Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: As Far As The Heart Can See (#3750)
Author: Chrissie
Chapters: 14

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings
Description: Not all may seem as it is. 
A Rohan lovestory...with a surprise.
Published: 30 Mar 2008
Updated: 10 Jul 2008
Warnings: none
Type: Romance
Characters: several OFC's and OMC's; Eomer; Eowyn; Imrahil


Chapter 1 - The End of the Beginning

As Far As The Heart Can See
Prologue 
“The End of the Beginning”

Rain pounded onto the roof of the small, wooden house as if wanting to break it. The wind howled as a wolf would to the moon. 
Lightning pierced the dark night sky and thunder rumbled not far off. 
The old man quickly shut the door, chuckling to himself. He limped over to the chair by the fireplace and sat down, drawing the cloak tighter about his thin frame. 
Ever since he could remember he had enjoyed such weather. He loved the sound of the rain falling to the ground; the rumble of thunder always reminded him that there was a power much stronger than all else. 
And the wind – he had always envied the wind, ever present, choosing its own path, seldom resting. 
With a contend sigh, the man took a stick to poke the fire. Sparks flew and the burning wood crackled. 
A vicious gust of wind rattled the door and window panes so that he only just heard the knocking on the door. 
Wondering who might be out in this storm, the village healer stood and slowly made his way through the room. Droplets of rain hit his face when he opened the door and it took several seconds until he comprehended what was before him. 
A young woman stood there, trembling in the cold rain and strong wind. The thin dress she wore was completely soaked, torn in several places and stained with dirt and blood. In her arms she carried a bundle that looked to be only dirtied rags, yet a soft whimpering told otherwise. She looked up at him and the healer saw her bloodshot eyes, wide with fear, pain and helplessness. 
She whispered something in a language he had not heard in a long while. The old man nodded and tried his best to help her inside. 
Once seated in the chair she thanked him with a smile and held out the bundle for him to take. Again she said something in the language she had used before and the old man understood. He took the small bundle of rags that was actually a baby and held it close to his chest. Then he focused once more on the woman, saw her smile in a gesture of thanks and close her eyes. 
The healer could do nothing but watch her slide from the chair to the floor and remain there, unconscious. 

“The woman passed away in the early hours of morning,” the healer told the village council the next evening. As an old man he felt sad that such a young life had been ended. As a healer he was angry, mostly at himself. Too late he had noticed the broken arrow in her right shoulder. There had been nothing left for him to do but to ease her passing. 
He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. 
“If I had only noticed sooner..,” he began but was interrupted by another male voice. 
“Do not blame yourself, Halian. I saw her last night and you did all you could. The poison had been in her body for too long already. You could’ve done nothing more.” 
Halian’s eyes found those of the speaker. It was Beda, his next door neighbour and he knew the man was right. He nodded in thanks, though his mood did not improve. 
“What is to become of the child?” another man asked, bringing the topic back to the reason of the council meeting. 
By now the whole village had heard of the events the night before. And, as Halian gathered during the day, the young woman must have knocked on at least three doors without success before she came to his house. 
He knew that the days grew steadily darker. And he saw the weariness, fear almost, with which the villagers acted toward strangers in their land. 
Yet, there was only one resolution: Someone had to take the child in. And if no one else came forward, he would. 
Voicing the first part of his thoughts he was met by loud muttering and protests. 
“Are you in your right mind, old man?” one of the younger council members exclaimed. 
“Tarek!” Beda said his voice sharp and a stern look on his face. “Apologize at once. Halian is the village eldest and his council has never led us astray.” 
The young Rohír nodded meekly and did as he was told. Halian only smirked and waved his hand. 
“Tarek may have a point. I do not deny that I am the oldest here but that may not make me the wisest.” He paused and took a deep breath before he continued: “I know what you all think: She might be one of them. 
“But by Bema – it is only a little girl we are talking about. She can grow up here, with us; as one of us. She would learn everything important from us and we make her a good person.” 
No one spoke and Halian looked to Beda for support if need be. The man nodded and Halian sighed. It seemed as if the plan they had come up with during last night was really needed. 
The healer cleared his throat, gaining everyone’s attention. 
“From your silence I gather that no one will take her in.” Not expecting an answer he went on at once: ”Then I will!” 
Eyebrows were raised, murmuring grew loud. 
“It is a good plan, Halian,” a female voice said from her seat in a corner of the room. Instantly silence fell. The old woman stood, leaning heavily onto a cane. Wispy grey-white hair adorned her head and the look in her eyes was unfocused. She was blind. Yet, she seemed to know exactly where Halian stood and smiled at him.
If the old man was surprised, he did not show it but returned the smile. 
“I am glad you agree with me, Moire,” he replied. Murmuring grew loud once again.
No muscle moved in the woman’s face. Holding up her hand for silence she spoke again: 
“I believe that you will give her much and she in return will bring you much joy – yet, in the end…she will be your death, Halian.” 
Wide eyes flew from one person to the next and were surprised to see their council head smile. 
“Death already lingers near me, Moire and I do not fear it,” he replied and the woman nodded. 
“I expected no less, Halian,” she continued and her smile was genuine. The old healer inclined his head although he knew the woman could not see it. 
“I will teach her all I know,” he spoke quietly. “And by Bema – she will surprise each and anyone of you.” 

A little while later Halian sat in his small hut, a wooden crib before him, and a used, dirtied envelope in his hands. Beda’s wife Asthryd had taken good care of the little bundle, even bathing her and fitting her with clean and dry clothes. The old healer smiled down at the now sleeping baby girl before his eyes once more fell to the letter. 
Worry creased his brow. The contents of said letter had not pleased him at all. But there was nothing for him to do. With a sigh and a slight groan he stood from the stool walking over to the small book shelf and opened a small wooden crest. 
A very old book was revealed and he carefully placed the letter inside it. The less who knew the better, he thought. 
Returning to the crib he once again looked down at his new charge. He took in her dimpled cheeks, rosy with sleep, the small, closed eyes with soft dark lashes and the soft tuft of dark hair on the top of her head.
“Ósle,” he whispered. “Yes, that’s what I’m calling you. Ósle, my little Raven.”


Chapter 2 - Dreams and Caves

Chapter 1	
“Dreams and Caves”

The young woman whimpered in her sleep, tears ran down her cheeks. She was struggling against invisible bonds, clutching the old and wrinkled hands which held a just as old book.
“No, Halian. No, no,” she cried desperately. The healer smiled at her sadly.
“In time, you will understand, Ósle.” His hands left hers’, leaving the book in the process and she was pulled backward, away from him. 
“Halian,” she called and sat up, breathing hard. Sweat covered her face and body, had already drenched her thin night shift. 
It had been a dream. Taking several deep breaths, Ósle closed her eyes shaking her head. It couldn’t go on like this. 
Three days had passed since she arrived at Helm’s Deep, along with the other villagers. Four since she left Halian to his doom. 
Ósle had struggled, had cried and demanded to stay with him if he wouldn’t go with her. But in the end, Beda and Halian had made sure that she left with almost everyone else; leaving the few who would not part from their home to the orcs. 
Oh Halian. Fresh tears threatened to fall but she blinked them away. Instead one hand automatically went up to her throat and to the pendant of the necklace, clutching it tightly. The other reached underneath the small pillow resting on the book. Was he still alive? 
Deep in her heart Ósle knew he wasn’t; knew that his last wish had been granted: to die where he had been born almost 70 years ago. She hoped that he had found his eternal freedom. 
Getting up from the mattress, she changed into a clean night dress, put on a cloak and silently left the small room not wanting to wake Asthryd. 

It was not yet midnight, she gathered. Many were still awake, lingering in the hallways; seeing to what chores could still be done. 
Upon entering the main hall, she felt at once that something must have happened. It was busier than usual at that time of night. Much busier. 
Many kitchen maids and lads were running back and forth, distributing food and drink. On a second look, she noticed many riders gathered in the hall. There were so many as she had never seen before. Wanting to know what was going on, Ósle stopped one of the maids. 
“The King has come,” the young girl answered before taking off to the kitchen again. 
The King here? That had to be good news, hadn’t it? 
A hand on her shoulder made her turn and she came face to face with Beda. 
“Ósle, Leof sends me. You are to accompany the already wounded into the caves right now, along with all the women and children.”
“But…,” The hand the older Rohír held up silenced her. 
“No buts. There is no time. It is the King’s order. Go now. I will find Asthryd.” 
Nodding still confused, Ósle set off toward the healing wing. Several soldiers carrying stretchers met her along the way and when she entered only three beds were still occupied. Releasing a deep breath, she quickly took up a satchel and collected everything she might need. 

The last two wounded were being carried out, only a small boy remained who stood up on his bed. 
“I’m left all alone,” he said quietly. Ósle couldn’t help but smile, slung the strap of the satchel over her head and went to his side. 
“Then we should go and find the others shouldn’t we?” The boy nodded and Ósle gathered him into her arms, along with the blanket. She left the healing wing, went down a corridor and out of the Hornburg. 
The sight that met her made her freeze on the spot for several moments. Soldiers crowded the pathways; guarded the wall and gate. Were they preparing for battle? 
Someone brushed passed her, almost making her loose her footing and she quickly followed the thinning stream of people down the back of the Hornburg and along a path into the caves. 
Many had already set up camp, resembling something of a home. Once more it hit her just how lucky their village had been to have had warning. Most of those here hadn’t, had lost all of their belongings.
Suppressing the overwhelming sense of sadness, Ósle picked her way through the many people eventually finding Asthryd and Beda. They had directed the wounded to be moved into one of the many alcoves to provide as much peace and quiet as possible. 
She sat the small boy down who at once spotted his father. Thanking her, he ran over to him and Ósle went to speak with Beda and Asthryd but left them their privacy to say good-bye. Beda would go with several other men to guard the entrance to the caves, acting as the last defence. 

To occupy her mind, she made certain that each injured had made it through the transport without furthering their wounds. With some she redressed the wounds, especially where stitches had been needed. 
When she finally was done and sat down next to Asthryd, she estimated it to be around midnight. There was no vice to tell exactly. 
“Ósle, this is it,” Asthryd said barely audible. “This is the end. There is no hope.” It hurt her to hear the defeat in her friends’ voice, the bitter acceptance of what might happen.  
For a brief moment, Ósle closed her eyes. Deep inside, she agreed with Asthryd. But Halian had taught her to never give up hope. 
Taking a deep breath she fixed her friend with a determined stare, put a hand on her arm and shook her head. 
“Who are you, Asthryd?” 
The older woman’s eyes widened in surprise before her forehead creased in confusion. 
“What do you mean?” 
“Are you of the people you claim to be?” 

Asthryd was silent for a while but Ósle could see her think about her words. 
The noise of the other villagers echoed in the caves, soft murmur and talk. Yet, several children were laughing, playing their games; oblivious to the threat which was undeniably upon them.
Ósle listened while awaiting Asthryd’s answer but there was no sound from outside. The thick walls of the mountain shielded them, deflecting any sound. Was the battle already under way? 

Asthryd’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and Ósle once more faced her friend. 
“I am Asthryd of Westfold,” she said, her voice strong and proud. “A good daughter, wife and mother. And an Eorling.” 
“Exactly,” Ósle replied with a smile on her face. “And where would you be if Eorl had given up hope after his father’s death?” And more gently she added: “There is always hope. Even if it is hard to see.” 
For the first time in days the older woman smiled. Really smiled which warmed Ósle’s heart. She knew what her friend had to go through. Both of her sons had left the Hornburg with their Èored about a fortnight ago and it was unclear of what had happened to them; if they were still alive. The company they had ridden out with had been scattered several days ago. And there hadn’t been any other news so far. 
Alden and Ceredig had become like brothers to Ósle and she worried for them as well. They had grown up together, had played together. And with Alden Ósle had shared her first kiss. A silly smile came to her upon remembering that particular day. It had been on her 14th birthday and neither had liked it much and had decided to just be friends. 
On an impulse she drew Asthryd into her arms and hugged her tight. 
“They are alright, Asthryd. And we will be too.” 
---

It felt as if they had been in the caves forever. There was no sound from outside and no one could be spared to bring news. The waiting they had to endure gnawed at everyone’s nerves. And although it had quieted, the tension and nervousness still grew. 
Ósle once again sat next to Asthryd who rested her head on her shoulder, having dozed off to sleep. Most of her patients were asleep as well as most occupants of the caves. 
She, too felt her eyes droop more frequently. The low burning torches and fires encouraging sleep even more. It would be so easy to drift off to sleep, escaping the nerve-racking process of waiting. With a sigh her eyes closed and slowly her breathing deepened. 
But she was roused from her state of semi-slumber by a low, quiet male voice. Ósle blinked several times and in the dim light of the fires recognized Beda. Her eyes widened fearing the worst. Yet, Beda quickly reassured her that it wasn’t serious. 
“Just come with me. And take your satchel,” he told her quietly and gently shifted his wife’s position so that Ósle could get up. 
She took the pouch and followed Beda along the path to the front most area of the caves. Many riders stood there, waiting with the men who had been left behind to guard the entrance. Ósle couldn’t help the gasp. What did this mean? Was the battle turning against them that they had had to retreat to the caves? 

Drawing a shaky breath, she stayed behind as Beda approached a group of riders. 
“My Lord?” 
One of the riders turned at his voice, a rather fierce look on his face which softened slightly once he saw it was Beda. 
“Have you found her?” he asked and Ósle felt a slight shiver run down her spine. 
“I have, my Lord. Òsle?” He motioned for her to come forward which she did. At once the riders eyebrows shot up, his forehead crinkled and his eyes widened, surprise obvious. 
Ósle blushed and slightly bowed her head. 

