Be like the cliff against which the waves continually break; but it stands firm and tames the fury of the water around it. - Prince Galador of Dol Amroth

Chapter 20

June 3021, Sapat's camp

When they came to ask for her aid on that day about a week after the incident with Shaugit, Fanara wasn't terribly surprised. It was already common knowledge in the camp that the prisoner never made attempts to take her life, and as a result when someone was needed to go near him, she was usually the one who did it. She didn't mind, as she had only ever wanted to help the poor man.

She was in the middle of tending to the dreamroot she had found when the guard peeked in through the doorway of the tent.

"Mistress Fanara", asked the guard and she noted the concern in his voice right away.

"What is it?" she replied, looking up from her work.

"The prisoner is sick. We... we're not sure what we should do with him. Could you perhaps come and take a look at him?" he inquired awkwardly. Knowing that the tribe's healer was unlikely to agree to go near the man, Fanara knew she had to go and see if there was anything she could do.

"All right. I'll just finish this", she said, and once she had everything in order for continuing her work later, she followed the guard to the cage.

The horselord was huddling with his head on his knees. She saw he was shivering and she also noticed his ill pallor. He had evidently retched as well through the bars of his prison; either he had very good timing or he had just felt particularly hateful that day, for apparently most of emptied the contents of his stomach were now on one of his guards, who looked thoroughly disgusted as he tried to rid himself of the stained tunic. All things considered they were not wrong at all to say he was sick.

"Horselord", she called the prisoner carefully, "it is me. May I take a look at you?"

He made a grunt she took for an affirmative response and she moved closer, carefully as though approaching a dangerous animal. He had never tried to harm her but with a man like him one could not be too careful. When she reached through the bars and touched his skin, it felt dry and unnaturally hot.

"You are feeling dizzy and nauseated?" she asked. That brought out another vague sound of agreement. Fanara nodded to herself: the case could not have been more clear. The day had been particularly hot after all, and he did not exactly have much shade from sun in his prison. The tribesmen of Harad were used to it, and their headdresses gave them cover when necessary, but the horselord had not been born and bred on these deserts – she was only surprised he had not sickened earlier.

She glanced at the guards, "I need you to open the cage."

"Mistress, we're not allowed to do that without Chieftain's leave", said one of the men tasked with watching the horselord. As though the mere mention had summoned him, Sapat arrived to the scene just then.

"What is this commotion?" he demanded to know, his dark eyes moving sharply from Fanara to the guards.

"I was just telling the guards to open the cage and let the poor man out. He is sick and I should like to tend to him", she said calmly. Her brother's eyes flashed, but she expected nothing less.

"He will not leave that cage, Fanara. If he's sick, he may as well suffer it right there", he snapped.

"The longer he's exposed to sunlight the worse it will get, Sapat. Or do you not know the sun sickness?" she asked, keeping her voice steady and patient.

"He's probably just pretending", said the chieftain and shrugged, though he hardly spared a glance at the prisoner.

"In that case, he must be quite the actor to have made himself so ill!" Fanara scoffed. "And I should point out if you allowed him more water and some shade this wouldn't have happened."

"I don't need your opinions, Fanara! He stays where he is", Sapat said, angrier now. However, she wasn't ready to give in yet. She shoot a glare at him and crossed arms on her chest.

"Is that so? Well, don't come crying to me when he dies because of your obstinacy!" she announced and made a show of turning, but apparently that statement had got through to the chieftain.

"Wait", Sapat said loudly, and Fanara turned again to glance at her brother. His expression was angry but she also knew the look of defeat when she saw one. He spoke: "See to him and make sure he heals."

He stopped closer then and gave her a dark scowl, "He's your responsibility, sister. If anything happens – anything at all – it will be on you."

"You're positively paranoid. He's not going to run anywhere or kill anyone in that condition", Fanara said calmly and turned again to regard the guards. "Get to work, you two! I need you to help me move this man into my tent."

On way from Umbar to north

The journey to Umbar had already presented the three travellers with some rather unexpected developments, and as they finally started for the road Lothíriel couldn't but look back and shake her head in wonder. She had known it would be a strange road, but that knowledge had not prepared her for the things she would see... and if the rest of the way would pass in similar fashion, then she was fairly certain there would be many amazing things yet for them to witness.

