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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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 <center> Rider of the Mark 46 </center>

 <center> There is a light </center>

The scene in the King’s Council Chambers was one of chaos; a minor noblewoman screaming hysterically, a high ranking noblewoman bent double, standing in a puddle of water, Gamling shouting orders, Willan following them…

Éomer watched the scene with apparent cool detachment, watching his sister attempt to calm Eadlyn and the others goings on. It seemed forever before Aefre was removed and taken to hers and Gamling’s chambers. He shook his head before touching Éowyn on the shoulder. “Get us some wine,” he spoke softly. “All of us.”

“It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.” Eadlyn was rocking back and forth. “I didn’t know. He would have killed me, threatened to, you don’t know you don’t know what he’s like…” She continued to rock, rambling on and on.

Éomer asked no questions; simply listened.

***

“Willan! Stoke the fire in the fireplace and heat water for a bath.” Gamling’s father might have been a high standing captain in his own right, but his mother was equally up to the task of commanding an army, even if it were an army of women and servants. There were times past, Gamling thought soldiers would jump to when his mother snapped her fingers.

There was scurrying, constant movement for the next several minutes, everyone had a job to do; Willan at the fireplace, coaxing a roaring fire from the coals and embers, Helgarda arrived, a basket of herbs that Eadignes immediately nosed through before heading to her rooms and returning with a strangely seated stool. Gamling’s job appeared to be to simply console and soothe his wife.

Once Willan stoked the fire and had the tub filled, his mother instructed Gamling to remove Aefre’s sodden clothes from her. With her contractions coming at regular intervals, it took a minute or two to peel the clothing from her body, Gamling’s woolen stockings she had taken to wearing, being the most difficult. They got her in the tub, the warm water soothing a bit of the labor, Gamling massaging what he could reach. She was given herbal tea, to calm, to relieve, to ease…

Beornia arrived sometime after dinner. The minute she saw Gamling sitting behind Aefre, kneading, whispering in her ear.

“What is he doing here?” she growled.

“She wants him here, he wants to be here but…”

“It isn’t done!” She inhaled so harshly, her nostrils pinched. “I understand how he feels, but my husband insisted on staying when Aglaeca was born and he refused to touch me for seven months afterwards!” She shook with the memory. “I had to get the idiot drunk and seduce him!”

The women shook their heads, all watching the tender reaction between the two.

***

Éomer’s day fared no easier. Aefre’s sister-in-law was a haunted, haunted woman and she spilled her guts and things Éomer didn’t wish to hear; demons and ghosts no human being should endure. He was prepared to hate her, but in the end, only held intense pity for the woman and her son. That such things would happen in the Riddermark unheralded was galling. Eventually, Éowyn took her to a guest room and plied her with so much wine, she fell into a drunken sleep, asking about her son as she fell.

When Éowyn returned, he stood in front of the fire, staring into the crackling depths, as if contemplating the various hues writhing within.

“Éomer-”

“Did you hear? Did you hear all of it?”

“Aye.”

*I hate him. I hate him. He did things to me, growing up. Hurtful, cruel, inhuman, hateful things...* 

“Do you believe her?”

*Scared, so scared. I hid my son from him, he never goes out, Gifre doesn’t know I have him, he’d do those things to him, I won’t let him, I’d kill him, kill us first…* 

Éowyn thought for a moment. “Aye, but Willan would know. If Willan heard about it, he’d know.”

Éomer continued to gaze into the fathomless deep. “Where is the boy?”

“Playing in the barns with Beornia’s sons and fosterlings. Cynn is watching. He says it’s as if the child is starving. Starving for friends and playmates.”

“If she is not lying, he is starving. Can you imagine? Never going out? Never seeing others? Never having playmates or friends?”

“Or getting dirty?” Éomer shook his head at her words. “I don’t know a boy that doesn’t love to get vile, filthy dirty.” He felt Éowyn pat him on the arm. “I’ll go get Willan, as well as what council members I can roust up. I know you would like to brood and stay up all night, questioning him and your assemblymen, but Gamling is in for a rough night. I suspect the women will eject him from his chambers before too much longer and he will be in dire need of company.”

“He’s still with Aefre?”

“Yes, he is, however, birth is the providence of women. ‘Tis a harsh thing. I’ll send Willan.” He heard her leave.

