Of like mind is the lioness. As the lion is king so she is queen, and unless born in bondage she will not suffer chains. But it is said that while both male and female are fierce and fell, it is sometimes the lioness that shows the greatest tenacity, and it is her fang and claws that may turn out the salvation of the pride.
- Balangon, Of the Beasts and Birds of the South
Chapter 24
The three travellers had journeyed through the night and taken only an hour of rest before the dawn. As they had made way an uneasy feeling had grown in Lothíriel's heart, and the blue-clad man's words had haunted her through it: he doesn't have much time left.
At the daybreak they had continued their journey, heading towards the lands where Chieftain Sapat's tribe mainly dwelt. One of Varanat's men was riding before them and scouting for signs of the camp. The rest of them quietly followed the three northerners. Conversations during this last stage of their quest were few, and all their minds were bent towards what was waiting ahead. Aragorn's face held the quiet calm of a man preparing himself for something difficult, and on Éowyn's features there was the stern look of determination. At times, her hand would fall on the hilt of her sword.
The princess too held tight to her bow. The smooth surface of it made her feel kind of sureness, even though they were hoping it wouldn't come to a fight.
But then when the midday had turned into afternoon their scout sped back with haste that could only mean trouble. He had occasionally returned to report, but before now he had not hurried in such a way. And when Lothíriel saw the look on his face she knew something bad was about to happen.
"What is it, Gujal?" asked Aragorn as soon as the scout was close enough to talk with.
"I've just located the man you were looking for. He is half a league north-east from here. Chieftain Sapat has him surrounded, and it looks like a battle will break out any moment now", Gujal reported hastily.
"Then what are we waiting? We must hurry and go help him!" Lothíriel barked, urging her dromedary forward.
"We shouldn't just barge -" Aragorn tried, but she shot a furious glare at him.
"I'm not going to lose him again! I'm not letting them take him from me now!" she growled and there in her veins was fire, preparing her for battle. Fiercely she looked at Gujal, "Show us the way!"
Fanara was finishing the task of cleaning the face of her poor nephew when a guard hurriedly moved aside the curtain serving as the doorway of the tent. There was a look alarm on his face when he spoke: "Mistress Fanara, a group of riders is approaching the camp with great speed."
"Are they friends or foes?" she asked as she got up on her feet. This was not encouraging news when Sapat was not in the camp, ready to lead the defence if it came to a fight.
"I don't know. What should we do, Mistress?" he asked worriedly. Perhaps it was obvious that he'd ask for her decree now that Sapat had gone to hunt the horselord.
"We'll stand and watch. Perhaps they are friends", she decided, as it was difficult to believe a hostile force would attack in clear daylight in such a way.
Fanara followed the guard to the edge of the camp, where she too saw the riders coming. They were getting close now, no longer just betrayed by the cloud of dust at their heels.
"Who are they, Mother?" asked Nata's voice as the girl stopped by her side.
"I don't know, but you shouldn't be here. Go back to our tent", Fanara told her daughter, but the girl was sheltering her eyes from the sun now and squinting them in order to see better. Suddenly she let out a delighted cry.
"It's Varanat! Brother is coming!" she said happily.
Fanara could but blink at that, feeling surprised despite herself. And now he arrives...!
Soon the riders were close enough for her to see the face of her son as well. Varanat it was indeed, speeding towards the camp of his uncle as though demons of the desert were chasing him. With him came fifteen men. When he at last arrived and pulled his horse to a halt, she could see the foam on the sides of the animals.
"Is he here, Mother? Is the horselord still alive?" Varanat demanded, wasting no time for greetings. "Did they pass this way – the Gondorians and the woman of Rohan? Please tell me Uncle has not harmed them!"
Some of his words made no sense to Fanara, but she saw they did share the concern for the northman's life. She had already given up hope on the man, knowing there was no way he'd survive on the deserts even if Sapat's men had not gone after him.
But now... perhaps there was still a chance of saving him. If he was still alive, that was.
