Subject to ease
He peered down at me with a raised brow, inquisitive and hearty. A beard pooled down his chin, and he clasped his hands behind himself, his belly protruding as he stood a little straighter, his robes fitting closely and crinkling in folds about his feet.
I stood alone, at the center of the audience chamber, my spine rigid. My hands hung like weights at my side, and I did not dare gaze up into the King's eyes. He was a meaty fellow, with black beady eyes, and straight black hair that braided down his back, while his crimped beard was graying along the edges. His brows were arched and fierce, and when he called my name, I nearly gasped in surprise.
"Maerien." He spoke harshly, willing me to meet his eyes.
I did just so, dragging my pupils up the length of his body, until they met his black almond eyes.
"Ah, as beautiful as her mother…don't you agree men?"
The men around the room all crowed and shared enthusiastic agreement. My face went white. What was going to happen? My hands trembled at my sides, and I wanted to vomit. The pressure against my stomach was more than enough to double a woman over, but I stood, as straight as I could, with an expression of pain etched upon my face.
"What do you want of me!" I spoke, loud enough for Dredaus to hear, but low enough that the men became silent, as to hear what I had to say. I could hardly discern my own voice, as it was so shaky and brittle against the assaulting aura of the faces around me, peering at me like insatiable dogs. I had to stay firm in this, assure them that I was nothing to be toyed with. Though, they'd toy with me if they very well liked. If there was one thing I'd learned about men, it was that they got what they wanted, even if there was a fuss.
"Oh, my dear…" Dredaus looked mildly startled, now hugging his belly with a twisted coyness, "You are here to save us!"
I laughed harshly, the low syllables of my chuckle like knives hitting upon stone; brash and gravelly. He seemed to look upon me as if I were a naïve child, someone that would not understand a thing if it were explained to her. Little did he even know! I wished to tear open that protruding gut, and mount his head on a spear. The sickening breath that he spoke in was just as good as a rapturous poison, stalling all vitals as I attempted for find middle ground.
"Save you?" I bought my time, asking the question warily, "Why would I ever wish to do such a thing?"
"Well, you see my dear, you are such a profound asset. Your place amongst the Kingdom of Rohan, being the King's whore, was perfect for us. If you acknowledge the fact that this so called 'King', erm…what is it, 'loves' you, well, darling, it is only natural that we should contact him and hold you as a hostage. And what a gloriously prosperous hostage you've seemed to be!"
I stared icily at him, inquisitive and confused.
"Don't pretend as if this love for you is real, now. He is doing Rohan a favor by entering this war. And if you alone, your life as a threat to take, was enough to pressure him into it? Don't be so assured of his love. He must save you, for his people. So. We told him if he prepared for war in a months time, and paid a mighty sum for your release, we'd keep you in good comfort here, until the war is finished. Of course, he did not agree. He spake- 'you must set Maerien free, before the war!' Can you imagine what our reply would be?" He smirked lecherously.
At this moment, tears pooled in my eyes. Their words of Eomer were too much to bear, and I shuddered, staring up at the King, my eyes locked on his, as tears streamed down my cheekbones, and down the hollows of my cheeks, settling in a pool of moisture above my lips. Sharps gasps came from me as I sobbed, holding it in, yet feeling torrents of anguish envelope me like a shroud of silk, fitting my form with perfection. He continued speaking, a smile on his face, as he watched the tears.
"He knew we'd decline. Which is why, he bargained that if he entered war, we allow him to send ten of his warriors to protect you. To grant you with the highest of hospitality, and he sent gifts, to be seen in your bedchambers. We, being humble men, can understand the short-lived infatuation a whore can bring you, and so allowed this. Upon your stay here, my men will not touch a hair on your pretty little head."
My eyes widened, and I swallowed and opened my lips as if to speak, but was cut off by his stale continuity.
"His ten warriors arrived two nights ago, with chest upon chest of doting presents!" He laughed in high spirits, "You are a lucky little charmer now, aren't you. As for Eomer, he sends his regards, and promises he will set you free in…" He glanced towards his vizier, "what was it, three weeks?" This sent a spiral of wheezing laughter out of his lungs, and I flinched, my tears having halted.
"Three weeks, you have to stay here, apparently. You will receive meals three times a day," The King murmured, "But don't think, just because you have your ten warriors, that I won't call upon you. You seem to be quite the entertainer, I hear. Singing, and such. Nevertheless…" He snapped his fingers, "Take her to her room."
Some of his men swaggered forth, taking me by the arms, and thrusting me forward, I attempted an awkward bow, and then was being led up stairs, through stone corridors lit by candles in brackets, and in to a tower, where along the hallway ascending, there were large vacant spaces of window. The sun was at its highest point, and I felt its rays touch my hair and face, and for the first time in the days prior, I felt a small smile of victory upon my lips.
How victory could be seen in my eyes, would seem foolish to another. As if a man in the eye of a hurricane would not soon be punished, when the hurricane shifts just degrees to the side, and he would be engulfed by the power, and smashed to smithereens. But this victory settled in my gut like a warm honey gauze, as if I was untouchable. Eomer had made it possible, and I told myself no matter what happened, there was hope. As long as there was evidence of him, I'd survive. Though the idea of this was daunting, perhaps frightening when I looked back upon my selfish reasoning. Where was my self alliance?
Usually birds learn to fly by their mother's instruction. Having no mother, was I not submitted to a life of blundering through the air, without guidance? And if I so chose to learn how, it now would be too late. Eomer was mine. I had found my healthy medium, or rather…my obsession for so long, turned unto a fantastical flare of reality.
Obsessions can be so horrific, and in realistic terms, distasteful to the persons image. But as I arrived on the footsteps of the room he'd prized out of the gloom of war, especially for me, was my obsession not worth the pining, the aching, the agony over those years? I swooned over these thoughts, knowing that moments later, in a more darker mood to come, I'd be freezing these thoughts over with the dead ash of resentment towards myself, holding on to the fact that I had caused this war. Me. The irreversible problem.
As the guards swung the glassy wood door open, my jaw dropped.