Getting through the city had been an adventure itself, but Aragorn had proved the most efficient guide. He had a general idea of the city's structure and knowing the language he could ask for directions – and he also knew the type that would be most likely to help three northern strangers instead of leading them astray. Even then, it was already afternoon when they got to their destination. That was the man Captain Cairon had advised them to seek in order to find transport over the deserts. However, halfway there Aragorn had pulled them to a merchant's stall where some kind of clothing made of beautiful fabrics was sold. Éowyn and Lothíriel quickly observed that the said clothing consisted of loose skirts, veils and trousers worn by the local women.

"With all due respect, I'm not sure we have time to shop for skirts and trinkets", Lothíriel pointed out when she understood Aragorn was meaning they buy some clothing from the stall.

"Oh, I promise it's not because I've suddenly lost my mind. I was just thinking of buying ourselves some outfits for the travel. Not to mention it should help me to buy us steeds", Aragorn explained. He gave an assessing look at the two women he was accompanying, and asked: "Would you be willing to consider yet another disguise?"

Éowyn huffed.

"I'm willing to learn Quenya if it helps our quest", she said steadily, at which Lothíriel nodded in agreement. Their king smiled and looked satisfied.

"Good. In that case, you two are going to pose as my wives", he informed his companions.

"Your wives? Aragorn, if this is supposed to be some joke-" Lothíriel started in heated tones, but he lifted up his hands in a calming manner.

"Of course it's not a joke. I am merely hoping to make an impression on the man Captain Cairon spoke of. If he sees I've got two wives he'll take it as a sign I know the ways of this land and he can't cheat me, and he'll sell us better animals. Moreover, if we keep up this story on the road, it would help us pass along with smaller notice by unfriendly eyes", Aragorn explained.

She could see the sense in Aragorn's words, but still felt unsure about it. She glanced at Éowyn to see what she thought. To Lothíriel's surprise, the older woman seemed very amused. But when she thought of it she had to admit it was pretty funny.

"Heh. Faramir is going to love this once he hears", she commented lightly. "And Éomer should too. You're lucky to be happily wed, Aragorn, for otherwise he might knock out your teeth."

"He wouldn't do that to a friend", he said with a slight smile and turned to bargain with the merchant. Soon they all had outfits to enforce their story: Aragorn wore a light sand silk cloak and a matching headdress, and the two women changed into loosely-fitting clothing they had seen local women wearing. Orange actually rather complimented Éowyn's golden hair and fair skin, but Lothíriel felt self-conscious in purple, though her friend assured her she looked lovely.

"I don't think anyone is ever going to believe any of this", she had muttered to her friend. Yet only after they got their steeds did she realise how true that statement was.

For the thing was that the animals Aragorn meant to purchase were not horses at all. Instead, he led his companions to a yard full of some of the strangest creatures Lothíriel had ever seen. Their fur was light brown like sand and they were taller than horses, with long lean legs and neck, and a face that frankly looked absurd. And the noise they made! She had never seen such creature – though understandably Éowyn's expression was even more surprised.

"These are called dromedaries. The tribes of southern Haradwaith have used them since times immemorial, and they are well fitting for journeying north as well", Aragorn explained quietly before he approached the merchant in the possession of the animals.

"Can't we just get horses?" Éowyn asked doubtfully.

"We probably could, but dromedaries endure heat and dry much better", he replied. Seeing he had travelled here before there was not much of an argument, and so it was dromedaries they would ride; but when they climbed on the backs of these strange animals, Éowyn was grumbling to herself.

"I'm pretty sure I am breaking some Eorling rule here", she muttered half-audibly. Still, when they finally left behind the city of Umbar, it quickly turned out she handled her dromedary most skilfully of the three.

And so began the long journey towards the northern parts, where the tribe of Chieftain Sapat traditionally dwelt near river Harnen... and there they would hopefully find not only the man they were seeking, but also a woman who would be willing to help them free him.

