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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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Rider of the Mark 43

The Big Man; He speaketh in silent riddles

“Old man, your wife is waddling.”

Gamling shifted his eyes from watching Aefre maneuver around a table to his king, who sat across the Ogetarts cloth. He glared and moved his piece. “Keep your mind on the game.”

Éomer grimaced and moved his piece, in attempt to keep his pennant safe. He was quacking like a duck under his breath.

Gamling calmly moved another piece, again putting his king’s banner in danger. “If she hears you, she will sit on you.”

Yule was coming soon and the winter was upon them. Gamling’s mother arrived the previous week, before the first storm, to aid with the coming birth of his child; a child who was taking his or her sweet time to come. His mother said the last moon of a pregnancy was the longest and as usual, she was correct. Aefre’s movements were slow and clumsy the last few weeks, the babe dropped to a point so low, her back pained her constantly. Many nights, Gamling rubbed oils made from one of Elrond’s mixtures into his wife’s back in aid to loosen tight and pulled muscles. He ached with her.

Éomer moved his piece again. “Can… can I ask you a personal question?” Gamling raised an eyebrow. “How… how do you… you know… do it… with her belly in the way?” Gamling stared angrily before moving his piece and setting it down rather forcefully, making the pieces on the cloth bounce. Éomer knew when to lower his head. He moved his piece without looking. “I am sorry, old man… it’s just I hope in a few years, I’ll-”

“You will have to figure it out.” Again, Gamling moved his piece.

Éomer looked at the game in disgust. “I give up. You will chase me all night if I do not.”

Gamling wasn’t paying attention. He was watching his wife interact with Eadignes. It looked as if the girl were begging, pleading. He knew what she was asking, Béma knew she asked him hundreds if not thousands of times the same question.

Any news? Any news of Willan?

None. None at all.

Initially Éomer and Gamling told those who asked that Willan was running an errand for the king; they thought he would return by harvest and if not by harvest, then before the first snowfall. That had not come to be. Éomer was chaffing because messengers between Rohan and Dol Amroth slowed to nothingness due to the weather. He lived for the missives from his bride-to-be. Éomer had gifted Lothiriel with a horse – a black mare with a dainty step and at her request, a crass old captain for a groomsman to teach her to ride ‘in the Rohirrim style’ as well as to instruct her in the Rohirrim language. Imrahil winced at the word ‘astride’ but Lothiriel spent some time with the Rohirrim women and she made her point very clear that is she were going to be Queen of Rohan, well, she would have the Rohirrim’s respect rather than ire. And that meant leggings and riding astride! On top of that, Éowyn was planning her late spring wedding to Faramir and more often than not, the women had their heads together with that. Much material was sifted through, a new wardrobe being made for her.

So much giggling, it gagged him.

Eadignes was looking at Éomer, hopefully, before dropping her head and going the other way.

“I worry for Willan.”

Éomer started to reset the board, start the game anew, before giving up and putting the pieces in the pouch. “I do as well. Sometimes I think to send another, but…” he shook his head, biting his lip, “I’ll not send man after man in. Not yet.” Gamling nodded. “I wish we had more proof, someone besides Cenedan’s word.”

“Cenedan’s word should be enough.”

“I agree.”

Éomer stood up and picked up the pouch. “Your mother says we are in for a hard winter. Many storms.” He shook his head and left the table.

As he watched Éomer leave the hall, Gamling wondered if the storms his mother predicted were the same Galadriel also spoke of that previous summer. Somehow, he didn’t think so.

***

Underneath many quilts and blankets, Gamling lay curled up with his wife. He was shivering. She was in a sweat.

Their babe was most active at night. Sometimes, when he spooned up to her and curled his hand around her womb, his Little Thumper would settle down.

Tonight, unfortunately, was not one of those nights. Aefre’s sleep was intermittent, and she had gotten up at least once in the middle of the night to visit the chamber pot. Gamling felt guilty that he had somehow done this to her, but his joy at watching his child that he planted grow made him swell with pride.

There was a low glow in the room; the fire was burning near to the grate. The shutters were closed and heavy banners were hung in front, an attempt to keep out the bitter cold. It also muffled the late night noise in the city and around Meduseld. So he was concerned when in the dark, there was a hurried knock at the door. Aefre was sleeping fretfully, so Gamling pulled on his leggings, lit the small bedside light next to the bed, and hurried to the door, opening it a crack.

One of the night watchmen stood in the hall, a lamp in his hand. “Sir. A rider has come in. You need to come.”

“At this time of night? In the cold? What fool would be out riding in the dark?”

The watchman was still in his winter woolens, snow now melting on the floor. “I woke Éomer King first and he told me to send for you and then to get Eadignes. She is closer than Hildegard.”

“Eadignes?” Aefre appeared at Gamling’s elbow. She was pulling a long shawl about her shoulders. “Why would he call for Eadignes?”

The watchman appeared to be at a loss for words. His jaw flapped several times before he finally blurted. “It is Willan. Willan. He came flying to the gates like a madman being chased by ghouls or something. His face,” and with this, the man motioned around his eye, “he’s either hit something or something hit him. It looks as if he’s been beaten something fierce.”

Aefre gasped as Gamling threw the door open wide. He headed out and down the hallway, before his wife called after him. “Slow down, you oaf! I cannot keep up and I cannot see!” He turned to see her trying to scurry, holding her shawl around her with one hand and clutching yesterday’s discarded tunic in the other. He snatched it from her, throwing it on, before taking her hand and hurrying as fast as she could go down the maze of hallways.

They entered the Great Room, several lamps already lit, to see Éomer just as barely clad as Gamling, squatting in front of a chair, with a tall figure slumped in it. Éomer saw them first and got up, long strides catching the two before they reached the chair. “He’s all right, he will live, but someone had a heavy hand and I intend to find out who.” He took Aefre by the shoulder. “He’s a tough Rohirrim, our Willan is.”

