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Rider of the Mark	By : ZeDrippyVessel Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 22785 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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A/N - My muses have returned with a vengeance so yay I'm going to get to finish this and it should be done by the end of the year! I would like to apologize for the funky font sizing and weirdness. I'm sure this 'new fangled system' is supposed to help but I've spent 30 minutes fighting with things that refuse to work. My file won't upload and the rest is just being a pain. Let's just say the lines that are grossly oversized are simply supposed to be italisized. Considering the different places I upload, it is daunting and irritating to have to re-type and re-size and re-tag every chapter at every place.

Rider of the Mark 40/???

There’s got to be a morning after

The sun was barely over the fields when Gamling began to stir. Aefre’s head was pillowed on his shoulder and somewhere in the back of his noggin, it registered that his head was on her pillow.

Fair Enough Trade

There was minor rustling in the hallway outside their-

Theirtheirsyesfinallyminemineminehothothotwomanwifemine

-doorway, but nothing to warrant that Éomer and his fellow Riders were sniffing at the door. He attempted to roll from the bed, stopped by Aefre’s leg swinging over his and her body snuggling in. “The door-”

“Has been prepared.” She was quiet for a moment. “Your cloak is on the foot of the bed. You might want to spread it out over us.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure.” Gamling sat up and began to spread the cloak while grinning wickedly. With a snort, he threw the cloak over Aefre’s head before-

“GAMLING!” Aefre hissed, sitting up and pulling the cloak from her face. “What in Béma’s name are you-” her breath hissed inwards as the cool morning air caressed her body.

Gamling kicked the bed quilt completely from the bed before grabbing the cloak and covering just the bare necessities. “Covering us.” He pulled Aefre against him and tucked his cloak-encased arm around her. “I’m wrapping you like a proper Rohirrim.” He gathered her to him, enfolding her in such a way that only her tousled hair and legs -

**minemineminelegswrappedaroundmyneck***

- could be seen.

“My arse is showing!”

“It’s a nice arse-”

“GAMLING!”

“All right! All right!” He helped her flip over. “Now, my arse is showing!”

Aefre snuggled in, wiggling her bottom against him. “It’s a nice arse,” she retorted, giggling.

“Aefre…” Gamling growled in her ear. “Unless you wish for Éomer and his cronies to walk in-”

“The cloak will suffice.” He could feel her smile. “Have you no self control?”

Before Gamling could answer, the door latch rattled and the door squeaked open.

There was a thud.

“Shire…” Éothain was in the doorway, sliding down the frame, “Wha’ yew shee?”

“Oh, for the love of Béma!” Aefre threw her head back and banged Gamling in the nose. “Those two are too drunk to officially see their nose!”

“I shee my nosh.” Éomer’s voice was indignant. “I shee a rug.” He looked up blearily at the bedchamber. “Why am I sheeing a rug?”

“Becaush yew are onna floor.” Éothain had now joined Éomer. “Now ahmonna floor.” He patted the carpet. “Ish a nice rug. How’d Gamming get a niesh rug?”

Éomer was on his hands and knees trying to stand. “Damn. I cannnnnnnt schtand up!”

Thud.

Éothain was sitting down, leaning against the doorframe. “Yer pitiful. Yer my king and yer a pitiful, pitiful fekker.”

Éomer had a finger in the air, waving it at no one. “That’s King Fekker, to you.” He was back on his hands and knees, looking up and about. “PSSSSHT! Wharsh t’bed?”

“Béma!” Aefre whispered, lifting her head, “they’ll be all day!” Her head hit the pillow with an audible ‘plop.’

Gamling tried to help. He raised his hand in the air and began to wave it around. “Over here.”

