comrades in war, thus, your king deems him worthy of captaincy. If anyone here has any objections, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace."

As no objections were forthcoming, Éomer looked down upon the young man kneeling before him. The king placed his hand upon the bowed head, the sword still held high. "Ceorl, son of Aldor, you have been chosen to take your father’s place as a Captain of Rohan. Do you hereby accept this honor?"

"I do."

"Ceorl, son of Aldor, do you hereby swear to serve your Sovereign Lord, King of Rohan, through all the days of your life?"

"I do."

"Ceorl, son of Aldor, do you hereby swear to lead your men wisely in battle whenever the need befall you?"

"I do."

"Ceorl, son of Aldor, do you hereby swear to protect all members of the Royal Family of Rohan, sparing not even your own life in their defense, if the necessity should arise?"

"I do."

"Ceorl, son of Aldor, do you hereby swear to protect the people of Rohan with your life should the need present itself?"

"I do."

Éomer lowered the sword and handed it back to Ceorl who resheathed it respectfully. Ceorl then raised his old helm with both hands and, bowing his head, handed it solemnly to his Lord and King in a gesture of loyalty and fidelity. Éomer accepted it, placing it deferentially in his eldest grandson Eorl’s hands. He then turned to his son Elfwine who held a new helm. Taking the helmet from him, Éomer lifted it high so the crowds could see it and, raising his voice, he declared, "I hereby proclaim Ceorl, son of Aldor, a Captain of Rohan, who’s duty it will be to guard well the city of Edoras and the surrounding countryside." He then placed it gently on Ceorl’s head, sliding it into place as the crowd erupted in cheering.

"Lead your men well in battle, and may it never be said that Ceorl, Captain of the Riddermark, was a poor leader or a coward, afraid to fulfill his oaths."

Ceorl stood and Éomer placed his hand on the new captain’s shoulder. "Hold the memory of your father in your heart and treat your men with respect and honor as did Aldor, Captain of Rohan."

Ceorl bowed slightly in honor of his king, then faced the crowd as they cheered, the tail of his new helmet blowing gently in the wind. Looking down, he caught the eye of his betrothed and they exchanged quick smiles of love and happiness as Lord Narion of Ithilien emerged from the crowd, Ceorl’s mother Athelwyn on his arm. He led her slowly up the stairs to her awaiting son who proffered his own arm which she proudly accepted. Éomer, his queen on his arm, led the procession into Meduseld.

Many were invited to the great banquet held in the Golden Hall that night. By the end of the evening, Ceorl was more than ready for the day to end. He had been a captain for less than a day, but felt that, should the adulation continue, the job would wear him down in only a few weeks. He met more people than he could remember; was congratulated more times than he could count; and torn away from his family and friends more than he cared to think about.

During a lull in the festivities, he sat quietly in a corner with his mother, his arm around her shoulders. She smiled happily up at her son. "Ceorl," she said proudly, pushing a loose strand of hair back behind his ear, "I have never been more proud. Not since your father was made Captain. We had been married only two days before and I remember it very well; Éomer King lead the ceremony then too. No lord has done more for me than has Éomer King. He has honored my husband as well as my son."

He squeezed her shoulders gently, kissing her forehead with filial devotion. "No woman ever deserved it more, mother dearest," he whispered kindly into her ear.

Needless to say, Ceorl was relieved when the celebration was ended and he was able to sit in the cozy parlor he had come to love with only his closest friends. His mother was visiting with Lady Annariel in another room and Narion was discussing various things with Éomer leaving only the younger generation in the drawing room.

Hirilian and Ceorl sat together on the settee while Belecthor and Morwen claimed the armchairs on the other side of the room. Eorl, Elfwyn and their brothers Léod and Haleth sat comfortably on the couch.

They visited, not as Lords and Ladies, but as young people, informal and relaxed. Ceorl noted, as he had many times before, that he could not help but feel completely at his ease when among them. He looked his friends over carefully, noting their mannerisms and facial expressions as the conversation became heated. Drawing his attention back to what was being said, Ceorl found that the discussion concerned a recent fencing competition between Belecthor and Léod in which Léod won when Belecthor’s blade had snapped off.

". . . had your valet not weakened my blade!" Belecthor cried in friendly wrath.