Laid across the floors were fur rugs, lined with silk. The floor plan was aromatic, spacious, and my large, illustrious bed was furnished on a higher level, with steps transcending the line between my bedroom, and living space. The bed was circular, swathed in rich blue silk, pillows the color of gold lined at its bedpost. Above it, hung lacy aqua drapes, so that at night I could shut them if I pleased. At the foot of the bed, there was a trunk splayed open like a ripe goblet of jewels, overflowing with nightgowns and shoes, the richest of shades and fabrics.
In one corner of the room, was a vanity, carved out of white stone, with a full length, oval mirror, studded with diamonds set beside it. Along the vanity, was an array of jewelry in lovely boxes, and make-ups, elixirs, and creams. In another corner, there stood a grand armoire, stalwart and trusting, its contents displayed, showing gowns I'd never seen any woman of Rohan wear, or ever have the wealth to afford. To the right of this, was a gigantic fireplace, already heated and stoked to perfection.
At the half-way mark, the steps being this, the larger portion of the room began. There was a small ornate table, dressed in lavish tablecloth, and having one gold plate, with a fork, spoon, and knife set beside it. Then, a golden goblet, and a smaller glass above. Across from the plate, was a set of cards, and other games to play.
From here, there was an opening between two large cushiony chairs, there was a towering bookshelf, full to the brim with ripe pages. Along the eastern side, there was a long rectangular window, where I could practically see the whole panorama of Kingdom. What surprised me more, was that there was a separate room for washing and using toiletries.
Then, at the center of the room, I saw something stir. I jolted when I understood what it was, but was shocked nonetheless. It was a puppy, with fur like white cloud, and longing eyes. I stepped across the threshold, allowing the grace of Eomer to settle, hardly being able to believe it myself. I stepped forth, picking up the pup with a gentle hand, and stroking its head and back as I swiveled on my toes, a mere pauper, to the regalia of the room. He'd put up paintings of Rohan, of sweet fabled paradise, and scenes I'd only dream of.
Then I noticed the ten guards, standing dutifully at my service. The door shut behind me, and they bowed, showing their loyalty. It was not their place to question my worth, only to follow orders. Though I must wonder if what they saw when I entered, was a disgusting mass of rags and bones.
For a moment, I wished that he'd sent a woman, but the thought was far too selfish, and I would never allow myself that under these circumstances.
"Milady Maerien, we drew a bath for you, seeing as you must be weary from your travels." One man said, and I nodded, slightly incomprehensive to Eomer's kindness.
"Afterwards, when you are ready, we have word from King Eomer. He sent a letter addressed for your eyes alone, but he instructed us that you must be in full comforts before you read it."
So, standing in a tower above my enemies, treated as a Queen might be, I took a bath. I cleansed the grime away, and used the soaps and oils that Eomer had sent. The smells reminded me of Rohan, and in a moments time, I recalled how much I missed it. It wasn't only Eomer, but my home.
I was able to dress in something plainer than the glamorous medium of dresses, a russet gown that fanned out behind me, its sleeves hitting the floors in their length. I also took it upon myself to awkwardly slip into comfortable white slippers, and from a knob on the wall, chose a white shawl to wrap about my shoulders.
As I made the transformation, I felt as a Princess must, having so many options, all of the prime prospects. The men stood around me as I sat in a chair, and one stepped forward, handing me a thick wrap of parchment. The letter seemed to vibrant between my fingers, as if, if I wasn't careful enough, it would disintegrate like sand between my fingertips, falling to the floors in a cascade.
But it did not fall, and I managed to pry it open, and begin to read, my heart lurching. What was I to think? This had all snaked its way into existence almost like a venomous rain, clawing and ripping at all known stability, until…this. Eomer had saved me from who knows what, allowing me a freedom that luxury envied.
My breathing quickened, and for a second, I recalled the butterflies. I'd been so consumed with my capture, that all excitement had drained from me, and the love that had blossomed from him over the years grew within me, like flame kindled from the interior of my being. Eomer. I recalled his scent, his hands, his walk, his soft tone, his concerned expressions, and a smile was brought to me.
Unraveling the message, I blinked down on few words.
Maerien,
What does a man write in such a situation?
The pain that I feel in your absence, is nothing in comparison to the remorse I feel for what I've done. I must tell you. This is no fault of yours. You must understand this, before you place the blame on your own shoulders, since I know you to do so.
You will be safe now. I have made sure of it. The King there seems to play this war as if it is some child's game, allowing things I'd never thought possible. But then I think of how I myself would handle it. Mercy has always been my downfall, many have told me. But the mercy of our enemies, has allowed you life.
Maerien. My heart hurts. I don't know how to describe your loss, but it is something that is unshakable. I can only imagine the suffering you've been put through on my account. My dear one, you are strong. You will survive, long enough for me to break down the gates of Dredaus's fortress and wreak havoc to their cities, and rescue you.
You are the love of my life. I trust that you will have courage, and do nothing to anger the King. You are in a precarious position, but one of great importance. You, my dear one, have been given the eyes of a spy, along with the ten men he allowed to stay.
Oftentimes I climb to the towers, and watch the sunrise. My thoughts are always of you, in these moments. In every moment I am breathing. Upon your return, I plan to make you my Queen. You are my only love. You are mine, and I am yours- eternally.
Love,
- Eomer
What sorrow was left within me, it did not show itself. I simply rested my face against the paper, cool against my skin, as thoughts rushed about my head. So much indifference. He must be facing cold tragedy, though hope seemed to fill his words.
My jaw snapped shut, and my elbows rested on my knees. His voice was so strong, so ready in those written words. I could hear him, almost as if he stood before me. No. That was too much. Imagining him here, beside me would take all sanity from what I'd scrounged up so far. My gut churned. Oh, my dear Eomer. His reassurance slaked my fear, and as the minutes passed in heavy floods of thought, I found that I was shaking.
Queen. He desired me to be…Queen. Suddenly I couldn't help but glare at the floor. In all honesty, how could he see me in such a rank? A servant of Lady Eowyn! Did he understand what he was choosing, who he chose to love, to trust enough to put in such a powerful position? Was this grandeur of splendor because he wanted me to look, and play the part? How could I, without feeling unworthy? How could I go in to such an arrangement, sitting here against the cold structure of a chair, heart beating as an engine might, in the middle of a War, captured by the enemy- without feeling completely and utterly foolish? Me? Queen?
