Yours to Command

Tokens

My love has claimed a ribbon from me,
so tied to each other forever we'll be.
To a far off land he had to go,
to face a dark and mighty foe.
I wait for the day of his return
when his reward at last he'll earn.

(Popular ballad from Rohan)

***

Back at the camp, they found organized activity. Éomer's men had fenced off a big field to the south to use for the archery competition and a couple of smaller ones for riding displays. Also they had set out a rough racing course that led to the Northern gate of the Rammas Echor and back. Small awnings provided shade for the visitors, and in the centre a raised platform with a large pavilion had been erected for Éomer and his guests. The white horse flew above it, fluttering in the slight breeze.

Once their horses had been taken care of, they made their way over to where Elfhelm stood directing the preparations. Éomer had put the Marshall of the East Mark in charge of organizing the event as he had a talent for this kind of thing and an able assistant in his wife.

"Éomer King," Elfhelm greeted him. "We're all set up. The first races will start any moment."

Éomer had no doubt that his Marshall had things well in hand. As a young rider, Éomer had gained his first experience of fighting orcs under Elfhelm's command and had seen the single-minded determination the man applied to any task he was given.

He nodded his thanks. "Have any of our guests arrived yet?"

Elfhelm led the way over to the pavilion. "A few of them, yes."

The first to meet them was Lady Wilwarin. She stood talking to a young man and looked up with a pleased smile at their arrival. Her companion bowed deeply and Éomer recognized him as the elder of the two noblemen who had disturbed the warg the day before. From what his sentries had told him, the two brothers had not made it back until the early hours of the morning, but they had delivered the warg pelt all in one piece. Éomer answered the man's look of trepidation with a cool nod. He hoped the young nobleman had learnt something from the whole affair.

Lady Wilwarin held out her hand. "King Éomer, how nice to meet you again."

"My pleasure," he assured her.

Elfhelm beamed at her. "Lady Wilwarin has been so kind as to agree to hand out some of the prizes later on."

She gave a gentle smile. "Please, it's an honour."

Éomer could feel his sister bristling next to him. "An excellent idea," he intervened hastily before Éowyn could say anything. It seemed to him that his sister had taken an unreasonable dislike to any of the ladies of the court of Gondor in whom he had shown the slightest interest, but especially to Lady Wilwarin. Perhaps Éowyn still hoped for that mythical woman to show up and capture his heart, but he had to be realistic. The Riddermark needed a queen, and soon. He had no delusions of being immortal. A single orc arrow, a poisoned Southron blade, could deprive his country of her king, throwing the Mark into disarray with no clear heir defined.

Observing the look of animosity Éowyn shot at Lady Wilwarin, he thought it better to distract his sister, before unkind words were exchanged.

He turned to Lothíriel. "I'm to judge the archery competition now. Perhaps in the meantime, Éowyn can show you around." He thought that for the princess, the event would be supremely boring, anyway.

She withdrew her hand from his arm and some of the previous animation left her face. "Of course. I'm afraid I've taken up too much of your time as it is."