Chapter 21
During the night, a fever had risen and Birte daughter of Barra had no idea if the princess would survive. For a woman who had lost her unborn child, it was this weakened state combined with fever that usually resulted in death. Though she was tired after fighting to save the Gondorian woman's life, Birte could not tell if her efforts had been in vain... darkly, she wondered whether the princess would even live until next sunrise.
The Rohir boy never left the side of sick young woman. He did whatever Birte asked him to do, and in the meantime he'd bathe the princess' forehead with a cold cloth. He'd mutter quietly, as if calling to the Gondorian – and telling her to keep on fighting.
Whatever the reason, the princess did live until the morning, and she kept hanging on the threads of her life. The boy remained by her side through the hours of the night and Birte didn't know if he even slept at all.
On the morrow, after she had delivered a report on the princess' condition to Áed, she returned to the tent. Checking the young woman confirmed her state remained weak and feverish and it didn't look like she was waking up any time soon.
While Birte was putting her herbs and tools in order, the Rohir boy spoke to her at last. Though he had every now and then leaned down to mutter something in Rohirric into the young woman's ear, he hadn't spoken to Birte, not even once.
But now he asked: "Why is she like this?"
Birte looked up from her tools in surprise. The horselord's son was staring at her hard and unblinking and the look in his eyes was unfriendly.
"It sometimes happens, when woman loses a child", she answered softly.
"Will she die? Can you save her?" asked the boy.
"I do what I can", Birte said at length, "but she is weak, and fever does not help her."
He let out a quiet, unhappy moan and turned back to look at the princess again. A wave of pity washed over Birte and she thought about saying something comforting. But then she decided he wouldn't probably appreciate it, and so she remained quiet.
She did bring him some hot broth later on, though, and as he quietly sat eating and trying to look like he wasn't really so hungry, Birte couldn't really hold back her curiosity anymore. Áed had said she shouldn't speak too much with the horselord's woman or son, but it wasn't his business what she did.
"Would you like to tell me your name?" she asked kindly and gave the boy a smile when his eyes sharply turned towards her.
"That's none of your business", he snapped angrily, and she fell back. Perhaps Áed had been right and she shouldn't try to talk with these people. After all they were captives and had no reason to trust her or like her.
"All right", she answered and was about to turn back, but then the boy spoke again.
"It's Elric. My name is Elric", he said quietly, the sharp edge gone from his voice.
"Nice to meet you, Elric. I'm Birte", she said, smiling again. The only expression he was capable of, aside from his frown, was a grimace.
"I don't think you had a minute of sleep last night. And you sit there like her life depended on it. But she doesn't look old enough to be your mother. Who is she to you?" asked Birte, studying the boy's face closely.
"She's my father's wife... the mother of my sister... and the mother of the one who'll never be born now", Elric answered flatly. At last his face betrayed something else, and a look of pain finally forced its way to his features. Again Birte felt that surge of pity; momentarily she even considered taking him in her arms, even though she didn't know if he would have welcomed it.
"I'm sorry", she said softly. "I really am."
The boy sighed, staring down at the unconscious woman.
"She never wanted to marry Father or come to live in Rohan", he said quietly. "But she wasn't given much choice. She hated me when we first met, and I thought maybe she'd never come to like me. Eventually she did, though... and then Elfhild came, and we were happy. As happy as we could be, that is."
"You're the Marshal's son", Birte said. Well, it wasn't like she hadn't known that. But somehow that only just now dawned to her – or, rather the implications and the meaning of it.
"Aye", Elric said. "And that there is his wife, and the mother of his child that you people killed. When he comes and hears what you have done, he's going to send all you to the Void."
There was such cold hatred in his voice that Birte trembled. For a moment, she even thought the boy might attack her.
She sighed.
"For your stepmother's sake, I would accept it", she said quietly and exited the tent.
When she came back again, Birte saw Elric had cried. She tried to look like she didn't notice. Instead, she concentrated on the still unconscious princess. There was no change in the young woman's condition, and it troubled the healer.
She had no illusions as to what would happen to this woman if Áed got his way. Perhaps then death would even be a mercy to her. But if the boy was right, and his father was coming... Birte decided she'd rather he find his wife alive. For the Powers help them if he didn't.
Though he was the warden of eastern parts of Rohan and did not often ride in the west, stories of the Third Marshal and his valour were not unknown to the Dunlendings. Even Birte knew of him: tall as the Sea Kings of legend, a fighter of great skill, and a foe so formidable that it was considered better to run than face him in a battle.
But stories were always bigger than the people they told of, and Áed had said the Marshal would have only few men when he would come.
"You're a healer", said the boy suddenly when Birte was in the middle of work. It sounded like an awkward attempt in conversation, and she gave him a small smile.