Sapat's camp

When they had opened the cage and dragged out the horselord, Fanara had known he really was sick. He didn't put up a fight, nor did he try to make any attempts on the men tasked with transporting him from the cage to Fanara's tent. He was more carried than walked there, and she could see he was on the brink of passing out when they finally got him inside. Sapat insisted the prisoner was put in ropes – even that went by without a fight from the northman. Normally, he would have been kicking and biting and hitting everything he could reach.

A guard would have stayed with her, but Fanara chased out all unnecessary characters or sent them to get water, and then turned her full attention on the sick, sunbitten man. Either he had passed out now or was just resting, for he lay quietly with his eyes closed.

The main thing was to get his body temperature down to the normal level. Making him drink was a part of that, but so was bathing his feverish skin with cool, moist cloths. That gave her an unpleasant view of the scars on his skin, and she couldn't fight her regret recognising how many of them were new. But there were old ones too, mutely speaking of his life as a warrior. This man had not known much peace during his life.

For the longest time no words were exchanged. She thought he was too weak to have conversations, or maybe he just didn't find it worth his while. But then at some point she glanced at him and saw he was watching her with half-open eyes. As always, the look in them unsettled her, even if she did not fear for herself.

"How do you feel?" asked Fanara softly.

"Slightly less horrible than before", he muttered. Uncertain how to reply that she just nodded and continued with the task of bathing his skin. Idly she noted the ropes would not have prevented him had he truly wanted to harm her. He could have grabbed her and perhaps use her as a hostage... surely his strength had returned enough already? But there he lay quiet and still. Maybe she had done something right by him, even if she couldn't give him freedom.

"You have been a warrior for a long time, yes?" she inquired after a while, though she knew the answer had to be positive. That was the only way she could understand someone enduring all this, and remaining sane through it - though even then, his resilience kept surprising her. Very few people she knew could have withstood so much torment.

"Aye. Over ten years now", he said quietly and let out a heavy breath.

"That is a long time of waging war", she commented.

"It was necessary", he simply said. "And I would have started much earlier than that, had I been able. My father used to teach me when he was still alive. But Uncle would not allow me join an éored before I had turned sixteen."

Fanara sighed, half to herself. That was a tale too familiar.

"What?" he asked, having noticed something was on her mind.

"I was just thinking that is a story I've listened to all my life. I have watched so many a young man offer their lives on the altar of war", she said softly. Her words made him twitch.

"Do you think we had any choice?" he asked sharply.

"No. That is not what I meant", Fanara told him gently. "It is just hard to bear sometimes. And I am reminded of it when I look at you. I wonder if it will ever end."

The horselord's dark, keen eyes were fixed on her. He said nothing but his presence was not quiet. Slowly, she began to speak again.

"So many of our youths marched north when the war came. Some of them were hopeful, some went with grim looks on their faces. All the same, they died on that battlefield, and only very few of them ever came back. Those that did return were but shadows of themselves... and at nights, I'd hear them scream as the memories of the battle haunted their dreams. Can you imagine that terror? There was this one young man, a nice lad he was, but he returned as a ghost of himself when the war had ended. He had seen horrifying things and it had cut him deeper than any sword could. Sometimes he'd have these attacks – anything could trigger it, and we didn't know how to help him. In the milder cases he would shake violently and ramble about the blond riders, their bright eyes and their voices as they sang songs of death, and their tall and terrible leader as they rode over the fields of Pelennor like a great wave from the sea..." Fanara spoke, her voice growing more and more sad as she recalled the face of the lad who was now gone. She sighed and shook her head. It was difficult to believe sometimes already over two years had passed since the war had ended.

"What happened to that young man?" asked the horselord. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but rather was gazing off to distance. His expression was inscrutable.

"He took his own life", Fanara sighed, tears filling her eyes - she did not think she would ever forget the day they had found his body.

"And are you suggesting I will do the same?" he inquired tonelessly.

"No. Of course not", she said quickly, as she didn't want to upset him. "You're much more tenacious."

She studied his face and her brow furrowed, "And you have something to fight for. Is it your own blood that keeps you going? Do you have family back in north?"

