***
"Gamling. Attend me."
The Horse Lord stretched his neck, trying to work out the crick that had wormed its way back into it. The thought flittered through his mind to find the saucy bath wench to work her magic fingers, but he dismissed the notion quickly. He did an about face in order to fall into place back slightly to the left of his King's shoulder.
"Sire."
Théoden King might have been ill and incapacitated during Grima Wormtongue's stint as advisor to the king, but his lordship had regained his strength quickly. He moved as a man driven to correct the wrongs done in his name and the blue eyes missed very little. With a swiftness that belied his many years, the king wove through the labyrinth of people in the Golden Hall, through the halls and into his private chambers.
Despite the coolness of the air outside, the chamber itself was warm and inviting. Furs were piled on the large bed, heavy tapestries hung on the walls, blocking the winds that constantly blew and sometimes howled around the mountain that Edoras was built on. Heavy rugs and carpets covered the stone floor. A fire crackled in the large hearth, giving additional warmth to the room. Wormtongue had not allowed large fires to be lit, claiming they made the King fretful, over-heated and ill, when in fact, the lack had kept him chill and vulnerable to ague and other sickness that plagued the elderly. One of the first things he had done, once the creature had been ejected from Edoras, was to have every fireplace and hearth lit to capacity. Théoden poured himself and Gamling a goblet of mead, offering one to the younger man, before striding over to the large window and pulling aside the heavy curtain.
"What am I to do with them?" He gestured to the small tent city that had sprung up just outside the city walls. "Refugees. Women and children. No homes to go and too few men to rebuild."
Gamling came behind Théoden and looked over to the makeshift village. "They are not safe there. "
The king took a long pull from the tankard and wiped his mouth on the back of his tunic sleeve. "No, they are not. We need to come up with a solution for the widows and elderly. I cannot imagine the number of orphans. Do you have any suggestions as to what we might do to aid them?"
Gamling's eyes roamed over the colorful bits of cloth that dotted the countryside. "You wish my counsel?"
The king turned from the window, dropping the heavy length of fabric back into place. "Your advice has always been sound." As he made his way to his table, he set the tankard down gently and spread out a rolled scroll - a map of Gondor and Rohan. "I will be much in need of sound advice in the weeks to come," the king stated wearily. "There are few here I trust as I trust you."
Gamling set his tankard down on the opposing side of the table. "Me, milord? Why? Gandalf the Grey-"
"Gandalf, the White, Gamling." Théoden lifted a single finger to correct the Rider. "The White. This Gandalf is not the Stormcrow we have known nor that our fathers knew. This Gandalf is different; he has an agenda in which we are just players and stepping stones." His eyes roamed back over the map, his hands smoothing out the curling edges. "He brings the Ranger; a man he believes is the lost King of Gondor."
Gamling mulled over this information. "Sire, forgive me, but to the best of my recollection, Gondor has been over seen by-"
"The Stewards. Yes. For many years. I remember sitting on my mother's knee and eventually I sat at her feet, and listened to her regale my siblings and myself with tales about the brave and noble kings of the Numenor and Gondor. I remember her quietly admonishing me to remember my place, remember the promises made to Gondor and not to be like my grandfather, Fengel." Théoden refilled his tankard, not to drink from it, but to contemplate the swirling liquid held within. "Long have the Stewards of Gondor ruled in place of their absent king. Denethor will not easily accept this upstart Dunedain, if at all."
"Perhaps, Gandalf is wrong?"
For a few moments, the only sound to be heard was the crackling and popping of wood in the fireplace. Finally, Théoden sighed and set his mug down. "No, he is not. That Ranger is the lost King of Gondor. Gamling; Théoden, King of Rohan, did not win the battle of Helm's Deep-"
"Sire-"
"Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Ranger of the Dunedain and King of Gondor, won the battle of Helm's Deep." The elderly man stood, straightening slowly. "Do not deny it, Gamling. I was a figurehead, nothing more."
Gamling's mind flew. It was capable of such, even for all his friends and cohorts teasing him of his careful, methodical ways. That his King would think...
"Milord!" Gamling unsheathed his sword and kneeling before the standing king, offered the sword with bowed head. "My allegiance is to Théoden King, to Rohan, my duty, my fealty, my sword is yours, not to Gondor!"
He felt the king touch his head. "Of course it is, Gamling of the Westemnet. That is why you are here and not Gandalf or Aragorn. Rise, my friend." He stepped back, allowing Gamling room to stand. "And sheath your weapon. Someone will come in and think you wish my head." The Horse Lord's eyes jerked to Théoden's, relieved to see the humor in his visage. As the Horse Lord stood, Théoden's eyes narrowed. "Gamling. Where did you sleep last night?"