"Well, I suppose I am some kind of a healer. I'm not as good or knowledgeable as those you Rohirrim have, as I hear... but I know how to dress a wound and what one should drink for one's cold, little things like that. It's not much but that is our way", she answered.
Elric nodded quietly and remained silent for a while. She offered him a fresh cold cloth, which he used to bathe the princess' forehead.
"What is she like?" Birte asked after a moment of silence.
"She's... she's temperamental. Everyone seems to obey her, even Father. I don't know how she does it since she's not so big, and I think I could even lift her up if I tried. But she knows how to command. And when she's angry – oh, you wouldn't believe how she can shriek! She can be nice too, though she's always telling me to go and have a bath. She's really protective of Elfhild and she likes to banter with Father. She likes to laugh too, though she doesn't do that so much these days", Elric answered slowly, and at times he'd smile and then look suddenly very sad. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, "I think Father loves her. I've seen how he looks at her sometimes – how he smiles when he comes home and sees her. I love her too, but not the same way. I suppose it's what... what I would feel for my mother. She is my mother."
There was such vulnerability in the boy's voice and she could see he might start crying again, so Birte quickly tried to think of something to distract him.
"She sounds like a nice woman", she said softly. "I promise I'll do my best to save her."
At that, Elric looked up, and there was confusion in his eyes then.
"Why are you helping her? Why are you helping us?" he wanted to know.
"Because that's why I became a healer. I wanted to ease at least a bit of suffering I see in this world. It doesn't matter to me if it is a Dunlander or a Rohir who suffers. And... because as long as you stay here with me, according to our law you're untouchable. Healer's protection is a serious matter", she said. The boy's eyes widened just slightly.
"Do you think someone would hurt her, even now when she's so sick?" he asked.
"I'm not sure", Birte said softly. "Most of people here would not harm you while you stay close to me."
She sighed to herself, wondering if this really was something to tell a child. But then, this boy was the only guardian the princess now had.
"But is there someone who would?" Elric demanded to know.
No. Not a child anymore, she decided.
"Áed, for example, does not hold this place sacred like the others do. It's because I couldn't save his wife", Birte explained.
"What happened?" asked the boy, but the healer decided she had said enough. So she shook her head.
"It's a sad story, and one you needn't hear to know that as long as you stay in this camp, you are never really safe. Not even in this tent", she told him. "So watch your step-mother well. She may yet thank you for it."
Surprisingly, Mistress Bierwén, Scýne, and Lady Eadmod all agreed to his plan. Hrodgar had thought there would be shouting and arguments and he would be told that no, such an insane thing would not come to pass. But after the three women had negotiated with each other, they had called him in and announced that his idea was as good as any.
"And if it keeps Elfhild safe, then what more could we hope for?" said Bierwén. "It seems someone is trying to end the line of Eorl, and I do not think the attempt you prevented will be the last one."
His proposition was that the daughter of Marshal Éomer would continue to be under threat as long as this situation went on. Certainly if things went from bad to worse, and the King's nephew never found his wife and son alive, the life of his surviving daughter would be all the more precious to him... and all the more important for his opponents to end.
But the granddaughter of an old crippled man? The schemers didn't look twice at such insignificant people.
Around the town of Aldburg, there were numerous small farms, close enough the Marshal's seat to be considered adequately secure but far enough that people would not know the face of Marshal's daughter. Princess Lothíriel's handmaiden Ceola, who had been left to look after the child, agreed to play the part of the aunt of a small girl. And Hrodgar himself would be the grumpy old grandfather, who had rooted up what was left of his family and moved them closer to Aldburg.
"The Marshal's éored will continue to ride patrols in the area, so you should not be in any immediate danger. You'll have your horses, so you'll be able to get back to Aldburg quickly enough if something happens", said Scýne as she kissed Elfhild's cheek for the last time on that night they were set to leave the town in secrecy.
"You have enough coin for your upkeep?" asked Bierwén.
"I do. We should be able to earn our stay anyway. I have my skills and Ceola has her own", said Hrodgar quietly. He narrowed his eyes, "When people ask where the Marshal's daughter is, what will you answer?"
"Just that Lord Éomer left orders to take her somewhere safe", Scýne said solemnly. "I believe you three should lay low for now. Keep to your back-story, and try to avoid strangers. If something happens, we will send a word."
"Of course. Just make sure those worms from Edoras don't find us", Hrodgar grumbled. Though he had some rather extraordinary ways of defending himself and the little girl trusted into his care, even he couldn't work miracles... or stop a blade of steel, if it was aimed for his or the girl's heart.