“How may I help, Lord?” she asked knowing that his surprise deepened. It always did when she met someone new. 
She saw his hand motion to where he had stood earlier and dared not lift her gaze to his. Instead she turned and saw a short but sturdy man sitting with his back to the wall. Most of his face was hidden by a very bushy beard, which was also covered in blood. As well as his forehead and the front part of his hair on the left. 
Within a few strides she reached him and knelt down in front of him. 
“What happened?” she asked without thinking and only noticed at his confused look that she must have spoke rohirric. 
“Master Gimli does not speak the language of the Mark, Miss,” the rider’s voice sounded from right behind her, an amused tinge to it. 
She turned her head, met his gaze and could not help but notice how handsome he was, despite all the grime and blood. Lingering a bit, she took in his beautifully crafted armour, much more intricate than either Ceredig’s or Alden’s. 
“Thank you, Lord. I had gathered as much already,” she replied kindly and in Westron at which his eyes widened again. In her mind she berated herself for speaking like that to a high ranking Captain while she turned back to the short man in front of her. 
With a smile at him, Ósle repeated the question. 

“Orc axe, Miss. Right through the helmet. But really – this is more trouble than it’s worth.” Once more she smiled at him and put a hand on his arm. 
“Let me see and decide, Master Gimli. – I…I need some more light.” 
Several men at once took the torches from the braces on the wall and went to stand around them. She studied his forehead for a few moments and was interrupted by a presence behind her. 
“May I offer my help, Miss?” It was the Captain again, she knew without turning around. Instead she groped in her satchel and retrieved a small wooden bowl. 

“Yes, I’ll need clean water,” she told him. With a nod he took the bowl from her hands and turned around. Once again she focused on her patient. 
“The helmet served you well, Mater Gimli. The wound is not deep. Yet, it needs to be cleaned and bound to forego it turning worse.” 
The dwarf nodded and Òsle took out a small bottle of spirit and two small pieces of linen. 
Someone knelt down next to her and held out the bowl, now filled with water. 
“As you requested, Miss.” 
Her head snapped around and she met the Captain’s eyes. Had he really gone to fetch the water himself? It surprised her that a man of his rank would do so even though there were enough other men he could have delegated the task to. 
Not knowing what else to say, she bid him to hold the bowl, dipped one of the clothes into the water and started to clean off the dirt and blood from Gimli’s face. 

Once finished, she took up the other cloth, poured some spirit onto it and warned the dwarf that it might sting. At his nod, she applied it to the wound. 
“Have you thought of poison, Miss?” the Captain asked, his voice low and serious without any trace of amusement or mockery. She looked at him, nodded. 
“I have, my Lord. I do not think the axe was poisoned. It would have worked it’s malice by now.” And turning her gaze back to the dwarf she added: “Even on a hardened warrior like you, Master Gimli.” 
He seemed to smile at her which Ósle returned, dropped the cloth, applied a salve and bound the wound with a long strip of linen. 
“There, all done. Have it changed in a few days,” she told him and Gimli inclined his head. 
“Thank you, Miss,” he replied and stood. “Now I say we chase some more orcs.” 
Beside her the Captain nodded and called out to one of his men: “Éothain, leave three dozen as rear guard. All else shall come with us.” 

Ósle was busy collecting her equipment when she felt his eyes on her. She felt her cheeks flush becoming aware of how close they really were. 
Reluctantly she looked up, found his gaze and almost gasped at the depth of his eyes. His hazel-green one’s held her own, captivating her. 
“Who are you?” he asked quietly, startling her. “You speak as own of our own and yet…look nothing like the people of the Mark. Who are you?” 

The blush deepened and Ósle averted her eyes. How could she answer something she did not know the answer to herself? 
She was saved by one of his men calling for him. The Captain rose to his feet and with another look at her walked over to the assembled riders. After a few hurried commands he led them out of the caves, without a backward glance.  
Beda knelt down next to her and helped her put everything back into the satchel. She thanked him with a small smile, still feeling rather flustered and embarrassed after the strange encounter with the Captain. Very grateful, she accepted Beda’s hand to help her to her feet. Rather absentmindedly she nodded when he offered to walk her back, still thinking about him. Who was he? And how could he have affected her so? Making her feel so many things all at one time. And the way he had looked at her…just thinking about it sent a shiver down her spine. 

A hand on her shoulder startled her. Coming face to face with Beda, Ósle blushed. What by Béma was wrong with her? 
“I will head back to the other men. Take care of yourself and Asthryd,” he said. Ósle nodded and watched him go. Taking a deep breath, she went to check on her charges.

TBC


Chapter 3 - The Morning After

Chapter 2
“The Morning After”

Satisfied that all were well, Ósle sat down next to a still sleeping Asthryd. She tried to empty her mind of everything that had happened in the passed days but the rider’s face would still linger. 
Was the battle over? Was HE still alive? And would she see him again? She hoped so. 
Asthryd stirred next to her in sleep and startled, Ósle looked at her companions face. What was she thinking? There was a battle going on out there and they were all scared for their lives. And here she sat thinking about…unimportant things! If at all she should be praying for Alden and Ceredig and not some…Captain she didn’t even know the name of. 
A sigh escaped her and she leaned her head against the stone wall behind her. 

A shout disturbed the tense silence of the caves some time later. Ósle’s eyes snapped open and she needed a few moments to gather where she was and what had happened. She must have fallen asleep. 
Yet, the excited chatter and mumbling took her attention and ever so slowly the news set in: the battle was over and won. They were safe – at least for the time being. 
Tears threatened to fall as she felt arms embrace her. A whole mountain of tension and worry fell from her and she hugged the older woman tightly. 
“It is over, Ósle,” Asthryd whispered. “We live.” 

As soon as she could, Ósle left the caves as well as several other women, wanting to help where they could. The joy they had felt earlier was replaced by a great sense of loss. Seeing the destruction of the wall and realising that many lives had been taken, it became clear how dearly they had paid. 
Ósle, accompanied by Asthryd, offered her help to the healers in the Hornburg; to save those who could be saved and to ease the passing of those who couldn’t. 

To say that both were shocked at what they saw was an understatement. They had never seen the likes of it and it shook them deeply. But for at least a while they were able to push it to the backs of their minds. 
The work was exhausting, not only for the body but also for the mind. Much needed to be done, many needed help. Too many. Every able man and woman was needed to help.
Ósle was hurrying to and fro, caring for those with minor wounds, stitching, bandaging, applying salves or assisting another healer if necessary. It was pure chaos – and that put it mildly. And more often than not she was at a loss for words, could only offer a sad smile. 

By midday Ósle was exhausted, covered in blood, dirt and what not. Her dark hair spilled from the braid, several strands glued to her neck and forehead by sweat and dirt. 
The chaos from the early morning had lessened; most had been taken care off. But now the materials were growing short. A healer had just ordered her and various other women to provide more bandages as Leof approached her. 
“Come with me,” he said quietly and the look he gave her left no room to argue. He led her out of the hall and down a corridor to the more private chambers which usually were occupied by the Lord Erkenbrand. In one of the more private bathing chambers he made her thoroughly clean her hands and handed her a rather large satchel. Then he walked her across the hallway, sharply knocked on the door. When told to enter, he nodded at Ósle and left. 

“Leof…,” she softly called after him but he did not turn. Briefly closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, opened the door and froze only two steps into the room. Six men occupied the room, a smaller bed chamber. All of them looked tired, dreary and battle-worn but the surprise she felt was mirrored in all of their eyes. 
One of them caught her attention first. He seemed by far the oldest, and yet not so. All dressed in white, he appeared to have a magical…glow about him. Quickly averting her eyes, she saw the man closest to him: tall and dark, filthy but rather…handsome. 
Next, her eyes fell upon a creature so ethereal…beautiful. He was tall and lean. His long, golden hair flowed down his back and compared to everyone else he did not look dreary. An elf! Never had she imagined she would see an elf. 

Fearing that she might have stared too openly at him, Ósle quickly focused on the man right across from her who sat in a chair. He wore no armour but his clothes, despite the dirt, were finely made. Yet, it was more the way he held himself which made Ósle gasp silently. Had Leof sent her to tend to the King?
She dropped into a very late courtesy and bowed her head. 

“My Lords, I have been told that a healer is needed?” 
Once again, she knew without seeing them that the surprise deepened because she had spoken rohirric. 
“Indeed. Are you the healer Leof send?” the man across from her asked and Ósle bowed her head again. 
“I am, my Lord. How may I help?” 

“See what you can do about my leg,” he said and removed his boot. Ósle swallowed, walked over and knelt down in front of the King, depositing her satchel next to her. Carefully she then tried to pry the torn fabric aside but it wouldn’t budge. With a sigh she looked at the guard. 
“I need warm water, please,” she said quietly before focusing on the King. “The fabric is sticking to the wound, my Lord. I need to soak it first to not tear the wound open again.”  The King nodded at his guard who at once left, as a quiet chuckle was heard from the far side. Amazed, Ósle saw Gimli the dwarf sitting there. 

“She sure knows her works, Théoden-King. Tended to my wound this morning.” 
In the preceding silence, Ósle felt all eyes on her. She averted her eyes and grasped the fabric of her skirt tightly, fidgeting with it. Why were they staring at her so openly? 
On the other hand, she knew she should be used to it by now. In her village all had been used to her different appearance but upon her arrival at the Hornburg many a strange look had come her way. 
“Who are you?” 

The King’s question startled her and her eyes snapped up to his face. She had heard the exact question only this morning – in the caves. 
“My Lord?” 
“Who are you, child? You speak the language of my people as well as I do, yet your looks…do you hail from Gondor child?” 
Ósle shook her head and took a deep breath. 
“No, my Lord. I have lived in a small village of the Westfold of the Mark with an old man named Halian for as long as I can remember. He was my guardian and taught me the art of healing.” 
She felt the tears prickle in her eyes and quickly averted her gaze. At that moment the door opened and the guard returned and handed her the bowl of water. For the moment focused on her task, she did not notice that another man had entered the room right after the guard. 

Ósle took a cloth out of her satchel, dipped it into the bowl and then held it to the fabric. While doing so, she avoided to look at anyone. The mention of Halian had brought back so many memories and to think about them now that he was dead, hurt her. 
Eventually Théoden-King broke the silence, clearing his throat. 
“I still do not understand, Miss…what is your name?” he inquired not unkindly. Hesitantly, she looked up at him still very aware of many eyes on her. 
“I am Ósle, my Lord,” she replied. A low chuckle was heard and then the man dressed in white spoke up: “A name very fitting, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“Indeed. – You said you lived with a healer in a village of Westfold. But…where were you born? And who are your parents?” 
She closed her eyes and bowed her head in shame. Just how could she explain what she did not know herself? 
After a few moments, she opened her eyes again and focused on the leggings. It was thoroughly soaked. She dropped the cloth and busied herself with searching through the satchel. Without looking up, she finally said: 
“I…I don’t know where I was born, my Lord. Just as I don’t know who my parents are. I…I do not even know if they still live. Halian never said anything.” 
No one spoke and Ósle took the time to carefully remove the now wet fabric and examined the wound. A simple flesh wound. Not deep and not poisoned. No stitches, she decided. Retrieving two more clothes from her satchel as well as the spirit, she warned the King of the possible pain. At his nod she started to clean the wound first with water then with the spirit. She felt him tense and heard a sharp intake of breath. 

“I am sorry, my Lord,” she said. 
“No need. You only do what is necessary.” 
Ósle nodded and proceeded to apply a salve and bandaged it. Satisfied, she met the King’s gaze. 
“The wound should possibly be checked upon in a few days,” she told him at which he nodded, put on his boot, stood and held out his hand for her to take. She hesitated only briefly before taking it and letting him help her to her feet. He studied her for several long moments and a soft smile appeared on his face. 
“Thank you, Ósle. And forgive me if I have asked too many questions.” 

At once she shook her head. 
“No, my Lord. It…it isn’t…your words only reminded me of Halian so much and…,” she trailed off and once more averted her eyes. 
“What happened to him?” Théoden-King inquired and she felt the tears sting again. She blinked several times to keep them at bay. 
“He stayed behind the night our village was attacked,” she replied quietly, her voice heavy with grief and love. A long silence followed which no one seemed to want to break. 
It was Théoden who eventually did. 
“There are no words I could say to take away your pain, Ósle. – I know because I, too have lost someone very dear to me – my son.” He paused and Ósle found his eyes, saw tears shining in them. 
“But I know that he is now in a better place as is my son.” 

Despite the tears now running down her cheeks, she smiled and knowing no other way to express herself, she hugged the King. His surprise lasted for only a moment before he held her gently to him. When she finally pulled away, her cheeks were rather flushed and a shy smile was on her face. 
“Forgive me, my Lord. And I thank you for your kind words.” 
He shook his head, grasping her left shoulder. 
“No, Ósle. It is I who should seek your forgiveness for my overbearing questions,” he replied and placed a kiss on her forehead. 
She felt embarrassed at having so many strangers watching this exchange closely. But on the other hand it did not matter at all. It had touched her that he had spoken so open and honest and had given her hope. If he could go on after his son’s death, then so could she. No one would be able to take that away from her. 

The next words spoken by the King brought her back to the present. 
“If you could now take a look at my Third Marshal, please? I gathered he took to injury as well.” 
“It is nothing, my Lord,” was the instant reply in a quite deep and strong voice; a voice she had heard before. She turned around and came face to face with the Captain she had met in the caves. A small gasp left her throat and her eyes widened slightly as she watched the King wave his hand. 

