Rider of the Mark 22

My Power, My Pleasure, My... Pain in the ARSE!

***
"Ho, Gamling!" …omer strode into the stables, saluting, acknowledging the Rohirrim as he passed. He scratched Firefoot on the nose before pulling a small handful of alfalfa from his pouch. "Gamling!" Are you in here?"

"In the back." Gamling's voice was muffled, coming from the furthest stall. Saddlebags were placed neatly outside the stall, and …omer looked in to see the Horse Lord bent over, picking out shavings and dung from Dréogan's hoof.

"What can I do for you, sire?"

…omer bristled before relaxing, still unused to and not liking the sudden use of honorifics from men he had drunk and wenched with.
Especially from this one.

He started to open his mouth, to admonish the older Rider, but he snapped it shut quickly; it was an argument he and Gamling had had several times since Pelennor Fields.

Even more so, since Slag-hills. It was an argument he had lost every time.

@@@@@@@@@

"Must you address me like that in public? You are my friend-"

"You are our king... MY king... sire." Gamling had replied stiffly.

"Aren't kings allowed to have friends, old man?"

This had brought Gamling up short when …omer had asked that question of him. "In private, sire. In public, they have advisors."

@@@@@@@@@



And so this barn was very public. Still, it was irritating.

"I wish you would reconsider."

Gamling never looked up; simply dropped the hoof he had cleaned and took one step, touching Dréogan on the flank. The warhorse obediently lifted his foreleg, easing the hoof into the Rider's waiting hand, "Rohan has been too long without Riders. I suspect more Orcs and damned creatures escaped north."

Finally he lifted his eyes to the young King. "I would not leave our women and children open and unprotected longer. Surely, you understand that!"

…omer smirked and leaned against the stall door, arms crossed over his chest. "I know!" He leaned forward slightly. "I understand. I agree. Let Elfhelm go first and come to Rivendell with me. Just think, Gamling! Rivendell! Elves! Beautiful Elleths!"

Gamling scowled and focused on the hoof in his hand. "Not interested."

"Ah." …omer grinned knowingly. "Aefre. Very well. Bring her with you! She needs a change of scenery!"

Gamling dropped the hoof and stood nose to nose with his liege. "Sire," he enunciated, "There are widows and orphans in your kingdom. There are fields and crops that should have been planted. Orcs and Wild Men are running, possibly roaming our lands unchecked. I understand the diplomatic need for you to travel with Elrond's sons to retrieve their sister, but surely-"

"Gamling!" …omer hissed, desperate not to be overheard. "I will be stuck with …owyn and her friend, Ffffffffffffarrrrrrrrrrramir!"

***oooooohlovebirdssodisgustingyou'renextnextnext***

"The Steward?" Gamling blinked, feigned confusion. "We didn't scare him enough?"

"NO!"

"Hmmm. Fine fellow." Gamling pointed to his saddle. "Hand me that, would you?"

…omer leaned over and picked up the heavy, ornate saddle and brought it over. He was completely unaware that the noise and talking among the Rohirrim had come to a halt; every ear listening. "You wouldn't say such if it were your sister!"

"Sire," Gamling took the saddle from him and slung it over Dréogan's back. "It is apparent that your sister is interested in the Steward of Gondor. And he likes her as well. Surely, you can see the political significance of such an alliance." He elbowed the king good-naturedly. "They 'like' each other. 'Tis a good thing!" He began to tighten the girths around Dréogan's stomach. "I hear the Prince of Dol Amroth is going to Rivendell as well. What's his name again?"

"Imrahil." It was sullen.

"Good. If …owyn and Faramir get too friendly, go and talk to him. I'm sure he will be glad to impart any advice concerning running a country."

…omer was muttering, glowering under his breath.

"What did you say, sire?"

"I SAID he is bringing his daughter, Lothiriel."

***ooooooh DAUGHTER... Princess! Mwuhahahahah!***

"Oh? Marriagable? Pretty? Old enough?"

"I don't know! I don't care!" …omer kicked at the sawdust. "Probably pampered, over-indulged, probably full of herself, you know how those coastal people are!" He continued to dig with the toe of his boot. "Probably spoiled."

"Speaking of daughters," Gamling nodded to the stall across from him. Cynn's daughter was saddling up, tired, moving slowly. "I need to see her home."

"Is she able? Ready?"

"No, but tell her that."