"We'll take care of everything", Bierwén said. Her face was very serious, but then for a moment an expression came to her face that revealed just how worried she was. She hugged Elfhild for one last time. "Just... look after the little one and keep her safe."
"Aye", Hrodgar answered quietly.
"Nana", said Elfhild unhappily; past few days, the little one had been constantly asking for her mother or father.
"Your mother has gone away for a bit. But Uncle Hrodgar here will look after you until Nana comes back", Scýne told the girl and wiped an errant tear from her cheek.
They were about to turn and leave then, but suddenly Scýne touched his shoulder.
"Just one question before you go", she said, searching his face. "Why do you do this, Hrodgar? Why did you come up with this plan in the first place?"
"Because it's the only way I can help the Princess", he answered grimly, and without a further word he, Ceola, and a little girl whose flaxen hair he had dyed black, started their journey towards unknown.
Birte had been able to convince Elric catch couple hours of sleep, though he had only agreed to it as long as he got to sleep close to the princess. The extent of boy's loyalty to the young woman was baffling... at least until she considered that perhaps his motivation to watch over his step-mother was fuelled by more things than just his love for her.
There was little change in the young woman's condition, though Birte deemed the fever had gone down a bit. But it was hard to tell, and she couldn't take it for a good sign yet. At least the young woman was still alive.
On the evening of the second day, Turi appeared on the opening of the tent. Birte didn't much like the man, for which reason she usually tried to stay away from him. He arrived so quietly that she didn't notice him at first, and when she did, he was considering the two sleeping shapes on the ground with narrowed eyes.
"What is it?" Birte asked cautiously.
"Áed was just wondering how the prisoners are doing. Not looking so good for the horselord's woman, eh?" Turi asked and gave her a crooked little smile.
"Well, the princess is alive yet", Birte answered coolly, "no thanks to you, though."
He scoffed at that and crossed his arms on his chest.
"Tough little wench", he muttered darkly. "You know, it's almost pity that..."
"I'm not interested in hearing your opinions", Birte snapped. "If you have no other business here, then get going."
Turi glared at her but went along nevertheless, and she sighed. Perhaps her rudeness had not been too wise.
"What a horrible man", commented Elric with some disgust – such observation did not require him to understand the language. He had woken up and sat again on his usual place beside the princess.
"I suppose he's not a very pleasant fellow", she answered. "But try and ignore him. He won't do anything our chief doesn't tell him to do."
Elric nodded quietly. He didn't spoke any more then, but rather chose to keep up his vigilant watch beside the princess.
Birte continued with her own errands. After all, there was only so much that she could do for the Marshal's wife. For a while, she almost even forgot about her as couple of Áed's raiders came to ask her to take a look at some laceration; looked like there had been a fist fight if she could judge at all.
It was after the two men had gone their way that she noticed some movement at the princess' bedside. At last, she was showing some signs of waking up.
The Rohir boy had noticed as well, and quickly she grabbed the princess' hand in his own. Anxiously he called her, "Lothíriel! Please wake up!"
And then she opened her eyes, looking unfocused and out of it for a moment, until she fixed her gaze on Elric. The princess smiled incredulously.
"Éomer. You came. I thought you were dead", she mumbled and sounded so happy, but Elric's face fell.
"No, Lothíriel. It's me, Elric. Father is not here", he told her as gently as he could.
"Father", said the sick young woman. "Father. Why did you send me here? I want to come home!"
Her voice turned into weeping then, and as Elric did his best to calm her down, Birte could only watch in pity and concern. If the princess was so delirious...
Somehow, the young Rohir was able to calm her down, and eventually the Marshal's wife fell back into her feverish dreams. Elric himself, however, sat quietly by her side and looked so miserable that it broke Birte's heart.
"What is it?" she asked gently.
"It's all my fault", he blurted out, his voice thick with pain and sorrow. "Even if Lothíriel survives, this is all my fault. I knew Dreda was dangerous – I knew. But I thought she had changed and moved on! I thought she didn't want to hurt the princess anymore! I could have prevented this if I had just told Father or Lothíriel what I knew..."
A sob threatened to break out, but somehow he was able to hold it back. In agony, he continued, "And if Father ever finds us again, he'll be so angry with me, because the baby is gone and Lothíriel might not live, and Elfhild too will hate me, and... and..."
At that he was unable to continue. Elric burst into tears and hid his face in his hands, sobbing in such complete heartbreak...
Birte moved over and sat beside the poor boy. She pulled him against herself and held him as he let out his fear and doubt and pain. He's just a boy, she thought to herself, brave and fierce, but still just a boy.
"It's all right", she whispered into his hair, stroking his arm and back in an attempt to bring him at least some comfort, "Your father will come for you. He'll put things right"
Perhaps those were treacherous words against her own people, yet she did truly hope that this boy's father would come and take his family home.