There was now an audible chuckling from the hall, Faramir leaning against the hall wall, watching the shenanigans through the doorway. Éomer finally made it back to his feet and he was weaving precariously. He caught sight of the waving hand and pointed. “Gammming! How d’yew fare?” It dawned on him he was in their room for a reason and he staggered across the floor, finger waving. “Oh! Aefre! I shee yew!” It took a moment for him to come up with the words. “I shee yew. I shee yew wrapped in Gammings cloak.” He stood bolt up. “Éotooottttthain. Do yew shee?”

Éothain was sitting on his butt, propped up against the doorframe still, his knees up and both arms draped across his knees. “Aye shee.” He wasn’t even looking. “Aye shee Aefre in Gammm-links cloak.” He looked groggily at Faramir in the hall. “Do yew shee?”

“Aye, Éothain. I see.”

“Aye need t’be shick now.” He pushed his way up the doorframe. “My roomsh close. Aye think.” Using the wall as a prop, he stumbled down the hallway.

Éomer was still standing, how was anyone’s guess. Gamling’s head was now propped up on one elbow. “Sire, might I suggest you find Willan and ask him for some of that shite tea we had yesterday?”

“Willan.”

“Yes, sire. Willan.”

“Big guy.” His hand went somewhere above his head.

“Aye.”

Éomer tried to restrain a rather painful belch. “Quiet.”

“Very.”

“Aye know him.” He turned clumsily, almost falling over again. “Willan. Big guy. Shite tea.” He staggered to the doorway before turning around. “Aye see yew Aefre of the Wold, wrrrraaped in Gam-links cloak.” He slumped. “Aye hope t’find haf t’happiness yew haf.” With that, he wobbled from the room and down the hall.

“In case it was not official enough,” Faramir leaned into the room and took a hold of the door latch, “I see you Aefre of the Wold, wrapped in Gamling’s cloak. I wish you much happiness.” Retching could be heard down the hall and the Prince of Ithilien grimaced. “I do not think Éothain made it to his chambers.” Gamling sat up, leaving Aefre scrambling to cover her naked bits and bobs. “I’ll get the door.” He put up a flat hand, warding the Marshal from leaving the bed. “And I’ll take care of those two. Willan; big guy; shite tea. I would find him where?”

“Kitchens most likely,” Aefre called from the cloak.

“Kitchens. ‘Tis early. You have a few hours.” The door closed with a gentle click.

Gamling jumped from the bed and dropped the bar, ensuring they would have no more visitors. He turned back to the bed with a rather predatory gleam in his eye, rubbing his hands together. “Now that that’s taken care of, wife…”

“Who does Éomer have on his mind?”

Gamling crawled back in the bed, bringing the heavy quilt up with him. He kneed Aefre’s thighs apart and kissed a perky breast. “The fact he needs a queen is weighing heavily. Already many high lords and princes are presenting him with lists of acceptable women to be his queen and many a Rohirrim woman, both young and old are throwing themselves at him.” He kissed the other breast, before latching on. “These are very nice. Are they mine to play with now?”

Aefre cradled his head, enjoying the sparks of pleasure that shot through her. “Lists be damned. Who is Éomer most interested in?”

Gamling shook his face between them…

*minemineminemineminefunbagsmineminemine*

“Imrahil’s daughter. In fact, she is at the top of the Prince’s list.”

Aefre slid her hands to her husband’s very nice arse indeed. “I could care less about anyone’s list. I care about who he is interested in.”

Gamling stopped the foreplay for a moment. “He likes the Princess of Belfalas; Lothiwhateverhernameis. The problem is, he does not feel he is worthy of her.” He kissed her neck. “Can we discuss this later? We have an entire trip to Gondor to talk about it.”

By this time, Aefre was positioning herself for a pleasurable assault. But in the back of her mind, she wondered why Éomer would feel unworthy of anyone, especially a mere princess.

***

Gamling went around Dréogan.

***not here!***

He walked around Adenydd, double-checking the cinch, her saddle and bridal. She was a well-behaved beauty, standing still with Haleth holding her bridle. Unlike his own stead…

***still not here!***

He circled around Dréogan again. Dréogan snorted and yanked his head in attempt to pull loose from the young squire.