"He is out there – your uncle has gone to capture and kill him. He may very well be dead already", Fanara replied. Her son cursed and looked very exasperated.
He glanced at one of his men, "Give your horse to my mother. You'll stay here with my sister and look after her while we are gone."
"But I -" Nata tried, which sentence Fanara cut with a stark glare.
"You do as your brother says. It is too dangerous", she said and the man appointed to look after the girl helped her to mount his horse.
And as soon as they were horseback, the company turned around, and rode to seek for the company of Sapat... and see if the man they were hunting was still alive.
The first wave of attack was perhaps the fiercest, but Éomer met it steadily, feeling no fear; several men he took down by throwing rocks which were in abundance, and others who got that far he would meet with blows and kicks to send them flying backwards. The high ground served well with his explosive defence, though he knew it was something he could not keep up for long.
His mind was clear and cool now, devoid of anger or despair. The only thing he did want was having a shot with Sapat: if he should die here, then at least he'd like to take with him the villain who had machinated this.
And the weight of Gúthwinë was familiar in his hand, and it made him remember his strength and his skill, and he recalled he was a warrior; Gúthwinë had been the sword of his father Marshal Éomund, and they had brought it back from that battlefield where he had fallen.
Perhaps it was fitting that he too should die wielding this blade, like his father had so many years ago... but he had no son to leave this blade with – no child to grow up in bitter thoughts of war and revenge. He had only reclaimed the sword to die with it, and Sapat would no doubt take it back unless he managed to kill the villain... and then, even if he was fighting with the fury of a man who cared not for his life, he could not hold back the enemies. They flooded the hillside, driving him back.
Then one man charged towards him. He was the large ruthless sort, and wielding a spear in his hands... when suddenly there was kind of a whirring noise, and then an arrow seemed to grow from the man's neck. His face froze into a look of surprise as he fell, and for a moment Sapat and his men all stopped: the arrow had come as a surprise to all of them. What new devilry was this?
But Éomer did not stop. Instead, he grabbed the short spear from the hand of now dead man, and then he charged. Yet even as the fury of battle took him, he still heard the shouts. Through this mad haze of blood and death he could hear voices crying, voices he had not thought he'd hear again:
"Elendil! Elendil!"
"Eorlingas!"
And a third voice as well, furious and familiar and his heart leaped at the sound of it, for it was the voice of the one thing he most loved in this world, the one thing that had remained clear and bright when all else turned murky:
"Hands off my King, you filthy rats!"
More arrows rained on the scene, and the sieging circle around Éomer broke as Sapat's men turned to face the three strangers who had all of a sudden come to aid the horselord. They came from the other side of the hill, clashing against Sapat's men with force that felt more than just of three.
Éomer's will was then renewed. He had been certain to die, and a part of him had even desired death – he had not thought there would be any other way out of this. But now hope was rekindled in his heart and he wanted to live. He had to survive this. All in him screamed to turn and seek for her in the mayhem, catch her in his arms and never let go even though he did not know how she had come here beyond all hope. How she was here didn't matter – only the fact he'd see her again. But if he did he knew he could not concentrate on this fight, and for now he had to focus on surviving.
Truth was it did not surprise him to see Dhaub the Man-eater among Sapat's men. Perhaps the horrible man was reluctant to let him escape so, or maybe he took pleasure in fight. All the same, Dhaub was there and the Rohir turned sharply, tried to make his way towards him... to rid this world of this creature of the Shadow. But as he tried to fight his way through the battle he saw she had got to the man first. And he fought the way you could only expect from someone who had emerged from Barad-dûr.
"No!" he tried to yell over the noise of battle, but she didn't hear... Dhaub was driving her back and only her speed and agility were keeping her alive now. No! She couldn't have come this far just to die before his eyes! But then Éowyn came, disarming Dhaub of his long narrow blade with a move Éomer had taught her himself long ago, and he was so relieved and thankful he wanted to sing. Éowyn! His sister never ceased to surprise or to impress!
