***
…omer was mad.
No, that didn't quite state the obvious. …omer was madder than a wet warg!
The sun would soon be up, the camps would be stirring shortly; a few Riders were awake, horses were being saddled, armor was being donned - - -
And his uncle was still holed up in his tent!
Worse, …omer went to Gamling's tent and all he heard was laughter.
Laughter!
Béma 's balls, they were literally on the eve of battle and rather than being out rousing the men, whipping them into a war fury, Théoden King was still abed and Gamling was laughing with Her!
Bad enough one of the whores that warmed his bed last night had cast several longing glances at Gamling's tent before …omer had swept her off with one of her co-workers to his own tent. Deep in the night, he had awakened to find her crying into her pillow.
"Eadignes-"
"I'm sorry, m'lord," she whispered.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry," she repeated. " 'Tis not my place."
"Not your place?" He rolled over and pulled her into his arms. "Not your place to what?" He could feel the wetness on her cheeks against his arm.
"It's not my place to care, to worry. It's not my place to - I'm sorry, m'lord."
It dawned on …omer that Eadignes always asked after the quiet Horse Lord, always looked for him. When Gamling went to the brothel, she would brush others aside, to tend to him, to his carnal desires.
The longing glance at the tent...
"Ah, Eadignes, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."
He heard her sniff once. "It's all right. I'll be fine."
In the dark, he had tried to reassure her, convince her that somewhere, someday, someone would... but she attempted to laugh him off.
"No, m'lord," she whispered. "I'm a whore. My mother was a whore, as was her mother and her mother. My daughter, should I have one, will be a whore. 'Tis the only life I know."
For the first time in his life, …omer found himself consoling a woman other than his sister.
It was not an easy feeling.
Finally Théoden's tent flap opened and the King stepped out, followed by...
...a woman?
He watched as his uncle kissed her on the forehead and hugged her. As …omer crept closer, he could tell the woman was older, of an age with his uncle.
Béma!
He waited until the two parted ways, Théoden's eyes lingering fondly on the departing figure.
Théoden was equally aware of the woman walking away from him as he was of the bristling young man beside him. "What?"
…omer breathed deeply, trying to think of a subtle way to say it. "I would think at your age..."
"At *my* age?" Théoden retorted, cutting the younger Horse Lord off. "Where is it stated only the young know passion?"
…omer blushed. "I'm sorry, m'lord, I just... just..."
"Just what?"
…omer dug his toes into his boots, and gestured at the retreating woman. "It's just unseemly."
Théoden burst out laughing. "What? You didn't think this old war horse could still cover a mare or two?"
"Si-ir!" …omer whispered. "I hardly think *she* is of an age to cover!"
Théoden pounded him hard on the back. "When you reach my age, you'll understand. I not only know what is good, I know why it's good and why I like it!" He looked around the not yet rising camp. "Is Gamling up?"
"There is giggling going on in his tent! I would suspect he's up in more ways than one!"
Indeed, he was.
Gamling woke feeling well refreshed, relaxed, well rested, every muscle...
A wet, hot mouth around his---
***Béma!***
***Oh, this is sinful, this is - - - -***
He pulled up the fur to see...
"Aefre?"
"Hmmm hmmmm?"
***this is DIVINE! It's madness, but it's...***
"Aren't you ... stuffy down ... oh...." She sucked in particularly deep.
"Do you want me to stop?" she whispered against him.
"NO!" he almost shouted harshly. "No," he repeated more quietly.
"All right" she continued with her ... pleasuring activity.
***She's going to kill me! She is determined I won't make it to Gondor intact... Dammit! Dammit! Gaaaaah Béma! That's-***
"Sir? Gamling?" There was scratching at the tent flap. Aefre inhaled deeper.
"What?" Gamling barked, a little too loud, a little too high-pitched. "Don't' open the flap!" Aefre never stopped; she continued her ministrations, albeit while giggling softly. "Stop that!" he hissed. Her head and tongue stopped moving. "Not that! Stop giggling!"
She giggled again, but continued.
***Oh Béma, kill me please oh please...***
"Sir?"
"Wha-at?"
The young Rider's voice was clearly confused. "Lord …omer is up and asked me to aid you in getting ready-"
"I do not need help! Go help …omer!"
"But Lord …omer is up and ready-"
"Abéodan?"
"Yes sir?"
"Go make.. caffe... feed Dréogan."
"Dréogan? Feed Dréogan?" The young Rider's voice went up an octave.
"Yessssss! Feed Dréogan!" Gamling voice hitched. "Armor him too!" His voice dropped in pitch. "And Firefoot. And Snowmane!" Gamling snorted through his nose. "There, that should keep you busy for a while," he muttered darkly. He threw back the furs and glared at the woman bobbing between his legs. "And now, My Lady," he hissed evilly, "I'm going to teach you how a Marshal of the Riddermark *really* Rides the Mearas!"
"Ooooooh!"