Gamling was carefully putting his sword back in his scabbard. "Why, milord?"
"You have-" the King reached, dusting a lock of hair, "-straw behind your ear."
Nervously, the tall Rider combed his fingers through the locks, dislodging more straw bits. "The stables, milord."
"You slept in the stables? Not the barracks? Or in the Great Hall?"
Gamling sighed, looking slightly disgusted. "By the time I returned from the baths, there was no room in front of the fire. The barracks are empty and therefore cold. I chose the warmest place I knew."
"Sleeping with your horse?" Théoden shook his head. "We must remedy that." The king slowly strode around the table. "I am in need of someone to advise me, someone who is loyal to Rohan. I will not allow our people to be a stepping stone to another's kingdom. I do not totally trust the Istari. It will be difficult for me if my left hand is sleeping in the stables."
"Sire?"
Théoden sat and motioned for Gamling to sit as well. "Don't look at me as if I've grown another head. You are my most trusted captain, a Marshal of the Riddermark. You should not be sleeping with that brute you call a mount!"
Gamling was taken slightly aback. As problematic as Dréogan was, he was still a-"
"Gamling. Dréogan is a fine steed. Not many would have your patience, however." The Marshal relaxed, realizing his king was not ridiculing his horse. " I will check with Eowyn, see what rooms are available. By dinner, you are to move your gear and belongings into the Great Hall."
Gamling choked on his mead. He? A lowly soldier? Residing in the Great Hall?
"Sire, the Hall is reserved for the royal family, for great nobles, and Rohan's guests. It is not my place to reside here."
Théoden's hand began to press at the edges of the rolled map on the table. Meticulously, he laid books, heavy things on the edges.
"I do not trust our guests to aid me in making decisions that are in the best interests of Rohan. Things that concern me, do not concern them." The edges laid, the king now lanced the younger man with the simple act of staring. "I trust you. I remember your advice is always sound and sure."
Gamling's boot scraped against the thick rug under his foot, as he fidgeted with the handle of his mug. "Sire. Please. Wouldn't …omer be a better choice? I am but a simple soldier."
Théoden grinned, the shadows of the mischievous boy lurking about the edges of his mouth. "Simple? You? You are anything but simple. …omer," the king flicked his finger over the map, " is loyal to Rohan. As he needs to be." A glimmer of pain flashed over his features. "He is now my heir, the next king of Rohan." For a moment, the king's eyes were closed, taking in the pain of the still fresh loss of his son. "He also has a quick temper and worries much over his sister." Slowly, the Lord of Rohan stood up, making his way behind his servant. "You are loyal to me before Rohan." His hand patted Gamling's shoulder.
"Sire, you ARE Rohan."
He could hear Théoden's dry chuckle behind him. "Your loyalty is well-noted and you will be rewarded for it. I desire your judgment, your opinion in many things. I need your eyes, your ears closer to me than to your horse. I will speak with Eowyn. She will know where to put you." The king's hands patted him reassuringly, before coming around to the opposing side of the table. "There is one other thing."
"Yes, sire?"
Théoden looked troubled, as if he was trying hard to remember a sliver of information, far removed. "Before... before Grima invaded my mind, I received a message of some importance. I did not have time to dwell on, much less remedy the situation." Slowly, he perused the map, his fingers tracing to the northern edge of Rohan. "There was a disagreement between families. A childless widow was being refused home or residence by either family. They each claimed she was the other's responsibility. As a final resort, she contacted me, asking for aid, for an answer to her problem."
Gamling shrugged. "That is simple, milord. She should remarry."
Théoden smiled mirthlessly. " It is not so easy as that. I knew Aefre and her brother, Beadorouf. I rode many times with their father, Finan. He was a loyal subject and fought with great courage. I remember summoning her here before my infirmity, but I know nothing else."
Gamling set his tankard down and was pinching his nose. A headache had come on quickly and suddenly, the heat and smoke from the fireplace was over-whelming.
"I realize I am asking a lot, but could you ask around, see if she ever arrived. And if she did not, possibly find out what happened."
Gamling's eyes were squeezed tight. What he was being asked to do was next to impossible. "Where was she from, milord? I will do what I can."
Théoden smiled. "I knew I could count on you. She is from The Wold. Aefre of The Wold."
***
Gamling stared at the room in horror.
***Here? His Liege had put him here?***
On one hand, it was too large, too grand, for a simple soldier such as he. On the other...
***Here? Why in all of Béma's glory had he put him here in this room?***
On the other...
Gamling dropped his gear in the doorway, looking into the grandiose room. He ran his fingers through his hair and realized he was sick to his stomach.
