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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.

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Disclaimer: SSDD. The disclaimer from before hasn't changed. I don't own 'em, I'm not making any money off them...it all belongs to Tolkien. BTW - the new tabby things do NOT work for me. They look pretty up there, but they are pretty fucking useless and they negate the stuff I've done to pretty it up... just saying.

Rider of the Mark 41
Flowers for Snowmane

***

As was its wont, the party traveled slowly towards its destination. Dréogan was not helping the situation, acting out more than Aefre had ever seen. “He is always this cantankerous when you are on patrol?”

“No. I do not know why he is so antsy.” He finally gave up and put his heels to Dréogan. Aefre followed and the two appeared to race to the rise.

Beneath them lay Pelennor Fields. To Aefre, it was a sea of long green grass and at the far side, a tall, majestic dais of a white city rose over the field. There were bright banners waving from the parapets and what looked like market stalls and brilliantly colored tents around the gates. Many came to celebrate the king’s wedding and happiness.

But Gamling saw none of that.

His face was ashen, grey in the afternoon sun. He was having a difficult time swallowing as…

Firefirefireorcsandflameandmumukilandharirimandflyinghorseandhorsemen…

He never spoke of what happened on the battlefield or at the Black Gate and Aefre knew he was reliving it. “What do you see, Gamling?”

“I see dead people.” Aefre nudged her horse closer and took her husband’s hand. “Over there,” he pointed with the other, “there was no gate. It was down when we arrived, destroyed. This entire field,” he motioned with the flat of his hand, encompassing the entire field, “was filled with orcs.” He was quiet for a moment. “Orcs and fire. They took no notice of us, the sun rising at our backs, until I blew the horn.” He waited a moment, to catch his breath, to swallow painfully. “When I blew the horn, so many turned to us, charged us. I remember following Théoden down into the abyss, it was like Mordor unleashed a sea of monsters.”

On and on he continued; in all the time Aefre knew him, he had never spoken, talked this much. He recounted driving into the orcs, rolling over them, cutting down orc after orc. He told her of the giant oliphants, the mumukils, how their barbed tusks threw horse and rider, of riding under them, behind them, realizing Théoden was no longer near and then the Black Wraiths and the Eagles. Eventually, he stopped, verbally purged and spent, and without warning, he gave a battle cry and charged down the hill, much as he had the last time he was there. Aefre galloped after him; this was not racing, not like the two of them enjoyed. Dréogan had wanted to be loosed this badly for ages and the war horse dashed to the center of the field before Gamling turned him, turned him to face Aefre.

“I lost him, Aefre. I lost him. It’s my fault!”

“Gamling, you can’t blame yourself!” For a moment, the Rider was furious, his anger more powerful than any she had seen and it made her want to cower. “There were tens… hundreds of thousands by your own admission. It’s not your fault.”

For a moment, Gamling continued to glower. Finally, he released the pent up energy and slumped. “That’s what the Lady of the Golden Wood said last night.” He turned Dréogan and began to walk. “She said I was not to blame. I was not meant to be at his side. ‘Tis hard to accept.”

They drifted eastward for a few minutes, Aefre allowing him to deal with his demons. After a while she turned back to look, saw the bridal party cresting the rise.

“Where is he, Gamling? Where is Snowmane?”

“What they wrote-”

“I know. It’s awful. Show me.”

She followed him, as he trotted to the east, eventually, the two of them circling, searching the field. Finally, Gamling spotted the plaque. He tied Dréogan’s reins and handed him an apple he had in his saddlebags. Aefre followed, looking at the inscription. She shook her head, tsking under her breath before following Gamling to the ground, tying her horse as well and opening her saddlebags.

Those bags Gamling complained were as heavy as dirt, were filled with several sacks OF dirt; rich Rohirrim soil she and Willan scooped from the kitchen garden the morning they left Edoras. She pulled a hand claw, a garden tool from the sack and dropping to her hands and knees, began scrapping around the plaque, pulling the grass and weed away from it.

“Aefre, what are you doing?”

“Righting a wrong.”

The party they were traveling with caught up to them, most keeping their distance and whispering what was the Marshal’s wife up to? They didn’t see the horse pull up next to them or notice the boots that jumped almost in their midst, causing a small amount of dust to stir up.

“Aefre?” Éomer’s voice was very gentle, “What are you doing?”

Aefre looked up, sweat dripping from her forehead. “In my saddlebags, you’ll find a small bag of what looks like seed. It is several kinds of mint, rosemary, and thyme, along with simbelmynë seed. There are also several water bags with water from the Snowbourne.” She reached over and touched Gamling on the hand. “Théoden loved this horse. He would grieve that anyone would refer to him as his bane.”