Éomer snorted. “Nothing is the providence of anyone.” His eyes wandered upwards, to the King’s Standard hanging over the fireplace. “It belongs to all.”

***

“Ah.” Eadignes smiled up from between Aefre’s legs. “You are progressing nicely.”

“If she is progressing so nicely, why is our babe not here?” Gamling sat on in the middle of the bed, Aefre propped up in his lap. Another labor pain hit her, causing her to tense up. His arms held her close. “Relax.”

“I… can’t…”

Helgarda and Aelwydd stole a glance at each other, Gamling, too focused on his wife to pay attention. Beornia reached her hand to her sister-in-law. “Come Aefre. Let’s get you walking again.”

“Tired of walking.”

“I know. It’s called ‘labor’ for a reason.” Aefre’s contractions were now literally on top of each other. Although it was now long past midnight and most of Edoras was fast asleep, the bustle in the Marshal’s chambers was much like midday.

As Aefre came off the bed, Gamling followed her. His mother caught his arm as he slid from the bed. “She will be crowning soon, Eadignes felt the head. As your child will present his or herself before sunrise, would you go and rouse several servant girls to start heating water for another bath? The baby will need one, as will Aefre when everything is finished.”

Gamling nodded and kissed his wife. “I’ll be back. I’m going to get Willan and a few others to prepare the bath.” Aefre was in the middle of yet another contraction and nodded she heard.

Gamling made fast work of rousing two of the serving women. As the Marshal’s wife was in labor, both had camped in the kitchens for the night, keeping the hearth lit and stoked, water already drawn from the well. Willan was in his rooms and came up easily. Gamling headed back to his rooms.

To find the door barred to him.

***

Thirty minutes later, Éomer gingerly stepped into the barn, not knowing what to expect to hear or see. Willan seemed almost frantic when he roused him, gesturing towards the Royal Stables. Every lamp was lit, so it was like daylight inside, rather than late in the night. The braziers on both ends were stoked and burning merrily, giving the barn a cozy feeling. He heard a disturbance in the back and he looked to see Gamling moving Dréogan to a different stall. “Gamling?”

“Back here.” He didn’t look up; didn’t recognize Éomer as sire.

Éomer moved to the back, horses glaring at him, irritated that their peaceful slumber had been disturbed. As Éomer walked towards the back of the barn, he saw the Marshal had stripped his tunic and laid it over a stall. There was a muck bucket, picks and shovels leaning against the slats, a small barrel of lime. “What are you doing?”

Gamling grabbed a shovel and began to scrape the shavings in the floor towards the middle of the stall. “Has it been so long since you cleaned a stall, that you’ve forgotten, youngling?” With his back to his king, he began to scoop, throwing droppings and hay in the muck bucket, corded muscles across his back standing out.

“Why?” Éomer grimaced when he saw the raised sewn flesh on the Horselord’s side.

“Why what?” Gamling continued digging into the corners that most young stable boys missed.

“Why are you cleaning the stall?”

By the set of his shoulders and back, Éomer realized he had suddenly breached a tender and serious subject, one that had the older Rider in a barely self-contained fury. “Because,” Gamling gritted between his teeth, “my wife is working hard, laboring to bring our child into this world and my mother and sister feel it is too difficult and heart-breaking a process for me to bear.” He returned to digging out the stall. “I have aided in the birth of countless colts and fillies. Messy business and yet the very act of watching my wife push our babe from her body is supposedly too traumatizing for me to watch!” He stabbed the shovel into the pile he’d made and slung it into the muck bucket.

Éomer watched him for a few moments. “Can I help?”

“No.”

***

“Hold my hands, Aefre. Squeeze them and push.”

“I’m pushing already! I want Gamling!”

“Push again. Keeping pushing.”

“I’m pushing already! Please, I want-”

“Count to ten with me. One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten. Breathe. Inhale. Do it again. One… Two… Three… Four…”

***

In time, Éomer went to the kitchens and brought back mugs of cold water, cheese, and fruit. Gamling dug down in the dirt, limed them before replacing the flooring with fresh hay and chips. He brought his stallion back to his stall and retrieved Adenydd. The mare was large as well, heavy with her own colt. She nosed Gamling joyfully before nuzzling and nickering to Dréogan. Gamling grabbed a mug, mindless as to whose it was and drank the water in several swallows, sweat dripping from his brow, as well as drizzling down between his shoulder blades. He rolled his head, popping his neck, before beginning again.