Lothíriel was not left idle. She did something he had never seen her do – or rather, fight in a way he had not previously witnessed. She became again focused, and striking fast she made harmless her opponent: she thrust her open palm against his nose, and then as Dhaub stumbled back she tackled him. With a stab of her short blade she took the life of Dhaub the Man-eater.
Now Éomer saw she was all right and he had to concentrate on the battle at hand, and so he strove forward, until he was at last face to face with the man who had caused this all to happen. This time the man was clear-headed and no sword-trick was enough to take him by surprise. So their blades fell together and the song of steel was in the air.
As they exchanged blows Éomer saw his opponent was a good swordsman, experienced and cunning. Testing the chieftain's skill revealed he knew his business and would not allow again an easy defeat as before.
Their blades locked then and the Rohir glared at his tormentor, so close but too far still: "Was it worth it? Do you feel now this vengeance of yours has given you what you wanted?"
The taunt appeared to find its target, as Sapat's eyes flashed in anger.
"I took a king and made a beast of him. That is quite enough", he snarled back, and it was only with great effort Éomer was able to hold back his temper.
"Enough to make up for the life of your son?" he asked viciously. It was not a question the old him, the one from before all this, would ever have asked. But that man was perhaps dead already, and what remained...
What remained was a ruthless thing.
Sapat roared in anger and so vehement was his push that Éomer stumbled back, trying to regain his footing on the uneven ground... but then suddenly he felt a hand on his back, steadying him, and he knew it was her... he did not turn to look at her, for he knew if he did, he would not be able to focus on the task at hand.
Even so the touch of her hand cleared his mind again and took away all thoughts of pain, and he leaped to meet Sapat again. His fury and anger he poured into the blows of his sword and Sapat could only retreat; perhaps he had been a great warrior at his time, but he no longer had the vigour of youth, and his enemy did not only have that but also the iron will of a man determined to live.
On those last moments he saw doubt grow in Sapat's eyes, but whether it was for what was about to happen or if he finally regretted seeking to destroy the King of Rohan, Éomer could not tell. And it did not matter to him, not anymore. The only thing he cared about now was making it alive through this, and Sapat was what stood between him and his purpose. His fury faded, replaced by cold focus, and then at last he saw the opening he had been seeking...
… and he wrestled aside Sapat's scimitar, and all it took was a precise stab of Gúthwinë.
I'll bury that blade in your guts.
One endlessly long moment they stood facing each other, and Éomer forced the enemy he had defeated to look at him. Scimitar fell from Sapat's hand and he was trying to gasp for air now, and the light of life was flickering in his eyes... so deep ran the hatred between them that the Rohir would not let him die without the absolute certainty that he had failed.
No words were said, but none were needed either, and content with his vengeance he let go of the chieftain. Sapat fell and he was dead before he hit the ground. His body rolled down the hillside, and the captured king stood now freed, watching his tormentor falling. Around him the battle had ceased as well: whether it was because the attack of the three travellers had been ferocious enough to take them by surprise or if they were discouraged by the death of their chieftain, he did not know. Be it as may, the remaining tribesmen were retreating down, running as they went.
And then... a bright voice, one that had called for him in dreams when he had thought in the waking world he'd not hear it again. It rang like a bell: "Éomer! Éomer!"
She came running at him, throwing aside her bow. Dressed in clothing she had likely stolen from some boy and her short hair sticking to every direction, he almost did not recognise her at first... but then something robbed him of his strength and he fell on his knees, and Gúthwinë dropped from his hand. His warrior's instinct told him she was charging at him and he ought to take her down...
But his wildly racing thoughts were interrupted as she too dropped on her knees on the front of him. She was crying and tears streamed down her face, and she threw her arms about his neck. A touch so fast and urgent almost had him attacking again, but her voice froze him... for she kept speaking his name again and again, almost like she was chanting a prayer, and he could not remember the last time he had heard it.
