ridingforrohan

[ridingforrohan]

It only took a month, but I finally finished chapter 39 of Tenth Queen.

[ridingforrohan]

(never degraded someone before) you have your mother's cruelty. and your father's cowardice.

[ridingforrohan]

The Tenth Queen of Rohan: Chapter 1

Hello everyone, I've been working on this fic since January and now that I have met a few more people interested in Rohan on Tumblr I decided to start posting it here to see if I can get it out to more readers! The story is based two years after the events of War of the Rohirrim and focuses on Fréaláf's attempts to rebuild Edoras and Rohan after the devastation of the long winter and Dunlending invasion. I also have it be in compliance with the events of my sister's fic to wild whispered places which sets the scene for what Héra and Fréaláf do in the immediate aftermath of the events of the movie, with minor changes.

This story expands on the lore of the characters and the Rohirrim as a people, including their customs and stories.

Chapter 1 finds Héra in Gondor on her wanderings, where she has befriended one of the daughters of a local nobleman and engages in some lighthearted tax evasion (weird but you'll see).

Read it here on AO3 or in the text below!

“Are you sure about this?” Héra asks as she wraps her arms around her friend’s waist. The little stallion they sit on prances in place, his unshod feet clacking on the wooden slats of the dock. His mistress give him his head and points him at the barge, “Yes, we do this all the time. Just hold on very tightly.”

The other woman gets a good hold of the horse’s mane and sends him forward into the night. He bunches himself up neatly from a trot and springs up from the dock onto the deck of the barge like a cat.

“I didn’t know horses could do that.” Héra says, a little breathless.

Her friend, a young Gondorian noblewoman named Halloth pats her horse on the neck, “Wídfara is clever, he learned from the mules my father keeps for moving cargo.”

“From your father’s mules?”

“Wonderful animals, I’ve never seen one put a foot wrong. I rode one until I was ten.” Halloth tells her.

Héra had met Halloth several months past. The princess of the Riddermark had been visiting Osgiliath on her travels. She had wished to see the white city for herself, sail down the Anduin to Pelagir and through Ithilien, then on to the coastal city of Dol Amoroth in the south. After a week in Minas Tirith she had been instructed to meet with Halloth’s father to secure safe passage on a ship with honorable enough crew to be entrusted with Rohan’s breakaway princess. Halloth’s father had read the letter and delegated this task to his eldest daughter. The two had met over dinner and after had gone to the stables to discuss their horses.

Halloth’s family mostly kept mules and a few gentle drafts, perfect for manning shipyards and moving cargo but not riding horses. Halloth had shown her the one exception, a short backed little gray stallion. He was odd in his form and Halloth had explained his breeding. Her mother’s people lived in Anórien and had considerably more pasture. When she had turned twenty she had traded a valuable necklace gifted to her for two mares from the Harad. Small but swift little beasts, hardy and graceful animals unlike the mûmakil the Haradrim rode to war. This stallion was the offspring of one of these mares bred to her grandsire’s stallion. A headstrong beast with a great black mane, known for his speed and dubious breeding.

They had spoken much of horses and when Héra sailed south she left her beloved Ashere in Halloth’s care, trading her for a borrowed mule Halloth promised would serve her better on shore and endure the voyage without fuss.

When she returned she found her mare fat and happy, having grazed along with Halloth’s stallion for the entire two months she was gone. In time they would see if she was with foal.

Now they find themselves on a docked barge, Wídfara nosing curiously at pallets of barrels. Halloth pulls him away, “That’s wine silly horse. You don’t want that.” “Why are we here to look at this again?” Héra asks.

Halloth leans over to inspect the seal on one of the casks, “My father has been sneaky in his dealings again. Beren put quite the import duty on wine from southern Gondor to try and fund more naval support to ward off piracy, which is all well and good except it drives up the price of wine in the white city significantly.”

“Can’t wine be made in Anórien or closer to Minas Tirith?” Héra asks.

“Did you ever wonder why it is not produced in Rohan? Not in any quantity anyways.” Halloth asks, swinging her leg over her horse’s neck and sliding down his shoulder to the ground.

“I thought my people didn’t care for it.”

“Wrong,” Halloth tells her, pausing to light a torch, “It’s because you can’t grow good wine and importing it all the way to the Folde would cost a fortune. Your climate is colder, your land drier, your season shorter. Fine for growing grass and horses but not wine grapes. This makes your wine less sweet and more acidic. Or rather, I don’t think Rohan really has vineyards, but the wine from Anórien is disgusting.”

“I had no idea.” Héra says, taking the torch and holding it aloft.

