***
Gamling was glad of the silence. He couldn't have borne it had the place been bustling with healers and movers and men and women. He had snarled and cursed in Rohirric at the young man who had attempted to aid him earlier, causing the Gondorian to turn ashen white before backing off, and mumbling apologies at the unintended and misunderstood slight. He was glad to have been given this time to prepare and finalize...
***... make sure the vambraces, the greaves, the breastplate, the cloak, the helm, every article of armor and clothing lay properly, placed just right...***
He had been Théoden's armorer, his most trusted aide. Who better to make sure of the final fittings and placement of Théoden's burial clothing than he?
Aragorn - no, now *Elessar* - had insisted that half of the honor guard surrounding Théoden's body, while it lay in state, be Gondorian. Théoden had died valiantly, defending Men, defending Gondor. It was Gondor's duty to share in guarding the deceased King of Rohan's body until it was to be borne home. How better to show gratitude?
…omer was not inclined to disagree.
A drop of water appeared on Théoden's chest plate. With a growl of impatience, Gamling wiped it off. When a second drop appeared on the shoulder, he looked to the ceiling, searching for the leak in the room. It was then he realized his vision was blurred; his eyes blinded with tears. Giving in at last, Gamling, son of Gamhelm, sank to his knees, to openly grieve for the man who was second only to his father.
***
The sun was up.
Aefre knew it was; it had to be...
... somewhere behind the black clouds.
The bonfires had burned out, but it was too dark to seek out more kindling. If anything, the deepening dark and the earthquake of that morning had brought about an immediate cessation of hostilities between the inhabitants of Edoras.
Feuds hours, days, weeks, years old were forgotten, smoothed over; apologies were whispered, mumbled, shouted. The horses were warily subdued, quiet except for Adenydd, who suddenly kicked and screamed, frightening the stable boys, refusing to eat, until Aefre was sent for. As a last resort, Aefre freed her beloved mare into the main thoroughfare in the stable, only to watch in bewilderment as her usually sweet-tempered horse made an angry dash to the stall next to hers, demanding to be let in.
Dréogan's stall.
She gazed, fascinated, as Adenydd pawed at the old sawdust and straw, kicking it up and finally rolling in it before settling down. She looked at her mistress and the stable hands as if they were half mad. With a grin, Aefre entered the stall and hugged her horse around the neck.
"I should have known. You're missing your stallion as much as I miss his Rider." The mare nuzzled her, nickering softly and nudging Aefre's stomach with her velvet nose. "We are a pair, aren't we? At least they are a matched set as well." She gave Adenydd's muzzle a loving pat before signaling for the boy to bring her feed and water to the new stall.
"Madam... Lady Aefre... that is Captain Gamling's-"
"I KNOW who the stall belongs to. Is he here?"
"Nay."
"Are you going to tell him?"
The boy's eyes lit in fear. "No! Not me! I-"
"We will make sure it is vacated and cleaned upon his return. I'm sure we will have plenty of warning before our King and his Army arrive!"
***At least, we will have plenty of warning of someone or something coming***
And so it went.
No fields were plowed or tilled that day. There were no mock battles, no swordplay. Quietly, those able to climb the towers, the ramparts, searched the horizon. They perused the murky dawn, cloudy day, dusky twilight, searching for signs, for clues, for any moving object.
Aefre had declared no one was to leave the walls, not while the sky churned with such malevolent clouds overhead. They were hushed, noiseless, doing chores in silence.
Until after dinner had been cleared from the Hall.
"Something has happened!" Cynn, the blacksmith stood, massive arms crossed over an equally massive chest. While his voice boomed over murmuring Rohirrim, his eyes were frightened; he blinked back tears. His only daughter, the very apple of his eye, had taken his own identifying mark and stolen off into the night, with her horse and her youngest brother's old hand - me - down armor and weapons.
Aefre looked over the crowded, bustling Hall. The younger children had been run ragged, stuffed full of food and sent to bed, enabling the adults to speak candidly. "Aye," she agreed. "But it does not mean a bad thing-"
"LADY AEFRE!!" The cook bellowed. "You've seen the clouds, the sky. 'Tis not a GOOD thing!" Murmurs of agreement flowed through the crowd.
"Lady Aefre-"
"Lady Aefre-"
"Lady Aefre-"
"I will not bellow like a harridan over this crowd!" Aefre's powerful voice was raised. She did not have to scream. She waited for the group to quiet down. "Listen. It's been fourteen days. This is a good thing, a very good thing. We've not seen hide or hair of an Orc or a Dunlending. So we should bless Béma for our good fortune. As for the rocking of the Earth..." her voice trailed off as she weighed her words, aware that every sliver of hope in the room rested on her shoulders, "... as much as this could be a good thing, it could also be a not - so - good thing."