“So you have brought Rohan to Snowmane.” He joined with her, digging around the small monument.

Éomer watched for a moment, the two heads bent over a single task, before dropping to his knees and helping as well.

“Can I help?” Éomer looked up into a sea of green and for the first time, he did not look away blushing. Lothiriel was off her palfrey, looking down at the group in the dirt, along with many others.

Éomer motioned to Aefre’s saddlebags, covertly watching the Princess’s every move as she retrieved the bags of seed, dirt and water. She realized that the three were doing something almost spiritual, so rather than intrude, she stepped back, taking the empty bags and garden claw as the three were finished. No one realized the bridal party continued on, leaving the four in the dirt.

“I don’t know if the simbelmynë will grow.” Aefre was sprinkling the last of the water around the gravestone. “But it’s there.” She stood up and dusted off her breeches and gloves. “I am sorry Éomer, if I intruded-”

“Sorry for what?” Éomer was also standing up, very aware that Lothiriel was standing at his elbow. Every nerve ending in his body was on alert and he tried to pretend he wasn’t aware of her presence. “You did something I didn’t even think about. It was very kind.” With all the self-control he could muster, he turned to the young woman reeking havoc in his very being. “Would you like a hand up, Princess?”

She bestowed a smile that lit up his world. “Aye, that I would.” She extended a kid-leather clad hand to the very tall man and allowed him to help her mount.

By this time, Gamling had helped Aefre up and was mounting his own horse. As Éomer went around him to mount his, he elbowed the Marshal. “I am not in a hurry to catch up. If you want to move a bit ahead-”

“We will stay behind, but at a distance.”

Aefre smiled and reined in her horse. “Go get her!” she winked.

***

Gamling decided that weddings were tedious affairs and if he could get out of ever attending another, he would consider himself a lucky man. He was back in the hated boots, constraining clothing and useless sword. He was wearing his wedding cloak, as were the other married Riders, with its elaborate braiding and other emblems of his station. His wife was wearing the finery she wore for their own wedding. Elfhelm was currently squiring Aefre across the dance floor in a dizzying, rotating whirl, while Elfhelm’s wife, Lýðrest, stood next to Gamling, watching her husband and drinking a glass of wine.

“This shite is too sweet.”

Gamling quietly agreed.

“Tell me about the new trainees you have sent to our garrison.”

Gamling watched Elfhelm weave his wife in and out of the rotation on the floor. “Fugol and Glíwere. They are brothers.” Aefre and Elfhelm were followed by Éomer and Galadriel.

Lýðrest was known for her straight-forwardness, as well as her gutter mouth. Rumor had it that an old captain of the guard taught her to swear. “And Edoras’ garrison is so large, you couldn’t take them? The Eastenmet has much rebuilding to do and is not in a position to take on new riders.”

The dance was starting to wind down, thank Béma. “It was felt they would fare better under Elfhelm’s hand.”

“You mean, my frying pan.”

Gamling stared deep into the contents of his untouched wine glass. “Fugol is past an age to earn his first cloak and his brother is close behind in foulness. Neither has any respect for women and Fugol has already found himself knocked some span up a wall, with Willan holding him up.”

Lýðrest snorted into her fruity wine. “He must be ghastly to anger Willan.”

“You have no idea.” He took Aefre’s hand as Elfhelm led her from the floor.

“You should dance with your own wife, Gamling.”

“I do not dance.” He handed Aefre his own untouched glass. “Would you like some air?”

“Desperately!” The Horselord led her to the balcony, where the breeze was more obvious. She took a sip from the glass her husband pressed into her hand moments earlier. “It is much too stuffy in there.”

Gamling turned his back to the balustrade and propped his elbows on the top. “You should get more rest.”

“So should you!” she retorted. Aefre sighed and tucked herself under Gamling’s arm, both of them watching the dancing and social interactions within the hall. Gamling’s nightmares had not lessened since their arrival, since his emotional outburst on the fields of Pelennor. He was still restless; fought things in his sleep. “Let’s not argue. I wish you would allow me to give you something to help you sle-”

“Do not drug me.” The Marshal pulled her in closer, tighter and kissed the top of her head, showing her he wasn’t mad at her, simply the situation. “I will deal with it.”

“You are not dealing with it, Gamling.” They watched as Arwen and Elessar danced past the open door. “I would ask Elrond, but...” Her voice trailed off with the unspoken thought

“He is unhappy.”

“Aye.”