The horselord shook his head.

"No. All of them are dead, except for my sister. And I had a bride... I left her waiting when I rode for south. We were meant to marry this spring, but it had to be postponed. I suppose I will never wed her now", he said quietly, looking away so that she couldn't see what moved on his face. But his voice... it was the first time Fanara could hear any warmth in his voice, or emotion that was not anger and rage. He spoke again, more quiet now, "Her name is Lothíriel. She is an extraordinary woman... I miss her so much that I can barely stand it. And I wish I could see her, if only for one last time before..."

"Before what?" asked Fanara gently after he had fallen silent.

But he didn't answer.

On the road from Umbar to north

Lothíriel quickly made the observation that on the deserts, it was easy to lose one's sense of time and idea of how far they had travelled. Well, that was probably just her own notion, considering it was the first time she even saw this part of the world. However, on the deserts all looked so much the same that without Aragorn as guide she was certain she and Éowyn would have got lost the moment Umbar had fallen behind the hills.

But Aragorn knew where he was taking them, and so they made way towards north. At first the princess had felt excitement, as though they were now nearing their destination, but she soon understood it was not so. Many leagues yet remained between them and the tribe of Chieftain Sapat, and the task of finding them might not be easy, even with Aragorn having a general idea of where to look. Not to mention, they still had to seek for the woman called Fanara.

"She was the daughter of the chieftain I told you about before – the one whose hand in marriage was offered to me. She was much like him, and Chieftain Mir would never have allowed the imprisoning of the King of Rohan. I do not think Fanara would approve of it either. That her brother is the chieftain must mean she never married a man of her own tribe – perhaps she took to husband some ally of her father's. As Fanara was Mir's daughter it is very likely she even married a chieftain herself. Chieftains' wives are rather powerful women in Harad, and with her husband's help she could perhaps persuade her brother into giving up Éomer", Aragorn explained to his friends as they travelled northwards.

"But if her brother is chieftain, couldn't that mean she's dead?" Lothíriel asked with some concern. Aragorn seemed calm and trustful, but as much as she wanted she dared not hold on to this hope, in case it was revealed as futile.

"Don't worry, Lothíriel. Fanara wasn't my only friend in that tribe, and I knew Sapat as well. He was very young at that time, but I'm sure he will remember me. Perhaps I could get through to him", he said steadily. A frown appeared on his brow momentarily, "But if it comes to it, I can threaten him into complying. It should give him motivation enough at least if he learns the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan are waiting for my signal to tear down his tribe."

"Those combined forces consist of us three, if I may remind you", Éowyn said dryly.

"Of course, but Sapat doesn't have to know that, does he?" Aragorn pointed out.

Content with his reasoning, the two women felt reassured for the moment. To pass time he further described the time he had spent with the tribe, which was a welcome distraction to the travelling.

They camped near the road that night, which went by uneventfully. They had watch turns just to make sure, though Aragorn was fairly certain they shouldn't meet any trouble on the road – after all, the war campaign against pirates should have left these lands remarkably empty of substance that might have ill intentions towards travellers.

Lothíriel had the watch-turn after midnight and she sat by their small camp-fire while her friends slept. It was surprisingly cold here after sunset and she had to pull her cloak tighter around her body to keep warm. Night on the desert was quiet, but the skies were very clear, and she sat her face propped upwards to gaze at the stars. The same constellations were shining upon Éomer somewhere, and she wondered how he fared. Was he still fighting? Did he still cling to hope his people had not given up on him?

She trembled under her cloak as she imagined what might have befallen him since his captivity. What if he wasn't alive anymore? What if this Sapat had killed him soon after they had taken him? And even if he was alive, then Lothíriel could not think his imprisonment had left him unaffected. There was the frankly alarming possibility that they had tortured him, done horrible things to him...

The princess closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. He's strong and brave and stubborn. He won't give up.

She let out a long, heavy sigh, forcing her tensed muscles to unclench. Now, for the first time, it occurred to her what she'd do if she found her beloved King somehow harmed. If they had made him suffer, then she'd reward them accordingly, and make them regret laying hands on Éomer.