“Nonsense, Éomer. I need you whole and healthy for what is to come.” 
When the Marshal did not protest any further, Théoden-King took his leave. The guard followed as well as the man in white, the elf and the other tall man. Which left Ósle alone with the rider; well, almost alone. Gimli had fallen asleep on the chair, snoring quietly. 
Awkwardly, she avoided looking at him. At the same time she was very aware of his eyes on her. But she knew she had to do something and eventually met his gaze, a defiant expression willed onto her face. 
“Where are you hurt, Lord?” 

“’Tis nothing, as I already said. Why don’t you just leave?” he gave back and turned away. Ósle sighed. 
“I am only trying to follow the King’s request. But you are making it quite impossible with your stubbornness,” she said exasperated and not caring if she spoke out of line. He was wasting her time – time she could use to help others more needing. More deserving. 
“And what are you going to do about that?” he asked. Ósle was surprised at the slight amusement in his voice. He seemed to enjoy their…banter. 
Needing time to think and not trusting her face she turned to her satchel and picked it up. 
“Oh, I’ve heard a good hit over the head works wonders,” she replied walking over to a small table where the bowl with water had been placed. 

Inwardly she scolded herself for speaking this way but she somehow liked it…this little game. They had been through a lot those passed months – years actually. Maybe he just tried to relax, to take it easy for a little while. 
His next words sounded surprised. 
“Hit me over the head? Miss, you wouldn’t dare.” And challenging. She shot him a look over her shoulder. 
“Try me,” she hissed, returning the challenge. Taking a deep breath, she faced him fully and added: “There are lots of men out there who need help as well. Please, my lord let me just have a look at your injury and be rid of me. Please, lord. For the King.” 
He seemed to be considering her words and eventually sighed and nodded. She told him to take off the armour before returning to her satchel to prepare what she would need. 

For some time it was silent, except for the soft snoring of Gimli and the noise the Captain made removing his gear. Suddenly, he swore under his breath and Ósle turned to him, startled. He had already removed most of his armour and the mail shirt and was sitting on the edge of the bed, struggling with one of the leg protections. When he swore again, Ósle couldn’t help asking: “Are you alright?” 
“Yes, I am. But the clasp won’t open,” he replied, rather annoyed. Ósle smiled, took a small vial containing herbal oil, walked over and knelt down in front of him. She poured a small drop into her hand, asked him to hold the vial and started to spread the oil on the wedged clasp. 
He smelled strongly of orc and sweat, mixed with blood and dirt. But there was something else she noticed. A scent very…male. Something she had never smelled before. Or maybe just hadn’t noticed. 
“Someone needs a bath,” she thought and was very surprised when he replied: “Why thank you, Mistress Healer. I can say the same to you.” 

Wide eyed she found his gaze and felt the heat in her cheeks. 
“Did I say that out loud?” 
From the way his lips curved into a smirk she must have. A little ashamed she bowed her head continuing to free the clasp. 
While she worked the Captain sniffed the content of the vial and asked, surprise audible in his voice: “What is this?” 
“It’s made out of Camomile and used for infected wounds. It’s the simplest and the most effective.” She replied without looking up and added after a short while: “Even on wedged clasps. – There, it’s open.” 
So it was. After thanking her and handing back the vial, he was able to take it off and Ósle returned to the table to clean her hands with a small amount of spirit. 
Gathering the bowl and a cloth she once more turned to him and almost dropped what she was holding. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her: 
The young Captain had taken off all his upper clothing and was leaning against the bed post, arms crossed over his bare chest, eyes fixed on her. 
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest and she knew there must be the brightest blush on her cheeks. And although she really didn’t want to, she forced herself to avert her eyes. 

“Sit,” she croaked. 
“What?” 
She saw his eyebrows rise, swallowed rather hard and took a deep breath. 
“Take a seat, please,” she said her voice stronger again. He smirked and inclined his head. 
“As you wish, Miss,” he gave back and sat once more on the edge of the bed. Taking another deep breath she sat down next to him, wet the cloth and reached for his arm. Her hand shook nervously and she knew the blush on her cheeks deepened when she touched his arm. 
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked amused as she gingerly started to clean the cut on his lower arm. 
‘You, no. Your nakedness and close proximity, yes,’ she thought but said very feebly: “No, my lord.” 
“Then why are your hands shaking?” 
“I’m just a bit cold,” she lied as smoothly as she could muster. 
“I see,” was all he said and she knew he didn’t believe her. At the same time she felt very grateful that he did not inquire any further. As much as she willed her hands to be still they wouldn’t stop trembling. 

Of course, Ósle knew what happened between married couples – at least she had an idea. But that the mere sight of a half naked, handsome man could make her feel like this…feelings she couldn’t really describe… it was new to her. And unexpected and confusing; yet, at the same time exciting. 
She felt his gaze on her and the preordained blush on her cheeks before even knowing why. And then she noticed that her hand simply rested on his arm, not moving. 

“What are you thinking about?” 
Ósle swallowed nervously and shook her head dismissively.   
“Nothing, my lord,” she replied and continued to clean the wound with the spirit, the blush still visible on her cheeks. During the whole procedure she averted her eyes, keeping her gaze fixed solely on his arm and the wound. 
“Finished, my lord. Have it changed in a few days as well,” she eventually said and was surprised to feel his hand lifting up her chin. 
“Thank you, Miss,” he replied, a smile on his face which quickly turned into a smirk as he added: “And I believe I know what you were thinking about. – The same that I was thinking, wasn’t it?”   
“And what were you thinking, my lord?” 

Still smirking, he quirked his eyebrows. At first Ósle was confused which clearly showed on her face. But as soon as his eyes suggestively travelled from her face to her bosom and lower she understood and her blush deepened. Abruptly, she scooted away from him scowling, suddenly angry. 
“How dare you,” she hissed and not knowing what possessed her, took up the wet cloth from the bowl of water and threw it at his face. 
Without another look at him, she stormed from the room and down the corridor back to the hall not caring about leaving her satchel.

TBC


Chapter 4 - Miracles and Surprises

Chapter 3
“Miracles and Surprises”
 
Still greatly enraged Ósle returned to the healing wing. She hardly noticed that it had become quiet, that the hectic and chaos of a few hours before had disappeared. 
Most of the other healers were still tending to those with minor wounds and the gravely injured had been moved to another, more secluded room. 
But all of that did not matter to her at the moment. Her mind was too occupied by what had just happened. Why had she done what she did? And – more importantly – why had he done what he did? 
She took a deep breath coming to a halt at one of the supply tables. With trembling hands she started to straighten up the equipment on it, sorting out the used or spoiled ones and neatly piling those which could still be used. Anything to take her mind off the incident. 
A hand on her shoulder made her jump and wide eyed she came face to face with Leof. 
“Ósle, did it all…are you alright?” 
She simply stared at him then nodded before shaking her head. Her thoughts were a jumble in her mind. And she was still angry that the Captain had affected her so – first in the caves and just now while tending to his wound. 
“I…I don’t know, Leof. I…,” she stuttered. 
“You are exhausted, Ósle,” he said smiling and put a fatherly hand on her cheek. “Go find your family and get some rest. You have done enough for now.” 
She nodded and Leof turned to leave but she held him back with a hand on his arm. 
“Just answer me one question, Leof. Why did you send me to tend to the King and the third Marshal and not someone older, more experienced?” 

“I was informed that the King was injured but not gravely. And I needed all of my other healers right here. As you said yourself, you have no experience with surgical work. That is the only reason I send you.” 
Once again she nodded and Leof smiled at her. 
“Do not underestimate your skills, Ósle. You are good in what you learned to do. – Now go and find some rest.” 
With that he left and Ósle slowly made her way out of the healing wing, through several corridors and out of the Hornburg. Taking a deep breath she walked over to the inner court wall and started to climb the steps but was halted in mid step by her name being called. Spinning around she saw Beda waving her over and pointing behind him. Her eyes widened in shock and surprise. They were here, talking to Asthryd. They were alive. 
“Alden,” she whispered and flew down the few steps she had taken, across the court and into the young rider’s arms. 
“Alden,” she whispered again. “Oh Alden.” 
The tears just started to fall, there was nothing for her to do. He held her gently, repeatedly running his hand over her hair and back. 
“Don’t cry, fea-an. We are whole and save,” he soothed. She clung to him for a long time until the tears subsided only to be hugged by Ceredig. 

“I am so glad to see you again,” she breathed. “Are you really alright, both of you?” 
The two brothers laughed and assured her that they indeed were. 
All together the reunited family made their way inside where they found a small meal prepared for all of the riders. 
Even though Alden and Ceredig were exhausted, they only rested for a little while before offering their help again to their Captain. 
Ósle enjoyed the short amount of time she could spend with them and afterward went again to help where help was needed. 
In the afternoon, word came that the King had ridden forth to Isengard with the man dressed all in white – Gandalf as she learned – and two dozen men. 
So much had happened in such a short space of time. Her thoughts were still a jumble, mirroring the chaos she had experienced earlier in the day. So much had been lost, many lives had been taken and homes destroyed. And many of those who had been wounded were not yet over the edge. 
But amidst all of this, she had been given hope. The battle, of which all thought would be their end, had been won. The King had returned to his people and even her closest friends, her brothers had come back alive. 
The next morning approached and despite what Leof had told her, Ósle had not rested enough. The depth of her exhaustion showed as she almost collapsed during breakfast. Alden took her to the small room off the healing wing so that she could sleep. 


She was awoken almost 24 hours later by Asthryd bringing her a small breakfast. After eating some food and putting on a clean dress, Ósle emerged from the room. With Asthryd she went to find Leof and offered her help once again but another senior healer informed her that no help was needed at the time being, even before she had seen him. 
Therefore, the two women offered their help to the kitchen which was gladly accepted. The first part of the morning was spent with preparing dough for bread until she was summoned to the healing wing by a young boy.  
Excusing herself, she took off the apron and followed the boy. Leof awaited her with a stern look on her face. He did not speak but took her arm and led her off to a more secluded part of the wing. 
“What by Béma has gotten into you?” he hissed. Her brows drew together in sheer confusion. 
“What are you talking about?” she asked back, unable to comprehend his anger. What had she done? 
“How could you have thrown a wet cloth at the Lord Éomer?” 
Realisation dawned on her and she sighed. So that’s where he was coming from. Suddenly the anger she had felt two days ago was back and she grimaced. 

“How do you know?” 
“It does not matter how I learned of it, Ósle,” Leof scowled. “Are you out of your mind?”
“No, Leof. I am not. He asked for it,” she replied, slightly louder than intended. 
“Did he now? How so?” 
Despite herself, Ósle blushed beet red. Why did he have to ask? It was already embarrassing enough. 
“He…was…rather suggestive. I’m not going to say more about it. But be assured – he only got what he deserved.” 
The old healer’s brow furrowed and he drew a long breath. Then he put a hand on Ósle’s shoulder. 
“I understand. But…he’s the King’s nephew and – since Prince Théodred died – the heir to the throne. Couldn’t you have been…more subtle?”
His words enraged her even more and her eyes widened. What? Only because he was the heir to the throne? 
“Subtle?” she repeated and shook her head. “No, Leof I couldn’t have been. I don’t care who he is…he shouldn’t have done what he did.” 

With that she turned around and did not heed the call of her name. Furious, she left the Hornburg and emerged outside into the weak sunlight. 
“Men,” she muttered climbing the steps to the inner court wall. 
“Are you mad at men generally or just one in particular?” 
As startled as she was by the voice behind her, she did not turn around. Did not need to, to know who it was. 
“Men in general but two especially,” she gave back quietly. “Leof for one.” 
A slight shiver ran through her body as she leaned onto the stone wall. Alden must have noticed because he draped his cloak about her shoulders at once. 
“You should have brought your own. It is still too cold despite the sun.” 
“I know,” was her feeble reply. Her gaze was drawn to the horizon, the sun setting the mist in a slight shimmer. It was beautiful. 
Was it possible that only two nights ago a battle had been fought here? 
Many men were at work in the Dike, at the Deeping Wall and at shovelling graves for the fallen riders. It made her sad; yet, at the same time it was strangely peaceful and hope-giving. It enhanced that life would go on; showed the strength of mankind, that even after a fall they could get up and start anew. 

“Alden?” she eventually said. 
“Yes?” 
“I’m going to ask you a question and I bid you answer honestly. – Do…do you find me…desirable?”
She heard his sharp intake of breath and turned to him. The expression she saw on his face surprised her. It was so very gentle, caring. Almost loving. And did her eyes deceive her or did she see…a longing in his eyes? 
“Alden?” she asked softly. He found her eyes, looking directly into them and a soft smile was on his lips. 
“Ósle – how long have I waited…why do you have to ask now? – Ósle, I love you…have loved you from the moment I first kissed you but…you never…Ósle?” 
Her eyes had glazed over with tears upon hearing his words. He loved her? How was it possible? They were friends, grew up almost as siblings and she loved him as a brother. But as a husband? 
“Ósle?” Alden’s call of her name brought her back to the present and she met his gaze. 
“Alden…I,” she broke off, not knowing what to say. He smiled gently at her and ran a hand along her cheek. 
“Ósle…I know it is sudden but….” He paused to take a deep breath to ease his nervousness. “Ósle, in only a few hours we ride to Edoras and then on to Gondor – to war. It is likely I will not return but…if I do will you become my wife?” 
The information Alden threw at her was too much. They were riding off to war again? Hadn’t they just returned? And had he just asked her to marry him? 