Halloth nods, “Now to keep the good people of Minas Tirith from rioting over this, my father has benevolently struck up a deal with the harbormaster who is supposed to inspect the cargo and verify it’s contents.” She points to the first pallet, “These bear the stamp with his seal which mean they have been counted, but the ones in the back do not. This is because he supposedly did not see him. He can take his cut and claim to have not been privy to the cargo brought in without his seal if we get caught. However, without his seal it’s harder to sell and it’s difficult to offload three hundred casts under the table and turn a profit. Luckily I have this.”

She retrieves a woodcut block from her saddlebags and a small jar of paint, “Now, unknownst to the harbormaster I have a copy of this seal. I traced it and had a discrete worker at the shipyard carve me a replica, so now, with a little work all of the cargo can be marked as officially documented by the port of Osgiliath, while we only pay taxes on the amount the harbormaster has put down in his ledger. Then we see it in bulk to a merchant who takes it to the white city.”

“Sneaky, pass me that, I’ll paint it on for you.” Héra offers.

They spend the better part of twenty minutes ensuring the casks are all stamped before Halloth instructs Héra to cast off the lines holding the barge to the dock. It drifts downstream with Halloth at the tiller, docking again a mile downriver. The undocumented part of the cargo is removed from the hold under cover of dark and a new crew comes to row it upstream to where it was docked before. Halloth and Héra remount the stallion watch the quiet operation, “I’m not sure what my father would do without me. He went to bed at sundown, too lazy to utilize the cover of night for his covert operations.”

One of the porters looks up at her, “He knew you would see it done my lady.”

She smiles and offers him a pouch of coins, “Of course, see the men are well rewarded for their efforts there should be more than enough to pay them and buy them breakfast.”

“Is your lord father still looking for a husband for you my lady?”

“He is doing his best, last week I scared off some poor spineless lordling from the city. I cannot imagine that is good for my reputation.” She teases, “Why Garrin, are you offering your hand?”

“Ha! As if I could my lady, shall I call for someone to see you home?”

“Wídfara can outpace any trouble I meet on the road, thank you Garrin.”

The horse leaps away and Héra looks out at the first light of dawn on the river. The Snowbourn river which runs from Edoras to the Entwash is a fast glacier fed river much unlike the wide expanse of the Anduin which moves gently through the city of Osgiliath to the sea.

“Does your family trouble you with thoughts of marriage Héra?” She asks jovially.

Héra feels an uncomfortable weight settle in the pit of her stomach, it had been some time since that had been spoken of.

“Well,” She starts, “The only family I have left is my cousin and if I marry he said he would abdicate the throne to my son. Only I don’t want to marry, so really we’ve been more concerned with his marriage. He won’t make me marry if I do not wish to, and I don’t. We’ve discussed it at length.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot about…well…from what you’ve told me it sounds like your cousin is a good man.” Halloth offers.

“The best,” Héra agrees, “I feel terrible leaving him in Edoras alone but I can’t stay. Not for too long anyways, we agreed I would stay for winter. He does not like the idea of me on the road when the cold sets in.”

“How much older than you is he?”

Héra considers, “Nine years.”

“A young king.”

“Very, my father didn’t take the throne until he was much older.” She tells Halloth.

They ride in silence for a few minutes before Héra asks, “Are you being forced into a marriage?”

“Not forced, but my father is getting older and my parents are anxious to see me settled. I think he regrets all the years treating me as his oldest son.” Halloth sighs, “Worse still he’s been very public about the dowry he’s offering, so he hasn’t even had to go looking for suitors.”

“How much?” Héra asks.

“Enough to build a small keep I think. His dealings have been lucrative over the years and the battles he has won at sea have not gone unrewarded. Much of it is in gold, legally he can leave me coin more easily than land and titles.” She explains, “Better yet while he lives it is easier to safeguard said gold from my husband, though he neglected to tell them that.”

“What would you do with it?”

“I don’t know, buy horses? Nobody really needs that much money do they? There’s nothing worth having just for yourself that can be bought with that.”

“Marry my cousin, you can rebuild Meduseld and have all the horses you like.” Héra teases.

“What a thought, though I’m sorry to say it, I don’t think a towering blonde horse lord would suit me well Héra. I’m sure he’s lovely, all the men of the Riddermark I’ve met seem like a good spirited and kindly type but the size of them is incredible and they are so…how to put this…I won’t say they are poorly mannered as that isn’t true but they are so much…I met prince Haleth once and he was…”

“My brother.” Héra warns.

“Don’t worry I was not going to speak ill of him,” Halloth says, “In truth he seemed a man of great character. I just meant that he filled up the room. His voice was booming and he was so tall and broad. I think most of the gondorian noblewomen seemed a little scared of him.”

Héra smiles weakly, “Yes, he was something. Fréaláf isn’t quite all that.”