"Dreda! You better tell me right away what you told the Marshal!" snapped Gríma son of Gálmód. He was on a foul mood, for it seemed that the carefully laid plans were not going quite as smoothly as he had intended. For the moment, it was causing a headache of great magnitude.
The insufferable woman looked up from the herbs she had been handling; though he had just barged in with great noise and clatter, she hadn't even lifted up her eyes before now.
"What I told the Marshal?" she repeated, wearing a dull look that didn't convince him.
"Yes! Wipe away that stupid expression and answer the question", he demanded.
"Or you'll do what?" she asked sharply.
"You know what I'll do", he said, his voice turning cold and threatening. "So unless you want to explain the King your part in the Marshal riding away and leaving Edoras without his protection, you should answer."
Her face twitched at his words, but then she looked down on the herbs. She did answer, however, "I just told him Dunlendings hold his wife, and where I thought their camp is located."
Gríma groaned. The Marshal wasn't supposed to know that! He should have ridden into his fate unknowing and unwarned!
"I seem to recall we had a deal, Dreda. And the deal was that you don't talk to the damned man!" he snapped, pronouncing each word with care. She snorted as an answer.
"That was before I realised you meant to have him dead", she answered coldly. "And I never wanted him to die. Telling him what he is facing was the least I could do."
Of course. She loved the Marshal. Once again he had underestimated the idiocies people were capable of in the name of love, just like he had underestimated them in the case of the Marshal. For one, he had thought the order to stay in Edoras and the rejection to lend him men would hold him back long enough. But instead he had jumped on the saddle and raced away with just dozen men, and it would be a wonder now if Áed and his men were ready before the Marshal would arrive.
And that was not even all of it! Even if the man had gone faster than Gríma had meant, Áed still had the chance of taking him down as the Marshal's company was outnumbered... that was, if Prince Amrothos never found him. Somehow the prince had known of his sister's peril and ridden back to find her. The stubborn, obnoxious little prince had run after the accursed woman and her annoyingly loyal husband, and Gríma didn't even have enough men in Edoras for sending riders to fetch him back. And if he found the Marshal... Gríma tried not to think of that.
He glared at Dreda, and as much as he'd have liked to crush her right here and now like one crushes a cockroach, he knew it would not serve him in any way.
"You better pray that the plan goes through despite your little interference, Dreda. For if it doesn't, you will suffer", he informed her and turned. Indeed, it was true: the Marshal's safe return would provide this unreliable woman with all the punishment Gríma could ever hope for... for if the King's nephew survived, he'd sooner or later figure out her role in the plan.
And he would hate her for it.
"I suffer already", said Dreda softly, her voice void of all coldness she had shown before. "And nothing you could do, Master Gríma, could possibly make it any worse."
He scoffed at her words, not bothering to point out that his master had such horrors in store for traitors that she'd have run away screaming if she knew even half of it. He turned around, realising there was nothing to be done about this woman. Really, nothing needed to be done.
His mood wasn't much improved, however, for there was still the matter of the Marshal's daughter, and that of the two riders he had sent to take care of the rest of the man's family. He thought he had been very clear and elaborate when he had explained that the two men should not get caught or even be seen. He had even set the perfect occasion for them: the news of Prince Théodred's death should have distracted everyone long enough for the two to complete their task, and make sure that the line of Eorl was cut for good.
But something had happened, and Gríma had not been able to contact his henchmen in order to find out why the two morons had let themselves be caught without even completing their task. As soon as he had heard of the attempt on the life of the Marshal's daughter, he had sent riders for Aldburg. In the name of the King, he had told them send the girl to Edoras – the King's concern for his grandniece's safety was the perfect excuse. However, Master Oferlof had sent back a word that the child would not come, for Lord Éomer had ordered his men to conceal his daughter if any reason arose. And an attempt to kill her was precisely that.
Couple of threads had already escaped from Gríma's hands and he dared not think what would happen if he disappointed his master.
Yet perhaps there was still time to fix this...
Death wasn't, after all, the only way to remove a man.
The sun was rising and Freawaru was in the middle of first chores of new morrow when she saw the three strangers riding from east. At first she thought there were only two: an old man and a young woman, but eventually she spotted the small girl sleeping in the crook of woman's arm.
Many people were on the move these days, and not all of them wished well for the ordinary folk such as Freawaru and her family. But the three travellers, as they made their way towards the farm that belonged to Freawaru's kin, did not look dangerous. No doubt they had come from the east, those lands that had once been so prosperous but were now full of evil things and orcs raiding and murders in the broad daylight... but here, close to the seat of the Third Marshal of the Riddermark, it was still moderately safe. Lord Éomer, as his father before him and his forefathers all the way back to the days of Eorl the Young, kept his people secure.