Oh, what should she do? Briefly she closed her eyes squeezing them shut and took a deep breath. When she opened them again and once more found Alden’s eyes, she knew in her heart she couldn’t tell him that she did not love him the way he obviously loved her. She saw the hope flicker in his eyes, expectantly waiting for her positive answer and could not bring herself to quench it. Deciding in a heartbeat, she smiled up at him and nodded unable to speak, to voice her answer out loud. 
Instantly, his eyes lit up and he drew her close, claiming her lips in a sweet kiss. 
Ósle tried and succeeded to put all of her sisterly love into this one kiss, wrapping her arms around him and holding onto him. If this was what it would take to bring him back safely from war then so be it. He now had his anchor, his one hope to hold onto and she knew that Alden would always treat her kindly and with respect. 
Reluctantly he broke the kiss and the love he held for her was visible in every feature. 
“Come, let us find mother, father and Ceredig. They should hear of the good news,” he said softly. Ósle nodded and let him take her hand. 
It was while they climbed down the steps that she became aware of eyes on her and a shiver ran down her spine. A little unsure she looked about her but could not make out anyone in particular.  Dismissing it with a slight shrug, she continued to follow Alden through the court and inside.

TBC


Chapter 5 - Almost a Truce

Chapter 4
“Almost a Truce”

Ósle and Alden had only just reached the entrance to the great hall when a rider of the King’s Guard appeared in front of them. 
“Are you Ósle the healer?” he questioned. She nodded and he bid her to come with him. She excused herself from Alden who stood rather dumbfound and followed the guard across the hall. There at the other end stood Leof with the King and his Marshal. Ósle swallowed hard once and, upon being announced by the guard, curtsied.
“Théoden-King requested you to look at his and Lord Éomer’s wounds once more,” Leof explained and her eyes widened. Yet, she nodded and bowed her head. 
“I already sent Freyda to prepare. You should find all you need within the King’s quarters.” 
“As you wish,” she replied and met the old healer’s gaze. Was it her imagination or did she see a mischievous twinkle in his eyes? Yet, his next words assured her that she had seen correctly. 
“And please, hold your temper, Ósle.” 
Her eyes widened even more in pure shock and outrage. How dare he say that in front of the King? And – more importantly – in front of the Marshal? He surely must know exactly why Leof had said it. How embarrassing. 
Leof then excused himself and the young healer shot a look at his back which could have killed an Orc. Her hands balled into fists and she pressed her lips firmly together to keep from shouting after him. 
“Shall we then?” She heard the King’s gentle voice. Ósle turned to face him, her seething anger slightly lessened, nodded and followed him out of the hall and down a corridor. The young Marshal fell into step with her, a rather amused expression on his face. 
“Am I correct in assuming Leof knows?” he asked. Ósle bit her lower lip, the anger returning. Putting on a sweet smile, she threw him a sideways look. 
“I know not of what you speak, my lord,” she replied demurely. 
“Did you tell him then?” he continued not reacting to her response. Ósle’s hands had meanwhile reached a state of bloodlessness from clenching them too hard. Didn’t he see she already was beyond angry? 
“No, I did not.”
“May I ask how he heard about it then?” he pushed on clearly not seeing or not caring. 
“No, my lord, you may not,” she replied icily. 
To an extent he surly had a right to know. But Ósle was quickly loosing the grip on her temper. She drew a deep breath and chose to ignore him. Yet his next words made it impossible. 
“Or did you loose your temper with Leof, too?” 
Abruptly she stopped, grabbing his arm to keep him from walking on and turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed and she shot him a glare. 
“What part of ‘No’ do you not understand? If you proceed to bother me with questions you have no right to ask in the first place then I suggest you find another healer to tend to your arm. – Because I then cannot guarantee I won’t hurt you.” 
With that she turned and followed the King into his chamber. 


Éomer stood rooted to the spot. Her words had been straight to the point. And he also knew that he might have taken his banter a bit too far on her expense. And she clearly deserved an apology. 
Yet, the way she had spoken flustered him. No one had yet dared to speak to him thusly. But she did and dared. 
A sly smile crossed his face. She would make one hell of a wife. And after a pause he admitted to himself that he already envied the rider he had seen her with. 
His smile faltered slightly. There definitely was something about her. She was of gentle and kind nature, caring for others more than for herself and yet, did not hesitate to speak her mind if necessary. 
He shook his head. In less than a day she had managed to infuriate him, to let him see reason, to make him smile and to forget all his trials and tribulations – at least for a while. 
She was a jewel and he was intrigued. 
Still not completely understanding what he just found out, Éomer set his feet to work and entered his uncle’s chambers. 
The young, dark haired healer was already redressing the King’s leg and once finished looked up at the King. 
“The wound should be fully healed in a few more days, my lord.” 
Théoden nodded and stood, motioning for Éomer to take the seat who hesitated. His gaze was fixed on Ósle who just then got to her feet and faced him. 
Their eyes locked. Neither spoke but they held each others gaze. 

The King looked from one to the other and back, slightly confused but at the same time amused. Eventually he cleared his throat. 
“I will leave you then. I will be next door, Ósle. Éomer – I will see you at noon.” 
“Rest well, my lord,” she said quietly at which he smiled, nodded and disappeared through a door into the adjacent room. 
Still the healer and the Marshal stood and stared at one another. She wanted to look away, to avert her gaze but she couldn’t. 
She knew she must have angered him; knew she shouldn’t have spoken to him the way she had. And she knew that it was on her to make amends, to ask for forgiveness although he had started it all. But what remained of her pride would not let her. 
It was he who made the first move – literally. He took a step toward her then turned and started to take off his tunic. Ósle needed a moment to register this and blushed once she did. Furious with him and herself she turned to the small table and started scrubbing her hands until they were raw-red. 
She heard him sit down in the chair next to her and felt a slight tingle in her stomach. Despite this she did not face him at once but thoroughly dried her hands first. Only then she turned to him and was both relieved and disappointed. He had not taken off his undershirt, only turned up the sleeve. With a small sigh she knelt down next to the chair and gingerly removed the linen bandage from his arm. 
“Does it still hurt?” she inquired while inspecting the wound. 
“No,” was his gruff reply. Ósle nodded and lightly traced the still reddened skin around the edges of the gash. 
“It’s already begun to heal,” she stated mostly to herself. “But I think a scar will remain.” 
“One of uncountable others,” he said gently and she was surprised to see his hand cover hers on his arm. Eyes wide she met his and saw his lips curve into a small smile. 
“It matters not,” he assured her and she couldn’t help but return the smile. 
“Nevertheless I will bandage it again to keep dirt out,” she breathed and started to pull her hand away when his grip tightened slightly. Astounded she found his eyes once more. 
“My Lord?” she asked. Éomer took a deep breath, averting his eyes for a moment. 
“Ósle,” he started looking directly at her again. A shower ran down her spine when he said her name. It sounded so…good when he said it. 
“I apologize for…for my behaviour and for teasing you so.” 
“No, my lord. It is I who should apologize. I had no right to speak to you as I did,” she said quickly and bowed her head. What he did next astounded her even more than his apology. He brought his hand to her chin and lifted it to make her look at him. 
“That may be so. But I had no right to say what I did and brought it onto myself by teasing you.” 
“So we are even?”
“We are,” he agreed and smiled which she returned. His hand lingered on her chin, his thumb mere inches from her bottom lip. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and she felt she wanted him to touch her lips, to trace them with his fingers. She knew not where this thought came from but it was there, so very prominently. As an urge, a longing only he could end. 
Unwanted her eyes lower to his mouth and a small sigh escaped her.

The smile lit up her already beautiful face and Éomer couldn’t look away. He felt the heat of her small hand on his arm; saw her gaze lower and the faint blush on her cheeks. And when she sighed, parting her lips ever so slightly in the process he was lost. He felt the whisper of breath on his hand which still held her chin and started to lean in, fully intending to kiss her. Yet, as soon as his lips touched hers she pulled away. Her eyes were wide, a shocked expression on her face. 
She quickly stood and moved over to the table. Éomer did not say anything but in his mind he could have yelled at himself. Just why had he done that? 
With professional accuracy but undeniably quick she bound his wound again and stood. 
“I…do…do you require anything else, my lord?” she asked rather flustered. Not knowing what or how to say it, he simply shook his head. 
“Rest well, then,” she said and was gone. 

Éomer sat in the chair trying to gather what just happened. He knew why he had kissed her. At least he suspected he knew. She was a beautiful young woman. And…the moment had just been so right. But why had she pulled away from him? 
And then the answer hit him harder than he thought possible: that rider. Of course, how could he have forgotten so quickly? He had only just seen them outside together. 
Was it possible they were already wed? She was old enough to be. 
“No,” he spoke out loud and stood from the chair with such force that it toppled over and clatter onto the floor. 
In a matter of seconds the door to where the King rested opened and Théoden himself stood in the room. 
“Is everything alright? Éomer?” He looked questioningly at his nephew then at the chair and back. Éomer sighed and slightly bowed his head. 
“Yes, my lord. I only stood too quickly from the chair. I am sorry I disturbed your peace.” 
Théoden-King nodded and after telling Éomer to rest, returned to his room. 
With a sigh the third Marshal sat down on the bed, running a hand over his face. While taking off his boots his thoughts drifted back to Ósle. 
Exasperated he sighed – it sounded more like a grunt – and balled his hands into fists. 
‘No,’ he told himself. Nothing happened and nothing will happen. There were more important matters at hand. He had no use to dwell over a simple woman, as lovely as she might be.


Chapter 6 - The Ride of the Rohirrim

Chapter 5
“The Ride of the Rohirrim”

Completely confused, Ósle stumbled through the hallways of the burg her vision blurred by tears threatening to fall. 
She knew not where she went but she knew that she wanted to see neither Alden, nor his family or Leof. 
The first tears fell from her eyes as she emerged outside and started to run down the street and through the first gate. No one took any notice of her and she did not take in anything around her. 
She passed the great gate and continued on, down the causeway. The tears fell ever harder until she was unable to see and stopped her flight, collapsing next to a lone dirt hill symbolizing a grave. 
With a soft cry Ósle buried her face in her hands and drew up her knees. What she desperately wanted and needed was a friend. A friend like Halian. With him she could have spoken about everything that had happened but there was no one. 
Oh, what could she do? And what should she do? It was all so very confusing. 
Suddenly a soft, gentle voice startled her and made her look up. 
“You look like you could use a friend.” 

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Ósle studied the small…being. At first she thought it was a young boy. But when he sat down next to her, she saw that he had the features of a grown man. A very small grown man. 
“Are you alright?” he asked. Ósle nodded then shook her head. 
“I…I don’t know,” she replied quietly. “It’s just…so much happened and I…I feel…lost.” 
“I know what you mean, Miss,” the small man said. “I am Merry, by the way.” 
A small smile appeared on her face and she chuckled. 
“It is nice to meet you, Merry. I am Ósle.” 
“You look different than the other women,” he stated. Ósle blushed and averted her eyes. 
“I know,” she whispered and missed the half strange, half expecting look of Merry. 
They sat in silence for some time until Merry started to tell her of his friends and companions. She learned that his best friend Pippin had ridden off to Minas Tirith with Gandalf. He told her about Sam and Frodo and about Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn. 
When he finished, Ósle started to tell him about her life with Halian in the village, about how she missed him and about Asthryd, Beda, Ceredig and Alden. 

She did not tell him that she considered herself betrothed to Alden, nor did she say that she had let someone else kiss her. But simply talking to him took her mind of her trials and tribulations. 
They sat together talking until a horn sounded from the wall of the keep. Merry sprang to his feet. 
“I am sorry, Ósle but I ride with the Rohirrim to Edoras. I need to get ready. It was nice to meet you and I hope to see you again,” he said and held out his small hand. Ósle took it, a smile on her face. 
“I thank you, Merry for sitting with me. And I hope to see you again, too. Be safe, little one.” 
He smiled and ran off. 
With a small sigh Ósle stood and brushed off her skirt as suddenly what Alden had said came back to her: ‘We ride to Edoras and then on to Gondor – to war’. 
They were leaving. Alden and Ceredig were leaving soon. The first riders had already gathered before the wall in the Deeping. Her heart started to beat wildly against her ribs. 

Hurrying back to the causeway, she scanned the riders already there. First of all she spotted the King talking to the dark haired man who had been in the room two days ago while she tended to the King. They were surrounded by riders of the Royal Guard and she saw the third Marshal close by. For a moment her eyes lingered on him and the tingle to her stomach returned. 
But she pushed it aside. She needed to find her brothers…well, one brother and her betrothed. 
Eventually she spotted Ceredig and ran over to him, hugging him tightly. 
“Ósle, what are you doing here?” 
“I needed to see you before you leave, Ceredig,” she said and pressed herself even closer to him. 
“I am sorry, fea-an that we have to leave you again so soon,” Ceredig whispered against her hair. Ósle sighed, kissed his cheek and pulled away from him. 
“Be safe, brother,” she whispered just as she felt another presence behind her. 
“Ósle,” Alden said quietly. She put on a brave smile, turned to him and flung herself into his waiting arms. He ran one hand over her hair. 
“My Ósle,” he muttered. “I love you.” 
“I love you, too,” she replied very quietly, her voice almost breaking. “Please be safe, Alden.” 
His hand found her chin and he lifted her face to his. 
“I will,” he gave back and softly kissed her lips. “Please look after mother for us.” 
She nodded as a voice – his voice – called out: “Riders of Rohan – oaths you have taken. Now fulfil them all, to lord and land.” 
“We must,” Ceredig said. Alden nodded and smiled at her one last time before he too mounted his horse. 