…omer sighed heavily. "I just don't want to take this trip alone." He narrowed his eyes evilly. "I could order you-"

"Don't!" Gamling nodded to his saddlebags and gear and …omer reluctantly handed them to him. "I'll be poor company."

…omer crossed his arms sullenly and stepped back. "Poor Aefre. I don't know what she sees in you."

***I don't either***

There was a pained silence as Gamling completed his saddling, making sure his bags, saddle and weapons were secure. "When do we bring Théoden home?"

…omer took Dréogan by the bridle, giving the stallion a farewell apple and pat. "After the royal wedding. The plan is for us to escort the bridal party to Gondor. After the celebration, we will bring Théoden home. You-" he shoved a finger at the Rider, "will be coming. You can show Aefre the hanging gardens. I know you wanted to. Maybe you two lovebirds can-"

"Send your Riders home, sire," Gamling whispered. "Do it loudly." The Horse Lord pulled up on an eager Dréogan - eager to ride, eager to go home. Gamling mounted up. One last time he checked his cloak, to make sure it was anchored securely and squeezed his hand, feeling the ribband still wrapped around it.

…omer turned the horse loose and threw the stall door wide, striding through the corridor. "ROHIRRIM! To home! To home! To land and hearth-"

"And real ale and real WOMEN!" someone called back.

"HERE! AYE!"

…omer threw the stable door open, the courtyard now full of mounted Riders.

"Make way! Make way! Rohirrim!"

Gamling followed the others out, saluting …omer, before passing the others and moving to the head of the line.

Slowly they made their way through the stable yard, into the streets; making their way to the city gates. Many grateful citizens came to cheer them, throw flowers. Gamling himself, as all of the Riders, had tokens, bouquets pressed into his hands...

*Thank you, Eru bless you, thank you...*

...to the point he couldn't wait to clear the city, the walls, to pass beyond them, planning to lay them on the mounds of ashes of Rohirrim dead. Cynn's daughter had her helmet off, a proud Shield Maiden, long, golden hair flowing down her stiff, straight back.

***please take me home, Gamling. I want to go home and never never leave...***

Home.

The clopping of Dréogan's hooves created a rhythmic beat, reiterating the thought in Gamling's head.

***Home home take me home...***

He knew one thing-

Home was where Aefre was and he had no intention of leaving again.

***

The first hamlet they came to was half devastated- the earth in the square, scorched. The villagers - depressingly old or disgustingly young, were working in the fields. Heads of decapitated Orcs rotted on pikes away from the farmland.


Each man, woman, and child rushed to greet the incoming Riders. News of victory had reached them as had the news of Théoden's death.

"What news of the Riddermark?" Gamling's gaze scoured the burnt ruins of homes and property with a soldier's eye. He looked down at the young boy clinging to his stirruped boot.

"Orcs! Orcs, my lord, a gang of them. Come running at mid-day! My granny corked one with her skillet and I gutted him!" the boy crowed proudly.

"Did you now?"

"Aye, I did! Killed 'em all, we did, the dirty bast-" the child stopped himself at Gamling's raised eyebrow - and his grandmother's cuff of his ear. "OW!"

"Y'had help!" The old woman admonished him sternly. "Don't speak so to a Rider or else you'll never become one!"

"Did any escape?" Gamling asked.

The old woman squinted in thought. "Not of these rabble, but we've heard rumors of others. Other villages. Other farms."
***wonderful. Just lovely. I knew it! We lingered too long in Gondor...***

Gamling turned in his saddle to face the accompanying Riders. "It's as I feared. Renegade Orcs have sought sanctuary in Rohan."

"There is no room for them here!"

Gamling nodded to the outspoken Rider. "I am glad we are in agreement." He took in Cynn's daughter's slumped and dejected shoulders.

***You wanted to go to war, little one...***

***Home, Gamling. Take me home...***

"We are on our way home, sir," she interrupted, her voice brittle. She adjusted her helmet and checked her sword. "I don't want those things here in the Riddermark any more than I wanted them in Gondor!" Both of her hands gripped her reins tightly. "Let's finish this once and for all!"

For several days, they searched the southern part of the Riddermark, finding other villages in similar states, cold campfires of raiders. They routed several remaining bands, leaving no survivors, no lingering life.

As they pushed northward, the Riders separated, moving towards their own lands, staying in groups, continuing to scour the Mark of unwelcome guests. There were fewer and fewer traces of marauders and even Gamling's own guard was lowered when they crossed into home territory not quite before dusk.

He could see the glow of far-off bonfires.