A sudden escalation of whispering, murmuring, angry, frightened, swept the Hall. She held her hand up for silence.
"We need to come to a decision and implement it. Haleth-" she nodded towards the boy, "-how habitable and defendable is Helm's Deep?"
"It's not," came his reply, over the rising voices. "You saw it. The men said it will take years to repair the outer wall. All supplies were taken to Dunharrow."
"We could barricade in the keep, hide in the caves..." one hopeful voice spoke up.
"No." Aefre shook her head. "Once hidden within, the only way out is a small pathway through the mountains. The elderly won't make it. The smaller children won't either."
Again, low mumblings rippled through the crowd.
"Lady Aefre?" A young woman's - a chamber maid's - voice rose up over the crowd. "Beggin' your pardon, but if Gondor and the Rohirrim Riders have fallen, we could run and scatter, but we truly have no chance. Personally, I would rather die fighting, killing as many of those ugly bastards as I could, than die stabbed in the back or taken hostage to die at the whim of a stinking Orc!"
Voices of agreement rolled over the Hall, like a giant sea wave.
"Aye!"
"I agree!"
"I might be old and unable to run, but I swing a mean frying pan!"
Aefre smiled at the elderly woman sitting close to the fire. The aged gentlemen sitting at her side placed a gnarled hand over her knee. "Ach! You're still as feisty today as you were the day I married you!" he whispered fondly in her ear. His flirtatious attempt got his hand smacked, but she did not seem to be too displeased.
Aefre shook her head, amused at the elderly couple's love for each other. "So, we are agreed to stay and take a stand if it comes to that?"
"Aye!"
"Yes!"
She looked around the Hall, each Rohirrim staunch, steadfast...
Tenacious. If anything, Béma made us that!
"We are unable to light fires tonight, but we still need to keep watch. Each guard must listen. I'm going to request no talking in the towers or outside. Your ears will be of more use to you than your eyes. Question everything. If you hear anything, send a messenger to Cynn." She sat heavily and plopped her hands on her knees. "Everyone go to where you need to be. No shenanigans or tricks tonight." She waited and watched as the Golden Hall slowly emptied.
She studied the hangings, the equine carvings of the posts, the buttresses. The Golden Hall of Meduseld, Pride of the Rohirrim, was an architectural marvel, a creation of beauty that spoke of the enduring strength and the character of the People of the Mark. She rubbed her eyes tiredly - surely the smoke was getting to her - before whispering, "I know you are behind me, Willan. Come around and sit with me." The giant ambled around and pulled a chair up beside her. "No drugged tea tonight, please."
Willan shrugged. *fine*
Aefre resumed her intense study of the hall. "I never thought a time would come when this could be destroyed and laid to waste." Willan laid a single finger on the tip of her nose and shook his head solemnly. "You don't think so?"
Again. *No*
"I will hold you to that." She stood stiffly, rubbing the small of her back. As she turned, she laid her hand on his shoulder. "Get some rest, my friend. Get it while you can."
For three days, the very air was gritty, dirty. It finally began to clear, turning from continual night to a lingering, red dusk. Slowly the people of Edoras made their way outdoors, resuming the planting, the collecting of wood, and burning of the bonfires. They convinced themselves that they lit the way, leading the Riders of the Mark home.
We still stand.
We are still here.
In the watches of the fifth night, Willan shook Aefre from a fitful sleep. He threw a pair of leggings at her, to pull on under Gamling's tunic, which she still insisted on wearing. As she stumbled into the Great Hall, Aefre saw the travel-worn, exhausted Rider.
"Abéodan?"
"Lady Aefre!" The young man was on the verge of collapse. "My horse-"
"Your horse will be tended to." She motioned to Willan. "Make sure his horse is rubbed down, fed and stabled. Rouse the cook. He needs food and ale." She looked back at the Rider. "Also, a bath and a place to sleep as well." She pulled him to the chair and shoved him into it, pulling one up for herself. "You have news?"
"I...I..." Willan had returned and handed Aefre a mug, which she thrust in the young Rider's shaking hands.
"Take your time. A few moments won't slaughter us." Aefre watched as the barely-whiskered man gulped down the cool beverage. She did nothing to slow him. She waited until he finished it, belched inelegantly and wiped his mouth with the back of his still leather-gloved hand. She signaled for another ale and interrupted his mumbled apology. "Captain Gamling-"
"Sends his regards." Abéodan saw through her ruse and smiled gamely. "He is now Marshal and says to remind you, you have stud fees to discuss. He intends to be a difficult bargainer."
Aefre visibly relaxed, letting out a pent - up sigh.