"That, my friend," Léod countered amiably, "is a lie. You selected the blade yourself. I saw you inspect it carefully before choosing to use it. If your blade broke, it is your own stupid fault."

"I say," spoke up Haleth from his brother’s side, "the Men of Ithilien have neglected their skill with both blade and horse in the last years, becoming practically useless."

Belecthor sat up straighter in his chair, his bright eyes belying the grim set of his chin. "You say that, do you, Haleth Elfwineion? Well then, how do you explain the fact that you carelessly allowed your horse to wander overlong through the winter grazing, resulting in the great horse’s foundering?"

Affronted, Haleth rose quickly, his eyes shinning with laughter and mischief although his expression remained firm. "You, my friend, neglect to mention that the unfortunate incident took place when I was but a child with my first horse. And if my memory does not betray me, you yourself allowed your own horse to . . ."

"It would appear to me," Elfwyn interrupted her brother, placing her hand on his arm, "the men of both countries know how to do nothing more than argue for their recreation. Really, you three, have you not matured in the past twenty years?"

Thus chastised, Haleth resumed his place on the couch, Léod grinned and Belecthor slid back down in his chair. Hirilian lay her head on Ceorl’s shoulder and sighed contentedly as the conversation resumed on a lighter note.

The evening ended when Athelwyn entered the parlor, her cloak over her arm. "Ceorl, my son," she said as the men in the room rose quickly, "it is late and it is time we were getting back home. Who knows what Beleg has been up to in this time."

"Yes, mother," Ceorl said, helping her into her cloak. "Allow me to fetch Fréa and I shall meet you at the door."

"Look at the submissive Captain of Rohan!" Belecthor scoffed. "Taking orders from a woman! No offense intended, my Lady," he assured Athelwyn, bowing slightly in her direction.

"At least we of Rohan obey our mothers," Ceorl shot back as he left the room, closely followed by Hirilian.

They could here the laughter at Belecthor’s expense from inside as they stepped out into the chill night air. Ceorl wrapped his arm around his betrothed’s shoulder. "Are you warm enough, my love?" he asked, concerned.

"I am fine," she answered, looking up at the stars shining brightly overhead. "They always seem so close here in Rohan," she whispered as they walked.

Ceorl stopped and looked up. "Only when I am with you," he said adoringly.

She smiled shyly up at him. "Are you this romantic with every woman you know?" she teased.

"No, love, only you, for my love for thee alone loosens my tongue in thy praise."

She smiled as they continued on to the stables. Could anyone ask for a more loving husband? She hoped the day of their marriage would come speedily, for she was impatient already and she knew not how she would last an entire year without him near her.

Ceorl took down the bridle from where it hung on the wall and gripped the bit tightly in his hand to warm it before placing it in Fréa’s mouth. The well-trained horse took it without protest and Ceorl was able to slip the headstall over his horse’s ears with no trouble. The new captain tousled the black forelock, humming softly the while, as Fréa roughly rubbed his face against Ceorl’s chest in an attempt to rid himself of a pesky fly.

After leading Fréa from the stall, Ceorl placed the blanket and saddle on his steed’s back and cinched them in place. As he would not be mounted on the journey home, he did not fasten them as tightly as usual. Once he was finished, he turned to Hirilian. "This is about as alone as we shall be this evening," he said softly, praying the stable boys had already gone, "so we might as well say goodbye here."

She slid willingly into his embrace. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed his cheek. "Farewell, my Captain," she whispered. "Shall I see you on the morrow?"

"I certainly hope so," he said, gently kissing the top of her head.

"No," she pouted, suddenly remembering that her father had other plans for the next day. "We shall not see each other again for two days."

"Very well," he said releasing her and bowing slightly. "May I call for you on that blessed day?"

"Yes you may, young man," she said happily.

"Come," he said, taking her arm, "Mother will be waiting."

~*~*~*~

Now . . . I know nothing about Rohirric ceremonies, so this entire chapter was all right off the top of my head. Sorry if it contradicts anything canonical.

Thank you, Éomer for the info on éoreds and such. It was a big help. And your continued reviews are wonderful.

Grey Wonderer, I must also mention that your chapter-by-chapter reviewing is giving this story a wonderful boost. Thank you very much.