“How many stalls are you going to do, old man?”

“As many as I need to.” Again, he began in the corners, the muscles in his back popping out. “What are you going to do about Aefre’s sister-in-law?”

Éomer sighed. “I don’t know. You didn’t hear all of that.”

Again, Gamling’s back was to his sovereign. “She was an accomplice to murder.”

“No. Not really.” Éomer made himself as comfortable as he could be, perched on the wall of the stall, munching the core of his apple. “If anything she is a victim to her brother’s insanity.”

“You are sure he’s insane?”

“Oh, quite.”

Gamling looked at him over his shoulder. “Has Willan confirmed her story?”

“Aye. He has. Gifre was… abusive…” there was a meaningful pause and stress on the word, telling Gamling the abuse was of the most heinous type, “…growing up. He enjoyed maiming and killing helpless animals and such. According to her, the family breathed a sigh of relief when he left home. She suspects he had a hand in her parents’ death some years later and to protect herself, she coerced Aefre’s brother into marriage. She had no idea he was behind her husband’s death until he returned later.” He threw the core into the muck bucket. “She hid her son, so he would not abuse him as he abused her. She never let him out; the servants were loyal to the family.”

Gamling wiped his brow with a sweaty wrist. “Why did he wait so long to return?”

Éomer shrugged. “I don’t know. I went down to talk to him, to see if he would shed some light, deny it, implicate her. I have never someone with no conscience.” He shuddered from the remembered interview. “None whatsoever. Not until this evening.”

***

“Aefre, slide here to the chair.”

“I can’t. I’m so tired.”

“I know you are. Slide here on the birthing stool… there you go, Aefre. You’re so close.”

“I’m so tired. I can’t push anymore. Please let me rest, please, I want-…”

Strong hands took hers. “Yes, you can.” They guided her hands between her legs. “Touch. Feel that? That’s your baby’s head. Come one. Just a few more pushes…”

***

“She thought Aefre’s garrison would be able to repel him… she even prayed he’d be killed in the skirmish. She was shocked when Aefre showed up, beaten and defeated. Many in the garrison were away planting their own fields. There were so few there. That bastard timed his attack well.”

Gamling finished Adenydd’s stall and was now beginning on Firefoot’s. For not the first time, he stopped for a moment, looking up towards Meduseld, his head cocked, as if listening. He shook his leonine head after a moment and went to the corner, shovel clutched in a white-knuckled fist.

“You’re a methodical bastard, you know that?”

“Aye.” Gamling pulled the shavings and cobwebs from the corner, disturbing a nest of mice. His heart clenched, watching three little babies chase after their mother. “What are you going to do with Eadlyn and her brother?”

“Eadlyn? Nothing. After what she’s been through… I’m sending you up as Marshal to the Wold in the spring if Aefre can travel. You can oversee her garrison; assign a strong captain, if you feel the need. Perhaps allocate some married Riders with young children, so her son will have someone to play with. I’ll order that he be fostered with you, in your garrison.”

“And Gifre?”

***

“Pushpushpushpushpushpushpush… the head is out… now pantpantpantpantpantpantpantpantpant…”

Sweat dripped between her breasts, her hair hanging in wet lanks…

“Give me your hands. Put them here… now pull. Pull your baby… yesyesyes… oh look… look…oh Aefre, look at your baby…”

***

As the sun broke over the mountain, a baby’s cry rent the air, carrying through the cracked window of the room and down to the stables. Éomer had opened several earlier and when the howl was heard faintly on the wind, Gamling stopped. He started to throw down the shovel, but Éomer’s hand stayed him. “They will come to get you. I promised to keep you occupied.” He continued apologetically. “Sorry, old man. You can do the same to me when it’s my turn.”

With renewed fury, he attacked the floor of the stable, taking out every evil that had been done to him in his life on the dirt. “And Gifre?” he repeated.

“Oh, Gifre is going to die. Murder, treason, theft…” Éomer returned to the dividing fence. “… according to the laws of the Riddermark, men guilty of those crimes shall not live.”

“How?”