There was a ruckus in the hall, footfalls slapping at the wooden floor and Eadignes screaming as she out ran the messenger. “Where is he? Where is he?” She was in a white shift and shawl, hair loose and flying, and carrying a bag of herbs. She ran past the trio, to the front of the man sitting down. “Oh Béma, no, no…” Aefre grimaced when she joined her.

True to Éomer’s word, someone had used a heavy fist on Willan. His left eye was bruised and swollen shut and his lip was swollen with frozen blood. There was a horrible gash on his forehead that was oozing. Eadignes was shaking as she gently touched each injury. Willan leaned the right side of his face into her hand, cherishing the tender contact.

“Eadignes,” Aefre gently shook her shoulder, “we need to clean him up. I would like to get a closer look at that wound above his eye. Go prepare your sewing kit and painkillers and lore. But first, go and awaken Aelwydd and tell her we need hot water, a cloth and a slab of meat.” She nodded to Gamling. “I have a notebook, that Elrond-”

He was gone before she could finish her sentence.

Willan reached out, his hand gently caressing the curve of her belly. “Aye, this babe is large and I am glad you will be here when Gamling’s little Thumper arrives, my friend, but… who did this to you?”

Willan looked at Éomer and then back at the main door.

“Are they following you?” Even though Éomer’s voice was soft, it carried authority.

*yes*

“Close?”

*yes*

“Before sunrise?”

Willan shrugged.

Éomer pulled up a stool and motioned for Aefre to sit. She continued to gently touch and inspect the man’s face. “This gash will need to be sewn. I need to clean the rest of his face.” She continued to inspect him closely. “Sire? I have not asked where you sent Willan, however-”

“I will tell you. It concerns you anyway and I should have allowed Gamling to tell you earlier.” Éomer pulled up another chair and set the lamp he held in the floor next to it. “When we went to war, a man from your former garrison approached Gamling-”

“Cenedan.”

“Aye, Cenedan. He told Gamling and Théoden King your garrison was stolen.”

“Gifre.” Aefre finished for him. “But Gifre claimed to be a cousin to Lufian-”
Willan began to shake his head ‘no’ emphatically, his fist beating a steady, angry tattoo on the chair arm. Aefre’s eyes narrowed angrily. “Did he do this to you? I will kill him.”

“Aefre,” Éomer interrupted, “Lady Aefre, please. If he lied about his relationship to Lufian and evicted you illegally, what he is done is theft. That is punishable by branding, however-” he swallowed once, not in fear, but an action to calm his ever present temper. “-in addition, according to Cenedan, the garrison’s muster was called to war. They never came, they never arrived.”

“They ignored the call.”

“Aye. That is treason and that is punishable by death. We had no proof that Gifre wasn’t who he said he was and we had no proof that the garrison in the Wold even received the King’s summons except by Cenedan’s word.”

Aefre thought of the scarred mark, lying safe on the mantle in hers and Gamling’s chambers. “But Cenedan is dead.”

“But Cenedan is dead,” Éomer nodded in agreement. “So I sent quiet ears into the Wold to listen and return.” Éomer laid a hand on Willan’s knee. “We needed to know if the garrison wasn’t informed or they decided as a whole not to come and plead ignorance. I am sorry, my friend. Had I had any idea someone would do this to you, I would not have done it.”

Willan covered the king’s hand, dwarfing it with his own and shrugged.

*It’s okay. It had to be done.*

There was noise in the halls, as Aelwydd stormed through the doorway, closely followed by Eadignes. A steel grey braid matched Gamling’s mother’s backbone. “Boy! Looks like your face got in the way of someone’s hand.” Willan shrugged again, this time attempting to smile. It made him grimace in pain.

“His forehead needs stitched and his lip looks bad.”

“Just what you do not need this late in your pregnancy, Aefre. But I’m certain you will not rest until you’ve seen him cleaned up and settled.” She stood straight, listening to her back pop. “Take him to your old room. Eadignes uses it now and it’s close to the kitchen. I’ll get a servant to start boiling water and keeping us furnished with it. Also make some tea. We’ll put some painkillers in it and something for the swelling. I’ll bet we have some things in that notebook of the Elf’s that will help as well. Well, what are you waiting for, boy?” She nodded to Willan. “Unless you need help, get to that room so we can fix you up.” Gamling’s mother headed to the kitchens, to rouse someone and after looking at Willan one more time, Eadignes followed.

As Willan rose, Éomer grasped him by the arm. “Did you find out what we needed?”

*yes*

“Do you know who he is?”

*yes*

“Is he in league with anyone?”

Willan looked at Aefre and hung his head.

*yes*

“Willan?” Aefre asked quietly. “Do I know this person?”

*yes*

“Someone here?”

*no*

“Well,” she stood up slowly, her own back not wanting to move. “That should narrow it down. Let’s get you cleaned up, stitched up and rested before we discuss what you found out later. I am going to put on some clothes. I doubt I’ll be getting much sleep tonight. I’ll meet you in Eadignes’s room.”

The two watched her leave, speaking quietly and telling her husband on the way. Willan started to leave, but Éomer caught him by the arm. “Did you hear enough?”

*yes*

“Am I going to be sentencing someone to death?”

*yes*

Éomer’s shoulders drooped and Gamling realized the storm Galadriel had spoken of was on Meduseld’s doorstep.

***

Early, the following afternoon, Gifre, self-proclaimed Lord of the Wold, showed up in Edoras, looking for his run-away servant.

***

tbc

Ogetarts – a game of strategy beloved by the Rohirrim. It still exists today in a more modern form. <veg>
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Rider of the Mark