But before this idea could take a hold of her, something else came to Lothíriel. If he was hurt, what would he need her to do? In the end, he was more important than taking vengeance on those who had wronged him. And Éowyn had said that perhaps he would not bear terrible and ruthless things when he would be released. The more she thought of it the more convinced she became that her friend had been right to say so. I cannot become a monster.

It went beyond that, though. Now as she sat here and pictured how it would be when Éomer was again free, she knew it would not be the same as before, and she couldn't be a wild thing any longer. She couldn't let her emotions rule her mind – she had to learn to be calm and steadfast and single-minded, just like Éowyn and Aragorn. If she ran rampant, it could very well destroy Éomer... and if that happened, she knew she would follow him into ruin.

Master Opash had said she would tear herself apart for Éomer. But now she saw how it really was: she would have to be unbending and unbreakable for him. She didn't know how they would find him, but if he was... if his captors had done something to give him hurts beyond bodily wounds, then she'd have to be the rock he could use to stand up again. She would have to preserve hope even if he couldn't.

"I'm coming for you", she murmured to the stars, like she had each night since this journey had begun. "Just... endure until I can find you."

The following days went by mostly very uneventfully. The three travellers met only few others on the road, and those consisted of merchant caravans and some tribesmen of Harad making way for Umbar. Other wayfarers appeared to be the kind that only cared for their own business, and so the three were left alone.

"Those caravans remind me of the men who found Captain Éothain and buried the fallen riders. I wonder how they are faring", said Aragorn when they had passed by one escort of merchants.

"What do you reckon would have happened if they had not come across the battlefield?" Éowyn asked.

"I do not know. One thing is certain, though. Éothain would not have survived", Aragorn said quietly, shaking his head. The mention of Éomer's captain reminded Lothíriel of troubled tidings they had of the man.

"I hope he hasn't really lost his mind", she said, frowning to herself. "Really, I can't believe it. He's just isn't... I can't imagine it. And he didn't seem mad when he spoke."

Aragorn, who was riding next to her, reached over to pat her arm.

"Don't worry, Lothíriel. We will investigate the matter once we go home. I think Éomer's safe return should help him to recover", he reassured her. She knew it was to console her, and she didn't miss the concerned flash in his eyes. For now Éothain would have to wait, but she hoped the captain found reassurance in the knowledge he had done all he needed in telling her what he had seen.

"Mm. Yes", she agreed. She tried to imagine how it would be like, going home after all this. But the idea was difficult to conceive; all she could really see was the moment of reunion. Beyond that her road was veiled and uncertain. It all depended so much on her beloved... if he were alive, and if he were unharmed.

She glanced at her liege-lord then and she asked: "Do you think he's going to be all right?"

Elessar didn't reply right away. He hesitated and looked ahead.

"I can't say. After all, we don't know what has happened to him..." he said softly and there she thought his tone was troubled, as though he was thinking of the more horrible scenarios of what may have happened to the man they were looking for. Before those scenarios could really establish themselves in her imagination as well she spoke up.

"He's alive. I know it. We're talking about Éomer here! He's too stubborn to just give up or die", Lothíriel said sharply, holding tight to the bridle of her dromedary (whom she affectionately called "Stinker").

Aragorn gave her a small smile.

"He'd be proud to know you believe in him so absolutely", he said in a gentle voice. She glanced at him, unaware of how fierce that look came off as to him.

"Of course I do. He's the man I promised to marry, and I'm going to keep that promise – even if I have to travel to the ends of the world to get him back", she announced.

"Let us hope we don't have to go that far", Aragorn murmured. She grunted in agreement and they rode forward, both bending their minds towards the point which now hopefully was nearing... and that point was the moment they would find and set free the King of Rohan.

Sapat's camp

Nata was in their tent when Mother came in on an early afternoon of a very ordinary day. Looking up from some clothes she had been repairing the girl immediately took note of the expression on her parent's face: she didn't remember ever seeing her mother looking so thoroughly shocked. Usually, she was one of the most steadfast women in the tribe, and it was difficult to imagine what could so disturb her.