“What is your problem?” Gamling looked into the bemused eyes of the King of Rohan. If he was hung-over, he showed no sign, no indication. His eyes were clear and his smile was mischievous. “Your wife is late. Is this going to become habit?” Out of routine, Gamling took his horse’s bridle, standing firm while the stallion snorted and acted put out.

*** If I had my druthers… damn the man is twinkling…***

Gamling attempted to change the subject. “Sire, I have been thinking-“

“Thinking?” Éomer’s eyebrows rose. “Last night? Aefre gave you time to think?” His voice dropped to an almost inaudible level. “I will have to have a chat with Aefre. She’s falling down on her job!”

“Sire, about our problem in the Wold…” Éomer immediately snapped to attention, “…I was considering a set of quiet ears to-”

“A spy?” the King hissed. He leaned in, nose to nose with the older marshal. “You suggest I put a spy in the Wold?” Éomer sounded less than pleased.

“Gamling held his ground. “Yes.” Dréogan blew horse slobbers into the side of Gamling’s shoulder.

Éomer rocked back on his heels. “A spy.”

“A quiet spy.”

“Quiet?” Dréogan was now yanking at the bridal, an attempt to move closer to Adenydd. Haleth saw this and pulled the mare closer to the stallion, in attempts to calm him.

“Aye.”

“Hmmm.” Éomer considered the request. “Where is Willan?”

Gamling didn’t appear to be listening; his attention was now elsewhere. “With Aefre.”

“With Aefre? How do you kno--- oh.”

Aefre was picking her way through the line, shadowed by Willan, who was carrying a set of saddlebags. Aefre’s mouth was moving a league a minute, obviously giving Willan final instructions. That Aefre was talking up a storm, shadowed by the hulking mute wasn’t a sight that was causing the Elves to suddenly mumble amongst themselves.

“Would you look at that?” Éomer whistled in appreciation. “Béma, I love Rohirrim women!”

Aefre was wearing a green tunic and soft brown leggings, causing Belfalian and Gondorian eyebrows to rise and side-saddled ladies and elleths to twitter. Lothiriel’s jaw was firmly clenched before leaning across to her father, an argument of Belfalian proportions preparing to brew.

“My Lord,” Aefre reached her husband and horse and she inclined her head to Éomer. She looked at Gamling. “Husband.”

Gamling rolled his eyes. “Wife.”

Éomer watched the exchange with amusement. “Willan. I have need of your services. Here.” He took the saddlebags and plopped them over Gamling’s shoulders. “She has a… husband.” Gamling reeled under the weight. “Let him secure them.” The two disappeared into the throng.

Gamling managed to sling the saddlebags over Adenydd’s rump, buckling them into place. “These are heavy as dirt!”

“Yes.” She pulled a cloth from his belt and handed it to him. “You have horse slobbers on your shoulder.”

Gamling stared sternly at his wife. Most riders would quiver under such glaring auspiciousness, but not Aefre. He snatched the cloth and began to rub. “I do not want to know.”

“I am going to right a wrong.” Aefre put a foot in the stirrup and heaved up. “Am I to ride with you?”

Gamling thought to himself. His place was with his king, but truth be told… “I best ride with the King.” He tucked the cloth back into his belt and pulled up on his horse, his side stretching painfully. Aefre saw his grimace and in her heart, she ached to tell Éomer they were not going. Gaming saw the thought cross her features. “I would be honored if you joined me there.”

Aefre maneuvered her horse next to him. “If your side pains you this much-“

“I am a Rider of Rohan! I will survive,” he spat tersely. He immediately felt remorse for snapping at her. He reached over and placed a gloved hand on her knee. “The injury must be worked. Forgive me.”