They stood there for some time, watching the goings on inside. They discussed little things, big things, the state of Sulis’s husband’s body and mind and would he survive the trip home in a few weeks. He lost an eye and an ear and relearning to ride without use of field of depth was daunting for the Rider. Eventually, the discussion moved to a more serious matter at hand.

“Has he danced with her at all?” Gamling knew who she meant by ‘he’ and ‘her.’

“Twice. A reel and a slow dance.”

“Good. They are both very popular.”

‘Aye,’ Gamling thought to himself. ‘He is the hero-king of Rohan and she is a princess. And a beautiful one at that.’ She was swaying slowly and he took her in his arms, clasping one of her hands to his chest, his other, going around her waist. As he began to rock with her, his cloak swirled about them gently.

“Gamling?” Aefre’s voice was very quiet. “We’re dancing.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” For some time, there was no one in the world, but them.

“How many times are you going to wrap her up in your cloak, old man?” From nowhere, Éomer appeared on the balcony. He was resplendent in his finery, his cloak attached with horsehead clasps made of gold. For the first time, he wore the crown of Rohan, clearly signifying his station. He looked every inch a king. “I already caught you once.”

“Do you remember catching us?”

“Not really, no.” He took a drink from his wine. “Thank Béma, Faramir does. He says you have a fine arse, Aefre. Sorry I missed that. ” He hitched a shoulder up to keep Gamling’s lady from hitting him.

“I have no idea why men drink so much,” Aefre was feeling the effects of the evening and the wine. Her babe was starting to flutter and hiding the pregnancy was getting difficult.

“We are Rohirrim,” Éomer announced, as if that should answer all questions about men and drinking. They watched as Lothiriel whirled by, partnered with a pompous Lamedonian. “I would like to get her alone for five minutes.” His nose went back in his glass.

“That is a pretty quick seduction, my lord.” Aefre’s glass was empty and she set it on the edge of the restraining wall of the balcony.

“Seduce?” Éomer was aghast. “Eh. I want an entire night to seduce her. Right now,” he nodded to himself, “I just want to kiss her. She has a battleaxe of a maidservant who goes everywhere with her.”

“So, kiss Lothiriel and seduce her maid.”

Éomer was staring at him with such loathing, it made Aefre step back. “Do you know what her name is? Thelielveril.”

“The liver-what?” All these non-Rohirric names twisted Gamling’s tongue.

Aefre was laughing. “Her name means ‘Dedicated Rose.’”

“Well, dedicated or rose, she’s dedicated at being a thorn! She’s as a rose bush!” Éomer finished his wine and scowled at the bottom of the glass. “Thorns everywhere! She hates everyone that is not from Dol Amroth, prejudiced nasty thing! I did get Lothiriel to agree to allow me,” and with this, Éomer pressed his hand to his heart in a most humorous and sarcastic way, “to walk with her in the hanging gardens in the top level of the city.” His voice then dropped and dripped venom. “Maybe she’ll leave her thorn bush in her rooms!” He leaned over and around his Marshal. “Has Gamling taken you to see them yet?”

“Not yet, sire.”

“Make him!” He motioned for Aefre’s abandoned goblet. “Would you like some more?”

“Punch. Not wine, please,” Aefre smiled wanly. She was tiring and Gamling could see it.

Éomer, however, did not see her face. He took the glass. “The wine is pretty appalling. What I wouldn’t give for a good Rohirrim honey mead!” With that, he took off, both glasses in hand towards the buffet.

Aefre sensed more than saw Gamling’s arm steal around her and hold her close. “You are tired.”

“Getting there and it’s a happy tired.” She leaned her head on his shoulder and watched the goings on in the large room. “We will probably never see the likes again. I wish Éowyn were here. I know she is planning her vows to Faramir.”

“I am sure you will fill her head with it. I,” and with this he kissed her, his hand cupping her womb, “would have preferred to stay home in Edoras, with you, and watched our babe grow.” Abruptly, he released her. “Béma! We have no privacy.”

Aefre turned to see Princess Lothiriel gingerly moving towards them, a glass of something in each hand. She was looking around, embarrassed and almost shy. “I am sorry,” she began quietly. “I thought I saw Éomer King and thought to bring him something cool to drink.”

*Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing and I’ll bet you’d love to get five minutes alone with my king-*

“That is very generous of you, my lady.” Aefre had the manners her husband lacked. “I understand he is looking forward to seeing the Hanging Gardens with you.”

“You should get him to take you shopping,” Gamling muttered, his arms crossed over his chest and looking oh so very bored.