A dry smile came to my lips. No. I could never become her. A Queen is strong. Brave, clever, loving, and a pinnacle of unrealistic figurativeness- that I, being who I was, could never be. An image of me, standing before the crowds of commoners came to mind. Who could deny that that image was fanciful? Anyone could say; yes! I want that! That will be me, because my lover said it would! The ultimatum, is looking at the picture correctly. Staring into my eyes in that image, the picture so pristine and colorful in my mind, gave me a sense of dread that added to the multitude of fears. That girl in the image, was not Maerien. Her smile strung too wide. Her eyes glowed with a vivid amorousness; one that all loved an adored without question.
The true picture would be this.
I would stand before them all, attempt a smile, playing the part as it is asked of me. But my brows would lower. I would be uncomfortable. The confidence the True Queen has, would synchronize as I tried my hardest to be her, until the truth of my being ranted forth, and squashed all confidence, and masked diligence I had built for myself. The people would laugh; who could look up to such a foolish woman? The King's whore! Who could obey her commands? Who would sponsor our love, and approve of me, a servant turned 'Queen'? There would be riots. My right to the throne was none; and I would not arise from amidst my squalor of blackened hearts.
To love him was one thing…to ascend was another.
And oh, how I loved that man. How the years had strung my attachments to him in an array of ways. His separateness from the rest of the men was something that always stood out, as well as the natural respect he demanded from the others. He was a shell of hardened pride and fury, but beneath his masculine veil, hid a commiseration for the rest of the earth that I saw. His mercy. His love. His insecurities…and then his stubborn side, his shortness of temper, his lack of understanding the female mind.
"Milady, what are your orders?" One of the guards asked with respite.
I pulled myself up, dazed from his words, almost as if they'd drugged me. A mixture of potent emotions squabbled inside me, and I hardly was able to respond.
"One of you, stay here. The rest, I ask that you blend in. Listen. Befriend who you can in this Castle…but be cautious of the King's men. Do not seem blatant, but…erm, just report to me before sundown, and we shall discuss certain things."
At once they assented, giving approval in nods and murmurs, and were off. One man was appointed as the chamber guard, one of high report.
"Lady Maerien, I am Jaromir, Eomer's second in command, and an old childhood friend. He asked that I keep a special eye on you."
I nodded, softly confused by this, "Oh? Special meaning?"
"To assure that you make no mistakes, and to preserve you from men of this court. Vile fools," The man, Jaromir, chuckled, "No need to worry though, I will keep fair Queen-to-Be safe from harm."
He was being sarcastic yet serious all the same, but the statement hit me like a knife plunging through my heart. I did not return the amused aura, and simply nodded, turning towards the hearth. Beside it was a sewing kit, with many neat linens. I gasped, pulling the square of quilt Eomer had dropped on the steps so long ago from my bodice, then sat beside the trunk, preparing a project.
Chapter Thirteen:
I grew restless.
I spent hours working upon Eomer's quilt, relishing the quiet sanctities of my chamber. I waited patiently, building back my strength. Though I'd become malnourished and weak from the days prior, it did not take long to regain my strength. I'd need it in the upcoming events, due to the fact that Dredaus was plotting against me although he allowed me a certain simple freedom. I knew that he would do all that he could to destroy Eomer, that of which he had assumed to do through me.
Dredaus did not send for three days, allowing me time to prepare mentally for being called upon. The idea was distended within me in a voracious fashion. I complied only to meals, and even then I ate little. Yet, I was satisfied.
This was the dawning of a new time in my life. I was a prisoner amongst my enemies, yet the very servants I once was, looked up to me. I was a prisoner in a place of power; my prowess magnified in the light of my circumstances. I vowed that only for Eomer would I play the game that Dredaus had specially orchestrated, denying myself fear or any doubt. There was no room for such things. Regardless of the devious plot about me, I felt reassured. It was almost as if I had to set aside my emotions in order to perform the duties of mandatory prospect.
Little else mattered. I waited. I did not touch the games, nor did I find any pleasure in preparing myself. If it were not for the sporadic inclination that I might be called upon, then I would have stayed in bed all day, frantically waiting.
At one point, I found myself looking out the window, my hands peeling away the drapery so that light could stream forth. At sunset, I stared hollowly across the expanse of castle, of turrets and flags, then across the town and towards the forest. The black trees spiked the skies like skeletal remnants, obscuring the golden plains of my homeland. Everything was dead. Or so it seemed in the Southern land. Gray skies. The people were naturally sullen, as if they awaited each breath they took like a useless jarring impasse, hoping that someday death would claim them.
I'd become brittle in my attempts at cheerfulness. The sun had long faded into the boorish depths of the horizon, and it was always worse when night fell. I sat in my night robes, distressed and forlorn, a victim to insomnia. I held my pup close to my chest, allowing its feeble attempts at licking me to not waver the subliminal gray shroud that clouded me. I had named him Zanathe.
It was a Southern word that meant; Warrior.
My little Zanathe tried to nip at the quilt I worked endless hours upon, and often diverted my attention from the stationary pose I held in front of the fireplace. On night's I could not find sleep, I curled myself upon the fur rug before the fire, Zanathe nestled in the crook of my neck. He was my comfort in such a time.
I asked for no consolation from the guards, for speaking only wore me into a solemn state. I convinced myself that it was better to be quiet and jittering, than rather speaking and tired. Where had my strength gone?
A week passed. Still no sign of a play from Dredaus, or Eomer.
I beheld the idea of myself becoming stagnant, almost stale within my room. The guards had reported conversations with people to me, but it only aggravated my tenseness. There was nothing to be spoken, only hot air that made no sense to me. I became like a dead woman, only stirring from her bed when her name was called. When I spoke, I believe the men saw me with dispassionate angst. I answered their questions wistfully, without a cause or effect. They seemed to tire of my incomprehensive state, and fell back into caring for me on solid terms. They only reported when I was sitting, and they spoke in terms that they presumed might aide me in my decline of self care.