"What is it, Mother?" asked Nata in concern, but her mother just shook her head.

"Why does Sapat even let that man stay here? If only Shaugit had left him with Varanat's tribe... my son would never suffer something so..." she muttered as though to herself.

"Mother?" Nata asked, now in a stronger voice. At last her mother glanced at her, still shaken.

"It is nothing you should be concerned about. I was just speaking with your uncle about Lam", she said and turned away; the mention of that name had discouraged Nata from asking any more questions. The older girls of the tribe had told her some rather horrible things about the man called Lam, though she wasn't certain what to make of it all. She had not yet dared to ask Mother about it, though she was a bit curious.

She went back to her chores, but later that day Mother came to her again. That same look she had seen before was again on her face as she pulled Nata closer to herself by hand, though now it was mixed with something else... something she couldn't name.

"Daughter", she whispered into the girl's ear. "I will go to speak with the horselord's guards. While I talk with them, give him this. Make sure they don't see you do it."

She put a piece of bread in Nata's hand. It was so fresh it was barely cool enough for her to hold. Before the girl could ask any questions, Mother continued very gravely, "Tell him to eat it very carefully. You must tell him this. Do you understand?"

"I do", Nata replied. She understood now was not a time asking anything and so she kept quiet.

Mother did indeed go to talk with the guards, and while she was asking them about something she did as she had been told. The guards never noticed her approaching the cage, but the northman certainly did. It seemed to her he always saw everything. She still didn't feel comfortable getting close to him, not even though she remembered how he had scared off those boys who had bullied her. After all, he was a fairly frightening man and they said some terrible things about him. But Mother had asked her to do this, so surely nothing bad would happen?

Gathering her courage, Nata offered the piece of bread towards the golden-haired man. His eyes narrowed slightly.

"Eat it carefully", she told him, just like Mother had instructed. He reached for it through the wooden bars, and as soon as it was in his hand Nata jumped back and rushed away from the cage. But her curiosity had now risen, and so she stayed nearby, and she saw him break the bread between his hands. There was a flash of metal and she understood: Mother had baked a small blade into it! Nata frowned when she thought what reason there could possibly be behind it, but she was not curious enough to ask. If she did, trouble would surely follow.

The rest of the day went by as days ever went and she wondered what it all had been about. But Mother was very quiet and would not say anything, and eventually Nata gave up and curled up on her bedroll as the night fell. She was just about to fall asleep when the shouting began... and then came the screams. Mother leaped up, told Nata to stay where she was, and ran outside. Shivering in fear the girl remained there as horrific imaginations filled her mind: had the northman broken free and was now wreaking havoc outside? Was that the reason Mother had given him the blade? What if he killed Mother as well, and then came for Nata? But the screaming died quickly and eventually shouts fell quiet too.

It was late when Mother returned. Now her expression was just tired and sad, and she came to Nata and hugged her tight.

"What happened?" asked the girl. Mother sighed.

"I am sorry, sweet one", she murmured softly. "There are many evil things in this world and men are capable of some horrible deeds... atrocities so cruel that you wouldn't want them to befall anyone. Perhaps it is an evil thing as well what I've done. But what Lam had in mind might have destroyed something that can never be regained, and..."

She pulled back so that she could look at her child. Nata tried to understand what she saw on the features of her mother, but found that she couldn't.

"One day you will understand, though I'd rather you never would", Mother murmured. She gave a kiss to her cheek and gently whispered, "Go to sleep, dear one."

Sapat was not bothered by the faintness of heart – especially when it was about things he wanted. That was why he listened to Lam's suggestion and allowed the man to carry out with his idea; he agreed that could be the thing it took to break a proud, stubborn man like the horselord.

What he did not take into account was the northman.

How he had come to possess the blade of a broken knife Sapat didn't know, but there were plenty of ways that could have happened. He was allowed out once every day, so perhaps he had spied some broken steel in the sand and saved it for a situation like this. So, when Lam and couple of his friends had come, he had the blade ready... and the door to the cage allowed only one to enter at a time. Lam had been armed but the horselord was a dangerous and fearless thing, and his victim had not known to expect such ferocious attack from a man who was supposed to be unarmed.