And her voice pierced through the shadow which had fallen on him, reaching him like a ray of light after long night, and yet he hardly dared to believe it. His princess, his bride, his Lioness... she was here against all hope, and surely it had to be some kind of a sweet insane dream? She had come for him.
"Éomer! I knew I'd find you – I knew you were alive... oh Elbereth, thank you, thank you! I love you so much!" she sobbed. Finally, he was able to move his arms again and he wrapped them around her, trembling as he did so... if just to see if she was really there and he had not finally lost his mind.
She caught his face between her hands, and she kissed him; hers was the first gentle touch he had felt since... he couldn't even remember. Then he pulled her tight against his chest, not minding the pain of the burn under his collarbone, as the need for her was greater than any agony.
He suspected he could have stayed there for years and years, just holding on to her and the feeling of calm that had been absent ever since this nightmare had begun. But then another hand fell on his shoulder, and he jerked in alarm.
"Brother", called the voice of his sister. Éowyn was here too! How could this be?
"Éowyn", he was just about able to rasp.
"Are you injured, my friend? Do you... is there anything you need?" asked Aragorn then. At that the young king could but blink. Now he was convinced this was a dream, because what were the chances that these three would be here? That they would find him?
"No", he replied nonetheless. But then Lothíriel pulled back – well, as much as his arms around her gave in.
"What are you blathering, you oaf? You've been burned! Who did that? Where can I find him so that I can thrash him?" she ranted angrily, inspecting the burn under his collarbone. He did not answer - all he could do was just stare at her. Béma! He would never grow tried of the sight of her face!
But then Éowyn gasped, and Éomer realised it was because she had just seen the other scars – those he bore on his back, which his torn shirt couldn't quite hide. He grimaced, knowing it was something he would have to explain sooner or later.
"Who did this, brother?" she wanted to know.
"I killed them both", he merely said, hoping that would satisfy her. The man with the whip he had slain among the first attackers that had come swarming up the hill. He recalled the black anger he had felt when he had seen his tormentor, but now after dealing his vengeance he didn't... there was no satisfaction. He had spilled their blood, but none of the scars were healed.
He sighed and bowed his head, weary of words already. Lothíriel seemed to know this and carefully she pulled him closer again. He felt tired, and though the three people he perhaps most loved in this world had come for him, he didn't know what to say. Was that wrong of him? Was he supposed to...
Aragorn seemed to understand, for he heard him speaking softly: "Let us give them a moment."
Éomer closed his eyes and rested his head against Lothíriel's. He wondered if he should feel joy, or if he should be giving his rescuers crushing bear-hugs, or if he was expected to cry. He did none of these things, for now in this place, when he was at last free again, he was just...
It was too much. He had been convinced he'd die, and now when that fate remained unfulfilled, he felt empty. He could not summon anything beyond a numb, tired feeling. He had shed his despair and grief into the fight that had not been his last, and now... now he wished only to lay down his head against her shoulder, and sleep.
Perhaps his beloved princess understood. She did not speak or demand him to tell her anything, did not ask him to let go. She just let him linger there, and held him close. Where he felt weary and grey and old, she was warm and alive and she was a bright thing.
And that was why he was able to speak up at last.
"Thank you."
They came when Aragorn and Éowyn were in the middle of seeing if there were any survivors on the battlefield. Varanat he recognised first, and saw his men making way for him and the woman by his side; they had not participated in the battle, but in the end that had not been even necessary. Now as Aragorn saw the mother and the son approaching he felt perhaps enough blood had been spilled today. If the men who had fled from the scene did return with a stronger force, maybe Fanara and her son Varanat could mediate.
The girl he had known long ago had grown into a fine-looking woman. Though she bore the signs of age her posture was still graceful and the fresh silver in her hair gave her what he could only call elegance. Now, when the mother and the son were side by side, he saw the resemblance between them he had not noticed before. Varanat truly was his mother's son.
The sight of an old friend did not make her smile. Instead on her face she carried grief.