Cynn's daughter was bouncing.

"LOOK! Look, sir! They light the way!"

Just as he breathed a sigh of relief, thinking of...

***nakednakednakedinmy bed***

...the party of Riders was attacked.

***
Refugees were trickling into Edoras; a few here, a few there. Most were from the southern portion of the Riddermark, small bands of Orcs and strange men were attacking small villages and remote farms. For the most part, the invaders were being repelled.

Aefre had heard a rumor of a large battle troll invading, wreaking havoc on an entire village before being brought down. An old woman today told her of Riders - victorious Riders - coming home, being way-laid to rout trespassers, cleansing the Eastfold.

Aefre had searched, asked, attempting to discern if Gamling was part of the troop.

No one could give her the answers she sought.

For two days, she worried, yearned. She threw the windows of his chamber open...

***fresh linens the beds and furniture dusted, clothes laundered, fresh pillow casings and furs and bedding beaten and aired. Tunics I've slept in...Well, not this one, it's old and I'll just keep it... folded away in the wardrobe, that wall hanging is slightly crooked, dust and dust and dust some more, fresh herbs strewn around the room...oh, this will not do at all...***

The man had been to war. He had witnessed more carnage and caused quite a bit, if truth be told. More than likely, he would have demons dogging his very heels. Aefre decided Gamling had seen enough war and death and blood. Knowing him, he would have prepared Théoden's body. No one had mentioned a funeral procession, and she hoped and prayed the Gondorians had not cremated the Rohirrim king, but after reading the Marks of those not returning, she did not hold out much hope. She could wash the walls and scrub the floors all she desired, it would not prevent the nightmares that were sure to follow. The moon was waning, a sliver of a crescent, best for the banishing of fell creatures and spirits. Aefre was determined nothing of the dark would find toehold within this sanctuary. As before, she went to the kitchens, carrying a laden basket; a bowl and pitcher of water, a bag of salt, a bundle of dried herbs, two candles and a small, brass bell.

She stood still, breathing deeply, and released all thoughts from her mind. Then, she lit the bundle of herbs with a twig from the hearth. She blew out the flame until there was just a smoking ember. With the herb bundle held straight out in front of her, Aefre paced counter-clockwise, to her left, in a circle around the room.

***... to do a Banishing, cast the circle widdershins...***

She returned to the table, extinguishing the burning herbs into a bowl of sand, and sprinkled the salt into the bowl of water. She lit first the white candle, then the black. She took the bowl in her hand and paced around her circle, first facing North and sprinkling drops of water in front of her. "Guardian of the North, defend this space from any ill of the Earth!" She then faced West, and again sprinkled salted water. "Guardian of the West, defend this space from any ill of the Water!" She repeated the ritual; South, to defend the space from ill of the Fire, and finally, East, to defend the space from any ill of the Air. She stood in the center of the room, and sprinkled water all around herself, saying, "Spirits of Evil, unfriendly Beings, unwanted Guests, begone! Leave this space that the Gods may enter!" She sprinkled more water, "Go, or be cast into the outer darkness! Go, or be drowned in the watery abyss! Go, or be burned in the fire! Go, or be torn by the whirlwind! By the powers of life and death, I banish you! I banish you! I banish you! Begone!"

She spat three times into the few drops of salted water remaining in the bowl, held it over the flame of the black candle until it boiled away. Then, she set down the bowl, took the small brass bell in her hand, and paced once more around the circle, ringing the bell, chanting, "Begone! Begone! Begone!"

She turned to each of the four directions, clockwise this time, and thanked the Guardians of Air, Fire, Water and Earth for their protection.

"There," she dusted her hands off, "that's done!" She looked the room over, a practiced, critical eye taking note of everything, "Now to put fresh linens on this bed, hang curtains. Should I put flowers in a bowl? Or... Béma! That banner just refuses to hang right!"

***

Spring planting had begun. The fields were sown, readied, rained on, prayed for. There were small green shoots coming up from the soil. There were piglets suckling the old sow that had not given birth in years - 'a good sign, lady Aefre, is it not?' Calves, chicks, goslings, lambs and goats... while the rest of the world had prepared and gone to war, the barnyard had continued on with life as usual.

There was news of the occasional Orc raid, people of the Mark quick to defend, quick to lash out, quick to stop the rampage.

The bonfires had been renewed with fresh wood, anything that would burn, to be piled on and lit at night.

Late on the third afternoon, Aefre went to the barn, carrots in hand for Adenydd.