***Mwuhahahahahaha***
***
For the second time, …omer stood in front of Gamling's tent flap. He had seen Abéodan running from the area a quarter of an hour before, terrorized at the thought of armoring and feeding the Horse Lord's irascible mount. …omer growled to himself, listening for... for... anything...
"Gamling?"
"Enter!"
The younger horse Lord ducked in, eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light inside. He was greeted by the sight of his friend standing in the middle of the small tent, Aefre moving steadily around him, laying out armor.
"Glad to see you're finally... up."
"We've been *up* for a while," Gamling answered, not looking at the Rider behind him. "Aefre, I don't see my gauntlets. And I only see one glove."
"Don't you remember where you flung them last night?"
"Cheeky wench!"
…omer rolled his eyes. First his uncle, and now Gamling bantering in... Béma! Absolutely disgusting!
"Is Théoden awake?" Gamling still had yet to turn and visually acknowledge the younger Horse Lord in the tent.
"Yes. He is breaking his fast as we speak. He will need your help soon."
Aefre had gone down on her hands and knees, peering around the bedding.
"And the rest of the camp?" Gamling had now joined her on the ground, hands roaming.
"Just beginning to stir. I suspect the rest of them will rouse by dawn."
"Fine... OUCH!" Gamling sat back on his knees, a hair... clip?... in his hands. "I believe this is yours, My Lady."
…omer was twitching in disgust. "Do the two of you mind?" he gritted between his teeth.
Finally, Gamling looked at him. Balefully. "Are you in such a hurry to ride to battle, youngling?"
"No."
"Has Théoden requested my presence?"
"No, not yet." For some reason, …omer felt like an errant child.
If Gamling was taking pity on the younger Horse Lord, he did not show it. "Go and eat. I dare say it will be the last meal you eat in peace for quite some time. I will be there shortly." He nodded, dismissing the man. The two waited for the tent flap to settle before turning to each other. Aefre held out both of his armored gauntlets.
"Let's get you ready, Just Gamling."
Gamling took the gauntlets from her. "You don't have to do this, Aefre."
"Yes," her voice was tight. "I do." She moved around him, donning each piece of leather, of armor, layering him in protective gear, adjusting his greaves, buckling, tying, making sure each piece was secure. Finally, all that was left were his gauntlets and gloves. Aefre held the first glove out to him.
"Wait." She looked at him questioningly. "I would have something of yours."
Aefre let out a laugh. "You randy stallion! You already have-"
"No." He placed several fingers over her mouth. "You misunderstand. I would have something to take with me; something," his hands went from her lips to her hair, "to remind me what I am fighting for." He pulled the ribband that she had hurriedly pulled back her hair with and inspected the stitchery on it. "Your ... husband's insignia?"
"My father's."
***Ah***
He held out his left hand, watching as she tied the dainty strip of material around his wrist, enough to stay, but not too tightly. Reverently, he wrapped the long ends around his hand before donning his gloves; she finished strapping on his gauntlets. Finally, he traced his finger under her chin, his thumb caressing her lip.
"I'm sorry if I was too rough in Edoras."
" I didn't mind."
He took both of her hands in his, inspected her calloused fingers -
***not afraid to work hard, not afraid to fight, not afraid...***
*** ...of me...***
"Aefre, I'm not... I'm not good... with words..."
"You've done very well so far."
Gamling dropped his head between his shoulders.
***Béma how to say this without looking like a complete cretin lummox oaf idiot...***
"I'm not...refined... or..."
Aefre watched the Horse Lord struggle with words, with thoughts. So quiet, so circumspect, this one. "I talk enough for both of us, Just Gamling. You are more than enough Rohirrim for me." Her hands tightened in his. "How much time do we have? For us?"
***not even...***
"Five minutes, at the most."
***ah***
She disentangled herself from Gamling's grip and took a deep, steadying breath. "Could you hold me, please, Just Gamling?"
There were no words, no thoughts, no sighs, as he enveloped her, pulled her to him. For those few, precious minutes, there was nothing except the sounds of the rousing camp outside.
***Béma, how do I do this, how do I pull away, leave...***
"Aefre?" She nodded against his chest. "When you return to Edoras, bring the refugees inside the walls. House them in the stables, in the barracks, in the Golden Hall. Give everyone a job, a chore, a reason to work. Make sure they know it's an important responsibility and praise them for every step forward. Keep them busy. Eowyn will more than likely sit in Théoden's stead. Help her. Make sure there are guards around the clock. Do you understand?" She nodded again against his chest.
"Just Gamling?" It was muffled.
"Yes?"
"Promise me. Promise me you will come home, on your own two feet, by your own will."
Breath long pent up was let out slowly. "I cannot promise that-"
"Damn you! Just say it!" She thumped him hard on his armor-clad chest.
Leather - clad fingers chucked under her chin and lifted it up. Stern blue eyes bore into hers. "Do not weaken on me at the final moment, Aefre," he told her firmly. "I need you strong. I need to know Rohan is left in strong hands."
