"The King's Bard"
Part 2
by Osiris Brackhaus
"What in the Dark One's name are you doing here?", Éomer all but barked as he saw Andarion taking the seat next to him.
As if trying not to give Éomer any chance to omit their meeting, the young Ranger was only joining the coronation's dinner after the Lord and Lady of Rohan had already sat down. And as to be expected, Éomer didn't seem to be the slightest bit amused about this.
"I am joining the celebration of my cousin's coronation", the young Dunedain replied evenly. "Do you mind?"
"I...", the future King of Rohan started, catching himself just in time before he could say something as true as it would have been impolite. So, with a smile that looked all but plastered to his face, he said: "Not at all. Welcome to our table."
"Master Andarion, so good to see you", the Lady Éowyn sitting opposite her brother swiftly said, apparently eager to make amends for Éomer's less-than-welcoming demeanor.
"Have you already met Lord Faramir?", she asked, gesturing at the man sitting next to her. "Faramir, this is Master Andarion of the Dunedain, whom I have told you about this morning."
"Oh yes, Andarion." Politely inclining his head, Faramir greeted the other man. Then, gesturing towards the small harp he saw dangling at the bard's hip, he asked: "I hope you're not too seriously hurt to perform for us tonight."
Laughing gently, Andarion shook his head. "This is the most flattering offer, Lord Faramir, but I am afraid I have to decline. Not that I wouldn't like to sing in these lofty halls, but there's enough people around who would silence me if I dared."
A little surprised at this information, all who had listened to their conversation seemed more or less awkward until Faramir asked:
"But how can that be? Though none of the generals or scholars I asked about you knew your name, all bards and soldiers I asked spoke of you in the highest respects."
"If that is so, my Lord", Andarion asked back with a deep sparkle in his eyes, "then why am I not standing up there on the balcony together with your bards? Or down here performing for all the guests to see?"
Waiting a heartbeat for an answer he knew would never come, the young Ranger continued before the moment grew too embarrassing:
"As much as my family strives to acknowledge my craft as alike in honor with swordsmanship or warfare", he explained with a sidelong glance towards where the High King Elessar was sitting, "I am still found somewhat lacking compared to my kin. Add to this the fact that my choice of style and subject usually can be called ordinary and simple, and there is little wonder that on such occasions, I am encouraged to be seen, but not to be heard."
Noticing the uneasy mood he had been spreading with his tale, Andarion swiftly sought to remedy the situation.
"But I am sure, my Lord, if ever you find the time to come down into the second ring of this city, I am sure you can see me perform any of these nights."
"Which definitely I will do", Faramir accepted the invitation, his curiosity awakened by this unusual story. "Any of these nights."
Right then, a first course was served, and among the ensuing chatter across the place, there was little of notice being said. Food and drink was as splendid as to be expected of such an auspicious occasion, and it was only well into the proceedings that suddenly, the Lady Éowyn raised her voice again.
"Master Andarion, please, on our first meeting here in the house of healing, you said we'd have met before, but that I probably wouldn't remember."
Looking up from the plate of venison that until then had taken up most of his attention, the young bard smiled and nodded.
"When was it that you have been in Edoras?", she continued, the warmth of the place and the wine giving her face the loveliest faint flush. "Please tell us!"
"As I said", Andarion began with another nod, "it is many years ago."
At his side, Éomer went calm as he recognized the phrase. Many years ago, the Dunedain had said, Éomer supposedly had stolen his heart. Not that he could remember seeing the man ever before, that was.
"Actually, I have turned our first meeting into one of my better songs, Lady Éowyn", Andarion continued his tale, smiling. "Though this time, I bet it will be you asking me not to sing it here."
"And why would that be?", Faramir asked, curious and eager to hear a little more out of the past of Rohan's most famous daughter.
"Maybe his song's plain bad...", Éomer grumbled from his side of the table, all but being skewered by his sister's looks in return.
"Éomer", she hissed although guessing the reason for her brother's caustic behavior quite well.
"Your Highness, I'd be careful to give such talk of your horsemanship with you around", Andarion said with a surprisingly cold note in his voice. "You shouldn't judge my craft before you have heard any of it."
"Just a pity we never hear any of it at all, do we?", the young King of Rohan replied just as coldly, his eyes burning with that tell-tale fire that made clear he wouldn't back down any time soon. "How come we only hear talk of your songs, and never your work itself?"