"Thorongil", she greeted Aragorn softly. "I did not think I'd see you again."
"I did not mean to return", he replied, bowing his head as a greeting, "but I had to come and look for a friend."
He glanced at Éomer and Lothíriel, who still huddled together in silence, looking like they may not be able to part at all. To find his fellow king in such a state had not come as a surprise... Varanat was looking at them as well, and his expression revealed he now knew who they were.
Aragorn turned again to look at Fanara, "Perhaps I'm not wrong to think he has survived because of you?"
Fanara was gazing at the King and his Princess as well. Her face didn't betray what she thought or if she now regretted her aid. She let out a sigh and looked down, trembling with the tears she would not let fall.
"He has killed many of our tribe", she murmured. "My nephew among them... I don't suppose I'm wrong to think he also took the life of Sapat my brother?"
"He is here", Aragorn said gently, leading her to the body he had laid on the ground in a a more dignified fashion than how the dead man had landed on the ground. Sapat lay on his back and Aragorn had carefully folded his hands on his chest. Though his last moments must have been those of agony, somehow he looked calm. Perhaps in death the burden of vengeance had finally fallen from him.
Fanara let out a muffled sob as she dropped on her knees by the body of her brother. Varanat followed her quietly and lay a hand on her shoulder. She reached for Sapat's hand and held on to it, bowing her head in grief. A sense of bitter regret came to Aragorn as well. There was no relief, no joy in this scene.
"I am sorry", he murmured after a while. Fanara looked up and her eyes were red for the tears she had shed.
"I knew it would come to this. I knew they'd destroy each other, one way or the other..." she said, gently placing her brother's hand back on his chest. "I tried to tell him..."
A silence fell for a while as she tried to get back her calm. When she lifted up herself, she was as proud as a queen, bearing her sorrow without shame and meeting the eyes of the travellers with bold eyes.
"Mistress Fanara", Éowyn said; she had stood silent watching the scene. "Am I right to assume you're now the one who bears the authority of chieftain?"
The woman lifted her eyes to look at Éowyn.
"Sapat and his son are dead. You look upon the last descendants of Mir", she said at length.
"Not the last. Your grandson was born last night", Varanat put in, at which Fanara let out a small sob that held both joy and sadness. She grasped her son's hand tightly and a few quiet words were exchanged between them.
Aragorn spoke up then, his voice gentle and soft.
"Fanara, you were my friend a long time ago. I know years have changed us both, but for the sake of that friendship, and for the sake of the memory of your father I now ask for your aid. You see what vengeance has achieved here – and perhaps you know better than anyone what wounds have been carved because of it", he spoke quickly, taking a step closer to her. "You are Mir's daughter and a chieftain's first-born. And seeing all this death and horror I think it would have been for the better if Mir had named you his heir. So, I'm asking you now for pardon. Please, let us go in peace, and I give you my solemn vow that vengeance will end here for our part."
A humourless little smile touched Fanara's face.
"My only wish is for this to end. And I know your deaths will not bring back those who lay here now. My nephew will not rise again for any spilled blood. You have my blessing to go, as long as you take your friend with you and promise you will never come back. But that is my blessing only, and I don't know if my tribe will agree with me", she answered, shaking her head slightly. She wiped a hand across her eyes and sighed heavily. "I can try to speak to them."
She glanced at her son, "Will you come with me?"
"Of course, Mother. It is in best interest of us all that these people are allowed to leave this place", Varanat replied. He looked at the four northeners then, "Perhaps you should wait here. We will see what we can do, and... we'll come back to let you know what is decided."
Fanara gave one more gentle touch to the hand of her dead brother, and then she took her son's hand in her own. Together in silence they made way downhill, where Varanat's men were waiting. They wasted no time as they mounted their horses and headed back for the camp.
"Don't be troubled, my friends", Aragorn spoke up then, having seen the concerned expressions on the faces of his companions. "They will listen to Fanara and her son."
