Title: The Diary
Series: The Rohirric Series

Author: Zeedrippyvessel
Fandom: LOTR

Characters: Gamling/OFC; Éomer/Lothiriel, various Ocs
Rating: REQUIRED R
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien. Really. I'm not. I do things to his characters that he would have never dreamed of and might be rolling over in his grave about. I'm not making a dime. No money, no suey.
Timeline: From the War on
Setting: Rohan. Mostly in the Wold
Warnings: 200+ vignettes depicting family life and a Rider dealing with his PTSD
Spoilers: No
Beta: Alex
Dedication: I just wanted to prove I could write a drabble
Author's Notes: When I finished Rider of the Mark, I felt empty… I mean it was worse than empty nest, I think – I've come to enjoy the characters, but I like full circles. Oftentimes when reading a really engrossing book or series, I wonder to myself… well? What happened after they lived happily ever after?

100 gen Fics comes from a LJ blog prompts. All of these are in the Rider Universe – which would include Love! Rohirrim Style. I snatched it from someone, I forget who. LOL! There are 100 Dark Fic prompts as well, but seeing some of the prompts, I don't know if I can actually stomach to do them, even in dreams – and that would be a LOT of dreams. I suspect there are perhaps an installment or two that will be considered VERY dark. So maybe these will help Rider come full circle – at least for me.

The majority of this should be rated General to Teen. Thanks to a rather peculiar reviewer with an even MORE peculiar sense of what 'mature' is or 'canon' is, I've rated the fic as a whole as Mature due to ONE installment. (Well, one so far.)

Most of these are quite short – from true 100 word drabbles (yes, I can do those.) to 1000 words. A few are longer… some have been posted already as MisAdventures… Spring Fever (G62), The Adventures of Gabaras and Tamrithel (G28) and When I met you (G96) Most are Rider-verse – meaning Gamling and Co… They are NOT in any sort of order – written as the bunny bit me. There are some LRS – Eomer/Lothiriel. I would love to think those two were a love-match, rather than a political marriage. I think a political marriage would be SO un-Tolkien-like…

But that's me…

Summary: After a very long and healthy life together, Gamling and Aefre have ridden on to the Halls of their Fathers. Gamling and Aefre's children lock themselves in their parents room to decide who inherits what. What they find by accident is perhaps one of the most amazing collection of documents, cataloging and spanning several lives and many memories contained within that amazing marriage. Consisting of (hopefully) 200+ vignettes...

FChet

The Diary

Prologue

"Béma!" The youngest of the siblings stood in front of the fireplace in his parents' rooms, warming his hands by the flame. "I thought they'd never die!"

He realized just how that sounded before his sister gasped. He turned around, frantic. "Léoma! I didn't mean it that way!"

There was a thump on the back of his head. His elder – by seven minutes – brother scowled as he walked by, a mug of honey mead in his hand. "Your way with words has never been much higher than the gutter!" He slung himself in a chair; the one favored by his father and ran his free hand through long, unruly strawberry blond locks. In a move reminiscent of his sire, he slung one leg over the chair arm.

"What I meant was…" the youngest one's voice drifted off before whispering, "I thought they would live forever."

"Live forever," his brother scoffed. "Da was 92 summers. He was still riding his horse this past harvest." He lifted his mug, toasting the banner of his house, hanging over the fireplace. Their mother always made sure they knew who they were and where they came from. "He wasn't ill, wasn't in pain. He lived a long, healthy life and went out laughing." He took a gulp of his mead. "Béma will it, we should go the same way."

Both of his siblings nodded. "At least Mama didn't linger. Had she gone first-"

"Da would have worked his arse off in the stables until he dropped dead!"

There was no sound but the crackling of the fire. The trio had closeted themselves in their parents' chambers, requesting to not be disturbed until they hammered out the details of the estate. They might get it done in a few hours; it might take a few days. The estate was large, a lot to be decided and they hoped they could finish the task undisturbed. Many assumed they wished to grieve in peace. Both deaths, while anticipated due to the advanced age of Gamling and his wife, still came unexpected and as a shock.

Léoma sat by the table, inspecting the jewelry they removed just before their parents' joint burial, a single tear running down her face. The Elven betrothal rings they wore always, that lavish gift from Éomer King on their wedding day; Gamling's hair clasp, made for his grandfather; a rare, pale blue diamond on a mithril chain, that Gamling wore for state and festive occasions. "I still say we should have at least buried them in their rings."