"Because", he replied in a voice that was usually reserved for occasions where men were about to leave to sort things outside, "despite everything I happen to have a sense of propriety."
"Are your words, once again, unfitting for this place?", Éomer went on taunting the bard, "Or are you afraid that they would impeach my sister's honor so I would have your head afterwards?"
"It is not your sister's honor I was trying to protect...", Andarion hissed softly, spreading his left hand so that everybody on the table could see the line of tiny white scars on his tanned skin, running from his thumb towards his index finger in a neat crescent. "Of all people, I'd have thought it would be you who didn't want to hear me recount that day..."
On her seat across the table, the Lady Éowyn gave a choked sound, hiding her furious blush behind her napkin.
"All the gods...", she whispered, her face crimson in vaguely bemused embarrassment.
"See?", the Dunedain bard asked, still fuming, "Your sister remembers."
Looking at his sister, Éomer's fury didn't diminish one bit. In contrary, seeing the Lady Éowyn shake her head with emphasis behind her napkin seemed to enrage him even more.
"Stop it, sister", the Rohirrim all but ordered. "You don't know what kind of person you are protecting here."
Unfortunately, his patronizing tone had the opposite effect on the White Lady of Rohan than desired. Her face suddenly growing serious, she hissed back across the table, soft enough so only those closest by could overhear:
"No, brother, you don't know. Not at all."
Turning towards the bard, her voice suddenly sweet but hardly able to conceal her smoldering anger, she said: "Master Andarion, please. As my brother is so eager to hear of his part in the story, be so generous and sing for us. I'd be most pleased."
"Of course, my Lady", Andarion replied with a deep bow, rising from his seat, causing a wave of anticipative cheers run through the hall. Usually, someone mocking his craft didn't bother him much, but Éomer was a different matter altogether. So in rising, he snapped at the young King at his side: "Never forget it was you who asked for this..."
Across the hall, King Elessar sported a look of cautious curiosity, while at the other end of the King's table, Halbarad apparently tried to make his younger brother sit down again with his stare alone. But none of this deterred the young bard, whose well-trained voice easily rose above the festivities' din.
"My King, most honorable Lords and Ladies!", he proclaimed loudly, inwardly beaming at the prospect of seeing Éomer's face when he would remember. "Many noble deeds have been done by those in presence, and many more will be seen in future days."
Waiting for a second for the ensuing cheers to calm down a little again, Andarion smiled widely as he continued:
"We have heard many artful songs tonight telling of these deeds, but this is a coronation, and a reason to celebrate. I would like to sing of the Lady Éowyn and Lord Éomer, and the day they went to war against the forces of evil for the first time ever."
On his seat across the hall, Halbarad looked like he was considering taking out his brother with a well thrown mug of ale, and at Andarion's own table, Éomer suddenly seemed not too intent on hearing the story any longer. Éowyn, on the other hand, blushed once more at hearing her name so prominently at this occasion.
"Lords and Ladies", Andarion added as he set his left foot onto the chair to place his harp onto, "I sing this song with he explicit permission of the Lord Éomer and his sister, so please feel free to laugh at the funny parts."
Plucking a few notes from his harp, the young bard could see Éowyn hiss something caustic at her brother, who by now looked not far from strangling a certain Dunedain, something he currently had distinctively in common with said Dunedain's elder brother.
It would be a shame if this silly dispute ruined everything
between them, Andarion thought. But then again, it was a song about the beginning
of his love, so it might just as well sort some things out. Whatever.
By now, it was far too late to back out.
His fingers on the harp conjured up a melody, only a simple, jolly tune compared to those which had been presented before, but memorable and far more cheerful. Half speaking, half singing, the Bard opened:
"I am to sing a tale of warning,
for every travelling man to heed.
Not to forget this vital lesson,
to be aware in times of need."
Already, there were some in the audience who recognized the song, laughing and cheering at the prospect. Though they couldn't probably guess why he was singing this particular one, they joined Andarion freely as he sang the well-known refrain:
"Wanderer, wanderer, do beware
of the Rohan children,
Traveler, traveler, don't go near,
Oh, these Rohan children!"
The last line was repeated by those who were already drunk enough not to care about place or occasion, but the hall turned silent again as the bard chanted the first stanza:
"A Rohan boy of noble standing,
well into his seventh year,
was asked to do his father's bidding
and see to a weary traveler's mare."
