Daughter of Rohan [Lord of the Rings | Eomer]

Chapter 10

It had been years since the Golden Hall had been so full. There were people crowded into every possible nook and cranny. The tables were piled high with food and a great pig was roasting over the central hearth. The walls were draped with the finest tapestries and flags, each bearing the dancing White Horse or gleaming Sun of the Mark while torches bathed the hall in warm light. The air was thick with the scent of bodies, smoke and roasting meat. Everywhere, everyone held cups and tankards of ale, each and every one of them focused on the King and his niece.

Hilde sat among the crowd gathered for the Victory Feast in Meduseld, one of the few whose eyes kept darting elsewhere. Éomer stood next to Théoden, for once not wearing his armour, but a simple green and brown leather tunic. Hilde wondered at the faintly unsettled look in his eyes, though his stance and face betrayed nothing; it still had not completely sunk in that he was to be Rohan's next King, and he chafed a little at taking what he still considered to be Théodred's place. Every now and then she would meet his gaze, a smile coming to her lips as his eyes latched onto hers.

Thus far, only Haleth and Éowyn knew of their pledge; neither Hilde nor Éomer could bear to keep their decision from their siblings. As for everyone else, they wanted to wait until after the feast to share the news. The feast was for the memory of the dead and for the living to celebrate victory. They had no desire to diminish that.

At the head of the hall, Éowyn was climbing the steps of the dais. Kneeling, she offered the goblet she held to the King before moving to stand on his other side. His face somber, Théoden looked down into the goblet in his hands. Then, with a deep breath he raised his eyes, surveying those assembled as he held the goblet out before him. Everyone in the hall who was sitting rose to their feet.

"Tonight we remember those who gave their blood to defend this country," he said, the faintest of wavers colouring his tone with sorrow. Hilde fought back her own tide of sorrow that threatened as the King raised his goblet in toast. Forcing a deep breath into her lungs, Hilde raised hers as everyone else in the Hall did the same. Glancing beside her, she met Haleth's eyes. His dark gaze held the same flicker of grief and haze of memory she was sure her own did. Up on the dais, the King continued, his voice rising. "Hail the victorious dead!"

As one, the entire Hall responded, male and female voices exclaiming together before cups were lifted to lips and everyone drank heartily. Then, with a roar of clattering tableware and grinding benches and chairs, the occupants of the Hall began their feast. Hilde couldn't help but smile; in Rohan somber remembrance always gave way to near riotous celebration, and she loved it. The people of her country had always believed that sorrow must always give way to, and indeed merited, merrymaking. Loss always made life look sweeter.

Before long instruments were broken out and songs began chorusing loudly around the hall, clashing and joining in ways that never managed to be unpleasant. Laughter and shouts echoed across tables and everywhere ale flowed freely. For the first part of the feast, Hilde stayed with Haleth, sitting near him and a few of the other families of Meduseld. There had been few words to describe the relief Hilde had felt when she learned a handful of the boys of Meduseld had survived the battle of the Hornburg; she had feared her brother would be alone among his friends to have survived. So eventually she left the boys—and handful of girls, she noticed wryly—to themselves, all laughing again as she had feared they couldn't. A few watchful mothers and the odd father remained nearby, one giving Hilde an amused nod of reassurance as he caught Hilde repeatedly glancing back toward her little brother. Finally laughing quietly at her own surge of protectiveness, she moved off into the crowd, intent on finding her own companions, claiming a fresh mug of ale as she went.

She finally began edging toward a particularly large gathering near the southwest corner of the Hall, where some particularly loud carousing was growing. As she neared, the particular shouts and cheers made her realize that a drinking game had broken out. As she jostled her way through the gathered men and women toward the centre of the gathering, she discovered with no small amount of amusement that it was between the dwarf and the elf. Already a small pile of tankards had begun collecting before the two companions, Gimli enthusiastically throwing himself into the contest while the elf was somehow patiently matching him cup for cup. She couldn't help but smile widely when she caught Éomer's eye where he leaned against the ale cask; he was overseeing the contest, handing the elf and the dwarf full cups as fast as they were emptying them. Judging by the way his eyes twinkled at her, and the near empty cup in his hand, her horselord had already had a couple himself.