At last the strangers got close enough for talking, and the old man called at Freawaru: "Good morning, mistress."
"Good morning", she answered, though still slightly suspicious as she considered the travellers. The man had a stern, sharp face, but much of his features were covered by a bushy beard. His hair was dark and fell to his shoulders, and even darker were his eyes. Indeed, the black shade of them was somehow unsettling, as was the expression of them: he looked like he saw all, and knew even more. His clothing was as of any solvent peasant's, made of good and durable fabric but without unnecessary decorations. The young woman was fair-haired in the manner of Eorlingas, and blue-eyed as well. Her face was young and freckled, and Freawaru thought she was too pretty to be the man's kin. As for the child resting on the crook of her arm, the only thing Freawaru could see was a head of dark hair.
"Who would you people be?" she asked then, and as she spoke that question her husband Cenric came from the house. She instantly felt more secure, even if the travellers didn't seem like a threat.
"I'm Hygelac of Eastemnet. This is Eadgyd, a sister-in-law to my late daughter, and she cares for my granddaughter Elan", said the old man. "We ride from the evils of the east and are seeking for shelter and perhaps some work."
Freawaru glanced at her husband; he seemed to be as doubtful as she felt. Though perfectly innocent refugees weren't such an unusual sight these days, you could never tell which ones actually were innocent.
"And it's just the three of you? Where's the rest of your family?" asked Cenric, placing a hand on Freawaru's shoulder.
"We're what's left of our family. Others are dead. Orcs, famine, sickness – you name it. We came to seek new life", said Hygelac, and his voice was hard and bitter. He sighed then and seemed to think of something unpleasant, but when he spoke again, his tone was friendlier. "We have coin to pay for food and shelter and we would be happy to share our provisions. We can work too."
Freawaru glanced again at her husband. A feeling of pity had come to her as she had looked at these homeless outcasts, driven from their homes by the beast of war and the danger of these times. They did not look like a threat – just lost.
"The year has been good to us", she said softly to her husband. "We have plenty to share. And the girl looks about only a little younger than our Ceadda."
"Aye", said Cenric at length. The look of compassion was unmistakable on his gentle features; he to felt for these wanderers. He stood a bit straighter then, and said, "You're welcome to stay, Hygelac, along with your family. Our hearth should be yours as well until you are able to find a new home."
At his words, the old man smiled, and the smile brought out a friendlier face.
When Freawaru received the little orphaned girl whose eyes were grey as you only rarely saw among the Rohirrim, she thought there was something familiar about the child's face... but she couldn't tell why that was, and she decided they had made the right choice.
The painful night rolled into a morning at last.
Still the princess fought on, as if she were too stubborn to give up her life. Again it seemed to Birte that the fever had gone down a little bit, though it did not seem to her that the Marshal's wife was yet securely away from the hungry claws of death.
And Elric continued his watch beside her, eyes red from sleeplessness and his tears. At last Birte understood: his unfaltering guard was not only because of his love but also because of his guilt and his belief that he was somehow to be blamed for all this. She knew she couldn't convince him that this wasn't his fault, and so she said nothing. Yet to herself she darkly thought what an evil deed it had been to take these two as prisoners. After all, they were both innocents.
But then, ever since his wife had died, Áed had been different... and his deeds darker than she'd ever have guessed back in those days when she considered him a good man.
The day went much like the previous one. Elric would stay on his place by the princess' side, and he'd remain quiet though his expression spoke in volumes. The young woman woke up couple of times, even long enough for Birte to help her eat some hot stew and take some sips of a tea she hoped would bring down the fever.
Mostly, the princess seemed to be out of it, except for one time late afternoon. She opened her eyes and though she had a feverish look in them, she didn't seem so delirious as yesterday. The young woman even smiled as she reached for Elric's hand.
"Your father will come for us. I know he will. Have faith, Elric", she whispered. The boy squeezed her hand.
"Aye", he said just as quietly. "Just... don't give up before he does come. Don't you ever give up."
"... no. No. I'd like to see him again", she breathed, and her eyes fluttered close again.
Birte wanted to hope the poor sick princess was right, but then she went out and saw Áed and his men leave the camp. Ill feeling came to her and she shook her head.
That Marshal of yours will have to work some serious magic if he's ever going to make it alive, and find you...
Lothíriel woke up only moments after Birte had gone to get them some food. The things she usually brought weren't so bad, if simpler what Elric was used to.