Then one day, the sun was shining. I stood, my bare feet hitting the floor after hours of a sleepless night, void of all emotion or thought. I glanced in the mirror, my crow black hair a wild mass that tumbled down my shoulders and hit my waist. I sat at the vanity, hating my image. Where had my courage gone? As the time passed, it was almost as if the very life was sucked from me. I'd become cold, like the stone urchins that infested this Kingdom.
Perhaps I belonged here, I wondered, twining a curl about my fingertip, perhaps this was who I was meant to be. Careless, without an emotion. I'd never felt this before, and I wondered if Rohan was simply what made me so alive. Or perhaps I was a slave to my passion, and now that all that I loved had been ripped out from under me, who I was had dissolved into the floor, eating away the very flesh of my soul.
But then I sighed. I smelled the ripe winds, fresh and propelling into my room. I looked once again at my reflection. I had to do something. I must.
As dangerous as dancing on a cliff can be, there can be many benefits, can there not? I styled my hair into a loose fashion, but away from my face so that I appeared clean and practically severe. I dressed in a cobalt blue gown, one that accentuated the waist. I then pinched my cheeks, driving blood into my high cheekbones.
Once ready, I kissed Zanathe and had a man named Raehar escort me to the audience hall. I did not speak, and left Raehar in confusion, blindly following me as I perused onwards without purpose. I fled between the columns, pacing myself until I reached the courts.
The people's stares collected on my figure, and I was aware of their eyes lingering on me until my path was blocked. I halted, my eyes fixed on a leather jerkin, a black cloak hitting the floors. I looked up.
Cairion stood before me, his hair matted and his face crusted with a film of oils. I lifted my chin in distain. I held out my hand as to stall Raehar from removing the animal in front of me. Anything Cairion had to say, I now could disarm him with my victory.
"Sir Cairion," I nodded.
"Maerien," his eyes flicked down my body, and then back to my eyes. I stared coldly, "I see they've treated you well thus far."
"A rarity, I've been told," I say smugly.
"So it may seem. Has Lord Dredaus seen you yet?" He pushes the purpose that had been the spurning for my outing. I clench my hands on the fabric of my dress, my face possibly porcelain.
"He shall in a moment," I nod.
"Typical of a concubine, don't you think?" he sneered.
"If I were a concubine, you'd be the King's harlot," I dare say, my anger flaring.
"No amount of entitlement can change who you are. A whore. King Eomer shall realize essentially soon that no woman is worth waging a war over. He will eventually let you go. He will allow you to vanish into the background, without so much as remorse. He has his people to think of. What is one woman, compared to the safety of thousands more?"
Cairion's words were a knife to my gut, and I gasped.
"And when he does relinquish his hold over you in Dredaus's courts, I shall be the first to suggest your death."
He sidestepped me, his lips inches from my neck. I breathed in shudders, turning to Raehar, who acknowledged my fear with a burning anger on his red whiskers. I blinked, lowering my chin and fanning a hand across my chest. I swallowed.
Cairion did not know me. He couldn't pretend as if he understood the pretense of things. If anything, it would be Dredaus cultivating a plot to get me. This thought sickened me, and I sighed, letting my breath out. I needed to be clear headed as I went to entertain the King. If I could gain his approval, or favoritism perhaps I could help Eomer on his conquest.
I quickly regained my purposeful stride, hands firmly fitted to my thighs as I raced for the audience hall. The people stared. Their eyes were sullen and bagged like prunes. Nevertheless, I felt almost flamboyant in my blue dress. I could help Eomer…couldn't I? He'd given me the tools to do so, now why did I feel so stuck?
When I entered the audience hall, eyes flicked towards me at once. The King, beady eyes and all, stood with a domineering force, and he beckoned me silently.
"The mouse has dared leave her hole," He muttered cheekily, alight with amusement.
"Your Highness," I curtsied low, and he watched my movements.
"How are you faring in my courts? I presume you have had no troubles with the men?" he asked frigidly.
"None. As of yet," I supplied. It was a shock to hear him speak so openly of treating me rightly in his own courts. I being his prisoner, it was a confusing stigma to the situation.
"Then I shall be the first to be hostile!" He grinned, "No, I would not treat a Lady as such. My dear girl, you are something of a rarity here. I intend to keep you unspoiled."
"What be your reasoning?" I dared ask.
"Why, you shall figure them out eventually. Come. Walk with me."
He lead me out into the chilling air, the south-winds cutting my face and neck with a viciousness that stunned. Discomfort settled in my bones as I set in stride with the King, his crown aged and yet gleaming in the foggy light.
Eomer had never worn a crown. I had yet to see him in such a state, as he was overly involved in the war matters. He allowed his men to attend to other courtly things. Of course, I'd known his course of actions to be so because of my servant-hood. I could recall noting upon how the court was run, my mind fastidiously culminating trains of delegating that were done.
We walked through the gardens, none as wild or exotically beautiful as Rohan's. I pressed my face to the bud of a rose, willing its scent to my nostrils, but the cold air seemed to ice the amorous smell, and when I looked up, Dredaus was staring in fascination.
"A rose with little scent?" He questioned.
I nodded, partially embarrassed.
"Your mother would be intrigued to see what a woman you have become," His voice was gruff and slick, and he cleared his throat.
What was he saying? That my mother was alive? I felt my heart shoot to my throat, and my brows furrowed. What did this mean? Was she here? Had he done something with her? How did he know her? Question upon question filed to my tongue, and I eyed him with livened intrigue.
"You knew my mother?" I questioned idly, my fingers trailing along a thorn.
"Not personally, no. But I heard rumors of her debauchery. At the time, I was young. The young men in the courts all spoke of her as if she were a heathen, sent from hell to steal their hearts," He chuckled warmly, "She was a prostitute."
Nausea rose to the creases of my lips, and my stomach squalled. I held my palm firmly to my abdomen, willing the nausea to wane. A prostitute? It wasn't the idea of her giving herself to any man that would give her money, it was the prospect of the disrespect that she may have endured. I did not blame her, and suddenly felt an unusually cruel chill sift down my spine. I glared at the King, and suddenly images of men in the past trekked past my eyes. They were vile pigs, thieving imps. Was my mother forced into that position? Did she really have a choice? Sadness welled in my chest, and I had to turn from the King's sniveling face as to contrarily sigh out of anger.
"Her name?" I asked, recalling her sweet face; the furthest memory I could conjure. A prostitute. An innocent.