It didn't take much more than a theatrical roll of Andarion's eyes and a pointed glance at the future King of Rohan sitting by his side to make everybody in the hall understand which particular boy had been involved in the original incident. Giving those who knew the song some time to calm the exploding laughter, Andarion waited a moment before he continued:
"Delighted by the unexpected
well-versed help the traveler made
with a gentle, tousling gesture,
the most serious mistake.
For seasoned warrior's are not tousled
let alone by other men,
And as no slight could go unanswered,
a most feral brawl began."
Having presented the last lines in an overly ominous voice, the audience was already giggling all around, only Éomer and his sister somewhat looked uncomfortable, though probably out of utterly different reasons. As Andarion played the first notes of the refrain on his harp, he almost lost a beat as many of the guests joined him most passionately.
"Wanderer, wanderer, do beware
of the Rohan children,
Traveler, traveler, don't go near,
Oh, these Rohan children!"
This time, all of them repeated the last line for a second time, just as it was habit in the taverns everywhere. Across the hall, Halbarad looked as if he was seriously considering something violent, while the King himself had a bittersweet smile for his giddily clapping wife.
"All claws and teeth the little man was
fighting with no trace of fear
fighting to avenge a slight that
only in his eyes was there.
Careful not to harm the young one,
the fuddled traveler raised his hands
yet biting in it like a ferret
the Rohan boy just scowls and stands."
This line actually got another wave of cheers from the audience, who could all just too well picture the scowling, ferocious Éomer as a scowling, ferocious lad.
"Naught would loose the jaws that held him
so in a trough that stood nearby,
the traveler ditched the little wolfling
hoping that would calm the boy.
Wanderer, wanderer, do beware
of the Rohan children,
Traveler, traveler, don't go near,
Oh, these Rohan children!"
Again, many guests joined the refrain, and even the Lady Éowyn seemed to laugh merrily behind her napkin, though she still was flushed the prettiest pink. Éomer's smile, on the other hand, looked more like a cornered wolf's snarl than anything else.
"Even covered under water,
the boy didn't let it go one bit,
but the rear side of the traveler
with a pitchfork's knob was hit."
This time, the Lady Éowyn gave another choked laughter, nodding as she remembered her part in the event. Once again, it didn't take Andarion more than a telltale glance at her to tell the audience who had just entered the scene, bringing up another uproar of laughter and cheers.
"On its other end a girl was,
barely taller than my knee,
Eyes like lightning, fists like pebbles,
and a raging wrath had she.
Don't you touch my brother dearest!
Let him go, or else, she yelled.
And in the traveler's eyes no doubt was
on how little fear she felt."
Wanderer, wanderer, do beware
of the Rohan children,
Traveler, traveler, don't go near,
Oh, these Rohan children!"
Every audience loved the lines of angry, young Éowyn, and this time the refrain shook the hall as all but a few of the guests joined in. Truly, the somber days of the Stewards' rule were over once and for all.
Once again, Andarion waited a moment or two, merely repeating the last notes on his harp over and over, until the audience had calmed down a little again. Seeing the Lady Éowyn wipe tears of laughter out of the corner of her eyes brought a wide smile up Andarion's face, and he didn't really dare to look down to see how Éomer was faring.
"Caught between relentless wolfling
and a pitchfork-wielding lass,
how on earth a simple traveler
could resolve this flaming mess?
Five strong men, that day, it needed,
to pull apart this merry crew,
forgiveness asked and pardons given,
but the warning still rings true:
Wanderer, wanderer, do beware
of the Rohan children,
Traveler, traveler, don't go near,
Oh, these Rohan children!"
This time, the refrain wasn't as uproarious as the last one,
but that was well intended by Andarion. Normally, in a tavern, the song would
end here, as only a few people cared to learn that there actually was yet
another stanza.
Changing the rhythm to something more serious, Andarion's harp cited the melody
of a well-known mourning song. It was a somber, hopeful song about fear and
valor, and caused the cheers in the hall to cease within a heartbeat.
This time, when Andarion raised his voice, it was soft and thoughtful, carrying across the hall so very unlike the jolly tavern bard he had been acting before.
"On my hands, I bear the scars
of tiny warrior's tiny wars.
As long as one man in western lands,
as steadfast as these children stands,
so little dark is there to fear - "
Strumming up a vigorous memory of the old refrain out of his harp just long enough to make the other's guess what he was up to, he finished lively together with a good portion of the audience:
"Except the Rohan children!"