Gamling watched her resolve harden. "Very well. If you do not return to me, I will go and find your worthless carcass on the battlefield and kick it back to the Riddermark! I'll make sure Dréogan gorges himself on apples daily-"
"You will NOT spoil my horse-"
Aefre had stepped back, hands on her hips-
***proudsassyhothotwitchywomanBémawithhthehothotsweetmouthhothotpleaseletmetlivetoteasethathothothotmouth...***
"Aye, and spoil him 'til he's fat and lazy. I'll let him loose in the brood mares and allow him to spread himself without a care worrying about stud or blood lines!"
"If you spoil my stallion, I will be forced to haunt your very days!"
"Promise?"
Gamling heard the underlying desperation in her voice and knew deep down what she was doing. He pulled her to him and kissed her. "I will come back, one way or the other." He kissed her again. "Help Eowyn keep Rohan safe." He kissed her again; lingering... Finally, he pulled away. "I have to go to Théoden." Again, he saw her reign in her resolve.
"Don't forget your helmet." She reached around him to the small table where it sat and handed it to him.
"I hate that thing," he muttered.
"I know. Wear it because it will appease me." He snatched it from her reluctantly, before stroking her under the chin. "What are you doing?"
***hothothotwitchyfirefireloveyouneedyouhothot...***
"Memorizing your face." He crushed her to him, one last time, stealing her breath, stealing her-
***-my-***
-soul.
"I want to find you naked in my bed upon my return." He turned, his cloak whipping behind him and was out through the tent flap in the blink of an eye.
He was fifteen feet from the tent before her howls of fury rent the air.
"Naked? In your bed? You pompous arse! You lout! You bonehead, you clod..."
"You forgot dullard," he called back.
"ACK!!!"
Gamling walked up to a stunned …omer, who held an uneaten pear in his hand. Gamling snatched it from the distracted Horse Lord and bit into it. "Rule number one, youngling. Always leave them screaming for more."
***
In a scene hauntingly reminiscent of the one slightly over two weeks previous at Helm's Deep, Gamling moved carefully, meticulously assisting Théoden in putting on his riding armor.
"Snowmane has been readied?" Théoden was pulling on his gloves.
"Yes, m'lord."
It was quiet for a few moments, Théoden checking his vambraces and greaves.
"Gamling?"
"Yes, sire?"
Théoden was staring at the tapestry hanging at the back of the tent. "You have ever been a faithful and steadfast servant to Rohan."
"Sire, my duty-"
"And-" Théoden interrupted, "a good friend to me."
***Friend? Friend? Me? My kingsiremylord,Béma! Friend..."
"I admired and respected your father's counsel, when I was new to the throne, and you have filled his riding boots most admirably, perhaps even more so. There is no finer praise I can think of." Théoden turned to address the Rider standing behind him. "I expect you to give …omer as good counsel as you have given me. He will need a strong advisor and a faithful friend, when he assumes the throne." Théoden couldn't tell if his officer was dumb-struck or horrified. "Gamling, if I should fall, I need to know that Rohan is in good, strong hands. …omer will be a strong, able king, with a good head on his shoulders. He will need an equally strong, able advisor, with as just a good a head on his shoulders. I want your word that you will be that Horse Lord."
The enormity of everything Théoden was saying mentally staggered his Marshal.
*** if I should fall if I should fall if I should fall if I should fall if I should fall if I sho-***
"You have my word, sire."
"Good." Théoden turned and headed towards the tent flap. "Oh, one more thing." Gamling looked at him expectantly. "Bed Aefre often. Do it in love. If she is anything like Elfhilde, it will sweeten her tongue. Don't forget your helmet." The tent flap shut with a whisper. "Come, Men of the Riddermark! We ride!"
***
Aefre fumed for a good three minutes before reverting to more angry grousing.
"That damned Rider! How dare he think he can order me about, like I was chattel, just because we... because I... that... Orc! That gob! That..."
The tent flap opened and she spun to vent her ire on...
"Willan!" The mute nodded. "I need you to move Adenydd from the main corral; especially, to make sure she is removed from that jackass's horse; and ready her for travel." Willan gave her a look of mild shock. "I must talk to Eowyn. After you have moved Adenydd, you may begin taking down this tent, and make sure the bedding and furniture are back in their proper space in Edoras. I will have final instructions for you later." She nodded curtly at the tall man, as she left the tent.
The camp was now in disarray, the final stages of leaving, Riders scurrying from place to place, the sounds of horses being saddled, armored, calls to fellows, arming up, last goodbyes and orders being issued. She hurried directly to the tent she was to have shared with Eowyn, hoping beyond hope that no one would pay attention to the wren-like woman darting through the camp. She ducked into the tent, to see Eowyn half clad in her fighting tunic and struggling with her shoulder plates.
"Aefre! I... I..."
Aefre just glanced at her as she rushed by. She pulled her trunk from under her unused cot and kicked it open, revealing her armor, her weapons, and her morningstar. "My name is Heldwin, Rider. I'll help you into your armor, if you help me into mine."
***
tbc
***