"Her name was Maedria, as I recall. She bore two sons to my brother, as well as you."
I froze, face glazing white. I suppose I must have looked eternally stunned, almost as if nothing could correct the ghostly shock that had slithered to my face. Dredaus chuckled again, this time a malevolent, curling laugh that transpired in his belly. A rippling coldness descended upon us, and I pulled my shawl tighter, trembling.
"What?" I shuddered.
"You presume to believe that the reason we allowed you such finery in our own walls, was because of the love of our enemy? The love of Eomer was not what kept you safe. His gifts and soldiers would not have been tolerated if it were not for our knowledge of you. Of who you really are, Maerien."
I could not speak. My tongue was dry.
"Although, being the treasonous wench that you are, I'd hoped not to rebirth this bit of history," He cleared his throat, apparently angered now, "No need to worry, my brother has no desire to see you. Be that as it may, we have no intention of letting you return to Rohan."
Fear crumbled my anger, and a crestfallen dejection stirred within me. I could not be trapped here. I would not be! I was a prisoner. Although my father may have been highly recognized, he did not wish to see me. I also had two brothers in the court. His words echoed in my mind, devious and despairing. My heart ached suddenly, and I fell to my knees, tears spilling from the glassy stone gray of my eyes.
"Maerien!" His voice seemed far away, almost as if I'd crossed into another world.
My hands met the earthy path, and I sat still, silent sobs tearing from my mouth.
"Where is she?" I heard myself demand through the torrents.
"Restrain yourself lady! Who do you speak of?"
"My mother!" I bellow.
"Up with you! Up I say! Stand Maerien," The King ordered.
I could not hear. Only feel the treacherous loss of my family. I had none that wanted me. None that loved. I was trapped in my supposed homelands, a place in which they'd rather kill me than give me up to Eomer. Oh…Eomer. I sobbed hysterically into my palms.
Let me go. Let me go! My mind shrieked.
"Stand!" my Uncle slapped me.
I turned away from him, hiding my face in my palms. The pain did not register. All I could feel was a determined loss. A loss that overcame and plagued me with the insanity of doubt. My heart murmured tremulously, and adrenaline coursed through my veins. I wanted to run. I wanted to scream. I wanted to return to Rohan. I wanted to feel Eomer's arms around me, to feel the softness of his hands caressing my hair, to make him smile, to feel the safety of his love. I buckled beneath the weight of my passions, and I shook, tears staining my very being.
"Your mother was stoned to death," he answered finally, and I fainted.
Chapter Fourteen
I awoke to the stench of blood. My neck ached from being twisted for so long, and my lips were cracked and dry. I could feel the crust of blood like a fiery film on my forehead and taste the rust in the creases of my mouth. My hair was matted and tangled, a filthy black plume around my skull.
I lay on the cold stone floor of a cell. My cobalt blue gown was tattered now, and mottled by grime. I sat up, the weight of my appendages stealing my balance as I struggled to hold my neck up. The profusion of tears that had been quenched from my eyes left a solid sting to my face, and my vision was blurry. My eyes were swollen, puffed, and tender to the touch.
I grew confused. Why was I here? I could hear my heartbeat shallow beneath my ribs. Confusion etched my soul, and I stood, noticing that my entire body ached.
A flashback from the day before entered my mind, and all I could recall was my hysteria. The truth of what was came like a fog over my mind, and I did not want to accept what Dredaus had spoken. I could not think of it. Not now.
"Hello?" My voice was groggy, spoiled by the gravel of pain.
"Lady Maerien," It was Jaromir, flanked by two of the other men. They were dressed in cloaks.
"What is the meaning of this?" I attempted to sound demanding, when in all truth I sounded as if I were a small child fearing for her life.
"Dredaus changed his mind. He had your things burned."
"What's to become of me?" My tone was much graver.
"He's declared you his prisoner now. There was talk of execution. His new desire is to see you work as a servant to the warriors. A man named Cairion claimed you."
I do not think that I had enough strength to feel much more sadness. I'd parched my heart of feeling, and now I was back unto my stone like mannerisms. I flinched upon Cairion's name, wondering what plans he had for me.
"They say that many men and women accompany the warriors to battle for pleasure purposes. They also execute children and women each night before the war."
The men looked strained, as if their courage had been lost.
"So, I suppose Ciarion thinks he's going to get his way then. He'll no doubt try to kill me. Hah. He's got no idea…what lengths I will go to…" My voice was powerful. I looked up into their eyes, "Let us give them a war. A battle so ferocious that they don't even know what has hit them."
There was a new extrapolating electric feel to the air. I would do what I had to. And I waited, oh, I waited. I waited like my life depended on it…which it honestly did. I was emerging. The shell I held for so long was shed. I cast her aside, and then I smiled. I was about to take control.
Or, lose it.
Either way, Cairion wouldn't know what was coming.
The sense of empowerment I felt was duly grating upon the nerves I had long reserved for times like these, but it allowed me peace. The power I now felt, the responsibility and knowledge of what was- it gave me a complex of intent. I would drown myself with the victories of Rohan. I was the daughter of the Southern King, now fighting against all its concordances.
The day passed bitterly, and when the sun had finally reached its place behind the spiked trees and gnarled hills, they came for me. I and my men were took in chains, weighting us down as we dragged ourselves into the back of a caravan with no windows, save a small barred window at the back. I found my hands wired through the bars, the whites of them stiff and pulsing. I hated the very life that surrounded me. When I turned back to Eomer's men, they would not meet my eyes. I sighed out of distress, livid. My face was bony now, corrupt by the exhaustion of life.
The caravan rattled on the roads, hurdling stones and rocking violently beneath a sea of dirt and grass. Where there had been no path before, we carved it easily. The Southern horses pounded on, and at one point I thought we'd tip over. But we maintained our level, and I settled against the wall next to Jaromir. I became tired through the night, but I kept my eyes wide, bloodshot, searching through the void of eternity in front of me. I know that the men must have thought that I had gone off the deep end, but I honestly had never thought it had come to this. That the servant of Rohan's court, who secretly loved a King would find love, be captured, and sold to a soldier to return to her place as a slave once again. I never thought that I would want to fight, never assumed that I would ever claw my way to a prowess this grand. I held myself to a higher standard. There was more to me than this…this ebony blanket of fervor.