“Sir?” Lothiriel also had the manners this Marshal didn’t have. She shrugged, ignoring the comment. “I hope he doesn’t think I’m being too forward.” She leaned and whispered to Aefre, “I hope my maid servant will stay behind. I have never seen her act this over-protective before!” She shrugged, obviously beyond mildly irate. “If you see that clammy-palmed lordlet from Lamedon, hide me, please. He keeps slobbering all over my hand and is already speaking of the many children I shall give him when he approaches my father to have me marry him.” She scrunched her nose. “He is odorous and slimey. And Thelielveril thinks he is wonderful and pesters me when Éomer comes near. Is it so awful to spend a few minutes alone with a person? Just so you can get to know them?”

Both Aefre and Gamling heard the wistfulness in her voice and their eyes met over her head. Gamling winked and nodded. “Look who is about to join us?” He bobbed to Éomer, reaching out and took both glasses from him. “I will take that. Punch for my wife and nasty wine for me.” He glared mockingly at Aefre. “You owe me.”

Aefre was completely nonplussed. “Éomer King, the princess thought you would be thirsty, so she brought an extra glass with her.”

*Oh yeah there are sparks*

Aefre’s grin was borderline evil as she watched Lothiriel hand him the second goblet. “Sire, the Princess was just telling us how much she admires Firefoot and wondered if you could perhaps allow her to see him up close.”

Lothiriel look was of shock, Éomer’s as well. It dawned on them both at the same time what the newlywed was suggesting. “I believe I could make some time tommo-”

“Tonight, sire.” Gamling cut in.

“You did say you would like to see Firefoot this eve?” Aefre picked up smoothly where her husband left off. “Now would be the perfect time. The stable is quiet…”

“The stable is empty, Aefre.”

“With less hustle and bustle and noise and goings on, Firefoot would be calm and amenable-“

“Like some wenches.”

Aefre hissed at him between her teeth to hush. Both Marshal and Marshal’s lady smiled benignly at both princess and king.

“I… don’t mind if that is what the princess desires.”

“I would love to. If, that is alright with you?” They both promised to not be long and then they strolled off, but not before Éomer posted a ‘thumbs up’ behind the princess back. They waited until the two went around the corner and down the stairs.

“That should give them an hour.” Aefre looked at her husband. He was still watching the stairwell, where the two had disappeared. “What do you think?”

“I think you are tired.” He escorted her to the doorway. Once there, he signaled the closest high-ranking Rider he could see. “Éothain? Would you escort my wife to our chambers?”

“But Gamling-”

“I need to do something. It won’t take but a few minutes.”

“Then I can wait-”

“No, you go on.” He tenderly pushed her in the direction of Éothain, who looked as confused as Aefre. “I will be along and you are drained. Go.” He watched as Aefre said her good nights to the King and Queen of Gondor before making a beeline, down the stairs.

From there, it was easy to find the Royal Stables where Elessar had the Rohirrim party’s horses kept. He tiptoed quietly, eventually hearing Éomer and Lothiriel murmuring together ahead of him. Whatever they were talking about, it made Éomer laugh appreciatively. As they reached the stables, the street glowed for a moment before it went dark again as the door shut behind them.

In the back of Gamling’s brain, his conscious pricked him; if he hadn’t been drinking strange wine, if he wasn’t a little bit tipsy, if he had his head on straight, he would not be contemplating what he was about to do. But he pushed it to the farthest reaches and refused to listen. His own fondest memory was an uninterrupted afternoon in a glade, with lunch and several skins of wine; along with conversation with a feisty woman he now called his wife. If his king wanted five minutes alone to kiss a beautiful woman who liked him, by Béma, he was going to make sure he had those five minutes.

He laid his ear to the door. It was quiet. Very gently, he lowed the outer bar into its slot, effectively barring anyone from getting out. He patted the door. “One hour, sire. I will be back in one hour!”

***

When Gamling reached his and Aefre’s assigned room, she was out of her finery and in a white linen sleeping gown. She sat on a stool, with her hair down, counting the strokes of her boar’s hair brush.

“Let me.” He took the brush from her and ran his fingers through her hair, a thick, heavy, mahogany mane that reached beyond her waist. He brushed it away from her neck and bent to nuzzle her along her neckline. “I love how you smell.” He set the brush down and pulled her up by her hand. “Leave it down tonight.” He escorted her to the bed and followed her up. When he pulled her gown over her head, she pressed his hand to her stomach, where small hands and feet were fluttering in their own dance.

In the pure joy of his marital bed and in feeling for the first time the movements of his unborn child, he completely forgot about Éomer and Lothiriel, locked in the barn.

***

Lýðrest - Sweet
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Rider of the Mark