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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 44

The Chicken comes home to roost.

Willan was asleep. His forehead was stitched and there were a few in his upper lip. He slept flat on his back, with a slab of beef over his face.

He sat stoically while Eadignes stitched him up the night before, crying and cursing between each stitch. Personally, Gamling thought the man was enjoying the attention, but he recognized the love that shown in his one open eye as he followed the former prostitute when she moved around him. Between Eadignes, Aefre, and Aelwydd, he was relatively bathed, cleaned up, stitched up, an elven healing salve on his face, comfreyed and willow barked and now, was sprawled all over Eadignes’s bed. She informed them under no uncertain terms; whatever questioning had to be done could be done later, when she said.

Éomer and Gamling stood in a corner, watching covertly. “When did this happen?” Éomer was curious. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “I mean, I’m not upset by it at all, I think it’s wonderful for both, however I missed it?”

“You’re just upset you and Éowyn didn’t think of it.”

He waved his hand. “Not true.”

Aefre had a pan of bloody water she was preparing to throw out. “Truth, it started when she stitched Gamling when he returned.” She smiled back at the two. “Willan has a way of seeing through the mask to see the not so obvious.” She ducked her and went out the door.

“I know. That’s why I sent him.”

The watchmen at the gates were on lookout for an angry party of men, but still the call went up when a single rider came to the gates, as it was unusual for anyone to be out riding in the cold. Most of those out in the town were children, playing in the snow. Bawdewyne, along with the two eldest in Beornia’s care were in the stables working with Cynn when the haughty man came in to stable his horse. He was rude with the children and barely civil and arrogant to Cynn, who glared at his nastiness with his apprentice and Beornia’s boys. With a nod and a whisper, he sent Bawdewyne the back way into Meduseld. The man perused the stables, with a proprietary air.

Cynn picked up the horse hoof he was working on and began to remove the loose shoe. “I did not catch your name, rider.”

“Gifre. Lord of the Wold.” He stopped and snarled when he found Willan’s draft horse. “Do you know where the idiot is who owns this horse?"

Cynn did not look up, simply nodded to Beornia’s sons to go. Aglaeca, the eldest balled up; he didn’t want to leave Cynn with the man with the false airs, but Cynn nodded him on. “I have lived in Edoras all my life, son. There are no idiots here.”

“This one snuck in under your nose.” He stopped in recognized contempt when he passed Adenydd. The mare snorted at him angrily, moving to the side closest to Dréogan, who charged the man, only stopped by his gate. “I wondered where you went when you left, Aefre.” At the mention of her name, Cynn tensed. He waited for the question. “This horse-”

“You would be better served if you went up to Meduseld to ask your questions. I am a simple blacksmith and,” and with this, he looked up with a glare, “I would like to finish with this horse before dinner.”

Gifre snorted in derision, before storming from the barn, muttering about ‘uppity peasants who should be kept in their place.’ No sooner than he left, Bawdewyne materialized at Cynn’s side. “I can get a rock-”

“You will do no such thing,” Cynn was back, digging at the errant shoe. “Who did you talk to up there?”

“Gamling’s mother.”

Cynn nodded once. “Good.”

“Are you sure I can’t take a-”

Cynn nailed his apprentice with a grey-eyed, steely gaze. “No. But you can take his horse and loosen the shoes.” His attention went back to the shoe he now pulled off. “He is going to want to run before this is over and I intend to slow him down.”

***

Gifre walked into a busy, noisy Hall. It was lively with cheerful Riders and smiling, busy servants. The women looked healthy, bustling about here and there. There were several large fireplaces, all of them roaring with a blaze that heated the entire hall, making it warm and comfortable. For a brief moment, his mind pondered on how to make such wealth his, but he decided for now to keep his mind on current holdings and business. Servants, even when they walked in on their own accord, were too valuable a commodity to release, when they decided to leave. Gifre decided to peruse the place, so when he left with that oaf, Dwáslíht in tow, he would pick a few finer items to bring with him. Chances are they wouldn’t miss them.

He realized that the noise in the hall dwindled to a nothingness that was painful. All eyes were on him. He drew himself up, wishing he had a mirror to make sure his braid and hair were in order. Perhaps, when this business were over, he would find the brothel or a willing wench in this place who would appreciate his position and standing in his community. He pasted on a thin, insincere smile. “Greetings,” he spoke to the nearest man with a green cloak. “Perhaps you can help me. I am looking-”

The guard held up his hand, gesturing to a dais at the front of the large hall. “You should speak to the king.”