Aefre stared ahead, shaking her head. “Cretin.” But her tone was soft and she placed her hand on his. “I spoke to Arwen about your injury,” Aefre’s thumb rotated in a gentle circle on his knuckle, “and she said she would speak to her father about an oil or poultice to put on your side to help.” Gamling threw his head to the side; eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. “If it is an oil, I would massage it in every night. Perhaps in the mornings as well.”

Gamling’s eyes were still squeezed shut, but the tightness in his face relaxed. “Massage?”

“Aye.”

One eye opened. “Tonight?”

“Bonehead.”

The Marshal’s face split into a grin. “I have a bone…”

At that, Éomer’s voice rang through the line. “Riders! Riders HO!”

The bridal party was mounted and ready to go, with Éomer’s éored moving to the head. Éowyn and Faramir had their heads together, holding hands and whispering; it made Éomer gag to think about it. He looked away self-consciously and caught the eye of Lothiriel.

Both princess and king looked down, embarrassed and blushing. He looked up in time to see Gamling and Aefre moving to the front. They were riding close enough to be holding hands.

“Can I speak to you a minute?” Éomer whispered, his hand reaching to grasp Dréogan’s bridle. “I have taken your advice.”

“Oh?” Dréogan was ready to go, ready to ride and he was chomping at the bit, giving Gamling a difficult time.

“I have decided to send Willan up to the Wold. I have told him to try the garrison first, wherever they will let him in and to listen. He is to return when he has heard enough.”

“That is a good idea. Willan is not a stupid man.” Dréogan jerked again, freeing himself from Éomer’s hand and attempting to nuzzle Adenydd, but Éomer truly wasn’t paying attention to the cantankerous stallion. His eyes followed the group from Belfalas. Gamling’s eyes followed his king’s, to the young woman who sat too dainty for a Rohirrim. “If she falls off, Sire, you should be in position to rescue her.”

Éomer gave a half-smile. “I would teach her to ride properly. Do you think she might be interested?”

“Only one way to find out.”

A dark shadow flitted across his face. “Perhaps, I shall ask her to dance-”

“Take her shopping, my lord.” Aefre winked.

Dréogan whipped his head, reaching to bite at the king. “Sire, I suggest we get éored started before my stallion nips his way to the gate.” Gamling pulled tight on the reins, and clicking his tongue in signal, pulled forward towards the front of the party.

Aefre stopped and leaned over. “You have nothing to be ashamed of and I know you are not shy. Once we get started, go talk to her. I like her. So does your sister. Do not underestimate yourself.” She nodded towards her husband. “I am going to ride with him. I hope I am not breaking any rules of etiquette.”

“You would not care if you were.” Éomer patted Adenydd on the rump. “Go to your husband.”

It took time for the large group to leave through the gates of Edoras. People lined the paths to watch, the sight of Elves, Men and ladies from other countries something they would speak of for many years to come.

Two hours later, Willan quietly left the city, riding what looked to be a large draft horse, a tattered bedroll attached to the saddle. He carried a sword, tack, and a plain cloak. As he turned to the northeast, a solitary figure watched and prayed over him. For the first time in her life, Eadignes knew that someone truly loved her.

***

Gamling was moving forward.

True, he had no choice. Dréogan was in motion and the Rider was more or less powerless, sitting on his back, simply along for the ride. The closer the entourage got to Pelennor Fields, the more the Rider's body and heart resisted. He left once; he never had any intention of coming back-

*Yes you did! You couldn't leave Théoden here to rot with the Gondorians*

"Gamling?" Aefre's query cut through his reverie. Worried brown eyes searched his. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine.”

Aefre knew better, but she refused to push the point. Each passing night, Gamling became more and more restless in his sleep. Sometimes, he called… no, he cried out in his sleep. The things he saw, fought against, terrified him in the night. Aefre had a bruise on her shin, where he had kicked her and each night, she attempted to have their tent moved further and further from the company, so as not to disturb anyone else. If the group thought they wanted more privacy, well, that was fine with her.

