...His...

His 02

A/N – If Riders can drink Caffe, then they can drink coaco!


No sooner had I put my dishes away the next morning, there came a knock at the door. I opened it to find Éomer and two of the local carpenters, along with the thatcher. For some time, I watched as the four men went through my home… my home… and inspected it much as a buyer. They ignored me, save to ask the occasional question. They climbed into the eaves, whispering and pointing. They went outside and similarly scrutinized the stable, upsetting Áblysian, my cow. At least the Marshal attempted to placate her. After an hour, the three workmen left, leaving me with Éomer.

“They will spend tomorrow obtaining the necessary materials and return in two days. Æðelwalh says the repairs should take about six days and Octa says the roof is in fairly good condition and only needs a few minor things. Æðelwalh did mention that your stable will need replaced next spring, but he can stabilize it for the winter.”

“My lord,” I began tentatively, “I cannot possibly afford –“

“You are not to worry. I am paying for it.”

I smiled to myself, painfully and closed my eyes. “My lord, I cannot repay you and I have nothing to barter in return.”

There was silence, an angry silence and my heart skipped.

“I do not wish anything from you.” It was terse, almost spat and I opened my eyes to see him stiffly holding himself in check, fists clenched. “I am lord of these lands. If my people are ill-kept, starving, or living in hovels, what kind of liege lord does that make me? Your comfort,” he said through gritted teeth, “as the comfort of all those who reside under my care, is important to me.” He allowed his words to sink in. “You have had a hard year. That is well known and your pride has been noted. Please accept my aid as your liege lord.” He relaxed and his features softened. “I will hear no more talk of you owing me or paying for services. I will consider a smile that reaches your eyes payment enough.” That was easy enough to give, so I gave him the smile I had shown the world since Irminric had passed. Éomer shook his head, ruefully. “Not good enough,” he groused quietly. “We shall have to work on that.”

And with that, he turned and left my cottage. That was the last one-on-one dealing I had with Éomer, son of Éomund until Yule.

~*~

As he promised, the carpenters and thatcher returned two days later and for a week, my home was in a state of upheaval and chaos. I would stand in the dust at night, angry at the filth of men. Why was it they saw dirt only at an agricultural level whereas a woman could see a single grain? Áblysian was most put out at the noise and racket in her little home and she made her distress well known. By the second day, I took her to the pasture, where she could low to her heart’s content.

But they finished and when they did and I was able to clean, my heart swelled with pride. I would winter here, cozy and safe, and my little Áblysian would be content and warm as well.

The rest of the autumn passed swiftly. When not out with his éored, Éomer made his presence known and felt throughout Aldburg. He was seen more often than not, working with other crofters, the stables mostly. He checked each and every horse, their hooves, their coats. The blacksmith and farrier were busy men indeed as he ordered this and that. His nose was in every storehouse, each citizen of Aldburg questioned about his or her needs and he made sure those needs were met for the winter. There were elderly who also had their homes inspected, their needs also met. My neighbors and friends praised him for his caring and responsible attitude.

Whenever he saw me, he made time, made sure I was spoken to. The sight of him made me tingle and I could not think for the life of me exactly what he saw in me that was of interest. Often, he stopped by my goods cart to sample fruits and fresh vegetables. I suspect many of the things he bought from me, made their way to the kitchens of those less fortunate than myself.

So winter came, cold blasted down from the mountains behind us. Frigid weather set in, but my home was warm, my stable was solid and protected and there was food in the stores for my cow and me.

All that was missing was love.

It was my first Yule since I was fifteen summers that Irminric would not be with me. He was my first love, my only love, all I had known since that fateful spring dance, when he plucked me from the wall and dragged me to the circle to frolic. In our youth, we dreamed and planned and dreamed more.

But I no longer dreamed, no longer planned; simply worked to survive the day and hoped to awake the next.

So Yule came upon me and I forced myself to decorate, but I took no joy in it. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, but my bed was cold and my heart was cold as well.

It began to snow that Yule night. There were festivities at Éomer’s manor, but I chose not to go, being in a melancholy mood. No one would miss me. I roasted a small chicken over my fire and was enjoying a rare treat of hot coaco. I gave thanks to Béma that my cottage was warm and dry and that Áblysian was also warm and would be fed for the winter. The carpenters and thatcher had done a fine job, not simply patching but completely repairing the small injuries to my home. In my esteemed and humble opinion, they had gone far beyond what I expected. I even had two new rain barrels outside my door and outside the barn to catch the rain and snow. More than once I looked outside my door, bundled against the cold and thought to go outside early in the morning and shovel as much of it into the barrels. From my earliest memories, snow water was the crispest and cleanest.

So imagine my stunned horror, when I opened the door for the umpteenth time late in the evening to see how deep the snow was, to find Éomer standing, one hand raised to knock and a satchel in the other.

“Are you mad?” I blurted.

“NO!” He actually had the audacity to look affronted. “I am cold! Invite me in, woman!”

I stepped aside allowing him in. Snow dusted heavily on his cloak and in his hair. “Where is your horse?” My hands reached for his green, woolen wrap, suddenly reveling in the broad expanse of shoulder beneath it. My mood flipped from downhearted to blissful almost immediately.

“I walked. ‘Tis not far.” He watched as I hung his cloak with great care near my fireplace. “I… looked for you tonight. I wondered why you did not come to the feast.”

I cast my eyes downward, feeling rather foolish and I stepped around him, picking up my dirty cup. “I am not in the most festive of moods and I did not wish to disturb anyone with my gloominess.” I made my way into my kitchen and set the cup into the pan of water. It was still warm and soapy and I quickly washed it and rinsed it.