"Milady, we've arrived." A strained voice coddled my ears, and it did not hit me until the door was jarred wide, and a warrior had thrown me out the door onto the ground. My face hit the dirt, and I spit out grass. I winced, but did not cry out. Better to portray quiet humility than loud destruction. Black shining boots stomped to my eye level, and I glanced upward. Cairion stared down.
"Careful with the whore, she's already damaged goods."
I could see the tenseness in the men, and I struggled to my feet. Cairion nodded his head at me, and beckoned me to follow. I seethed, but maintained a calm face. I had to convince him that I'd given up. His words could not hurt me. I must retain the feeling of loss, and slowly, secretly…let my plan unfold. It would come when it was ready.
He led me through the bustling campsite. White canvas tents had sprung up throughout the forest, and scouts thundered through the exterior on horseback, calling, shouting orders. Men pounded metal in an informal blacksmith, and glared at me as I passed. Their eyes were all cold, and I silently prayed that I did not resemble one of them. My poor mother. This was a race of stone, of discoloration and twisted fate. I did not belong, and never would.
As they passed through crowds of uproariously volatile men, she saw a hoard of slave women being forced to dance, the men were poking them with sticks if they didn't dance, and singing horrible songs, slapping their legs, and guzzling robust drinks that left a haze in the air as thick as mist. The scent of smoke, sweat, and alcohol was heavy, and the light of day only made it all the more real. Child servants sat chained to posts along the way, and I pitied them. My heart found an aching resilience, and I wanted to free them all at that moment. If only. But, I couldn't. I had to follow, and my eyes were wrenched away from the dancing women, into a throng of men, and then onto a larger white tent.
I was pushed through the open threshold, and Cairion immediately left me to stand alone. He went to the back of the tent and splashed water onto his face, the face that was always dirty. I felt singular, almost small while waiting for him to take attention with me again. It was difficult, standing there, watching as he cleaned himself. I watched as he swallowed, and brought a blade out of its hilt. A jeweled hilt, precious stones delicately encrusted into its silver. I did not notice that he was meaning to cause fear in me, because I was so entranced by the jewels. But he made his way across the room, and held the razor sharp blade to my lips.
"Now you're mine…isn't that right, Maerien? It's humorous, really, how the tables turn," His breath was shallow, and his face was close to mine, "Don't be shy. Where's that voice of yours? Where be your inherent confidence?"
I swallowed, clasping my hands together over my abdomen, feeling extremely feeble. I did not look him in the eyes, only settled them across the square room onto his luxurious bed. The red fabric reminded me of lust, the blood of it. It would soon envelop him, and I did not want to be the one here to supply his need. It was disgusting, and I shuffled backwards. I knew what he wanted. He wanted to feel the passion, to encompass the feeling of being a true master. How I knew this, I could only sigh. But I would not give in to him. I would not be the whore that everyone labeled me to be.
"Silent? I'd assumed you'd give more of a fight." He slid the knife between my lips, and opened my mouth. I wanted to bite down, but I simply obeyed, "Come now, don't be this way. It's no fun…"
"Sir Cairion!" A man barged through the front door, and Cairion backed away from me, allowing me to slide to the floors in shock. Like a battered baby bird. I trembled.
"The council has been assembled. We are ready for you."
"I will be there shortly," Was his curt response. He turned back to me, and then raised me up by the arm. He then led me outside, into an open field where there was a collection of slave women shackled and wan, grouped together on posts. I lumbered through the grasses until I was staggering in front of five forlorn women. He chained me to the post at the north of the field, and shoved me down amongst the rest of them. How he saw me out of the rest of the women, I did not know. Our faces must have seemed to blur together.
"I'll be back for you," He muttered, and left us in the quiet of the forest, a hush so great it created a levity to the air. The women looked at me as if I were vermin, and for a moment I wondered if they knew who I was. In all reality, they probably did. With my luck, I was as famous as the King himself, in regards to my failure.
I fell against the post, feeling defeated. The women stared, confused by my presence. I wanted to tell them not to look at me, but I soon realized that perhaps it was a good thing that I had their attention. If they were all ears, I would speak.
"Women," I spoke, my voice hoarse from not speaking for a day, "I want all ears to hear me. If one of you does not want to involve yourself in my schemes, speak now. For I will assume you all desire freedom. Back to our homelands. I promise, at the end of this, we shall see our open plains."
If I had had their attention already, they practically preened like dirtied blossoms before me. Not one spoke. The whites of their eyes became wider, and they stared fretfully, almost frantically. They wanted to understand. To know what they could do to escape. We would fight because we did not have anything to lose, save our lives. And those we could do without, if we were caught in the process.
"Does any one among you know how to wield a sword or knife, any sort of weapon?" A few women raised their palms to the sky, and I found that a ghostly smile had unearthed on my lips. My plan circled around the idea of the celebratory drunkenness that would take place tonight. It would not be easy…but I decided that we could manage.
"Tonight, we must do all that they say. Feed them. Assist them. Hand them drinks. Serve them as much as you can. Try to capture their interest…those that do not drink, attempt to offer…"
My words spilled out over the sea of women and children persuasively. Did I know what I was doing, their faces questioned. I did not know if I knew, only that I was determined. I wanted to take down the entirety of the army set before us. After I had spoken to the women, I watched as cloaked figures dashed through the high grasses towards us. It was Raehar and Jaromir. They had escaped the men's bondage.
"Lady Maerien, we await your call. We have only moments before we must return…" They meant that they would go back to being shackled, and I swallowed fiercely, knowing that they were perhaps the most loyal men to Eomer that I'd ever seen. It shook me to the core, and I felt the effects deep in my throat. But I could not allow emotion to overtake me thus far, and I sent them on their way, once we'd finished our hushed talkings.