All thoughts of food left him, however, when he saw that the princess had come around again. He picked up her hand and held it gently, and he even tried to smile at her. He'd have liked to tell her it was difficult to stay brave all the time, but kept that to himself. He wondered if Father ever felt the same.
"Hello there. How are you feeling?" he asked, trying not to sound too worried or scared.
"Just tired and ill", she said quietly. She smiled at him then, weary and pale, "You're very brave, Elric."
"I just try to think what Father would want me to do", he answered softly. "He'd want me to be brave."
"And he'd be proud of you. He will be", said the princess. She was silent for a moment and he thought she had fallen asleep again, but then she asked: "Could I have something to drink?"
Elric got up and sought around until he found a waterskin. Gently, he held up her head and helped her to drink some mouthfuls of water.
"Thank you", Lothíriel murmured. Then she shifted and winced, as if the movement hurt, and dejectedly Elric watched her. Usually, she was so energetic... but now the sight of her made him feel the regret even more strongly than before.
"It's all right. I promise all will turn out well. You needn't worry", she said gently, but he shook his head.
"It's not that", Elric mumbled. How could he tell her the truth? Yet, at the same time, how could he keep it from her?
"Then what?" asked the princess.
"I... it's just that... this is all my fault. We wouldn't be here if..." he answered, not finding it in himself to continue.
"Nonsense, Elric. None of this is because of you", she told him firmly.
"But it is!" he argued, his voice almost rising up into a cry. "Lothíriel, I knew Dreda wanted you to go away. She hated you from the beginning, and she tried to... she wanted to harm you!"
"How do you know that, Elric?" she asked, frowning at his words. Tears were now pouring down on his cheeks again; the agony of it was just too bad.
"Because she tried to make me do something bad, back before Elfhild was born. She wanted to hurt you, even then, and she would have done it if she had got a chance. And I knew she might try again, and so I suggested to Father that he send her away so that she can't harm you! But she was my friend and I was scared, and I thought she'd become the same old Dreda if she wasn't close to you..." Elric sobbed. "I didn't think she'd even do something like this!"
He was certain she'd be angry or disappointed with him, or that his words would have some ill effect and she'd die. But Lothíriel did none of that. Though he could tell she was crying, and though her grip was not strong when she pulled him to her, she wasn't angry.
"It's all right, Elric. You didn't know", she said at last. "She tricked all of us, and... and you're not evil to want to believe good of people. You only meant well."
"But if we die-" he tried, but she gently placed a finger on his mouth.
"We won't. I promise. We'll survive this", she said quietly.
And, as hard that was, Elric desperately wanted to believe her.
They found the bodies of Silfbár and Wigmund on the plains, not far from the abandoned wagon. The crows had already started their work on the remains of the dead, but Hafoc quickly drove the birds away from the two fallen riders.
A sense of helpless anger came to Éomer when he saw the bodies. Though a life of a warrior and a military leader had long ago taught him that death came to all things, the sight of his fallen comrades was still a cause for grief. Silfbár had joined late Marshal Ánfeald's éored at the same time as Éomer and they had ridden together since then... they had trained together, and been good friends. Scýne would be devastated to hear of this, for he had been her brother. And Wigmund... poor young Wigmund had only joined the éored last year.
And the damned villains who had done this had not even given the two riders the courtesy of burying them!
While Éothain and Wíglic searched the wagon and found it raided – only unnecessary things had been left behind – Éomer muttered quiet eulogies for his two riders, and then ordered his men to quickly dig graves for the fallen.
"My lord, shouldn't we make haste?" asked Hafoc then.
"We're not going to leave our friends laying here as a feast for crows", Éomer said firmly. "We'll make it a temporary grave, until such time that we can come and bring them home."
The men got to the task and the site was quiet. There was none of usual chatter or laughter, but all worked in grave silence.
The Marshal himself thought of what these signs meant. Did it perhaps mean Lothíriel and Elric were still alive? Or had they too been slaughtered here and carried elsewhere? Yet sweeping around the place did not reveal anything more, and he didn't find any blood that could have been his wife's or Elric's. There were some tracks that lead north from the spot, and Éomer wondered to himself why the Dunlendings had left such obvious trail for them to follow.
It had to be a trap. Thinking back on Dreda's words, he was sure it had to be so. Wormtongue meant he should die in his attempt to save his wife and son, and somewhere out there, death was waiting for him. Yet he knew he couldn't turn back, not as long as his family was in danger.
If only he could turn the trap against those who had built it...
But then, as he walked about the site, a sudden gleam of something metallic caught his eye. There on the ground, partly concealed by trampled grass, he found a golden brooch... and it was not just any piece of jewellery, for it was his.