There was a chair, a throne on the dais, a young man sitting on it, staring with disinterest at Gifre. He looked as a wild thing, a barbarian, in furs as if to ward of the chill that suddenly permeated the room. He wore a thin circlet on his head, obviously signifying his important station. One fur-trimmed boot was propped up on a short stool. His cheek was propped on a mighty fist and he looked bored as Gifre approached with much self-importance. He did not bow or show any deference to the king’s much higher position.

“My apologies, I was under the impression that you were a much older man, Théoden King.”

“You are?” Éomer never moved.

Gifre puffed up, unaware that the scuttling behind him was caused by him. “I am Gifre, Lord Woldenfeld of the Wold.”

“It is my understanding that Woldenfeld is a large garrison overseen by Lufian of the Wold.”

At this point, at all doorways, three to four riders materialized, guarding anything leading from the hall. Gifre continued on, unable to see the activity going on behind him and clueless that he was not in a welcoming place. “I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Lufian was killed by a group of wild men some five summers ago. During Yule season, to be specific. I am his kinsman and his heir.”

“I was not aware Lufian had kinsman.”

Gifre shrugged. “It is a distant relation. I was in Minhirath and did not find out for some time that my cousin had passed. Of course, I came home as soon as I found out.” He smiled insincerely.

“Cardolan is a desolate place.”

“True, but Minhirath has its beauty.” He smiled as if in fond memory. “Théoden King-”

Éomer slowly stood up to his full height. “I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news, but Théoden King was killed during the War this past spring. I am his nephew and heir, Éomer.” He came down from the platform, still dwarfing the pompous arse before him. “’Tis unusual for a Rider to be out in this weather.”

“I have a servant who has been with the family for some years,” the lie slid smoothly from his mouth and he didn’t see Éomer tighten his hand in a white-knuckled fist. “He is a simpleton and he appears to have wandered off. He does this on occasion and I’ve tracked him here. In fact, I saw the draft horse he likes to ride in your stable when I stabled my gelding, so I know he is here. I simply wish to find him and take him home where he will be safe and well-tended.” Gifre’s smile was as oily as a snake.

“A long way to wander from home at this time.”

“As I said,” Gifre spoke as if speaking to a child, “he is a simpleton. One cannot miss him. He is very tall, a hulk of a man. He does not speak.” He shrugged. “He is like an infant.”

“An infant who rides. Interesting. Does your simpleton have a name?”

“Yes. Dwáslíht.”

The moment he said it, it was if the very air was sucked from the room. “I would run too, if my mother had named me ‘dullard.’”

Gifre shrugged, unapologetic. “’Tis his name. I didn’t give it to him.”

Éomer’s sudden smile was a fake as Gifre’s. “It is snowing and I’ll send word to the stables that the draft horse is not to be taken out. If it is as you say, we’ll find your… servant soon enough.” He clapped the man on the shoulder, as if they were suddenly good friends. “It is time for the afternoon meal. Join us. You’ve been out the cold for too long, so please warm yourself by the fire. ”

Lulled into a sense of false security, the wind-reddened rider agreed and took a place close to the nearest fireplace. Éomer turned to the young serving girl hovering close by. “Wudurosan, get our guest some mead. If you will excuse me, Gifre,” the man bristled at the lack of his title, “I will go find Gamling.” Gifre turned and looked at Éomer curiously. “If your servant is here, Gamling will know.”

Éomer first went to Eadignes’s chambers, to discover an irate healer alone in her room, cleaning and sorting bandages and herbs. “Where is Willan?”

“He is with Gamling and Aefre in their chambers. Mine aren’t big enough!” she replied hotly. “No one will tell me anything!”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Eadignes.”

She stopped what she was doing and pointed at him angrily. “You will not do that to him again!”

On some strange level, Éomer realized he should be angry that his subordinate was speaking to him in a disrespectful manner, however he understood the basis of her anger and didn’t blame her. “I had no idea this would happen in the first place, Eadignes. I am truly sorry.” With that, he fled to Gamling’s rooms.

True to Eadignes’ claim, Willan sat in Gamling’s chambers, at the small table across from Aefre, who looked pained and uncomfortable, Gamling behind her. Willan’s face looked better, the filth and blood removed. The swelling was down, but his eye was still shut and bruised. He had stitches not only in his forehead, but his lip as well. There were scratches that had been hiding under the filth of the previous night, but healing had truly begun.