The damage was already done by the time Shaugit had arrived with more guards, though at least they had got to the scene before the horselord had a proper sword in his hands and got out of his cage; it was slightly unsettling to think of all the destruction he might have caused then. But Shaugit and guards had been able to drive him back with their spears, and pin him down in the cage. They had pulled Lam out and one of the two men who had meant to assist him. The third had already escaped.

Healers said Lam had a chance of surviving, but it would be misleading to call him man anymore. However, he bled to death during the night, and that at least convinced Sapat he would not make the horselord suffer the fate he had given to the man he had not meant to kill. That was too simple for his tastes. After all, it was not his intention for his prisoner to die because of blood-loss.

Since the beginning he had not wanted to break the body of his prisoner, only his spirit and mind. He had wanted to see that moment when the northman's iron will died... and then feel the satisfaction when he watched the realisation dawn in those dark eyes: that he was utterly, completely defeated, and he would never rise again.

That had been the plan. That was what he wanted. But now he was starting to wonder if that could be reached without a change in methods, and if all that he had done so far had only hardened his enemy more and more. For when he went to see the horselord on the morning after Lam had died, the sight of the caged man rendered him silent. The cold ferocious look in the dark eyes of his prisoner was more of a beast's than a man's. Under that look even he, a tough old snake, trembled.

For the first time, the question occurred to Sapat. What kind of a monster was he creating?

I have done my best to help and protect him, thought Fanara as she watched the messenger depart just as the sun's first rays graced the world, but I see now it is not enough. It will never be enough.

After the incident with Lam she knew it'd only keep getting worse. Both men were too engulfed by their hatred for each other, and it was turning more bitter and dark with each day that passed. At this point it didn't matter which one would beat the other in the end. One certain result this did have, and that was the ruin of the tribe. And Fanara could not let that happen. She would not let the legacy of her father run to waste.

So she had sat down the previous night and wrote a message calling for aid. It was not for to any of the northern lords: for one, they would not take it seriously, and anyway they were too far to lend their help before it was too late. And even if the message did reach and convince them, they would not march south with frienship or mercy. Instead, they would be hell-bent on destroying Sapat and all who stood with him. Then Harad would burn and all the good things about this land, the promise of days of freedom from shadow, would be lost forever.

She wasn't strong enough to fight her brother. But perhaps there was one man who could do that... and that was her son Chieftain Varanat.

He had been born a son of a chieftain, descending from a long line of great leaders of Men. But through his mother Varanat was kin to yet another chieftain, and she had been Mir's first-born child. The lore of the Haradrim knew instances where much more distant bloodlines were used to claim the leadership of some tribe, so perhaps Varanat had a chance of claiming his mother's tribe as his own. If she could convince others that Sapat was leading them into ruin, then the members of his tribe might also vouch for Varanat to claim the place of the chieftain. And if Fanara knew her son at all, it was most likely that he'd have nothing against releasing the horselord. Even though he had lost his father to the fields of Pelennor, Varanat was not a man of past - he perceived future and peace, and so he would know what was the right thing to do. In the message she did not speak so straightforwardly, however. Such words would be dangerous if the messenger was caught, and Varanat would make the necessary connections by himself anyway.

Now she could only trust him, and wait for when he'd come. Perhaps with his help this nightmarish period in their lives could finally be brought to an end.

House of Opash in Umbar

Sweet breeze breathed in from the open window, replacing the smell of sweat by the salty scent of the sea. The concubine – she was one of the new ones, so Opash could not yet recall her name – was dressing herself, wrapping her body in the dark green robes. The warmth of her skin was still on him but his mind had already turned toward other matters. It was odd, that he should not feel the usual satisfaction after the embraces of such a beautiful woman.

Not odd, really... after all, she wasn't the sunburnt, short-haired, flame-eyed woman of the north. She was gone, and yet she wasn't.

Two days it had been since the three travellers had taken their leave, but the Lady in Disguise continued to trouble his mind. He cared not for her two companions, and even less did he care for the man they were looking for. They could go to the Void for all he was concerned. But the young woman with grey eyes of the Men of the West... she was of the high bloodlines that had come from the Sea, but her bold and fiery countenance were not of a noble Gondorian lady. Who was she, then? He wanted to know... and he wanted her here.