The bed was huge, covered with piles of furs left from the previous occupant, the walls covered with strange pelts. He was quite frankly afraid to step in, terrified of what he might find on the desk, in the drawers, on the shelves. After all, the man had left in a dreadful hurry. In fact, he had aided him tremendously in his rushed departure.
"Argh." It was a quiet groan and he dropped his face into his hands, rubbing hard. Of all the rooms to put him in.
He wondered if it would be considered rude if he told Théoden he would rather sleep in the stables.
Grima Wormtongue.
The room had a stench, a trace of a foul odor; there was no way in all of the Riddermark, he was going to stay-
"Move over, you big clod! You are here much too fast!"
Gamling felt himself roughly shoved to the side, the chambermaid forcing her way in. She stood with her back to him, fists on hips.
"Bah! They should have stripped and burned the contents of this room when they removed that loathsome creature!" She cocked her head to the side, as if to listen. "Is there anything in here you wish to have?"
"I think I prefer the stable." He tucked his helmet under his arm and picked up his gear. "Do not clean it on my behalf."
"Oh, cease your pitiful whining. The king himself ordered the room for you and you shall have it!" She looked the chamber over and turned...
"I should have known!"
"You!"
They said it at the same time, both staring in shock. She at the overly-fresh Rider and he at the...
***Sweet thing***
***Thing***
... bath wench with the...
***saucy***
magic fingers and...
***Thing***
Gamling shook his head, determined to clear it of cloying thoughts and fantasies. He started to back out of the room. "I will tell the king-"
"You'll tell the king what? That the room isn't good enough?" She scowled and strode over, yanking the helmet from under his arm. "As manner - less as you are, I'll not see you swing for impertinence!" Reverently, she laid the helmet on a chair and went to the window. She yanked the curtain back and opened the heavy shutters. Hooking the curtain around a wall hook, she turned to survey the room. "I take it you want nothing that is in the room?"
"I do not wish the room."
She looked up at the soldier and grinned.
It took his breath away. Ten years dropped from her face and her eyes shone with an almost child-like glee. "I don't think you have much choice, but if you like, I can make it as if that crumb of a man was never here. You will be sleeping like a lamb in that bed." She walked the perimeter of the room, ticking off things as she went. "I've opened the window, that should clear the odor. We will get rid of the personal effects... you don't want his clothing, do you? I thought not." The woman stood in front of him and ... measured him with her hands. "He was not as sturdy or broad as you." She peered up. "Not as tall either. You're a fine specimen of a man, I'll give you that."
***what?***
"... rid of the clothing, the linens. I'll need help turning the mattress or better yet, I'll have Willan come up and exchange it. And the rugs... the rugs... Oh, Mother of all that is wise... look at the dust! I swear! That man never let anyone in to clean, it is just..."
***She talks a lot. Béma, does the woman ever shut up?***
He watched, stunned, as the woman went through the room, moving things, taking inventory. She pulled aside a curtain, revealing a small room.
"Excuse me?"
She began to screech - a rather painful sound. Apparently, no one had dumped the chamber pot.
The stable was really looking better and better.
And her faaaaar away from it!
She came barreling out of the antechamber.
"Well, that was just disgusting!"
"Excuse me?"
"I will have to find something to remove the odor from the room. That is just horrible."
"Excuse me!" Gamling stood in front of her and barred her way. She did have the decency to look mildly set back and properly... well... not admonished, but, well she was quiet.
***thing, saucy, magical fingers thing***
Gamling rubbed his head with a single finger. "Last night, bathhouse."
"Yes."
"Today, chamber maid."
"Yes."
His eyes were squeezed shut against the bright sunlight streaming in from the window. "Am I missing something, a connection here?"
"Yes."
One eye popped open. "Care to explain?"
"No."
Gamling's hand went from his forehead, to the back of his neck; his eyes squeezed shut again. Had he been looking, he would have seen a look of worry cross the woman's face. He didn't see her remove his helmet from the chair as she shoved him into it.
"You sit there. I'll bring you up some bread and cheese and possibly some mulled wine, if I can sneak into the storeroom. Oh, hold on..."
He heard her go to the doorway and call to another chambermaid, requesting the food and drink and to send Willan, whoever Willan was, up to her. By the time she had returned, his head was in his hands, headache raging.
"May I ask a rather stupid question?"
"What do you wish to know, m'lord?" Ah! The magic fingers returned, searching for the knot, the tense muscles.
"Are you... assigned... to this chamber?"
***sweet, sweet, saucy thing with the fingers of the Valar oh please***
"I have been now."
***Oh gracious Béma thank you thing thing thing sweet thing yes yes right there***
"Do you have a name?"
Her thumbs circled up over his spinal column and he heard several vertebrae crack. The release of tension to his head was immediate and he felt himself sag in relief.
"Yes. My name is Aefre."
***
tbc
***