Ósle retreated several steps and watched them as they joined their Èored. Memories of their childhood together flooded her mind and despite the tears running down her cheeks, she had to smile. 
At the same time she felt empty, lost. The hope which had been given her with her brothers return, was riding away again under her very nose. And she felt as if she could not go on. 
Halian was gone forever and here left two people she loved with all of her heart to an uncertain fate; not knowing if she would ever see them again. 
There was nothing left to hold on to, no hope, nothing. 
“Ósle,” a voice behind her said. It was Asthryd. Asthryd. There was something to hold on to. She had promised Alden and Ceredig that she would look after her, be there for her. And that she would. 
She turned to face the older woman, took in the tearstained face but before she could speak, Asthryd did: 
“You are the only one I have left now, Ósle. Please do not leave me, too.” 
Ósle’s eyes widened. 
“Beda….” 
“Volunteered to ride with them. There is just you…and…do not leave me alone.” 
Asthryd broke out in tears, hugging…clinging to the young healer who wrapped her arms around the older woman. 
“Never, Asthryd, I promise. Never. But you have to promise me, too.”
Very slowly, the older woman raised her head from Ósle’s shoulder. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face drenched in tears. 
“I promise,” she said in a quivering voice and once more hugged the healer tightly.

TBC


Chapter 7 - News from Afar

Chapter 6
“News from Afar”

It had been a month. Over a month to be exact and still no word. 
The people remaining at Helm’s Deep had not been idle, though. Much had been done. The repair of the Deeping Wall came along and the injured had almost all recovered. 
Some vegetables had been cultivated not far from the Burg as well. 
Yet, there were many things still to be done. Many still had no home and were living in the caves or the Burg. And most of them had no clothes except those they wore. 
And many feared that the worst was yet to come. 
Despite all of that, a routine had settled in among those able to work. And not only Ósle was starting to grow restless. 
Every day had become almost the same: wake up, help making breakfast, start work on some clothing, help making lunch, work some more, help making dinner, more work and go to sleep. 
After the initial shock wore off, Ósle and Asthryd had sworn to never loose hope. And at first it went well, they could even laugh again. But as the days went on and there were no news, it became harder and harder. Almost unbearable. 
Still not a day had gone by that Ósle hadn’t thought of Beda, Ceredig, Alden, the King and Éomer praying they were save. 
Ósle sighed and threw a sideways glance at Asthryd seated beside her. Both women had needlework on their laps making one or the other clothing item and since the weather had steadily grown warmer they sat outside in the sun. 
Suddenly an excited shout went up. The gates were opened and a group of riders entered the inner court. Riders of the Mark. 
Within minutes a whole crowd had gathered around them, awaiting the news. Ósle and Asthryd were among them, having abandoned their work for the time being. 

All of a sudden, the older woman’s pose stiffened before she cried out and rushed forward. Ósle at first did not understand but when one of the riders removed his helmet, her eyes widened. It was Ceredig. She too rushed to his side and hugged him tight as soon as Asthryd had released him. 
“Ósle,” he whispered and it sounded so very sad that it almost broke her heart. Yet, there was no time to dwell on it as the rider in charge called for quiet to deliver the news. 
The war was over, Mordor overthrown. They were safe. Or at least safer than they had been before. Murmuring grew louder but dissipated upon hearing of Théoden-King’s death. 
One or another of the older men asked who would lead them now and the answer took Ósle by great surprise. 
“The King’s sister-son, Éomer is now King,” the rider announced. Once again the murmuring started. So he was now King. That simplified things. She would just have to forget him.

The riders were rushed inside, food was prepared and baths provided as well as some fresh clothes. 
Through all of this Ósle watched Ceredig who seemed defeated, lost despite their victory over the dark lord. Not once did she see him smile. He was frightfully detached from all the happenings around him. What had happened to him? 
Ósle volunteered to help with the distribution of the food to give mother and son some privacy although she knew they included her in their family. 
During the whole time she walked around with baskets of bread, she watched Ceredig and Asthryd. And when she saw the older woman pale visibly she knew for sure something must have happened. 
From where he sat, Ceredig found her and their gazes met. And then she knew. She did not need him telling her. She just knew. Alden had fallen. Alden was dead. She would never see his face again, would never see him smile, hear him laugh or be able to hug him. 
Silent tears ran down her cheeks. She could not move, could not think. But her inside screamed that Alden would never come back. Sobs shook her body. 
And only as a rider lightly touched her arm did she become aware of the bread basket still in her hands. Without thinking she dropped it onto the nearest table and ran from the hall – all she could think about was Alden. 

TBC
-------
Just a short chapter this time. More to come soon.  ~ Chrissie


Chapter 8 - Halian's Last Wish

Chapter 7
“Halian’s last Wish”

The last rays of late April’s sun kissed the hill farewell. A soft wind ruffled the grass as if caressing it. A peaceful silence lay about what once had been the village by the hill. 
All that remained of it was in utter ruin. The wooden cottages had been burned to ashes and even the council house which had been the only one built of stone lay crumbled. Only one wall still half stood. It had broken Ósle’s heart to see her beloved village – her home – like this. But as the other villagers who had returned with her, she wanted to see it rebuild. 
One of their first tasks had been to search the ruins for any sign of Halian or one of the other villagers who had remained behind. There were none. 

Ósle sat next to one of seven new graves. Halian’s grave which had been placed in the middle of the seven empty graves, right at the foot of the hill. She still felt sad that she would never see him again. As well as Alden. Alden. It still hurt to think about him. 
The sound of footsteps on grass alerted her to another’s presence. She looked up to see Ceredig approach her. 
“Will you not come and join us for some food? You have been sitting here alone for so long,” he said. 
Ósle just shook her head and patted the grass beside her. 
“Sit with me, Ceredig.” 

With a soft sigh, the young rider complied. For some time neither spoke, both staring at the stones covering and indicating Halian’s grave. The first stars appeared in the sky twinkling slightly in the twilight. 
“You still miss him, do you not?” Ceredig asked and took one of her hands in his. She knew he was not speaking of Halian. 
“I do, Ceredig. Very much so.” 
He gently squeezed her hand and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. 
“I…Ósle, Alden asked you to become his wife, didn’t he? He told me the night before battle.” 
“Yes, he did. And I told him yes although…,” she trailed off and found his gaze, tears shining in her eyes and she knew that Ceredig understood.

“Alden loved you, Ósle. – That night he made me promise that if he should not return, I should make sure you were happy.” 
“Oh Ceredig, I feel so ashamed for being relieved that I do not have to pretend to love him like that. – I love Alden as a brother. He is…was very dear to me, as are you. – But if it meant to have Alden back, I would marry him. I really would, Ceredig.” 
Ósle burst into tears and the young rider pulled her close. 
“I know, fea-an. I know,” he said soothingly, rubbing her back and just holding her tight. It took a while for Ósle to calm down. There was still so much on her mind, so much she needed to process. And the loss of Alden had not made it any easier. 

It was almost dark when the two siblings eventually got up and returned to the camp the villagers had set up earlier. 
A fire was burning in the middle of it and they found Asthryd handing out stew to the others. Ósle joined her to help and once everyone had their share, the two women sat down next to Ceredig to eat as well. 
“They are talking about rebuilding the village,” Asthryd filled them in and Ósle smiled; the first real smile in two weeks – since she had heard of Alden’s death. 
“I hope they do,” she replied. “That would be Halian’s wish, too I think.” 
They fell silent, listening to the soft murmur and talk of the others finishing their meal. The young healer sighed and looked up at the stars after she sat the now empty bowl down next to her. 

“I never asked him why he took me in,” she eventually said, very quietly. “And now I can’t.” Asthryd gently rubbed her shoulder, a small smile on her lips. 
“No, Halian you cannot ask. But what about me?” 
Ósle straightened her posture and her eyes found those of the woman beside her. 
“Did he tell you?” 
Asthryd shook her head. 
“No, Beda did. Right after the council meeting a day after you came to us. – That night he announced that someone would have to take you in. And when no one volunteered which he seemingly suspected, he took you. He really saw you for what you were, Ósle: a mere babe without anyone. Everyone else only saw the difference from the woman who brought you to us and did not trust her. 
“And there is more. – Five years ago we came to talk of this again. Since you became friends with my sons, I steadily saw the effort and eagerness with which you learned. And I went and told Halian how right he had been and that he had done good in taking you in.” 
The older woman paused and smiled slightly before continuing: 
“I still remember the smile on his face when he replied: ‘Ah, Asthryd, long I have asked myself if it was a good and right choice. But every time I look at her I know it was. She is the child I never had.’” 
Tears ran down Ósle’s cheeks and she hugged Asthryd tight. 

“Thank you for telling me,” she replied when she pulled apart and sheepishly wiped at her eyes. 
“You are welcome, child,” the older woman gave back and grasped her hand. The young healer inwardly gasped at the strength she saw in her friend. Had it really been only two weeks since the news of Alden’s death? 
Certainly, Asthryd had aged a bit more. The lines on her face had become slightly more prominent and her eyes sometimes glistened with unshed tears. Yet, she seemed even stronger than before. And as much as Ósle wanted to be the strong one, she drew from the older woman’s strength. 
She was sure that a part of her had died each with Halian and Alden. But in their stead, two new parts had appeared, giving her hope and a small amount of strength for the future. And she more than ever believed what the late King had told her: that they now were in a better place. A small smile graced her lips as an image came to her. The King laughing with a man she had never seen before standing next to Halian who had his arm around Alden’s shoulders. All of them were laughing, smiling. 

“I have been thinking.” Ceredig’s voice interrupted her thoughts and she looked up to her brother’s face. 
“Some riders are returning to Minas Tirith for the new gondorian King’s coronation. And I have decided to ride with them. Will you not come, too mother? Ósle?” 
Before Ósle could even think about it, Asthryd answered: 
“No, Ceredig. It is too long a journey for me. And although I am anxious to see your father again, I will return to the Burg.” 
The young rider nodded and turned to Ósle. 
“And you sister?” 
The healer thought. To see the white city Halian had told her so much about would be wonderful. And to see a coronation with the prospect of some merry-making was very tempting. Then her eyes fell onto Asthryd – the closest thing she had to a mother – and she knew. Smiling at Ceredig, Ósle shook her head. 
“No, brother. I will return to the Hornburg with Asthryd.” 
The older woman studied her for several moments, a frown evident on her face even in the dim light of the fire. 
“Ósle, I can see that you want to go. Please, do not stay only because of me. I will be just fine. And wasn’t Halian’s wish for you to train in the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith?” 

She smiled and grasped the older woman’s hands. 
“Yes, it was. And it would be lovely to see Minas Tirith. But there is time for that later when life here has returned to normal – or as normal as it can be after the war. I have promised not to leave you, Asthryd and I intend to keep it until at least you have your family back.” 
They shared a smile and Ósle squeezed the other woman’s hands. Ceredig heaved a sigh but a smile was on his lips. 
“I cannot find fault with that,” he said. 

When Ósle lay in bed that night she knew that she had made the right decision. There was still enough time for her. Minas Tirith and becoming a fully trained healer could wait. Asthryd could not. And Halian, she was certain, would understand. 

TBC


Chapter 9 - An unexpected Meeting

Sorry for the delay. Here is the next chapter. 


Chapter 8
“An unexpected Meeting”

Upon Éomer-King’s return to Rohan much had happened. Men had been sent to Helm’s Deep where the Lord Erkenbrand had once again taken up his duties. 
From there he planned the rebuilding of the villages of Westfold, supported by the new Marshal of Westfold, Merewald, former Captain under the late King’s son. 
The first task had been to provide the material needed to build the houses. By now there was a constant coming and going of groups of riders, carting wood and stones, taking a rest or riding out to help. 
The women were put to the charge of controlling the food supplies, harvesting what there was to harvest and producing wool and linen for clothes. 

It was all too soon clear, that it would not be enough. Too much had been lost by the Orcs, by Saruman knowing full well that the people would need it come autumn. And from the Eastfold – though they had not suffered as gravely as the West – could only be send up that much. It still would not keep. 
Although the rebuilding of the homes was coming along well, it would not do to only have a roof over your head. And with as good as nothing to harvest, the provisions they had would not hold through the winter, if even until. 
A messenger was send to Edoras on the second to last day of June and returned about a week later along with the Lady Éowyn, the King’s sister. 

Her arrival took many by surprise and Ósle was not the only one doubting the tales which had been spread about the White Lady of Rohan after the war upon seeing her for the first time. She was tall but rather slim, clad in a simple but elegant riding habit. 
Lord Erkenbrand greeted her and after she had had a wash-up – the lady refused a bath – and some food, they spent hours in his study. 
That evening there was a small feast in her honour and because of the promise she made, it was a lively one. 
After the tables had been cleared and before any loud talking could start, the Lady Éowyn took to her feet. The hall fell completely silent at once. 
“I am here on behalf of my brother, Éomer-King. I know that he would have preferred to come himself as it is an important and pressing matter. 
“Alas, another important matter was at hand as well – the returning of Théoden-King’s body to Edoras.” 
Several gasps were audible. 
“Therefore I am here. I come with his promise of seeing to your needs as quickly as possible as I have already discussed with Lord Erkenbrand.” 
The man next to her nodded at that. 
“I know all of you have lost much and there is nothing to repay you for the price you have paid,” she continued. “No words to soothe your aching and to bring back those lost forever. 
“I – and my brother – thank you deeply for what you have done, all of you.” 
Here she raised her goblet and said: 
“I drink to all of you, to the future of Rohan and Middle Earth so that what we have lost was not in vain. Hail the victorious dead.” 

As one the whole hall echoed ‘Hail’ raising their goblets as the Lady had done before drinking silently. 
Ósle could hardly swallow, a lump had grown in her throat and tears were in her eyes. Now she believed those tales about the lady. There was a strength and determination radiating from the young woman. Her speech had been direct but understanding, strong and yet gentle, encouraging in the strangest way. 
Lost in her thoughts, she did not see how the lady focused on her for a moment before leaning over to Erkenbrand, conversing quietly and motioning toward Ósle. She also did not notice that a little while later, Éowyn excused herself and left the hall. 
Only when Asthryd eventually nudged her arm, did she snap out of her reverie. 
“Leof approaches,” the older woman hissed and sure enough not a second later the senior healer stood by their table. 
“Ósle – come with me. The lady Éowyn would like to speak with you.”