She spoke with the great elven healer, Elrond, the first evening, when they stopped for the night. He gave her several vials of healing oil, to be worked in Gamling’s scar and he promised to write the recipe down once they arrived in Minas Tirith. She was fascinated by his infinite knowledge of lore and herbs, that far surpassed her own and she decided to find a notebook of sorts so she could write down everything he told her, so she could pass them along to Helgarda and Eadignes. Elrond checked Gamling’s wound himself, much to the displeasure of her husband – who grumbled and barked as only a troll of a man could – and told him whoever stitched him did a wonderful job and that he was a lucky man. Gamling insisted turn and turn was fair play and forced Aefre to some stomach prodding of her own. Elrond told her her babe was well placed and healthy; he even told her he knew the sex, but Aefre wanted to wait and be surprised.

But the closer they got to Minas Tirith, the more agitated Gamling became.

***

TrollsorcsburningfireflamingtrollsoffireThéodennonononoflyinghorsesflyingthingsnazgul Éowynnoooarrowsandrocksandgrond…

Gamling shot up, breathing heavily and in a sweat. Aefre mumbled and rolled over, Gamling patting her to make sure she continued sleeping. Desperate for air, he quietly stole from the furs, covering her and putting on his leggings. He made his way through the flaps and stepped out, breathing deeply of the fresh breeze, careful not to wake his wife. He strode through the camp, to the hillside, knowing they would arrive in Minas Tirith the next day. His greatest nightmare lay there and he dreaded it. Dreaded the time, dreaded the journey back.

***I have to bring Théoden home. Bring him home to sleep next to Elfhilde…***

“Some things, Gamling of Rohan, are not meant to be pondered in silence.”

Gamling started, not hearing the Elf come up behind him. The dark hood was lowered and in the light of the moon, the beauty of Galadriel was unbound. “My Lady-”

“You fear the field. You fear what you saw and you fear your memory of it. You are not alone.” She was now standing next to him, a calming, ancient presence. “Many Men of the West have the same nightmares, the same fears as you. But you are not many men.”

Gamling hung his head before looking away. “I should have been-”

“You were not meant to be by his side, Gamling, son of Gamhelm.” The Lady of the Golden Wood turned as if to leave. “You have chosen well, your life partner. She is strong. Lean on her, as she will need to lean on you this coming winter. Do not be afraid to tell her your fears. You fret over something you could not prevent; something that was meant to be.” Galadriel pulled up her hood. “A storm comes this winter. A storm for your wife and a hard decision for your king. Lean on your wife, so she will lean on you.” The Elf disappeared into the night, leaving Gamling alone in the darkest of the night with his thoughts.

“Gamling?” Aefre appeared at his side and threaded her arm through his. “Who were you talking to? Is everything all right?” In the moonlight, he could see her tiredness, her fear and worry for him apparent. He started to lie, tell her all was fine,

You fret over something you could not prevent…

With a lump in his throat, he covered her hand. “My dreams have been very dark and I do not wish to burden you.”

“I wish you would. If anything it might ease your heart.”

“I worry for you.” He smoothed her hair back, tendrils flying loose from her braid. “All of this cannot be good for our babe.”

“I will worry about our babe. You tell me what worries you.”

Gamling exhaled sharply. “You should not be traveling. We should tell Éomer you are expecting-”

“And go back home after coming all this way?” Aefre rolled her eyes. “You will not rest until Théoden is returned and safely buried.” She leaned over and laid her head against his arm. “Your sleep is so agitated and the closer we get to Minas Tirith, the worse it gets.” She patted him on the shoulder and pulled him towards the tent. “Tomorrow, we will sleep in a real bed, but tonight, we need to rest as best we can. Come.”

Gamling took one last look towards the dark horizon before turning and following his wife.

Over the horizon lay the cause and the roots of his nightmares and he hated the thought of burdening Aefre with all of it.
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Rider of the Mark