***Thank Béma, he lives. Marshal! There will be no living with him!***
"I was the chosen messenger of many as I have the fastest horse and am the swiftest Rider," Abéodan remarked slowly, but proudly. Then he took a deep breath and recited the message he had repeated over and over during his two and a half day non-stop journey. “The war is over, the Ring destroyed. Thanks to the forces of the Army of the Dead, Gondor, Belfalas, Dol Amroth, Rangers, and others, the Dark Lord is defeated and utterly destroyed. The Black Gates of Mordor are broken, lie in waste, Sauron's minions are unleashed, leaderless, and scattered. Lady …owyn, with the aid of the Hobbit, Merry, has killed the Witch King, yet lies gravely injured. Gondor rejoices at the return of her King, who shall be crowned by mid-summer." At this announcement, his voice fell and his shoulders slumped. "Many have died or lie injured in Minas Tirith's Houses of Healing injured. Many will never return home."
The Great Hall had quietly filled, word spreading quickly that a messenger from Gondor had arrived. He raised his voice; it quivered weakly. "Another messenger will follow in the days to come with the Marks of the Fallen and injured." With this, his voice fell again and he leaned towards Aefre so only she could hear. "The King is dead, milady, struck down by the evil steed of the Witch King on Pelennor Fields. …omer is now king."
***
"I swear, Gamling, if that wench bows any lower serving you your ale, she will fall right out of her garment!" Elfhelm watched the woman's hips sashay across the tavern before lifting his own brimming mug. "Personally, I would enjoy seeing that."
"Fine." Gamling raised his own mug, studying the depths surreptitiously. It didn't have the body or the heady aroma of good Rohirrim mead and it irked him. "I will tell her that you would enjoy her attentions."
The Marshal coughed into his mug. "Me? ME? I miss my wife, but not that much! She would string me up and quarter me if she suspected I entertained another in my bed or in my cloak for even five minutes!" He finally settled down before mumbling. "She went as far as to pack small vials of body oils for my self -pleasure."
Now it was Gamling's turn to spew his ale, coughing so hard, Elfhelm was forced to pound him on his back. "Béma, man! That was information I did *not* need to know!"
"Beats spit."
This set off yet another round of hacking that caused many in the tavern to look closely at the two highly - ranked Horse Lords. They finished their tankards, talking of rotations, Orc raids, ridding Gondor of the scattering remains of Sauron's armies, finding less resistance, fewer Orcs as the days, weeks passed. Again, the over-endowed tavern maid came and not - so - shyly displayed her ample wares, flouncing off as Gamling blushed, still refusing to take the bait.
"What is wrong with you?" Elfhelm exclaimed. "I've never known you to ignore something that sweet placed so openly on your plate!"
"If you like her so much, you bed her and give her the coins she so desperately wants!" Gamling hissed back.
Elfhelm sat up straight and set the newly refilled mug down gently. "The rumor is true. Finally, you have found one to turn your head. Who is she?"
*** lielielie as if it is any of your business...***
"Come now, Gamling! If you've found yourself a sweet young filly, I am more than happy for you!"
***Sweet? Filly? Aefre??? May I hack my spleen...***
"Believe me; one does not use the term 'sweet' or 'filly' when discussing Aefre-"
"Aefre? Lufian of the Wold's Aefre? His widow?" Elfhelm whistled low and picked his tankard back up. "If you have captured her heart, well, you are indeed a lucky man and I can fully understand your newly acquired reluctance." He took several sips of ale and scowled. "This stuff is-"
"Exotic," Gamling spat sarcastically.
"Exotic? It's as exotic as horse-piss! I cannot wait to return home to real ale, real food, and a real woman! So the rumors I heard of you dumping an over-willing wench into the tub is probably true as well?"
"You hear a lot of rumors." Gamling's voice echoed from the tankard.
Elfhelm chuckled and grinned at the returning tavern maid. "Well, I think I can fix this for you." As the woman once more bent over to a red-faced Gamling, Elfhelm tossed one mail-clad arm over the Rider and leered. "As much as he seems to enjoy your abundant charms, milady, I must say this one's interest lies elsewhere!" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Oh... oh... sir! I'm sorry." she rambled and began to back up, blushing as furiously as Gamling. "I... I didn't know... "
Elfhelm smiled as she turned and ran.
"Oh, many thanks, true friend! Now she thinks-"
"Who cares what she thinks?" Elfhelm guffawed. "She'll leave you alone. I didn't lie!" He stood up and threw down several coins on the table. "When is your next rotation?"
Gamling finished his ale, scowling, wanting something stronger. "Not for several more hours."
"Then you should get some rest."
Gamling nodded tiredly.
***Not until I find a scribe***
***
"Are you sure the lady speaks Westron, sir?"
Gamling scowled at the elderly man sitting at the desk, ink-stained fingers hovering over rolls of clean parchment.