The night glowered overhead, and I felt my breath become shaky. The women seemed jumpy as well, and I heard the cries of war crackle through the air overhead. The men had finished their meeting, and came to loose us all into the crowds for the taking. I watched as women were auctioned off, grappled and touched by random men. We filed through the crowds, being given jugs of wine and the girls that they thought were pretty, they ordered to dance. A man pointed to me, and told me that I'd be dancing, but Cairion stopped me from obeying. He led me to the large celebration field, where there was an enormous fire at the center that blazed deafeningly bright. It was an inferno, the heart of all hells. I tried to maintain a confident foot aside Cairion, but the moment we arrived in the throng of men and women, he pushed me out into the center where the women had begun to fearfully dance.
I gave him a quizzical expression, but he simply stated, "Its your home. You belong there."
I turned my back to him, and faced the jagged flames. If I were a coward, I would have thrown myself into those enveloping flames, given in to the fate that so audaciously splayed itself. But I wasn't going to give in just yet. So I posed, and turned back to face him.
I met his eyes skillfully, dragging my body into a delicate position, and began to dance.
The women followed my lead, and I smiled softly as the men began to clap at our performance. A smile that did not come from enjoyment, but the hidden fury rebelling against the cage of my sternum. I at once picked up a jug of wine and stepped forth to the first scraggly man I saw, and lifted it to his lips. He looked partially dumb, wildly searching for the tip of it. Like a bleating like goat- I thought. How pathetic. As much as this scene sickened me, I continued to bring it round to each of the men. The women followed my lead, and as the hours passed, we were facing a riotous group of drunken men.
Cairion, I had noted, had yet to drink a sip of it. He watched me across the flames, sitting in lovely carved chairs with his officials and higher in command. I met his gaze often, knowing that this would perhaps coax him from his hiding place. I then glanced towards the outer edge of camp, watching as the shadows shifted. More time. We needed more time.
The women were becoming exhausted, pillaged by the fretful tenacity of the warriors. I worked to enliven them. I grabbed at their hands, and twirled with them. Most probably thought I was crazy, but the false sense of excitement worked. We were free, standing up and performing delicately, with the poise of a people who owns their own lives. We would never be prisoners, not with such boldness, never with such passion. No one could stop us. My plan was spiraling upwards, ascending with perfection. Like the coils unraveled in a snakes strike.
Men had began to play certain instruments, riveting drums and deep stringed opulence. I was fascinated truly, by the foreignness of them, being that my life up until a week ago had been pertaining to music and dancing. I had flashes back to my life before this, the title I had brought for myself. I had gone from slave, to entertainer. I was honorable. So why did they keep calling me something that I wasn't? I felt a small bubble of pride lurch in my chest, and I fell into dance alongside some of the other women.
If I were a harpie, a scandalous blight to the face of man, then I'd be it now. I would watch them all suffer death. Because although I am not one to choose whether they deserve life or not, I choose to live my own life, rather than give it all up. How could I not fight? How could I not want victory? Being alone, living so singular and trivial for the entirety of my life until a week prior, I would not allow them the pleasure of winning. And if, after this night…they won? Well, I'd die in the process. My heart had become a hardened gem in my chest. For freedom of myself and the innocent women and children subjected to such a tempest of a life.
"Maerien," A woman's lips mouthed, although I could not hear her voice over the din of the music and laughter. By the set of her jaw I saw that she presumed something to be wrong, and I simply glanced around. One man choked, squealing. Another dropped. Men began to heave and sputter. The poison was settling in their veins.
I watched as Cairion's face recognized what was happening, and the men who had not drank stood. They roared treacherously, and they immediately drew their swords, and I froze.
"Run," I spoke under my breath to the nearby women, "Run. Now!" I ordered them, and they fled like gazelle into the forest, bleeding into the populace of dying men. I directed children to the forest. My heart pounded. I don't think there was ever a time that I had felt so much adrenaline. My skin ached with cold chills, and I ran with the scattering herd of women and children until I reached a tent. I hid within it, and listened as a woman shrieked. I heard the grotesque hacking noise as she was cut down. My mind raced. We knew that there would be death. Escape was a battle in itself. But the noises ruined my gut, and I darted about the tent, groping, scoping and searching for anything that I could use as a weapon. In a barrel, I found a small sword, and it was heavy in my palms. I had never held one before. But I needed to use it. I had to save the rest of the women.
When I emerged from the tent, the entire camp was in uproar. Men lay dead every few feet on the ground, spaced almost sickeningly even. The women were dark blurs sprinting towards the forest, hiding, and being attacked. Some had followed my thought, and had found weapons to use. Though they fought, I saw that we were no match for the brute force of the leaders. One child was running, lost.
I raced towards him, calling the boy as a warrior trekked forth, him being the target. My sword met with a clang against his, and I fell back. The boy ran away quickly. The world spun, and I rolled as the warrior brought his sword down with a crack. It split the ground. I jumped up and ran. I wished that I was not wearing a dress, because it caught on the sticks and loamy earth. My ears deepened the pressure, and I could hardly breathe.
"Go- into the forest!" I called, and from behind me, I was caught and flung against a tree.
My body ached, and I felt ribs crack. No. This could not be the end. Not yet. I stumbled to my feet, dazed and disoriented. The firelight cast shadows all around the black night, and I did not know which way to go. I saw a figure saunter towards me, and I jumped back quickly. But his blade brazed my arm. I seethed, and then I recognized him.
Cairion stood before me, breath leaving his lungs in great coils of smoke. A dragon of a man. I swallowed tightly. He'd longed for this. He'd wanted this opportunity for so long. If I had not organized the mass poison, standing before him now prepared to die, he would have killed me anyway. This much I knew, and I longed for silence. Death ruptured all around us, and I wanted to vomit. To excrete the very scent of it on the air.
"You've no where to turn, no where to hide Maerien. You're a pathetic excuse of a woman." He raised his fist, and I felt myself being pulled backwards. A man had grappled me from behind, and swung me up onto a horse. It was Raehar and the other men. The following events took place quickly, but I did not see the blade that slit Cairion's throat, only watched as blood pooled around his chin and he fell back dead.
The rest of the men went back to kill off the rest of the army, and I sat precariously behind Raehar. He gave me a sharp nod, and then yelled a hawk-like noise to the rest of the men. He was calling them back. I shook my head.
"No, no- we cant leave them. There are still children there, there are still women-"
"There's nothing we can do! The scouts have already left for reinforcement. We must go now, we have three days travel until we reach our lands!" He bellowed, and I felt hot tears slick my face. I vomited over the edge of the horses gleaming muscles.