Another wave of laughter shook the hall, people applauding and cheering mostly in relief that this song had ended on such upbeat note. Some overly courageous guests repeated the refrain once again just for good measure, while the rest of the hall broke into lively chatter about the fact that this song had indeed been wrought after a real incident. Compared to the serene proceedings of the evening so far, the place was in uproar.
The Lady Éowyn, delighted by the rather charming way her childhood adventures had found their way into song already, all but jumped from her chair, flinging her arms around a rather unsuspecting Andarion's neck. Hugging the bard vigorously, she placed a smacking kiss onto his cheek, laughing like a little girl.
"Oh this was delightful!", she exclaimed, clinging to his neck a little longer. Almost in a whisper, though, she added seriously: "But watch out for my brother. He's fuming."
Smiling widely again, she released Andarion from her embrace, only to make way for her brother who had been standing in line behind her, his face smiling.
"Master Andarion!", the future King of Rohan exclaimed loudly, pulling the bard into a tight bearhug. "Good song, good warning!"
As the young Dunedain had expected anything from a straight right to a thrown chair, he was rather relieved at this. Only when Éomer stepped back a little, still holding him by his shoulders, he could see the smoldering fury in the Rohirrim's eyes.
"Well into his seventh year", the noble cited coldly, his face still a smiling mask. "You're the sickest man I know."
Stunned by this venom hurled at him from Éomer, Andarion for a rare instance was at a lack of words. But without waiting for an answer, the future King turned to his sister who was already sitting at the table again, announcing:
"If you'd please excuse me? I need some fresh air."
"I didn't...", was the only thing Andarion could get out before the Rohirrim strode out of the hall, his cloak billowing behind him. "Rats!"
This definitely wasn't the way he had hoped this evening to end.
----
It was only until the early morning that Andarion met Éomer again. A pale gray already tinged the night sky above Minas Morgul, and soon, the sun would rise. All night, the festivities had continued, even though the King and his Queen had excused themselves rather early. Which, of course, had been accompanied by another round of cheers and hints at the soon-to-be-expected birth of an heir. Several times, the bard had been asked to sing again, be it the story of the Rohan children or King Éomer on Pelennor fields or something else entirely.
By all accounts, it had been a lovely night, and yet Andarion's heart was restless with the way he and Éomer had parted. The Dunedain had hoped he would meet the other man at some time during the night again, but that hadn't been the case. Instead, Éomer had been ominously absent wherever Andarion had showed up. Not that the Rohirrim's grudge was so hard to understand. But the bard wasn't one to give up easily on a set goal, even if his start had been so thoroughly botched.
Now, with the first signs of dawn in the east, only a few relentless revelers were still celebrating in the city down below. Compared to the clamor of the last days, the place was utterly quiet. From the mountains Minas Tirith had been built against, a slight breeze was falling, bringing with it the scent of woods and snow, and washing away the stale air that seemed to linger in the roads like the promise of a historical hangover.
Holding a large pitcher of cool ale and two mugs in his hands, Andarion stood on the courtyard of the palace, looking towards the far end of the place. There, right in the nose of the fortifications that crested the pier of rock, he could make out a lone figure, his hair flying in the wind.
If I was a brooding Rohirrim King-to-be, Andarion thought by himself, then that would be the perfect place to be, wouldn't it?
He was rather sure that the person out there on the most exposed spot of the whole city was Éomer, and despite every grain of common sense he had, Andarion longed to go there and talk to him. To tell him that he was sorry about the mess, that he hadn't fallen in love with a child but with the man he had seen the child could grow into. But most probably, the Rohirrim wouldn't listen anyway.
Giving a deep sigh, the young bard shrugged, deciding that facing your fate is still much better than to fear it, and walked off to meet the man he had lost his heart to such a long time ago.
It didn't take long for Andarion to be sure that he indeed was sitting there, his feet dangling down the cliff, his hair wild and unruly, moving in the wind like it had a life of its own.
Also, it didn't take long for Éomer to notice that some person was approaching him, and throwing a brief glance across his shoulder, he recognized the Dunedain who was currently pestering his life.
"You're courageous", the future King called out against the wind that was actually pretty strong out here. "It's a steep drop down, and on nights like this, accidents are well known to happen."
"Your concern for my health honors me, Highness", Andarion replied politely, completely ignoring the open threat. "But I am here to ask your forgiveness, Lord Éomer, and hope you might at least lend me your ear long enough to explain."