Flabbergasted and too stunned to speak, she simply nodded, stood and followed the healer shooting a perplexed look at the just as stunned Asthryd. 
They walked out of the hall and down a corridor she had treated several times before. 
And sure enough, they stopped in front of the same room in which Ósle had taken care of the King; well both Kings, the late and the new one.  
Why did the lady want to speak with her? How could she even know about her? 
Was it possible…had he…? No, it was absurd. He had forgotten her as quickly as she should have forgotten about him. Only she couldn’t. 

Leof knocked on the door and opened it after hearing the positive reply. 
“Here, my lady I bring you Ósle,” he said and bowed slightly while Ósle behind him curtsied.
The White Lady of Rohan sat in a chair near the unlit fireplace. She was clad in a dark green night robe, her feet tucked underneath herself. A small book lay face down on her lap. 
She smiled, nodded and said: 
“Thank you, Leof.” 
The older healer bowed once more, knowing he was dismissed, left the room and closed the door. Ósle stood staring at the ground, very uncertain what to do. She felt the lady’s gaze on her and a slight blush crept onto her cheeks. 
“Please, take a seat, Ósle. Would you like some tea?” 
Haltingly the young healer looked up, finding the others eyes. Taking a deep breath, she slowly walked toward the empty chair across from the lady and sat down. 

“I…yes, tea would be nice,” she replied shyly, the blush deepening, her posture still very stiff. The King’s sister poured her a cup of steaming, sweet smelling tea on a nearby table and handed it to her. Ósle took it with slightly shaking hands breathing a ‘thank you, my lady’. 
The lady laughed melodically. 
“Please, relax, my dear. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. I merely wish to thank you,” she said honestly and Ósle’s head snapped up. 
“For what?” she asked, so surprised and confused she forgot to properly address the woman across from her. 
“For tending to my Uncle and brother as you did after the battle here,” she answered with a smile and the young healer’s jaw dropped, staring at Éowyn at a loss for words. 

“I…how…I,” she stuttered trying to clear her mind. She took a deep breath before trying again: 
“I mean…how do you know, my lady?” 
“My uncle told me. I had spotted my brother’s bandaged arm and…well, let me just say you left an impression on him.” 
“On whom, my lady?” Ósle asked, wide-eyed. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, the cup of tea forgotten in still shaking hands. 
“On my brother,” Éowyn replied and the healer blushed deeply. “And I see now that he left an impression, too.” 
Ósle did not know what to make of the lady’s statement. Her voice sounded neither angry nor overly joyous. She chose not to reply and remained silent. The lady didn’t speak again and several moments passed in utter silence. Just what was the lady thinking? And why had the feeling of his lips on hers to reappear just now? 
The young healer felt ashamed, embarrassed at her thoughts. Oh, what had she gotten herself into this time? Abruptly, Ósle stood. 
“I…I think…it is best if I leave now, my lady. I thank you for the tea.” She put the cup down without having even tasted it and strode over to the door. Her hand was already on the handle when the lady’s voice halted her. 
“Ósle, my apologies for my rash words. – Please sit down again. – My uncle seemed taken with you, too. He spoke rather fondly about your meetings.” 
Once more Ósle sat down in the chair, this time more comfortably. But her eyebrows quirked upon the lady’s words. 
“He did? But…well, your uncle, Théoden-King was very kind to me, my lady. And he gave me hope after the loss of my…guardian.” 
“Did he? How so?” 
And Ósle began to tell her tale. 

TBC


Chapter 10 - A Burial, a Betrothal and a Surprise

I am sorry for the delay. Here finally is the next chapter. 


Chapter 9
“A Burial, a Betrothal and a Surprise”

Ósle smiled while setting down the heavy jugs of mulled wine on the next table. The men seated around it were in a jovial mood, talking and laughing. 
The Golden Hall of Edoras was full almost to bursting, the atmosphere festive and joyful, commoner mingling with noblemen. 
Ósle had been at Edoras for several days and had at once offered her help to the kitchen which was greatly appreciated. Many more had arrived for the burial of Théoden-King which had taken place that morning after sunrise.
The ceremony had been sad but somehow good, peaceful. No words had needed to be spoken. Éowyn had sung a lament standing next to her brother and holding his hand and afterwards the riders of the King’s house had ridden on white horses singing of Théoden which stirred everyone’s heart. 

A great feast had then been prepared and was now well under way. It was merry and sorrow was put away. They had drunken to the late King’s and hailed the new and everywhere there was talk and laughter. 
Shortly after sundown, Éomer-King had announced the betrothal of the lady Éowyn to the lord Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and son of the late Steward of Gondor. The feast had continued the merrier for it. 
With a contend sigh, Ósle collected the empty jugs on the table and pushed through the slowly thinning crowd, returning to the kitchen which was rather empty. She put the jugs into the tub used for cleaning them, pushed up her sleeves and had just bent over to start the washing when the man in charge of the wine approached her. 
“You – Ósle. I need you to help Hylda serve at the King’s table.” 
With that he thrust a clean apron into her hands, grabbed her by the elbow and stirred her over to where an older woman stood. 
With a curt nod, the serving maid helped her change aprons while the man filled up several crystalline jugs of red wine. 
“I…I can’t…,” Ósle stuttered but the man just shook his head. 
“Nonsense,” he said and handed her a jug. “Follow Hylda. She knows the way.” 

The older woman simply motioned with her head and they left the kitchen. It was a different way than Ósle had taken all evening and with each step she grew more and more nervous. 
They emerged into a corridor and passed though a side door into the Golden Hall, right at the high table. To quieten her nervously shaking hands and rapidly beating heart, she stopped and took in the people seated at the table. 
The man clad all in white at the far end of the table she recognized at once. It was Gandalf as she knew now. The dark-haired man next to him she knew also, the new King of Gondor and to his right sat his Queen. And of course she recognized the Prince of Ithilien and the lady Éowyn. 

And then her eyes fell onto him. He looked very handsome. His hair was a mix of dark and gold blond, the front part tied back. No crown adorned his head but Ósle thought he didn’t need one. He looked kingly enough just like that. Though not tonight. She realised that for the first time she saw him completely relaxed, enjoying the company of friends and a mug of ale. 
He laughed and unbidden a smile came to her lips. But it vanished as soon as she saw Hylda giving her a glare. 
“Move it, you silly,” she hissed and strode forward. Taking a deep breath, Ósle followed. The four black-haired men at her end of the table had until then been complete ignored by her. But that was about to change forever. 
Stepping up behind the first two, she asked: “Would you like some wine?” in her best Westron. They did not even look up at her. One motioned for her to go on while continuing the conversation with the man next to him. 
She sighed and went on to the next two, repeating her question. 
“Yes, please,” the younger of the two replied, took hold of his goblet and turned to her. 

At once his eyes widened and he gasped audibly. 
“By Mandos, father!” he cried, drawing the whole tables attention. The older man to his left turned.
“What is it, Amrothos?” he asked and followed his son’s gaze. He too gasped loudly. 
“I do not believe it,” he exclaimed. 
The attention of everyone on her, Ósle blushed. She was very confused. Had she done something wrong? What had them so…upset? 
“My lords?” she asked, her voice shaking with nervousness. 
“Father,” the man next to the one called Amrothos exclaimed and pointed at her neck. “Mother’s necklace. It is her.” 
“Oh, Lothíriel,” the father said, tears shining in his eyes. This time, it was Ósle who gasped. That name – Lothíriel. Why did it stir something insider her? It felt very familiar. 
She was so confused. Those men, who were they? And why did they know the necklace Halian had given to her over five years ago? 
“My daughter. Finally,” the old man said and stood. Daughter? Ósle’s eyes flew up to his and the jugs of wine slipped from her sweaty and still shaking hands, shattering on the stone floor.  
“Oh no,” she mumbled, snapping out of her thoughts and kneeled down. “I am sorry, my lords. I will clean it up at once,” she stuttered. With one hand she held up her apron and with the other she started to pick up the wine-drenched shards. Yet, her hands were shaking so badly that she cut herself on a particularly sharp piece. 
“Ow,” she exclaimed and was surprised by the gentle hands that at once took hers. 
“Let me see,” he said and Ósle would have known this voice everywhere. Her eyes flew up and found his, stormy gray meeting hazel-green. 
“I…I am sorry, my lord. This…,” she gestured with her uninjured hand at the mess on the floor but the King just shook his head. 
“No, don’t worry. Are you alright?” he asked and gently pressed a handkerchief to the cut on her palm. Her vision blurred with tears, she nodded then shook her head. 
“I…I don’t…I’m so confused…,” with that she pulled her hand away from his, sprang to her feet and fled, not heeding his call of her name. 

Éomer looked after her, still kneeling on the floor and lightly shook his head. He couldn’t blame her for running away. In fact, he was just as confused as she was by the recent happenings.  
With a sigh he stood and motioned to two servants to take care of the mess before turning to Imrahil. The older man looked just as lost as Éomer felt, still staring in the direction Ósle had run off to. His three sons were discussing wildly in hushed voices. 
“Imrahil,” Éomer spoke up, becoming aware of more and more eyes on the head table. “As much as I would like to know what just transpired here – I suggest we retire to my study.” 
The old man looked at him, nodded, apparently still at a loss. 
The King of Gondor stood from his chair as well and led the way out of the hall, his wife by his side and followed by Imrahil and his sons. Gandalf and Faramir followed next, leaving Éomer alone with his sister. 
He sighed once again. Deep inside he felt the urge to see after Ósle, to make sure that she was well. A hand on his arm made him turn and he cam face to face with Éowyn. 
“I know what you wish to do, brother. But please don’t. She needs time. – If you really wish to do something for her, find those she calls her family and send them to her.” 

Nodding slowly and a gentle smile on his face, he took her hand in his and brought it up to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. 
“You are right, sister. Will you please excuse my absence while I look for them? I will join you shortly.” 
With a nod Éowyn left and Éomer set off to find Beda. It proofed more difficult than anticipated because so many people interrupted him, greeted him. Eventually he found him at the back of the hall, seated at a table with several other men. Upon his approach the group fell silent at once. 
“Beda, may I have a word?” 
“Certainly, my lord King,” the older man replied at once and stood. They retreated several paces into a quieter corner. 
“What is your wish, my lord?” Beda asked. Éomer took a deep breath. 
“It…it concerns Ósle.” 
“Ósle?” A stunned moment of silence followed. Then: “What has she done, my lord? I will see….” 
Éomer held up his hand and shook his head. 
“No, Beda. She hasn’t done anything. I myself am not quite sure just what happened. All I know is that she fled the hall very upset and I believe…she might need those closest to her.” Understanding, Beda nodded. 
“I thank you, my lord for alerting me. Do…do you know where I might find her?” 
“Sadly, I do not. But I can show you where she left.” 
Beda nodded but Éomer saw him hesitate. Then the older man shook his head and once again nodded at the King. 
“Please lead the way, my lord,” he said quietly. 

Ósle had emerged outside through a side door and right into a half secluded garden. The King’s garden, she knew. 
Now she sat on a stone bench, her cheeks still drenched in tears. The once white handkerchief covering her palm was bright red with her blood. Her eyes and throat hurt from crying and the cut still throbbed painfully but at the moment, Ósle did not feel it. 
Her mind was still reeling with the incident at the head table. The name the old man had spoken…Lothíriel. It still touched her but she couldn’t grasp why or even how. 
And he had called her ‘my daughter’. Had she found her father? Her true family? 
New tears spilled from her eyes and she covered her face in the uninjured hand. Why wasn’t Halian here to help her overcome the confusion? 
She sat sobbing silently oblivious to the man entering the garden until he sat down next to her and gathered her shaking form close. 
Ósle did not look up, not really caring who it was. Her hands clutched at the tunic and she cried for a long time. 
He held her to him softly rubbing her back in what he hoped was a soothing way. 
Eventually she calmed. Wiping the tears from her face she looked up and gasped. 
“What…how?” 
Beda smiled and wiped the remaining tears from her face. 
“Éomer-King told me you might need someone,” he replied. Ósle was stunned into silence, amazed that he would think of doing that for her. She sighed and nervously fidgeted with her skirt. 
“I…I don’t know what to think anymore, Beda. I…Huslaf told me to help serve at the head table and…there were four dark haired men…I…they…they seemed to know me and…one said something about my necklace.” She stopped herself and swallowed, finally meeting the older man’s eyes. “I…the oldest of them said ‘my daughter’. – Beda, what does it mean? Have…have I found my family?” 
Beda briefly closed his eyes and drew in a long breath. Taking both of her hands in his, he turned to her with a half smiling, half stricken expression on his face. 
“Ósle – do you still have the old book Halian gave to you on the night of the attack?” 

TBC


Chapter 11 - The Princess of Dol Amroth

Chapter 10
“The Princess of Dol Amroth”

Éomer entered his study, closed the door quietly and stood next to his sister. He quickly nodded to her then focused on Imrahil and Aragorn who were deep in conversation. 
“…and you are certain, Imrahil?” Aragorn inquired. The older man nodded and passed a hand over his face before answering. 
“Very certain. She…she is the exact image of Lindóriel, my dear wife.” 
The King of Gondor nodded and Éomer finally understood. So Ósle was Imrahil’s daughter, a Princess of Dol Amroth. But how had she come here, to Rohan? And why? 