“I’m sure he would have made someone a lovely husband, but not me.”

“You probably met Fréaláf as well, if it was the last time Haleth was in Gondor.”

“I don’t recall. It was a busy night. Your brother only stood out to me because well…as I said.”

She nods, “So what is it you’re looking for if not a man of Rohan?”

Halloth considers, “The same things one looks for in a horse I think, well built, sensible, good manners, carries themself well, does not descend into hysterics over the unexpected, easy on the eyes, that sort of thing Héra.”

Héra laughs, “Well aside from my cousin who you have so rudely rejected out of hand I don’t have anyone else for you.”

Halloth sits tall in her saddle, “Well, thank goodness for that. Everyone else seems to.”

“You could be like me, running wild and unattached.”

“Tempting thought.”

When they return to Halloth’s parent’s home they put her horse to bed and retire to her room,. Héra pauses for a moment before offering, “You could come to Edoras with me for winter.”

“Why?”

Héra shrugs off her coat, “Well, as you said, nothing happens here in winter. You’ll be stuck here with all of the annoying lordlings of Minas Tirith riding over whenever the weather is fair to court you. We just had a war, men of marrying age are scarce in Edoras at the moment.”

She meant it as a joke but she thinks of Haleth and Háma and suddenly it does not feel so funny.

“I think you are just trying to pass your cousin off on me.”

Héra flops down on Halloth’s bed, “Fine. I promise I will not. It will be fun. There will be snow and I think my people have had enough time to heal that they will be back to celebrating our winter holidays. You can see all of our horses.”

“I would not be a burden?”

She shakes her head, “I don’t think so.”

They pack the horses lightly, hoping to make the trip in a little over a week. Wídfara and Ashere are both fit and fat, they make excellent time the first two days and even stop in Anórien to visit Halloth’s kin there for a few days. A week later they arrive tired and dusty at the gates of Edoras.

“Are those barrows?” Halloth asks as the horses trot past.

Héra nods, “Our kings and some who would be.”

Halloth nods, “I’m so sorry.”

They ride in silence until the guards at the gate greet Héra and welcome them inside.

[ridingforrohan]

I’m thinking of posting my long fic chapter by chapter on Tumblr to try and get people interested in reading it. I would maybe do one chapter a week and try to include some illustrations. Would anyone be interested?

[ridingforrohan]

I can’t believe sleeping in now means waking up at 4:45 am instead of 2:55 am right before my 3am alarm goes off.

[ridingforrohan]

Drawing horses is hard. Drawing people is harder. Combine them? Terrible.

Anyways, here’s yet another attempt to get Rohirrim Tumblr interested Fréaláf, Rohan’s Tenth king. He’s very pretty as is his mare Swiftryne. She’s a very typical chestnut mare with a lot of opinions, especially about other horses in her personal space.

[ridingforrohan]

I painted my horse in Rohirrim tack because I think he would look cute 🥰

[ridingforrohan]

Learned helplessness isn't cute. Especially when you've made it your identity and preach it to other people.

my biggest hot take is that we gotta stop blaming women’s incompetency on misogyny. The girlies online bragging about being connected with their divine feminine and having their man take care of all their life problems, talking about lacking financial literacy, not knowing basics about cars like the difference between a 4-wheel drive and a 2-wheel drive, irresponsible spending “I’m just a girl”, having their job be “influencer” without contributing anything worthwhile. I don’t care how much of their behavior is based on the misogyny they faced; social media isn’t an excuse for your actions. I don’t care how much of a pick me I am for this but I am 100% rolling my eyes and and totally going to believe that I am better than these girls if only because I have some self-respect and don’t revert to 1920 the moment it seemingly benefits me (“he didn’t pay for the dinner? red flag” shut up like actually)

[ridingforrohan]

Several Sentences Sunday

@frodothefair tagged me in this a week or two ago and I've been in a bit of a creative slump, but here's a short excerpt from my long fic The Tenth Queen of Rohan. Read it in full here!

Fréaláf leans in and kisses her, “The only person the king must answer to is his wife.”

“Is that so?” Halloth asks with a grin. 

“It is. Wear the green dress you had on earlier, I’ll go make small talk with your mother until her guests arrive.” He offers.

Halloth’s smile softens, “Oh you don’t have to do that. Stay here and keep me company.”

“I do, I’m going to tell her how much I like what you’re wearing and…” He leans in closer, “Are you wearing scent?”

“It’s common in Gondor, even on men. Mostly because they don’t bathe nearly as often as those in Rohan do. Did I ever mention how much I like that about you? I like having a man who will wash of his own volition as often as he can instead of trying to mask the smell of old sweat and worse with perfumes.” Halloth explains. 