“How do you fare, Willan?” The man smiled as best he could and waved. He patted Aefre’s hand. Éomer reached over and took the man’s hand, inspecting the back. “Not a scratch. Did you not even try to defend yourself?”

“He was afraid they would kill him, sire.” Gamling was restrained fury, every muscle tight.

“How is questioning going?”

“I am still trying to get several things from him.” It was obvious Aefre hadn’t slept since Willan’s arrival. There were dark circles under her eyes. “I was much better at 20 Questions when I was younger and more alert,” she smiled wanly.

“I hate to ask,” Éomer started, “but can you continue this on your own? Gifre has arrived,” Willan started up, but Éomer pressed him back down. “You stay here. I’m disgusted at the story he’s concocted, but if he lies this early, it will be easier to trap him in his lies later. Either way, I need Gamling to help me pin him down.”

“I can finish, sire. That is not a problem.”

Éomer turned to Gamling. “I realize that you have been in Edoras since you were raised Captain and you were my uncle’s advisor and you have advised me well. But there is a large garrison in the Wold that will need an able commander when this is over and I intend to send you to oversee what needs to be done to rebuild it.”

“Sire, you are my king, my liege. I will go where you send me.” Gamling responded. “You know that.”

“That man has proclaimed himself ‘Lord’ of Wolden-”

“LORD?” Aefre shot up, making herself dizzy in the process. “Even Lufian never claimed to be Lord… simply the captain of the garrison!”

Éomer turned to Gamling. “Do you recall there ever being a Lord in the Wold?”

“Never, sire.”

“What else is he claiming?”

Éomer rocked up on his toes, hands behind his back. “Other than he’s a ‘Lord’, thought I was Théoden, and that he has a simple, idiot servant who has been in the family’s employ since birth who has wandered off so he’s worried about him – by the way Willan, he knows you’re here. He saw your horse in the stables and according to the word that has come up from there, he’s infuriated Cynn to the point the blacksmith is probably loosening the shoes of his horse this moment.” With this, he inspected his fingernails. “At least, I would be.” With a rounded fist, he popped Gamling on the arm with the side. “Come on, old man, I don’t want to leave him down there by himself long. I don’t know what he’ll do. For all we know, he’s perusing the family goblets he’ll want to pilfer when he leaves.” He winked at Willan. “Aefre, don’t come down. When you’re finished with Willan, let him go back to Eadignes to sweeten her up and I think Gamling would feel better if you tried to rest.”

She bowed her head. “You are most kind, sire.”

Éomer snorted. “Kind? Bull-shite. I can’t pester Gamling because he’s worried about you and Éowyn stays away because she’s planning a wedding. I’m bored. Have this baby already!”

The two men left, closing the door behind them. Aefre inhaled and looked back at Willan. “Where were we?”

***

Éomer strode through the hall purposely, Gamling at his side. “I despise him,” he hissed. “Before he approached me, I could tell he was nastiness personified.” They went around the corridor together, servants moving out of their way. “I do not know the entire story of why Aefre left-”

“She ran, Sire. According to her, she packed what she could get on her horse within an hour and left with all of her retainers. None stayed.”

“And she came here?”

“No. She went to her father’s home, where her sister-in-law resided. I forget her name. Eden, Eadlayn or somesuch. The woman kept her retainers but put her out. She ‘advised’ her to return to Lufian’s garrison and submit herself to him.”

“Bicce!”

“Aye and as I recall, you said she should remarry.”

Éomer stopped and put his hand on Gamling’s shoulder. “I was young and stupid. I did not understand the heart. I am sorry for that.”

Gamling placed his hand over Éomer’s. “It is forgotten and you are forgiven. After her sister-in-law threw her out, she went to her grandmother’s small holdings, hoping to live there, but the place was uninhabitable and there was no money or supplies to fix what needed to be repaired. She was afraid if she stayed and did even the most necessary maintenance, her sister-in-law would find out and attempt to claim the estate for her son. At that point, Cenedan suggested she write Théoden and Théoden brought her here.”

“To you.”

Gamling smiled. “I’m glad he invited her and I’m glad she came.” The two entered the Great Hall. “How quickly are we going to do this?”