"Mama always stated very clearly that we should split things equally. Da agreed. That included the rings. The only thing to be buried with them was Da's battle sword and the knife he gave Mama at their wedding."

"I think," the youngest spoke thoughtfully for a change, "that the rings should be passed down through Léoma's line, you" he nodded to his brother, "should get the hair clasp and the blue diamond."

"And what for you?"

He grinned, a ghost of Aefre twinkling beneath his dark, close-clipped beard, "Oh, just the farm and the family silver is all. I want to be the next Marshal!" He laughed as his sister smacked him. "I know, I know, Éomer King will decide that."

"Whoever is not named Marshal," Gamling's spit intoned quietly, "should get Mama's dower house. Whoever is named Marshal will get Woldenfeld."

"You are assuming either you or I will be made Marshal."

"Aye."

The three sat quietly for a time, basking in the memories of their parents. During this time, the middle one looked closely at his siblings. His brother had thick dark hair, similar to their mother's. In the most recent days, silver threads shot through it, like a sparkling weed sneaking into a bright, well-tended garden. His sister as well, her bright red hair was beginning to lighten, fine lines crinkling at her eyes, whether from too much sun or the fact she just completed her 47th summer; she also grieved harder and more openly.

Eventually…

"Léoma... look closely at the table next to your chair."

"What about it?"

The elder of her two brothers slid down in their father's chair, looking sideways. "There are… hinges?"

Together, the siblings removed everything from the table and looking beneath. "Strange, I never notice that before."

"When did any of us get to sit in Da's chair? Much less spend time in here?"

The youngest bowed his head. "Their door was always open to me when it stormed. And when I was sick." He squatted down on his heels, looking at the hinges closely. "I remember getting sick once in the barn and Da brought me straight up. Had a bath made up for me, peeled me out of my vomited in clothes and bathed me himself. He then put me in one of his old tunics and had me in their bed in no time."

"He told me stories. Some were funny."

"Some were scary."

Both brothers shuddered.

"Mama would always make tea and it made me sleepy and the next morning I felt better."

"Why did they bother to put a drop bar on their door anyway?"

Léoma was strangely quiet, inspecting her hands. Both brothers looked at her.

The silence was painful, the twins waiting expectantly. "Do you know?"

Léoma looked down, blushing. "When I was… young… I walked in on them." She turned quite sheepish. "Da was riding Mama hard like a stallion." She was staring hard into the fireplace. "And she was egging him on!"

"Our parents?"

"Wild, swing from the rafters Dunlending sex?"

All three grimaced. Léoma started to giggle. "The only thing I really remember was the thunder and Mama saying 'Oh yeah baby, smack that arse!'"

The youngest one hit the floor, rolling with laughter. "Noooooo!"

"Well," the one who looked like his father said, "I think I'm scarred for life with that etched in my brain. Let's see what's in this table."

Gently the three of them worked the top until it lifted, showing a generous hidden compartment. In it lay a book and a neat stack of papers, the writing in Aefre's very neat hand.

"That's the elf's book of herbs and medicines that Mama cherished!"

"What was his name? El… el… Elran?"

"Elrond." Léoma rolled her eyes. "Lord Elrond of Rivendell."

"That's right. I recall when you were not quite at your majority, you were in love with Celeborn!"

"I was not!"

"Were so!"

She leveled her most devastating big sister stare at her youngest brother, which he smirked at. "I was not!"

"Was too."

Not for the first time, the middle one was in the middle, keeping his younger brother and his older sister from throttling each other. Not for the first time, he thanked Béma he favored his father, not only in looks and temperament, but in build as well, tall and stocky, with muscular shoulders. Once he got his siblings settled and no longer at each other's throats, he picked up the stack of papers. It was thick, many pages, many hours had gone into the recording of what ever it was she wrote.

"Shall we?"

"I feel like a voyeur!"

"You were the one who walked in on them!"

By now, all three were sitting on the floor in a circle. Léoma began with the top, as of the three, she was the better reader.

"Let's see…" Léoma started softly, reading the words her mother had written who knew how long ago…

*It was a night to celebrate. A night to sing, a night to toast life, a night to toast death…*

tbc