“Why would you feel… oh.” Dawning was evident in his voice. “Your husband. I am sorry. I should not have come.”

I set the cup on the draining board. “But you did and for it, I am glad.” I turned to him and smiled. “I am afraid I spend too much time lingering in memories when I should not.”

“They are good memories?” I smiled and nodded. “Then that is excellent, however,” and with this, he set the bag down on my little table behind me and took me by the shoulders, “you should not tarry in the past, but look forward to the future and consider new memories.”

I was considering the sparks I felt where he touched me, and my body’s sudden awareness of his nearness. I swallowed hard. “My lord, would you like some coaco?”

“You have coaco?” I nodded enthusiastically. “Are you hoarding it?” I began to laugh, his look was so stern. “And here I thought you were a mouse and was worried that your home might still be leaking or have cracks and be cold, that you would be going hungry,” with this, he lifted the bag, “so I brought your portion of the feast to you and here you are, your home smelling of roast chicken and drinking coaco!”

I took the sack from him, before he could start swinging it around. “Thank you for the portion. I will put milk on to make the coaco and put this,” I lifted the food rucksack, “into the cold box outside the door.

Éomer apparently was raised to be a gracious guest. He grabbed my water kettle from the fireplace and poured milk from my milk skin, while I put the bag into the metal box that sat just outside the door. He followed me in and carefully placed it on the hook over the fire.

We stood in front of the fireplace, the silence almost painful. It occurred to me, I was not properly dressed; I was in my nightgown, with a shawl wrapped around me, my hair braided for the night. I blushed furiously at the realization how incredibly low-born and uncouth I must appear. Before the silence could become worse, the kettle began to whistle and I used the hook to remove it from the fireplace. In the kitchen, I carefully poured a cup, dropping the last of the precious coaco in the hot milk to melt.

“None for you?”

“I have had mine, my lord.” I handed the cup to him.

“Then, we will share.” He sat down in front of the fireplace on the floor and motioned for me to sit beside him. Again, I was very self-conscious about my lack of decorum, but there was nowhere to amend my appearance and I felt rather silly asking him to step outside while I changed. I pulled my shawl about me tighter and sank down next to him.

It felt strange, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him, or attempting to. He was much taller than me and found the difference in our heights amusing. He finally put his arm around me and tucked me to him.

It was a nice feeling. For the first time in I do not know how long, I felt safe, secure.

Hot.

It was a heat that made one sweat, made the blood tingle to the point of boiling. Every nerve in my body was on fire. I looked downward, praying he did not see the blatant desire in my eyes.

“There is one sip left.” The warm cup found its way into my hands. “You take it.”

I pushed it back. “You are my guest. Please.”

A calloused finger found its way beneath my chin and pressed upwards, forcing me to look into eyes that defined the Rohan sky. “I insist.”

I broke eye contact, looking into the cup. There was truly barely a sip left and I lifted the mug, drinking in the last of the prized sweet. As I lowered the cup, Éomer lifted my chin again, inspecting me closely.

“What?”

“You have coaco on your lip.”

I have wondered often since that night, if he was looking for an excuse to kiss me, for kiss me he did. It was gentle at first, questioning my response and once I answered enthusiastically, it became consuming.

He plundered me, the heat of him all-encompassing. I do not recall breathing or when the cup was set away from us. Somewhere, the temperature became stifling, too much to bear and our clothes went flying in many different directions. My tresses were loosed from its braid, his hands grasping firmly at the roots. I marveled in the glow of his skin, the marble hardness of his muscles, how the fire reflected in his hair. His body was unyielding, rock hard, my first orgasm forcing what breath I thought I no longer had to come screaming from my body. Even as I clung to him, limp and soaked from my own exertions, I listened to his breathing and finally his own roar in my ear.

Eventually, we made our way to my bed, dove deep beneath the many quilts and held each other. We whispered to each other, our deepest fears and longings. Éomer told me of his father’s death, how it rocked their household and their mother wasted away, grieving herself into oblivion. He talked of living in Edoras, in Meduseld, the Golden Hall, surrounded by Riders and raised by a king, his own uncle. He spoke adoringly of his sister, a true Shield Maiden of Rohan, trained in the arts of war. He feared for her in Edoras, for the king had a new advisor whom Éomer did not trust. His cousin, the king’s heir was watching her, as he could not, but the marshal worried.

As I absent-mindedly caressed the engraved mark he wore from a leather thong about his neck, I told him how my parents were deceased, struck down on our farm by Dunlendings when I was nine summers. We saw them coming and my parents sent me to the next farm, where there was a garrison, to bring reinforcements, but they arrived too late. I moved to Aldburg, a large city to me, to live with my grandmother and she rejoiced when I found love. Irminric and I married, then moved into my grandmother’s cottage, this cottage, after her death. We shared large, fantastic dreams at night, in each other arms. We tended to the bungalow, the grounds, the small plot of land Irminric’s da gifted us. We scrimped and saved, worked hard to purchase the lot next to it.

He took me twice again in the night. I thought to myself how different he was from Irminric, who was gentle when I would have enjoyed a firmer hand. I did not fault my deceased husband, simply basked in the attention and power of this warrior.

When I awoke the next morning, the bed was empty; however the fire was restoked and blazing merrily. The abandoned mug was washed and clean on my side rack and my pan of water, emptied. I discovered a small wooden carved box on my table. Inside, was a finely wrought pewter hair clasp with the Marshal’s standard beaten into it, After I dressed to go out to salvage the clean snow into my rain barrels, I discovered fresh footprints from my home and the chore already completed.

~*~

tbc