Éomer sighed. “A battle éored will be chosen, all well-seasoned veterans. No young riders or those only possessing first cloaks. He is to be taken to the Wold and dragged, his body burned. Woldenfeld is to be cleared out, his men shot or chased into Fangorn, if they make it that far. Willan will go, to point out his men and those loyal to the garrison. Gifre only told his chosen few that there was a war. The garrison as a whole did not know.”

Gamling was digging ferociously. “You have discussed this with your council?”

“Aye. They agree. Gamling, I’m sorry, but as Marshal-” The doors to the barn opened and Beornia stepped in, carrying clothing.

“I was told you were down here, Gamling.” She held out the tunic. “Your child has arrived, so you will want to wash up-”

“Healthy?” He handed the shovel to Éomer and the king entered the stall, picking up where the Horse Lord left off.

She smiled. “Very healthy, healthy lungs, has your temper already. Ten fingers and ten toes.”

“Aefre is well?”

Beornia sighed. “Would you just go wash up and go to them?”

Gamling snatched the tunic. “You will not put me out next time.”

“Gamling, I-”

He thrust a finger in her face. “I know the problems you and your husband had after Aglaeca’s birth! They were not my problems.” He started to turn back, but thought better. “I do not wish to hear a ‘man’s place’ or a ‘woman’s place!’ My place was with my wife!”

“Ah!” Eomer’s voice rose cheerily over the stall slats, “but look at the cleanliness of these stalls! Your wife should have children more often!” The king’s head and arms thrust over the stall door. “In fact,” he slung a finger in Gamling’s direction, “I order you to go make another one, right now! You didn’t get the other side done at all!” Gamling scowled and headed towards the door to the rain barrel. “SLACKER!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gamling draped his tunic over the barn latch and thrust his elbow through the frozen top of the rain barrel. He rinsed the sweat from his chest and arms off in the frigid water, before splashing his face and throwing on the clean tunic. He then raced through the kitchen, heading towards his rooms.

“Congratulations, Marshal!” Voices followed him, Gamling acknowledging them with a nod and a grunt. He reached his rooms and raised his hand to knock before smacking himself for his stupidity. With a cursory, warning rap, he eased the door open.

The room smelled of fresh herbs and flowers. The fire roared in the fireplace, his mother leaning over the bed, tucking the linens around Aefre. She was fresh from the bath, her hair braided with a few damp tendrils lying loose around her face. She was holding a very small bundle in the cradle of her arms. She saw him standing uncertainly just beyond the door, taking her in, looking… and she smiled, reaching out to him.

“My lord husband. Come and see.”

Aelwydd stood up, but not before whispering in her ear. She turned to leave, touching Gamling gently on the shoulder. “She’s had a long, rough night and is very sleepy.” She brushed a moist lock of hair from her son’s face. “Looks as if you are tired as well. Go greet your child, Gamling. I’ll leave the two of you alone.”

The door closed behind her.

Gamling couldn’t move forward. He stood in the middle of the floor, staring at Aefre and that little, tiny package of swaddling in her arms.

“Are you going to stand there all day, looking like a wall flower, or are you going to come look at our daughter?”

In a rush, he was at her side, peering at the baby. “A girl? It’s a girl?” He reached across, pulling the blanket from her head. Red – gold curls lay close to a perfect head, a tiny fist shoved in her mouth.

“She’s not ready to eat, but she’s practicing.”

“She’s-”

*minemineminemineminemineandaefresbeautifulminemineminebabybabyminemine* 

“-beautiful.”

Aefre was tired. Despite the bath, the fresh linens and shift, she was worn out and sore. “You are not disappointed?”

“Disappointed?” He looked at his wife, took in her exhaustion. “No! We can try for a boy later,” he added smugly.

Aefre yawned. “Not any time soon, you wild thing.” There was no malice in her words, only a gentle jesting.

“No,” he agreed quietly. “Not anytime soon, although Éomer has commanded us to do this again as quickly as possible.” He smirked at her expression. “It seems I didn’t finish cleaning Firefoot’s stall and he wants me to come back down.”

