As Far As The Heart Can See

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