The expression on Éomer's face clearly showed that he wasn't in the mood at all to listen to the bard, but as Andarion covered the last distance between them, the pitcher of ale seemed to catch his attention.
"And what do you need the beer for, then?", he asked, fatigue showing on his face that was born both in body and in heart.
"I...", Andarion started to explain, then changed his mind and filled one of the mugs. Handing it over to the other man, he said with a shy smile: "It was meant as a bribe, my Lord."
"Hm. A bribe." Turning his gaze back onto the Pelennor and Osgiliath behind, asking: "So if I let you talk, will you leave me alone once you are finished?"
"Of course, Highness." Feeling a cold hand grasp for his heart, the bard noted how much Éomer's voice was sipping with disgust and reproach, and for the first time ever, he wondered if maybe this for once was a heart he would never win.
"So well, then", Éomer said without taking his eyes of the slowly brightening sky. "You promised me an apology."
"Highness, if ever I caused you harm, I am utterly sorry", Andarion pointed out, hoping that the size of the words he was using would match the sincerity he felt. "My words that night in the house of healing's garden had been rushed, if true none the less. Your doubt tonight at the table hurt me, for even though I know I am nameless compared to my brethren, I am not without pride after all. But if there ever was one thing I truly never wanted, it was causing you harm."
"Hm."
The future King of Rohan didn't say anything else, nor did he move. So, in lack of any better idea, the Dunedain continued with the promised explanation.
"Whatever you think of me, I want you to know that it wasn't the boy I met those years ago I fell in love with. It was the promise in the boy's eyes of the man he could one day become that made me sure I would be able to love him like no other. It was the promise of the man you are today that stole my heart, Highness, even though I have to admit that I hadn't really believed it until I saw you again in this city."
Once again, there was nothing to be heard for a long moment after Andarion had finished, both men sitting there in silence, the wind tugging at their hair. In the end, it was Éomer who dryly stated:
"You talk too much."
"At least I talk at all, Highness...", the young bard replied with a soft smile, for despite his gruff manner, the tone of Éomer's voice had been rather amiable. Well, amiable the way one might talk to an old, obnoxious family member. But still, that was much better than a threat to throw him off the cliff, Andarion found.
"What made you believe I could ever even consider your suit?", Éomer finally asked after having a deep drought of the ale the bard had given him.
"What made you believe you could survive that day on Pelennor fields?", the Dunedain replied immediately, hoping that the other man would understand that there were some things one just had to do, whatever their probable outcome.
This time, the silence between the two men lasted long enough for the first tinge of orange to appear in the sky, dawn now finally creeping over the mountains that had formerly been covered in the roiling fumes of Mordor. If the Towers would get their ancient names back, Andarion wondered silently. Now that Minas Morgul was truly the tower of the rising sun again, with his brother of Minas Tirith being not the tower of watch but the Tower of the setting sun again. Behind them, the tips of the mountains were catching a first gleam of rose, and the wind lost more and more of it's chill.
Taking the dawn from the people of Minas Tirith had been one of Sauron's most devious crimes ever, the bard inwardly decided as all of a sudden, Éomer at his side turned around to face him.
"The answer is still no", the future King said evenly, as if seriously having considered all facts.
"I know", Andarion replied just as calmly. There was no surprise in Éomer's words, but a great relief. At least, now he was talking, not barking. "Of course it is."
The other man nodded at this reaction, apparently taking the matter as now settled once and for all. But Andarion was far from finishing his pursuit, far from it. This was only the beginning.
Rising from the cold stone he had been sitting on, the Dunedain stretched and carefully took an unobtrusive step away from Éomer. Then, almost merrily, he stated:
"But since when has a bard accepted a 'no' as an answer?" Trying hard not to grin fiendishly as Éomer's head snapped around, the other man's eyes blazing with that delicious dark fire that made Andarion's skin tingle all over. "We do have a history of getting what we want in this regard. So be prepared that I'll be officially wooing you from this day on."
Almost open-mouthed, the future King of Rohan gaped at the Dunedain, who grinned widely at the display. And taking this once-in-your-lifetime opportunity of a stunned Éomer, he did the unthinkable. Taking a daring step forward, Andarion ducked and tousled the future King's wind-ruffled mane, but only for a swift heartbeat.
Then he bolted around and ran as fast as his feet would carry him, laughing giddily with the priceless memory of an Éomer, tousled for the second time in his life.
And tomorrow, Andarion decided, I will send him a poem.
If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus
go to PART 3