“I was going to say I like it, but that is good to know. I take it this is not common knowledge amongst the women of Gondor?” Fréaláf asks. 

“No, otherwise more of us would go hunting for a husband in Rohan.”

Fréaláf lets out a little huff of amusement at that and gently moves her hair out of the way to plant a kiss on her neck. His other hand settles on her thigh and Halloth begrudgingly pushes him away, “Don’t. If you get me hot before I have to sit through dinner beside my mother, you had better be prepared to answer for your crimes later.”

He leans in close again, “I would be happy to.”

Halloth sighs, though her annoyance is mostly feigned. She takes his face in her hands, “I think she may have had a point about that dress though. I do have more muscular shoulders than most women.”

“Not in Rohan,” Fréaláf is quick to correct. He turns his head to kiss her palm and then her wrist, “I like everything about how you look, especially when you forsake the dresses altogether.”

“The Rohirrim like a broad shouldered woman?”

“You aren’t that broad shouldered, not so much it looks odd anyways. My people prize women who look as though they can carry a shield. Besides, you would never say this about Héra. Don’t let your mother get to you.”

She considers this and smiles, “You are incredibly sweet.”

“I try.”

He pulls away and goes to the chest Halloth had upended in her attempts to dress properly. The sea green dress is still folded and he shakes it out, feeling the fabric as it falls open. 

“What sort of cloth is this?” He asks. 

Halloth looks, “Oh, it’s silk. Khamis’s wife made it for me.”

“What is it made of?”

Halloth smiles, “Fiber made by worms in the far east.”

Fréaláf examines the cloth in his hands, “Worms?”

“Their cocoons. Khamis makes a fortune importing the cloth into Gondor. It’s very fashionable in Minas Tirith,” Halloth explains.

“Ah…how strange. Though it is beautiful,” he says coming to Halloth to help her into it. 

She lifts her arms and he slips it over her head, then fastens the laces in the back. Halloth selects a girdle embroidered with gold detail which he helps her with as well. He lifts the skirt so it fans out slightly, “Your mother cannot find fault with this.”

He likes how the fine fabric flows over every curve of her body and runs his hand from her side to her hip, “Bring this with you to Rohan.”

“Oh you are that fond of it?” Halloth teases.

“I’m fond of you,” He offers.

“Laying it on rather thick, aren’t you? Fine, go talk with my mother. See if you can put her in a better mood than when I left her.” Halloth relents. 

Tagging @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras , @celeluwhenfics and @lady-of-ithilien as well as anyone else who is interested to share their writing!

[ridingforrohan]

There’s an awesome post going round Rohirrim Tumblr about training horses to charge mounted infantry. I only had my sister to fight, but I think we did a decent job of training my horse to expect attackers on foot to yield to him.

[ridingforrohan]

I keep thinking about some of the cast interviews I watched when War of the Rohirrim came out. Laurence Ubong Williams who voiced Fréaláf made some interesting comments about working with Elvish language instructors in preparation for the role….which confused me because at no point in the movie is Sindarin or Quenya used by the characters or even in the narration. All the people and place names are Old English based, and the lament Olwyn sings for Helm is in old English or a modified version of it. Now he also mentioned his character is from Dol Amroth, which would give him a reason for knowing Sindarin. So I’m really curious if there were scenes cut that gave context to Fréaláf’s parentage or if there was just some generalized linguistic coaching for the actors on Middle Earth pronunciation.

[ridingforrohan]

Alright, well I know exactly what I'm doing tonight. Perhaps this can be the AU where things work out for Ethelwine @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

He certainly approves of your suggestion for surviving an Atlantic summer @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

[ridingforrohan]

I love the idea of Gondorians thinking everyone in Rohan is just roughing it in straw thatched homes or yurt like structures while in reality their quality of life is pretty damn high.

I like to think they have optimized living in a fairly resource rich environment without abusing their land, animals or society. At some point I want to do a modern AU where Gondor is very tech savvy and Rohan is very anti development. They are happy to live mostly as their ancestors did but like internet and antibiotics.

He certainly approves of your suggestion for surviving an Atlantic summer @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

[ridingforrohan]

I did mention Rohirrim storing ice for summer use in one of my fics! Only it’s used for soothing a teething baby, not a sweet treat for a horse in that.

I think it’s very plausible. Also they do have mountains nearby, so I imagine people in Harrowdale might be up for some mountaineering to chip away at glaciers in summer.

Now, how far of a stretch is it that the Rohirrim figured out ice cream?

He certainly approves of your suggestion for surviving an Atlantic summer @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

[ridingforrohan]

He certainly approves of your suggestion for surviving an Atlantic summer @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras

[ridingforrohan]

Karl Urban as Eomer in Lord of the Rings: the Return of the King (2003)

My GIF masterlist