***That's a good question. She speaks it, her grandmother was from Gondor, she's educated, maybe this is a bad-***
"I am not paying you to ask questions. I'm paying you to simply write what I've asked you to write."
"Then why don't *you* write it, sir?" A young apprentice, no more than a boy, peered over his master's shoulders.
Faster than a whip, the scribe's hand snaked out and cuffed the child on the ear. "Impertinent! Do you not recognize an esteemed and brave Rider of Rohan? Speak with respect!"
More irritated with the man, rather than the child, Gamling reached out, flicking the man's wrist and saw the child's grateful blush. "He asked an honest question. Don't punish a child's curiosity." Gamling continued in order to cut off the scribe's angry retort. "My handwriting is illegible to most."
***Illegible? To most? HAH! What a joke, half-arsed scrawls and symbols for rations and tack...***
Gamling cocked an eyebrow to the scribe. "Are you ready?"
The scribe pulled quill and ink within reach and unrolled clean parchment. "Yes?"
"Address it to the Lady Aefre-" The scribe raised an eyebrow at that, obviously wondering how the gritty soldier in front of him knew 'a lady.' Gamling paid him no mind and continued on. "-of-"
***the Wold?... no...***
"-of Edoras."
***how to put this...***
"…omer King has survived, as has his sister." Wait for scribe. "The Battle is over, the war is won." Wait for scribe. "Gondor has accepted and embraced her King."
***Notice scribe giving a fist pump silent cheer...***
There was a moment of silence. "Will there be anything else, sir?"
"Yes." Gamling thought for another minute. "Proceed with the planting, double up on whatever protective measures you have in place."
The man was scribbling away, his neat hand gliding over the page. "Will that be all?" No doubt this was the strangest love letter the scribe had ever transcribed.
"One more thing-"
***hotothotsweetlegsmissyoumagicfingersmouthloveyounakedinmybed***
"Yes?"
"Remind her, we have stud fees to discuss. I'll be home as soon as possible."
"Anything else?"
***hothotsoweeetnakednakednaked.....****
"No. Yes. Tell her, she knows where I expect to find her upon my return. That is all."
***yes!***
Gamling waited patiently as the quill scratched away and stood by until the scribe handed him the dipped quill to place his mark. The scribe sanded the parchment, blowing on the ink to ensure its dryness, before rolling it and handing it to the tall Horse Lord. He waved the Rider's gold away. "I was up on the fifth level when you and your Riders arrived at sunrise. Impressive sight and Eru-sent, you were. Do not be concerned with this one." He nodded to the child, still rubbing his ear in the corner. "That one-" he gestured, "has been enamored of your magnificent horses ever since you entered the city."
"Have you now?" Gamling quirked an eyebrow at the youngster. "How would you like to see the King of Rohan's horse, up close?"
"Really?" The urchin's features lit up. "You can do that? You know the King of Rohan's horse?"
"Aye."
***ooooh, …omer, how low you've come, now second to your horse....***
The scribe waved the two off, claiming it was late in the day and now the apprentice would be useless to him. As the tall Rider from Rohan strode purposely through the streets towards the stables, people parted, moved to the side, dipped and smiled in appreciation and humor at the chattering boy dogging his heels.
"I heard the King of Rohan's steed breathes fire like a dragon! And he eats children who do not behave..."
***
The news of Théoden's death swept through Edoras like a flood. Although there was rejoicing in victory, an underlying pall of sobriety and fear could be felt. Every hour of every day, watchers on the towers scanned the horizon for more messengers; with bags they knew would bring devastating news. Small bands of Orcs ventured into Rohan, only to be slaughtered by angry Shield Maidens and future Riders. For all the Rohirrim knew, *this Orc* could have possibly cut down a loved one and they showed no mercy.
Thirteen days after the first messenger arrived, three Riders, laden with the dreaded, full saddlebags, tiredly made their way into the capital. They were fed, given ale; their horses lovingly, reverently cared for. While they bathed and then were sent to the barracks to sleep, Aefre sat on a stool, the hated bags of identifying Marks at her feet, the lists of injured in her hands.
"This should be more private..."
"Do it, milady." Cynn spoke up. "We'll console each other better this way."
She read Gamling's letter silently first, keeping the personal comments close to her heart. She read aloud the lists of injured, taking note of worried gratitude on the relatives' faces; she particularly rejoiced as Cynn grabbed and hugged an unsuspecting Bawdewyne when she announced his daughter lived. Upon reading the end of the list, she slowly, unwillingly reached for the first bag, pulling the ties open and reaching in for the first Mark. She braced herself as she read out the first name.
"Fyren. Fyren of Edoras. I'm so sorry."
And there was wailing in Rohan.
***
Tbc
***