Once, his father Éomund had worn that in his cloak; Grandmother had preserved it until Éomer himself had become a man and given it to him. It was one of the few things he had left of his father, and so it was quite precious to him. He had been appalled to believe it was lost. But how had it come to be here on the plains?
An ill feeling came to Éomer. There was more to this than he had thought. Some dark aspect remained yet unrevealed and he didn't think it would be anything good. As he considered his father's brooch, he wondered: Dreda had said this all was Wormtongue's doing. Likely it was, for the situation reeked of the accursed man's foul intentions. But how did Dreda know that? How had she known any of this in the first place?
Éowyn had only said Lothíriel had spoken with Dreda, and made no mention of Wormtongue... apprehension filled him, cold and unforgiving. She wouldn't do something so malicious, would she?
But now was not a time to ponder on that, no matter how important it might be. He'd deal with Dreda and find out just what part she played in these dark events, but only when he had seen to the safety of his wife and son.
Once Silfbár and Wigmund were securely in the breast of earth and the men had marked the site of their tomb, the riders mounted again and turned north to follow the tracks left by those villains who had taken Lothíriel and Elric.
Éomer was riding with only dozen men, which had worried him ever since they had left Edoras. He had left most of his éored in Aldburg, not only because he had wanted to make haste, but as to not leave the town unprotected in these dangerous times. However, as soon as it had become clear he wouldn't get any help from his uncle, he had bitterly regretted not taking along more men. For one, he could only send one scout ahead – a man called Heming who was smaller and faster rider, and also possessed very keen eyesight – and if a battle would commence every man would be needed. He couldn't send anyone for Edoras to ask for help. In fact, he wasn't so sure any help would even come. He had no idea of what danger he was riding into, but now was too late to hesitate.
And to make matters even worse, there was the fact that he was effectively riding against the commands of his king. But how was he supposed to just sit back when the lives of his wife and son were in peril? There would no doubt be consequences to his disobedience, but no consequence would ever prevent him from fighting for his family.
They continued riding and following the tracks left by the Dunlendings, which curved just slightly north-west. The trail had to be at least two days old, but it was so clear even a child would have been able to follow it... all the more reason to think it had been precisely made for him and his riders. But if they'd be able to take on the villains on flat ground or had the benefit of uphill, even a small band of riders could outsmart the situation.
Afternoon was growing late when Éothain rode to his side, wearing that same concerned look Éomer knew must be mirrored on his own face.
"We are riding closer to Isengard", he said quietly, "it's not a good way to go, not with so few riders."
"I know", Éomer said grimly, "but the Wizard's tower is still far and there are many unaccounted leagues between us. I would not think his arm has grown quite so long already that we should fear here."
"The stories I hear these days would have me believe that his arm in fact is so long", Éothain muttered. He sighed, but continued then, "We'll follow you, as we always have."
"Thank you, my friend", Éomer answered. In gratitude, he briefly touched the arm of his friend and captain. "I rest easier knowing you ride with me."
At last Éothain smiled.
"I'm sure all this will turn out just fine in some insane way. After all, you're the luckiest man in Rohan, Éomer", he commented. His words made the Marshal snort.
"What an absurd thing to say", he remarked.
"I don't know if it's so absurd to be honest. I've seen you coming out unscathed from dangers others would never have survived. If I should say, Béma has blessed you", said the captain. "Let us just hope your luck is with us even now."
"Indeed", Éomer muttered, his thoughts turning troubled again.
In the end, it was like he had suspected: the clear as day trail was designed to lead him and his men into a trap. This was confirmed to him by Heming who had been scouting ahead, and returned soon after the two men had again fallen silent.
"What news from ahead?" asked the Marshal when the rider at last halted his horse.
"I followed the tracks two and a half leagues ahead. As far as I could see they lead into a gorge, and I thought perhaps it was the location of the camp – it's sheltered and would give cover from prying eyes. But then I noticed a band of Dunlendings there, and I counted at least twenty of them. There may very well be more. All of them were carrying sharpened wooden stakes. A war party, if I ever saw one", Heming explained quickly.
"Did they see you?" Éomer asked.
"No. I don't think so. I pulled back as soon as I had seen them, and returned to report", Heming responded.
"Good. Go and join the others – I'll have to speak with the captain", said the Marshal, and the rider left the two men alone.
"If those men Heming saw are not preparing a trap for us, then I'm Eorl the Young", said Éothain as the two men retreated to negotiate what to do next.
"Aye. They have chosen their ground well. In that gorge it would be easy even for men without horses to overcome us. Grass is rather tall in these parts and it would provide them hiding places, from where they can attack us easily", Éomer agreed. Though he was anxious as ever, and a small part of him would have welcomed the insanity and chaos of a battle, he knew he had to think of this very carefully. Not only his own survival would depend on it, but also of his men, and of Lothíriel and Elric. He sighed, "Would that you were Eorl, old friend."