And now that she was gone, Opash was starting to wonder what madness had been there on him when he had allowed her to leave.

They would be out of the city already, heading north he imagined, but that was not an impossible obstacle for some rather resourceful gentlemen he happened to know. So, as the plan began to form in his mind, Opash pulled on a rope and ringed a small golden bell. As he sat down and the servant arrived, he already knew what he wanted.

"How can I serve, my Master?" asked the servant, bowing as elegantly as only a man trained in the courts of Umbar could. Opash looked up and poured himself a drink, thinking of how he'd find a way around that fierce spirit that had so entranced him. He did not want it broken, for it was the centre point of what he admired in the disguised woman... but perhaps there was a way to tame it.

He leaned back in his chair and gave the orders: "Send word for Korr. Tell him I need to speak with him, for there is something I wish him to find and bring for me."

A/N: Here's an update! Hope you're all having a pleasant weekend. :)

Our three travellers are now on their way to seek Sapat's tribe, but what they don't know is that a man they left behind is now having second thoughts about letting them go. I decided we aren't done with Opash yet; he was indeed even more taken with Lothíriel than he gave on before. We'll see how this turns out...

To be honest, originally I wasn't so certain (and still am not) if it was a good decision to include that bit with Lam. For that reason I've left it kind of vague, allowing you, my dear readers to make of it what you will. I hope it wasn't a bad choice, but I wanted to illustrate how both Sapat and Éomer are getting more desperate and more ruthless in their struggles against each other. Also I wanted to show the situation is having a bad effect on them both, though neither one really recognises that. Fanara, however, does see that this thing is about to tear down them all unless something is done about it. But she knows by herself she can't remedy it, and so she sends a message to her son Varanat to ask for his help to end this.

Because of these troubling things I tried to add a bit of humour to the parts with Aragorn, Lothíriel and Éowyn. That could be just me of course, but idea of Éowyn and Lothíriel posing as Aragorn's wives is pretty hilarious. :D

Quote in the beginning originally by Marcus Aurelius.

UntilNeverDawns - Glad that you liked it! :) I'm doing my best here to exercise some foreshadowing and weaving threads through multiple chapters, so it's good to hear I've managed to do that. As for Aragorn meeting Fanara, I have a feeling that may yet have to wait for a bit.

Talia119 – Oh, I'm definitely not saying you can't take it that way. I prefer to give my readers the space and freedom of deciding how they want to take my writings (though I also reserve myself the right to speak up if it seems to me the story or the characters are not judged fairly). If Éomer's dream works for you as a prophetic one, that's fine by me!

I'm not sure Éowyn approves of torture either, but she has seen more of the world and knows there is evil in it that can't always be helped. Lothíriel, on the other hand, is not quite as experienced. She doesn't have the same information as the reader, so she doesn't know Ashpar wasn't really a nice man (though she recognises this when Éowyn – who is of more keen sight – points it out). Moreover, Lothíriel is of the opinion no one deserves to be tortured, not even people like Ashpar. And she really wouldn't feel all right about the knowledge it was for their sake that this man was tortured and killed.

As for her being too emotional, I've tried to establish she is a hot-tempered person, and you can't really claim such a thing unless you also show it. It's not just that though but also the fact she's walking a road unlike anything she has ever experienced, so I think it would make sense that her nerves are a bit tight. But as the conversation with Éowyn in the last chapter, and the section in this one hopefully show, she has started to understand she has to temper down herself.

Wondereye - To be honest, I'm not sure he could really do that, not even with Fanara. After all, he is a foreigner and the tribe has no reason to follow him - especially when he has killed several of the members of the tribe.

MairaElleth - One step closer indeed, but there are many more to be travelled still!

I hope at least this chapter explained it, but if not: Fanara was indeed the daughter of that chieftain Aragorn befriended during his time in Harad. Though he refused the offer for marriage with her, I'd imagine they parted ways in good terms.