"There's nothing we can do, no more than we can do," He reiterated, and I felt myself crumble, wither. I could not leave them. The rest would most likely be found in the forests by the scouts…our plan would be for nothing, and I would be the sole woman who escaped. The sacrificial embodiment they now played exterminated any sense that I had left, and I tried to jump from he horses backside, but Raehar stopped me. His large hands spanned around my arms and restrained me. I attempted to hit him, to let him release me, but he would not have it. We galloped onwards, tremulous and raging into the night.
I could do nothing but stare back into the haunting grounds that would now be reserved for hundreds of women's and men's death. A poisonous battle. My doing. And in the wake of my leave, silence fell over the dead, and I was left to wonder if I truly had saved even myself.
Chapter Fifteen:
The sun danced on my eyelids that morning.
We'd reached the halfway marker, and the land had began to flatten and roll out like a grassy carpet beneath us. As I tried to move, I realized that I had been laid on a blanket. I peered upwards into the luminous skies. The sun was grating, and resonated in the nerves of my eyes. I shut them, digging my fingers into the soft blanket beneath me. The hills spanned gloriously before us, and clouds roiled over a mystique blue, casting their shadows across them. I wrapped the blanket about myself, and looking down, I recognized it.
"What?" I gasped to myself, and stood clumsily. The blanket was the quilt that I'd made for Eomer. Along the exterior of the small campsite the men had set up, a small black puppy yapped. I loped towards the campsite, and scooped Zanathe up into my arms.
"Awake I see?" Jaromir smiled bitterly, and the rest of the men portrayed the same solid expression. They had lost hope. But then, so had I. I felt my muscles tremble and quake as I regained the consciousness of what had occurred mere hours before. Though, it did not seem real. Here, amongst the solitude of our homelands hills, the nights events did not seem so wicked, nor so real.
As I stared at the men, standing over them, holding my quilt and my puppy, I wondered wildly if I had simply dreamed the night. But then I felt my forearm, and the cut was still fresh, "We must return for the women…" I droned. My voice was hoarse, and shelled from yelling and screaming the night before. Another reason that it was not a dream.
"There is nothing we can do, Maerien. As of yet."
My heart died, and for a moment I did not think I'd heard him correctly. I swallowed, and let the cold, alien reality settle. I did not want to believe that they would all die, or that they all wouldn't be given a chance. The terrible state of things crashed around me, and I wanted to vomit again. All I could see was death. Men dying, women being hacked to the ground. I wanted to cleanse myself of the disgusting feeling, but to deject the feeling was to deject the dead. I would embrace the loss, and when I returned to Eomer, I would not be the horrified slave that I left as. I would be a warrior princess, and I would assure that their deaths were avenged…death, it really wasn't as hard to face in this instance.
I had had to set my love of Eomer aside, and face the reality. Now, where had it gone? Overnight it seemed, that suddenly I was alone. But I could stand. I did not need him to breathe, and for the first time, I felt free. I loosed my fingers through Zanathe's black pelt, and kissed him on the forehead. The puppy crooned and licked my cheek.
"Let us leave now. I wish to speak with the King," I demanded.
I stood in the audience hall alone, facing the throne.
My heart pulsed rapidly, and I held a hand to my stomach. I would see him now, in a moments time. I had not taken the time to dress properly or wash, and I could only imagine how he would see me. Tattered, messy, beaten and down trod. But the idea of him send shivers down my spine, collecting in savor-able pools at the base of my spine. Eomer…he loved me.
I felt like a child again, yet so much stronger. My posture suggested servantry, while my face remained emboldened and fervent. I held now a reason, a purpose for me to fight. Eomer would surely understand. I braced myself, enveloped in formidable introspect. He would be here soon. I felt my heart like a bird high in my throat. I wanted to release it, but then, the doors flew wide.
I did not move a muscle, only stared at the throne.
His footsteps were just as I remembered, soft, yet purposeful. He strode with pride, a deep intent in his placement. He stopped only a foot behind me, and I hung my head.
"You're alive," He spoke almost erratically, and I flinched. Had he not known that I'd survived? I did not want to face him. I wanted to stand still and encounter the silence between us. I did not desire his kisses, not now at least. He then reached out a hand and spun me to face him. He wore a brown shirt, loosely buttoned to reveal his tan chest. A belt was strapped round his middle and suggested muscles. His arms flexed habitually, and I took in all of him before settling on his face. I stared. His dark brows were pained and elated all at once. Hope had drowned his face. His gold hair was longer now. I felt the love that I had once had for him flush my very bones to the core, and I fell into his arms.
"Maerien," He whispered into my neck, holding me, encircling me with loving arms of gracious compassion, "Marry me, be my wife." It was an order, as emotionless as something that he would say to a kinsman. I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I held him around the middle, my face pressed against his chest. The passion that I had thought had been lost had been reignited, and I felt myself melting into him, willing myself to be apart of his very being.
"I cannot," I spoke easily, holding him, breathing in the scent of him.
He ripped me from his chest and searched my eyes, but I lurched forth to embrace him again. He did not let me.
"What? What do you mean?" He gave me a curious smile, the sort that would suggest challenge.
"I left a people behind that died for freedom. I cannot marry until I see the Southern Kingdom conquered," I lowered myself, kneeling before him, "I offer my services as a warrior in training. I will work my way up. I will train every day. I must avenge those who died in my honor…please, you must understand this?" I peered up into his chocolate eyes, and he simply showed compassion.
"This is why you will not marry me?" He stated blankly. He smirked, and pulled me up. He was so close, and the smell of him intoxicated me. I laughed. Yes. Yes, this was the reason I could not marry him yet.
"You will be a warrior Queen. I will not allow you to be anything less, Maerien."
I laughed, freedom rejoicing within me. Harmony spread from the tips of my fingers to the base of my feet, and I smiled. My King and I would burn a new age into the Southern lands together, and then, maybe then I'd realize the severity of our circumstances. Nothing could hold us back.
I stood facing my love, watching his face carefully. I did not need, for I could breathe alone. Now, it was pure and utter passion that reigned in me. A warrior Queen I would be, his and only his.