“Fast as we can. I have no intention of putting him up in style for the night. Gifre!” Éomer’s smile was back in full force. The man was sitting at the table, mug and trencher in front of him. “This is one of my Marshals, Gamling.”

Gifre didn’t rise, simply nodded and continued eating. They watched him chew several times before swallowing. “Marshal? Where?”

“I am being sent to the Wold.”

“Oh.” He shoveled another fork full in his mouth. “You are building a new garrison?”

Gamling and Éomer looked at each other. The normal din in the hall was muted, silent actually. “I understand you command the garrison formerly commanded by Lufian.”

Gifre was paying more attention to his food, rather than the questioning. “He is dead and I am his kinsman. I am now Lord of Woldenfeld.”

“Who commands the garrison?”

He put his eating utensil down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Well, if you are the Marshal, I suppose you will be.”

Gamling leaned over, resting on his fists, his face mere inches from Gifre. “Who commands the garrison NOW?”

Gifre blinked. “I do.”

“Last spring, Théoden King called up the full muster of Rohan-”

Gifre picked up his goblet and took a drink. “You mentioned a skirmish that the former king was killed in.”

“It was no skirmish.” Éomer now joined Gamling, fists on the table. “It was a war! A war against Mordor.”

Gifre’s knuckles were now white, tightening around the stem of the earthenware goblet. Otherwise, he had nerves of calm steel. “Sounds bad. Sorry we didn’t know about it or I would have sent a contingent.”

“You knew.”

Gifre looked up slowly, his visage cruel. “Prove it.”

“Cenedan.”

He paled at that. “He is here?” His eyes flicked back and forth, seeing the looks pass between Éomer King and his Marshal. “I thought not. You have nothing but the word of a coward who ran off with Lufian’s whore of a widow.” If he saw Gamling’s enraged visage, he paid no heed. He put down his mug and stood up, wiping his hands. “I am looking for my runaway servant. He’s very large, too stupid to speak and I know he is here. If you would help me locate him, I would like to return to my holdings as soon as possible. If you,” he addressed Gamling with a sneer, “will let me know when you plan to take over the garrison, I can attempt to prepare a place for you. I have not much room.”

A heavy hand placed itself on his shoulder, pushing him back down into his seat. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Gifre looked up and into the only open livid grey eye of Willan. “Ah! Dwáslíht. Who did this to you? No matter. Come along now and we will return-”

“Perhaps, you did not hear the Marshal.” Éomer was now standing up. “You are not going anywhere.”

Gifre turned back to the king. “You have no reason to detain me.”

“YES, HE DOES!” Despite her king’s request, Aefre stormed into the hall. “I name you THIEF!”

Gifre looked her up and down, lingering on her obvious late-term pregnancy. “I see you wasted little time spreading yourself for someone else.”

In a blink, Willan had him yanked from the bench and pressed eye level against a support beam. He had his hand about his throat and was pulling his fist back. “Dwáslíht!” Gifre was squirming, kicking the post feebly. “Watch yourself-”

Gamling tapped him on the shoulder, the scene eerily reminiscent of a similar panorama that took place in the garden, earlier in the spring. “Put him down. I cannot speak to him if you strangle him.” Willan slowly lowered him to where he stood on his tiptoes. “This is your servant that you have searched for?”

“Aye.”

“That has been in the household for many years.”

“Aye. He… he would be safer back in his home.”

Gamling nodded and signaled for Willan to release him. “Which is why he came home.” Gifre’s eyes widened in wretched dawning. “Willan has been a beloved and faithful servant to the Kings of Rohan for many years. You have much to answer for.” He turned to walk away, but as Gifre breathed in a sigh, Gamling turned, slamming a fist into his jaw. “That,” he said, shaking his hand and inspecting his knuckles, while Gifre slid stunned to the floor, “was for insulting my wife.” He walked around the table and took Aefre in his arms. “Are you all right?”

She was panting heavily, angered to a degree Gamling had never witnessed. “No. Bastard! Bastard! He’s a thief.” She noticed Éomer and the hall watching her with keen intent. “He is no relation to Lufian. He lied; he’s a liar!” She watched as Gifre stood slowly up, working his jaw. He was eyeing her with disgust and pure hatred.

“Who is he, Aefre?”

“He is Eadlyn’s brother. He is my sister-in-law’s brother.”

***

TBC

Dwáslíht – Dull, as in a dull light

Wudurosan – wild rose

Bicce - bitch
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Rider of the Mark