“Where have you been, my friend?” Aragorn’s voice interrupted his thoughts and Éomer looked up. He sighed and smiled. 
“I have sent someone after Ósle…I mean…the Princess,” he explained. Gandalf, seated in one corner, chuckled slightly while Imrahil faced the young King. 
“Ósle? Do…do you know her, Éomer?” 
“No, my friend. I do not truly know her. But…we have met. She said that she grew up in a village of the Westfold in the care of an old man named Halian. He was a healer and taught her to be one as well. I…,” he interrupted himself, knowing that what he had wanted to say couldn’t be spoken by him, yet. He took a deep breath. 
“Give her time, Imrahil,” he said instead. The older man nodded. 
“I think, I would like some tea,” Éowyn spoke up and she went to find a maid. 

----
Ósle tightly held the old book to her chest with one hand while the other fidgeted nervously with the apron she still wore. Walking beside her, Beda put a comforting hand on her shoulder. They turned a corner and soon came to stand in front of the door to the King’s study. 
The man smiled at her and nodded. 
“Go on. Find your answers. You have waited long enough for them.” 
Ósle nodded and swallowed hard then flew forward and hugged Beda. 
“Can…can you wait here for me?” she asked very quietly. He nodded. 
“I will only fetch Asthryd and then we will return here together and wait for you. You will be fine, Ósle.” 

She just nodded and hugged him again before turning to the door. She straightened her pose, walked the few steps toward it and knocked. Upon the positive reply, she pushed the handle and entered without a backward glance. 
Not prepared for so many eyes on her, Ósle blushed. Yet, she closed the door behind her and slowly strode forward. 
“I…I apologize for…running away, my lords and ladies,” she breathed but the oldest of the dark-haired men held up his hand. 
“No need,” he said softly and patted the empty chair beside him. Hesitating only briefly, she then stepped forward and sat down, putting the book down on a nearby table. 
“I…I do not know where to begin,” the man beside her said and sighed. 
“I do, my lord,” Ósle replied on a sudden impulse and looked up to meet his eyes. “Who am I?” 
“You…you are Lothíriel, my long lost daughter and the Princess of Dol Amroth. – Dol Amroth is the chief city of…” 
“…of Belfalas which is a fief of Gondor. I know, my lord,” Ósle finished for him. 

Everyone’s eyes widened and the Queen of Gondor said: 
“You seem well educated.” 
A shadow of a smile crossed Ósle’s face and she nodded. 
“Halian was a good teacher.” And focusing on Imrahil again she inquired: “When was I born?” 
“On the 4th of April in the year 2997 of this age.”
“And…and my mother?” 
The Prince did not answer at once. The silence lingered and Ósle knew. 
“She…she is dead, isn’t she?” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. Imrahil closed his eyes and nodded. 
“She died a few days after you were born,” he replied. 
It was all a jumble in her mind again, as so many times in these passed months. So much had happened, so much had changed. And now this: She no longer had a mother. And she was the cause of it. 
Tears leaked out of her eyes and she abruptly stood from the chair. This couldn’t be! Oh, why had she come to Edoras? She should have stayed at the burg or returned to the almost completely rebuilt village by the hill. She was a Princess now! What should she do? Oh Halian!

A gentle hand on her shoulder made her turn around, and not caring who it was, she flung herself into the waiting arms. Crying bitterly, her hands clutched the soft tunic. 
Éomer held her close, stroking her back and whispering soothing words in rohirric. 
Imrahil had not moved from his seat, dealing with his own stricken emotions and tears still shown in his eyes. 
Amrothos had put a comforting hand on his fathers shoulder with his brothers on each side. Tears were visible on all three faces. 
Aragorn had taken hold of his wife’s hand while Faramir had his arm around Éowyn. 
Gandalf stood off to the side, his face unreadable. 

When Ósle’s sobs finally decreased, she pulled away and looked up at the man holding her, a blush on her cheeks. But before she could say anything, Imrahil did. 
“Lothíriel?” he softly called and to both their surprise, she at once turned to face him. 
“I…,” he paused, searching for the right words. “After your mother’s death, it was you and your brothers who made it possible for me to go on. You were a gift, a most precious gift to us. 
“When you disappeared that night…21 years ago…I felt lost. Really lost.” 
Ósle held his gaze and nodded, very grateful for Éomer’s hand on her shoulder. 
“I…I just disappeared? I mean…how?” 
“Well,” Imrahil started and took a deep breath. “Not completely. There was a small note left in your crib by your nurse that you would be safe.” 
The dark-haired healer nodded and the Prince continued: 
“Asha, your nurse, came to Dol Amroth when she was a small child along with her mother and several other refugees from Harad. Her mother cared for your brothers and Asha learned all she needed to know. 
“When Lindóriel, your mother died, I appointed Asha to be your nurse. They had been with us for over 20 years by then and neither I nor my father had reason to doubt them. Until…until you disappeared.
“Only a few days later, Dol Amroth was attacked by the Corsairs of Umbar. After the battle was won, I was able to learn from one of them taken captive alive that they had planned to kidnap you – a mere babe. For what he did not know. And believe me he would have said if he knew. 
“After that I send out even more troops to find you, to bring you back. But no trace was found. A year and a half later I gave up. I thought you lost to us forever.” 

Once again tears rolled down her cheeks and she felt very much inclined to run away again. It was again too much. The pressure of the King’s hand still on her shoulder increased and she turned to him half way, smiling in what she hoped was a grateful way. Then she slowly stepped forward and took the book she had brought with her from the table. 
“I…there is this letter…my guardian…Halian gave to me…when…when…” Ósle trailed off and sighed before taking a deep breath. 
“I…I have not known of it until tonight and have not read it…the language, I can’t read it.” 
With that she took the crumbled and stained envelope from the book and handed it to the Prince who haltingly took it. He opened it, unfolded the soiled parchment and quickly read the words, seemingly understanding what it said. 
“It is written in elvish,” he eventually said and Ósle gasped. “Asha wrote it, I believe shortly before she brought you to that small village. She explains again why she took you from us and writes here that she had overheard the men who had come with her to hand you to the corsairs or haradrim for a good price. 
“She fled from them and apparently paid for it with her own life,” he finished and refolded the letter. Ósle’s hands clutched the book she was still holding so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. This poor young woman…giving up her life to save her. 
She remembered Halian telling her of the night she arrived. Halian! Had he known who she truly was? Did…did he read the letter?
Fresh tears came to her eyes and she lightly shook her head. She couldn’t take anymore. All of this was too much for one night. By Bema, it would be too much for several weeks. 
As if sensing her feelings, the Queen of Gondor stood. 
“It is late. Why don’t we all retire and continue in the morning?” 
Ósle shot her a very grateful look and nodded. More than anything she wanted to see Beda, Ceredig and Asthryd. 

TBC


Chapter 12 - Changes

Chapter 11
“Changes”

“Ósle,” Asthryd called out but the young healer did not hear, ran down the steps and out of sight. 
The older woman stood lost in the doorway of her room and heaved a sigh. Tears were visible on her face. The poor child. So much had changed for her in only a matter of minutes. 
Asthryd had been at a loss for words when Beda had informed her of what had transpired, yet had patiently waited with him in front of the King’s study. 
When Ósle had joined them about an hour later – completely exhausted and teary – they had taken her back to the Inn and at once up to their room. But she had not wanted to rest. She had wanted them to tell her everything they knew.
“She will come to terms with it in time, dearest,” Beda said quietly behind her and placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. 
“I know,” Asthryd whispered in reply. “It is just that I wish we could do more for her.” 
The confusion Ósle had to go through pained the old woman. 
“We already did what we could,” Beda gave back. “I told her what I know and could guess. – Now we simply have to wait and be there for her whenever she needs us.” 
Asthryd nodded and took hold of her husband’s hand on her shoulder. More tears leaked out of her weary, sad eyes increasing the lines and crow’s feet around them. 
“I am scared,” she eventually breathed and turned toward her husband. “Beda – I already lost Alden. I will not manage to loose Ósle, too.” 
He drew her close and held her tightly to his chest.
“I know, dearest. I too love her as I would my own daughter. – And yet, Ósle needs to find her own path and we must be strong to not stand in her way.”
Asthryd groaned and sobs shook her body. Beda immediately pulled her closer. 
“It’s hard, I know,” he said quietly. “But it must be done.” 
----- 

The Inn was not at all quiet despite the late hour. Many still celebrated the new King and the betrothal of the Lady Éowyn. 
Yet Ósle did not heed the noise, talk and laughter as she ran across the hallway and out into the night, her vision blinded by tears. 
“Old fool,” she sobbed quietly as she slowed her pace and wiped a hand across her face. 
He had known. Halian had known all along who she really was. 
Why – just why had he never said anything? Didn’t she have a right to know? She could have found her true roots much sooner. 
On the other hand – who would have believed him? She certainly wouldn’t have. 
Several late night revellers passed her, all of them rather drunk but Ósle paid them no mind. She simply kept on walking, not really focusing on her way. 
Why wasn’t Halian here to help her get through this, to help her understand? It was too much to deal with alone. And never before had she felt so abandoned, so very alone as right now. Not even in the wee hours of morning as Halian had sent her from his side to flee to Helm’s Deep. 
More tears came and unable and unwilling to fight, Ósle simply let them fall. Helm’s Deep! Right now, it felt like a lifetime ago. 
Abruptly she stopped in her tracks and lifted her face to the black night sky, an angry look on her face. 
“You…you left me,” she called out. “Why did you leave me alone? Why did you never say anything? Do you see what I have to go through? Is this how you wanted me to find out?” 
Fresh tears fell from her eyes, her voice becoming more hoarse as she spoke. 
“I need you, Halian,” she sobbed, wrapping her arms about herself and sank to the ground. 
“I need you so much. – Halian, why aren’t you here?” 
Her lithe frame shaken by sobs she buried her face in her hands, crying bitterly. 
-----

Warm sunlight tickled her face. Òsle sighed and snuggled more deeply into the covers of the very comfortable bed, her lips curving into a smile. 
She could not remember ever sleeping in such a soft bed. It felt so nice. 
Yet, as the thought sunk in completely, she abruptly sat up, at once wide awake. This was not the room in the Inn she had shared with Asthryd the previous nights. 
The bed itself was almost as large as that tiny room. Right across from her she saw a fireplace with a huge fur rug in front of it. The windows to her left were hung with dark red curtains. 
Next to the fireplace she spotted a door and beside that door stood a wooden dressing table over which hung a beautifully crafted mirror.
Where was she? And – more importantly – how had she come here? 
As if on cue, the door opened and Éowyn entered carrying a tray. A delicious smell filled the air and Ósle felt her mouth water. 
“Ah, you are awake,” the white lady said and smiled. “Would you like some breakfast?” 
Unable to speak she just nodded. Éowyn sat down on the bed and placed the tray next to Ósle and poured her a cup of tea. The young healer took the cup with slightly shaking hands and tasted the hot brew. 
“Why…where am I, my lady?” she asked, uncertainty audible in her still rather sleepy voice. Éowyn smiled and shifted her position. 
“You are in the bedchamber of the Queen. And please, call me Éowyn.” 
Blushing, Ósle nodded, set the cup back onto the tray and picked up a piece of dark bread. 
“And…why…I mean how did I come here? I only remember running from the Inn.” 
Once again the lady smiled, one could almost call it a grin. 
“My brother found you in the stable last night fast asleep and brought you here. You were exhausted.” 
Ósle could only nod and felt the blush on her cheeks deepen. To occupy herself, she took a big bite of the bread chewing deliberately slow.
“I am sorry,” Éowyn laughed. “I did not mean to embarrass you. – I have already brought several dresses for you to wear and you will be staying here from today on.” 
Ósle’s eyes widened and she almost choked on the bread she was still chewing. The King’s sister put a hand on her shoulder, smiling. 
“I know how you must feel, Lothíriel. I know you must be confused. Just…take each day as it comes. And…you can always call on me to help you as best as I can.” 
Their eyes met and Ósle smiled gratefully at the other woman which she returned. Squeezing the healer’s hand, Éowyn stood. 
“I will leave you to finish your meal and I’ll have a maid attend to you. Would you like a bath?”
----

Two days later

She walked in between the rosebushes and flowerbeds, rather lost in thought. Her confusion had lessened during the passed days. She had spent some time with her brothers and her father but she could not yet bring herself to call him that. He still was a stranger and in her mind remained ‘my lord’. 
The conversation she had had with Asthryd, Beda and Ceredig last night was still in her mind. They had been very supportive, telling her that nothing would change between them. But deep inside Ósle knew that it would. And although Beda had explained Halian’s reasons – as best as he could guess them – she still felt very angry at the old man. 
Ósle sighed and trailed a hand through a soft-leaved, green bush.
Still it felt strange to suddenly sit at the head table for meals and to have a room in the Golden Hall.
It had been Éomer who had found her on the night she had fled the Inn. Ósle had no memory of how she had ended up in the stable and had chosen to not dwell on it. 
There was already enough on her mind. 
The only thing that hadn’t yet changed, were the strange looks she received. Only the reason for them might be a different one. 
She sighed once more and sank down onto a stone bench near several rosebushes. They were still in bloom. With a small smile, Ósle ran a hand over the soft linen fabric of her dress. 
Éowyn had given it to her along with several others. During the passed days Éowyn had spend a lot of time with her for which Ósle was very grateful. 
“Lothíriel?” 
The male voice calling her name brought her out of her thoughts. Turning, she found Amrothos striding toward her. She had found him the easiest to approach and talk to. 
“Good day, Amrothos,” she greeted with a smile which he returned and joined her on the bench. 
“You look lovely today, sister,” he said deliberately making her blush and Ósle playfully hit his arm. 
“Oh, go away if you’ve just come to embarrass me.” 
He laughed. 
“Oh, but you are so pretty when you blush, little one,” he declared and they fell into a companionable silence. Her gaze swept across the garden and on toward the mountains which seemed very near. She longed to be a bird, to be able to fly away from all the confusion and change. Sighing, her thoughts drifted to the evening she had learned who she really was and her hand went up to her necklace. 
“Amrothos, what I’ve wanted to ask…the necklace here? Erchirion seemed to know it. - Was…was it mothers?” 
Their eyes locked as he nodded. 
“It was. And her mother’s before that. Father once told me that it had been as such for a long time – this necklace being given to the daughter, normally on her wedding day.” 
Ósle nodded, feeling the tears prickle in her eyes. Another thing she would never have: a mother helping her to prepare for her wedding. 
But at least she had the beautiful necklace and swan-shaped pendant to remember her by. 
She felt a hand on her own and looked up to meet Amrothos eyes. 
“Do not cry, Lothíriel. I know this must be a lot for you to take in. But rest assured that we are all there for you. Always.” 
She smiled and for the first time felt the urge to hug her new brother which she at once did. 