“That’s where you went. Gamling, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know they would do that until-”

For the first time since coming in to the room, Gamling kissed her. “It’s not your fault. Namely Beornia and her personal fears. It won’t happen again.” Aefre’s eyes were growing heavy, her exhaustion over-whelming. “Here. Give me our daughter.” He slid his hands under Aefre’s, mimicking how she cradled the wee one. He shifted his daughter, marveling how she fit so perfectly in the crook of his arm. Aefre slid down into the over-sized bed and he pulled her quilts up. “Get some rest. You’ve worked hard.” When he bent down to kiss her again, she was fast asleep.

Gamling started to take the babe and sit in front of the fireplace. Above the mantle was his house’s standard. He lifted the babe’s head slightly. “Do you see that? That is your house’s banner, the emblem of your family. Your mother has one too.” The baby stretched and opened one blue eye, scrunching up her face before shoving her fist back in her mouth.

He heard Aefre roll over, moaning in pain as she did so. Wishing again, he had been there for her, he walked softly to the door, opening it and stealing outside to the hallway.

He walked down the corridor, stopping on occasion when a passing servant stopped him to coo and congratulate him. He thought he had been proud when he earned his first cloak, when he had been named Captain, when he was recently promoted to Marshal, but nothing was like this. He realized he was in the Great Hall, very few wandering through its walls.

He sank down in the nearest chair, not paying attention what chair or whose chair it was, just simply sank into it. Looking from her to the walls of hanging banners, he pointed to the first one.

“That is the Banner of Rohan. You are Rohirrim, daughter of the Horselords. When you can sit up, I’ll take you riding and teach you to fly.” He looked down to find her staring at him, intently.

*Guess I should namenamenamewhatname should I give can’t call you Little Thumper for the rest of your life.* 

She continued to stare at him, blinking at the bright sun that was beginning to shine through the upper windows. Gamling shifted her, so as to shade her face. “Light. I shall name you, Léoma.” He leaned down closer, as if to whisper a secret to her. “That is, if your mother likes it.” She squirmed and resettled into her father’s embrace. He pointed to the next banner. “That was Théoden King’s battle standard-” Slowly, he began to sing the account of each banner, singing the history of Rohan, her glories, her heroes, of Helm Hammerhand, Brytta, Fréaláf, the death of Walda, Théoden, of Éowyn, who killed the Witch King, Éomer…

Éomer came in from the back, just in time to stop one of his advisors from removing Gamling from his throne. The old man was insistent – no one was to sit on the throne, but the king. It just wasn’t done.

“Right now, he is fine. Leave him be,” Éomer smiled. “After all, for now, he is king of her world. Who am I to move him?” He quietly stole up the back of the dais, leaning over the top of the high backed chair to look down. Gamling was still crooning, unaware of the proximity of the king, pointing at Éomer’s banner, singing of how he felled the Mûmakil, aiding his friend, the King of Gondor…

“You are bringing a tear to my eye, old man. Making me such a brave man.” Éomer pressed the point, wiping the imagined droplet from his face. Gamling looked up, over his shoulder, smiling. “I understand your wife has presented you with a Shield-toddler.”

“Not a toddler. Not yet.”

“But will be. Let me see.”

Gamling pulled the blanket from her face. “Sire, might I present your newest subject. Léoma, daughter of Gamling and Aefre, soon to be of the Wold.”

“She’s beautiful, old man. You’ve done your king proud.” He came around and clapped him gently on the shoulder. “I’m nasty and sweaty and need a bath.” He stepped down from the dais, heading for his room. “I had to finish cleaning out Firefoot’s stall, because someone didn’t finish it!” He disappeared around the corner, the sound of his off-key whistling the only remnants of his visit.

Gamling shook his head, smiling, and then continued to point out, continued to sing.

“Gamling.” Eadignes tapped him on the arm. “You might wish to head to your rooms. Your babe will be hungry and believe me,” she blushed apologetically, “she has your lungs,” she finished with a whisper.

“This little thing?” Léoma was sleeping peacefully in his arms. “She can scream that loud?” Eadignes nodded. He waved her away, one-handed. “She is resting. Go on with you. We are just fine.” The healer walked off, shaking her head at the stupidity of men. Perhaps the Marshal should have been in the rooms and, well, he’d just hear for himself.

The pair continued to sit in silence for several more minutes, Gamling musing to himself at the outrageousness of some women.

A few minutes later, he was storming quickly through the halls, rushing for his chambers…

…an angry, screaming baby in his arms.

***
tbc

***
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Rider of the Mark