"Then I would have all the glory after we've cleared this out", Éothain jested, even despite the grave situation. He focused again, "We could try and go around them, and seek for the trail again up ahead."
"No. That would leave a band of enemies behind us. We have to deal with them now when we still have the element of surprise and they don't know we are aware of their trap, unless we want them on our backs later", Éomer pointed out.
"That is true. Oh, what would I give if I had even slightest idea of how many of them are there!" Éothain grumbled and scratched his beard. "What of lighting a fire to the grass?"
"Too risky. We could start a far larger fire than intended, and call for unwelcome attention. I will not have us go down into songs as men who set fire to Rohan just to get killed by orcs", said the Marshal. He groaned in frustration, "If only I had more men!"
"We can't just stop here. We have to think of something", said Éothain.
"I know that. But unless we're not planning to survive this, then we'll have to be very careful. Let me think for a moment..." Éomer muttered and turned to look away, as if the answer was somehow hidden in the landscape.
I never told her I love her...
He had to find his wife and son alive, and bring them home. And he wasn't going to achieve that by getting himself and his men killed.
But then...
Heming approached the two men and called up again: "Lord Éomer, there are riders coming this way."
The Marshal turned abruptly towards the direction Heming was looking at. After searching with his eyes for a moment, he too could spot the band of riders, speeding over the plains. Their direction was more or less the same as the Marshal's men had come. They were moving fast and he couldn't at first tell how many there were.
"What do you see, Heming?" he asked.
"There are seventeen of them, maybe... no, not so much. Perhaps fifteen. Their raiment is blue", Heming answered, frowning. "Who wears such colours in the Riddermark?"
At first Éomer couldn't answer that, but the riders were getting closer now, and he too could see them better; it seemed to him that the riders had noticed his company too.
Then at last he could see them and the realisation came at the same time as he finally spotted the face of the man who lead the band of riders: Prince Amrothos and his fourteen knights, riding here of all places, and their shapes painted against the sky like a banner of hope.
A/N: And here comes an update! Here we have some information of how Elric and Lothíriel are doing - they seem to be somewhat safe for the moment under Birte's guarding wing - and Dreda is perhaps starting to understand what she has done. Also things are perhaps a little brighter for Éomer and his men now that Amrothos has found them (more on that matter later). And I believe Hrodgar was quite shocked by the attempt on Elfhild's life, and this is his solution when it comes to guarding her life.
As to why Lothíriel thinks Elric is Éomer, it's merely that he looks a lot like his father and in her feverish state she actually thinks her husband has come for them.
I'm planning on going away for the next week, and I don't know how much time I'll have for working on this story, so the next chapter will probably have to wait for a while. But like before, I'm not going to abandon the story, and I hope you'll remain patient... though who knows, I have these mad nights as you have already learned.
I admit that I'm perhaps being somewhat loose on the canon timeline, but hopefully you can forgive me that. At the moment I try to follow the book timeline, though with some touches of movie canon.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
SymphonicPoem - Indeed that will still have to wait for a bit!
1607hannah - That is mostly why I dared to go that road in the first place. If it wasn't canon people can have these dreams, I would probably had thought of something different. I wonder if it is something Faramir and Boromir owe to their Númenorian heritage, or their Elven ancestry through their mother Finduilas (who was of the House of Dol Amroth as well).
Borys68 - We'll see. :)
Talia119 - Yes, you were quite correct about Hrodgar's plans!
I know Dreda has been treacherous so far, but she has realised Gríma intends to have Éomer killed - which is something she doesn't want, like she says in this chapter. We'll probably get a peek inside her head some time soon which will hopefully clarify her change of heart. Also, I think understanding Éomer will never love her the way she'd want him to has had some effect on her mind and intentions.
A Light in the Night - Yes, I do think that though she has done and tried to do some very horrible things, she's not just plain evil. That doesn't justify her actions of course, or make her a good person.
Brady - Alas, I do agree that would be quite a turn of events.
I see what you mean, and I hope that Amrothos finding Éomer's company here and thus improving his odds isn't deus ex machina. I've tried to foreshadow and establish that before the actual instance where they actually do join forces. Also the information he got from Dreda made it so that Éomer and his riders got to the place of planned trap before he was meant to, and also knew to expect it.
Shango Sanguine - That is actually more or less what I had in mind when writing about Hrodgar's ability. :)
Speaker-to-Customers - I can only say: wait and see. :)
Angel of the Night Watchers - I admit I rather enjoyed writing that! :D
shana1 - Thank you very much! I'm honoured to hear that. :)