TBC


Chapter 13 - Bathroom Incident

Chapter 12
“Bathroom Incident”

Ósle lay back in the bath tub and with a sigh closed her eyes. A real bath. She hadn’t known how much she had wanted one until she had sunk into the steaming water. And this was her second one in only a few days. 
Some minutes ago, a maid had left. She had washed her hair with a nice smelling essence and had selected a dress for her to wear to dinner later that night. 
For the first time in several days Ósle felt at ease with herself and the world, although there was still much for her to learn and get used to. 
A door opening brought her out of her thoughts. Expecting the maid, she sat up. But it wasn’t. Her eyes widened and so did his. It was the King. 
“What are you doing here?” she screeched, trying to cover her nakedness as best as she could. “I thought this a private bathing chamber.” 
“It is,” he replied, colouring slightly. “It’s the King and Queen’s. And since you are using the Queen’s chambers and I am using mine…” 
He trailed off but was unable to take his gaze off of the Princess. Ósle blushed. Only then did she become aware of his state of clothing or rather lack thereof. He only wore a pair of breeches, nothing more. 
‘Bema – he is handsome,’ she thought and her blush deepened even more. 
“I…could…could you hand me a drying cloth so that I can leave you alone?” Ósle asked after finally finding her voice again. Éomer nodded, took a large towel from a stack and handed it to her. 
“Thank you, my lord,” she gave back and looked at him expectantly. His cheeks reddened a bit more, he cleared his throat and eventually turned away from her. Ósle breathed deeply several times to ease her rapidly beating heart. Then she got up, took the two stone steps out of the in laid tub and wrapped the cloth around her body. 
Not considering her still wet feet because she wanted to leave his presence as quickly as possible, she slipped and landed on the stone floor, swearing loudly in rohirric. 

At once the King was by her side. 
“Are you hurt? What happened?” he asked, offering her a hand which she took. 
“I slipped,” Ósle replied embarrassed while he helped her up. Éomer smirked and she blushed once again, rubbing a spot on her behind.
“’Tis not amusing, my lord,” she protested wanting to pull away from him. This would have resulted in her slipping for a second time if he hadn’t caught her in his arms, steadying her. 
“Are you alright?” he asked again. His laughter was gone. Ósle could only nod and met his gaze. 
“I…my Lord, I wanted to thank you for…for bringing me here from the stables the other night.” 
“You are welcome,” Éomer replied and brought a hand up to her cheek. 
They stood so close she could smell his scent, this unique scent she had noticed before. She felt his hand at the small of her back and the warmth radiating from his body. 
On their own her eyes wandered down, over his nose to his full, red lips.  
Too late she heard the small, wistful sigh escape her lips. His hand ran along her cheek into her hair, pulling her to him. Briefly their eyes locked before she was literally swept off her feet when his mouth descended onto hers. 
Her hands wrapped around his neck and he pulled her even closer. 
Ósle let him take the lead, responding on instinct and was utterly lost. 
Gently and slowly he caressed her lips, eventually coaxing them to part. As if asking permission his tongue ran over her bottom lip before meeting hers, touching, caressing. 
Everything just fell away from her. All that was important was this moment – the two of them. Nothing else. She was just a woman and he was just a man acting upon their feelings. 
Ósle did not know what happened to her. No one had ever kissed her like this. She felt a tingle in her stomach which quickly spread to various parts of her body. 
Only lack of air made her pull away sooner than she would have liked. 

Her breath came in short, hard gasps and as if through a haze she found his eyes. The look on her face seemed to amuse him because he smiled. 
“You have never been kissed before, have you?” 
Ósle shook her head then nodded, confused. 
“I…I have…but not like this,” she said sheepishly, feeling the by now all too familiar heat in her cheeks. His smiled widened and he leaned in once more. She closed her eyes, anticipating the kiss. As she finally felt his lips, something snapped inside her mind. What by Béma was she doing? 
Abruptly she pulled away, freeing herself from his hold on her and took several paces away from him. 
“I…I…,” she stammered without turning to face him. 
“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Did I do something wrong?” 
At once she shook her head. 
“No, my lord. I did and I am sorry.” 
She felt him approach, felt the warmth from his body behind her and felt how his hands settled on her shoulders. 
A shiver ran down her spine when he asked: “What did you do?” 
“I…I let you kiss me, my lord. And it was foolish.” Her voice quivered, nearly breaking. He turned her around, taking her face between his hands. 
“Why do you think that?” Gently he made her look at him. When their eyes locked, she saw his widen. He released her at once. 
“Of course, I know. I am sorry, Ósle. I did not realize…you must still be grieved.” 
Ósle’s brow furrowed, confused. What was he talking about? 
“My lord?” she inquired. Éomer sighed deeply, found her eyes again. 
“I…I saw how he fell. I…it was unwise to…advance when it is still so near. Again I am sorry.” 
His voice was low, almost a whisper sending shivers down her spine. Yet, his words did nothing to lift her confusion. 
“I…my Lord…I do not….who did you see….” But suddenly she knew what he was talking about. Her eyes widened and she almost screeched: “Alden? – You saw how Alden fell?” 

His nod was barely visible. 
“He died bravely alongside his King. Although I know this brings you no comfort.” 
A sad smile graced her lips but she shook her head. It brought no comfort but verified what she already knew. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek. 
“I thank you, Sire for telling me this but I never doubted Alden’s bravery. – But why are you telling me this now? I do not understand…,” 
His face clearly showed confusion when he looked up at her again. 
“Wasn’t….were you not to be married to him?” 
Ósle stared at him, for a moment at a loss for words. How could he possibly know that? How could he even know they had been close? 
“I…yes, I was. He asked me to become his wife shortly before you left for Gondor. But…I,” she hesitated as she took in his expression. Why did he suddenly seem so…defeated? 
“I…I loved Alden as a brother…I still do, just as his brother Ceredig. He was my best friend.” Listening to what Ósle said, Éomer did not know what to think. Once she finished he took a deep breath. A question burned inside him and he needed to know the answer. 
“Why…why then did you agree to marry him if you did not love him…that way?” 
Òsle swallowed. She had known this question would come. 
“When he asked me, I saw his love for me shining in his eyes. And I knew if I told him the truth he would have been broken even before he rode to war. I couldn’t do that. It felt wrong. To believe that I really loved him was his anchor…his one hope. And I did not have the heart to tear that from him.” 

Not knowing why and more than a bit surprised, Éomer heard himself exhale heavily. So she had not broken their kiss because she was still in love with Alden. But this left another question. And before he could think twice he asked: “Why then did you pull away from me?” 
Ósle blushed deeply and tucked at the thin drying cloth, once more becoming aware of their state of undress. Oh, how embarrassing. 
“I…because I…,” she stammered and looked at him from under lowered lashes. “I…I felt…still feel unsure. I asked myself just what I was doing…kissing you like that.” 
Her blush deepened even more as his rumbling laughter filled the room. 
“’Tis no laughing matter, my lord. I mean…if someone found out…wouldn’t there be consequences?” 
At once his amusement died and Éomer became serious. Indeed, why hadn’t he thought of this before? With a heavy sigh he nodded. 
“You are right, Princess. I apologize.”
“No, you don’t need to…I…I liked it. But…I…I do not wish to be forced into marriage. Neither do I wish to force you to marry me against your will.” 
Some of his amusement seemed to return because he smiled at her. 
“You seem to know a lot about proper behaviour in Gondor,” he noted. 
“I…I spent some time with Queen Arwen and your sister, my lord and the subject…came up.” 
His eyebrows rose and Ósle blushed again, furiously. 
“How so?” 

Ósle bit her lower lip. By Béma, could this get anymore embarrassing? Avoiding eye contact, she mumbled something. Éomer couldn’t be sure but he thought to hear something along the lines of ‘because of you’. Slowly he approached her.
“I am sorry, would you kindly repeat that?” he asked amusement audible in his voice. Ósle’s eyes flew up to meet his, clearly surprised he stood so near. 
“I…nothing,” she stuttered. Éomer smiled and decided to let it rest for now. 
“Indeed,” he replied. With on step he stood directly in front of her. His arms drew her to him and before she had the chance to protest, he claimed her lips. 
Ósle knew she should have pushed him away, even slapped him. But she couldn’t. Instantly she gave in to him, returning his kiss. It just felt so good…and right. 
Yet, their kiss was cut short by a voice calling for her. It was Éowyn. Éomer and Ósle parted at once. 
“I will see you at dinner,” he said and quickly made his way back into his chambers. And not a second too soon. Just then, Éowyn entered the bathing chamber. 
“Here you are. Come on, you need to get ready for dinner.” 
Unable to say anything, Ósle simply nodded and let herself be pulled back into her room. 

TBC


Chapter 14 - Father and Daughter

Chapter 13
“Father and Daughter” 

Ósle stood in front of the Golden Hall letting the warm breeze wipe at her hair and dress. Her mind was once again on the incident of the night before, in the bathroom. 
She could still feel the way he held her and her lips seemed to tingle whenever she thought about his kisses. 
Dinner last night had been quite awkward. She had been seated between her father and Amrothos. And although she had acted as if nothing had happened, she could not help shooting several cautious looks at the King. Not only once had their gazes met and every time they did, she had felt a tingling sensation in her stomach. She did not know what it meant. Or maybe she just didn’t want to find out what it meant; at least not at the moment. 
She sighed and turned toward the door just as Prince Imrahil stepped out. He smiled and approached her. 
“There you are,” he said. “I have been looking for you.” 
“I have taken a few minutes to look at the scenery.”
“Will you take a short walk with me?” 

When she nodded, Imrahil offered his arm which she at once took. In companionable silence they walked toward and down the steps. 
“I am still amazed at how much you look like your mother,” he eventually started and Ósle blushed but smiled. 
“Truly, there is not an ounce of me in your features…well, maybe the nose a little bit.” 
Both laughed at that before Imrahil continued: “You even have her beautiful gray eyes. I noticed especially last night. In the dimmed light they seemed almost silver.” 

Falling silent for a short while, Ósle thought and noticed that this was about all she knew of her mother: that she had looked like her. She looked sideways at her father and took a deep breath. 
“Can…can you tell me about mother?” she asked timidly. “What was she like?” 
Imrahil did not meet her eyes at once. Ósle quickly averted her gaze, unsure if she had done the right thing. Maybe he did not want to speak of her. Yet, her worry was unfounded when he started to talk: 
“Lindóriel, your mother, came not even close to what I had envisioned my wife to be. She was so much more and I loved her even more for it. She was well brought up and educated. A daughter of an advisor of the Steward of Gondor. And full of life and joy. 
“I met her in the year 2976 when my older sister, Finduilas was married to Denethor, the Steward’s son. And I knew the first time I saw her that I wanted to marry no other woman. 
“I will never forget the day I asked her to become my wife. We had spoken on very few occasions, so we did not know each other at all. And that day, only three months after I had first seen her, I gathered all of my courage and asked her to become my wife. 
“When she said yes almost at once, I was the happiest man in all of Middle Earth.” 
Òsle smiled at the words Imrahil spoke. He had truly loved her, seemed to still love her with all of his heart. 
“She was the loveliest, gentlest and yet most stubborn woman I have ever met. She made my life complete and bore me four wonderful children. The only thing I regret is not having met her sooner.” 

The smile was still on her face when she felt her father stop walking. She had not even noticed passing the gate. They stood in front of the city overlooking the sweeping green grass land. 
“Isn’t it beautiful?” 
Imrahil took her hands in his, a warm smile softening his features. 
“It is. I am quite certain though that you will come to like Dol Amroth as well. – It truly is a sight to behold. The castle, it stands right upon a cliff overlooking the sea. The white stone glistens in the bright sunlight, almost as majestic as the Tower of Ecthelion. 
“You can hear the wind blowing and down below the churning of the water splashing against rock.”

Ósle smiled and squeezed her father’s hands. 
“It sounds lovely. I am looking forward to see it.” 
“You may sooner than you think, daughter. We will be leaving in two days,” Imrahil told her and she gasped. 
“So soon?”
Of course, she had known that she would have to leave with her new found family. But that it would be so soon? Only two more days. 
She swallowed hard, trying to repress the lump in her throat and keep the tears from falling. 
“Loti, you are very pale. Is everything alright?” 
Heaving a deep sigh, Ósle nodded. 
“Yes, it is just…I mean this has been my home for as long as I can remember. And to think about leaving it for I don’t know how long…,” she trailed off as Imrahil nodded sympathetically. He approached her, drew her close and hugged her for the very first time. 
“I cannot imagine how this must feel, Lothíriel. But please believe me, I as well as your brother’s will always be there for you.” 
She lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled at him before kissing his cheek. 
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “I…may I call you Papa?” 
“Of course you may,” he replied delightedly and drew her into his arms once again. 
“Thank you, Papa for telling me about mother. I feel nearer to her now,” she mumbled against his shoulder.

TBC
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