"Come on, girl, time to go back to your stall. *He* will be home at any time and we don't know if he'll mind you in his stall or not." Adenydd followed obediently, munching on the offered carrots as she returned to her own stall. Tying up her skirts, Aefre grabbed a pick, sifting through the sawdust and bits of straw and laying fresh bedding on the stall floor. Although it didn't take long, Aefre realized she was exhausted and winded at the end of the chore. As the bell sounded for dinner, the thought occurred to her that while she hadn't eaten all day, she was not hungry.

In fact, the mere thought of food nauseated her.

***Ah, it's probably just the excitement of his return...***

The thought also occurred to her that perhaps Gamling would be upset that she had lived in his chambers during the weeks he had been gone. Perhaps he didn't care... perhaps it had been the heat of the upcoming battle, just simple need. When called for a skirmish, Lufien had been insatiable, desperate for her touch before and after. Perhaps there was nothing...

***I expect you know where I wish to find you upon my return...***

Her hand clutched the parchment, folded neatly in her pocket. No. He had made it a point twice to remind her of stud fees and had brazenly reminded her in a written missive that he fully expected to find her naked in his bed. Those were not the words of a Rider who would want little or nothing to do with her upon his return.

Stall cleaned, fresh bedding put down, feed and water readied for his return...chambers cleaned, freshly swept, freshly aired, fresh linens, everything neat, finally that banner hangs like it should, I call the Guardians of the East, I banish the Ghosts that would follow, I call to the Guardians of the North, black souls are not welcome here...

"The bonfires are lit, my lady... there is movement to the south..."

Riders.

Riders on the horizon...

***

Aefre was in the kitchens when the clanging bell sounded. The sun had just completed its descent and the young ones were beginning to return from lighting the outer fires. She heard the calling, the squeals of delight from the surrounding women as each and every one - including the irascible cook - dropped what they were doing and ran to the outer yard.

Aefre caught herself turning towards Gamling's chambers, hands racing to untie her apron.

***Bema! He might not even be with this group!***

She spun on her heel; hands clenched in fists, as she hurried back to the kitchens and grabbed an apple - just in case. She left through the side doors and came around the southern side of the Golden Hall, in time to see Riders come through the gate. Young stable boys took reins as Riders dismounted to open arms, kisses. She watched as Cynn's daughter vaulted from her horse, looking tired, worn, aged in a strange way, into her fathers' warm, welcoming arms - - -

"Da! Da! I'm sorrysorrysorry Da! I never want to leave home again..."

Ah, there he was, last one in, of course, stubborn man! And no helmet! Probably lost in the heat of battle! Forgetting decorum, forgetting everything, she lifted her skirts and ran, dodging excited women and children, dashed to the Horse Lord's side. Dréogan, held by Haleth, was looking, looking towards the stable and nickering, calling. Haleth was chattering, non-stop, words Aefre wasn't paying attention to. Absent-mindedly, she handed the boy the apple, fixated on the Rider, drinking in the look of him.
***tiredsotired***

He looked wan, pale, ragged to the bone. ***No matter. I'll have a bath drawn and food and a pint... TWO pints... ***

"Just Gamling-"

She fixated on his face, lines that weren't there when he left Rohan, now very evident. Aefre laid a hand on his thigh, only to jerk it back as she saw the black splattering of dried blood that liberally sprinkled his armored skirt.

"Gamling? " She reached up, hand moving gently up his side.

It was wet.

***Sweat?***

***homehomehome sweet thing, so tired***

"You... are not... where...I...asked you... to be..."

"I had no idea whether you would be in this group." Aefre heard the pain in his voice and pulled her hand from his waist.

Blood, blood, bright red hand covered in...

In alarm, her eyes jerked to his face, seeing the grim white line around his mouth...

Gamling saw her mouth moving, but couldn't hear the sound issuing forth.

"Oh nononoo... WILLAN! WILLAN! Haleth, hold Dréogan - good boy, don't move, boy... WILLAN!" Aefre reached up to brace the leaning Rider. "Someone help me... damn you... you cretin, come home injured; how could you... dammit dammit WILLAN!!! WILLAN!!!"

As he pitched forward into Aefre's arms, Gamling's world went black.

***
To be continued
***
Thanks to Starhawk, The Spiral Dance, reissued 1999, for the Banishing invocation (as well as to Dame Niamh for suggesting it!) Banishing is something Wiccans do frequently as needed