"I hope they do, for I do wish for you three to survive, as I wholly intend to thrash each one of you for doing something so stupid and dangerous", Éomer said darkly. He had risen up on his feet, though it seemed he wasn't quite capable of letting go of his princess, who stood by his side looking like one in the middle of a strange dream. Aragorn was happy to hear that in his friend's voice echoed that same temper he knew, and the younger man was not so very damaged as it had first looked like. Then again, who could blame him of being disoriented and distracted? Perhaps all he needed was time. A brief glance at Éowyn's face confirmed she had similar thoughts.
The Rohir looked from Aragorn to Éowyn and then Lothíriel, glaring at them as though they were his badly-behaving children, "Which one of you was it anyway? Who came up with this senseless idea to come looking for me? Lothíriel, why did you let these two maniacs drag you here?"
"For your information, I was the one to do the dragging. It was my idea and Éowyn and Aragorn were kind enough not to put me in ropes when they learned of it", Lothíriel replied heatedly. "And if you think I would ever give up on you, then you are a complete and utter fool."
Aragorn wasn't sure how to expect Éomer to react to those words, but he wasn't left wondering; his friend grabbed the princess into yet another desperate embrace, and he heard the Rohir muttering faintly: "You insane thing."
Knowing the two were going to need another moment to compose themselves, Éowyn and Aragorn turned away once more.
"You think we can walk out of this unscathed?" Éowyn asked him under her breath, staring at the figures of Varanat and Fanara as they grew smaller. She was resting a hand on her sword, as though she was still expecting another battle.
"I hope so. There has been enough of death here. I think they know that too", Aragorn murmured. She made a sound like grunt, which he took for an agreement. She glanced over her shoulder, seeking her brother with her eyes... when Éowyn turned back, she was frowning.
"You were right, about what you said last night", she said quietly and looked troubled. "I don't think it's going to be very easy to get everyone home in one piece."
"Perhaps we don't have to do anything", Aragorn said softly. "Our Lioness believes in him – and maybe all we need to do is to believe in her."
"Aye", Éowyn agreed, "but I don't think she knows what she is taking on herself here."
Waiting for Fanara and Varanat gave the companions a moment to catch their breaths, but also offered a chance for explanations. When he was moderately calmed down and finally given his sister and fellow king those embraces of gratitude she had expected to see, Éomer wanted to know how the three travellers had come this far, and in turn they were curious as to what had happened to him before and during his captivity. Of his own experiences he would not speak much beyond the general overview, and Lothíriel could very well see it was because the memories were painful. There was much that he left unsaid, this much she knew as did her friends, but they did not press for details. These matters were conversed while Aragorn examined the burn under his friend's collarbone and did his best to care for it with what supplies he had in the pouch on his belt.
She found it also very difficult to look away from him, as though letting him out of her sight would mean he'd disappear. Some of it was also because in the sight of him there was... there was so much.
When they had arrived to the scene of the battle, the first sight of him had been terrifying. In the thickness of the fight he had been like the berserker warriors from the stories, dealing death to all who came close. As she had charged, shooting her arrows as she went, she had for an instance thought she had only come this far to find him driven mad by the horrors of his captivity. But then he had come across what she had understood had to be the man behind this all, and the cold concentration that had fallen on him had proved he had not lost his wits. And she had reached for him when he had stumbled back, and so Éomer had at last got his revenge on the man who had killed his guard and kept him as captive.
The battle had ended with the surviving tribesmen running for their lives, and it had become impossible for Lothíriel to stand back anymore: she had dashed to her beloved, and thrown her arms about him. Sweet Elbereth and the heaven's stars! How many nights had she dreamed of this very moment, having him in her arms again! No word could ever hold her relief and joy when she knew he was alive.
Some of it dimmed when she got a proper look at him. The first thing had been that awful beard, of course; they had not let him tidy it up and so it had grown into a wild bushy thing that made him look like some savage beast from a deep ancient wood. Then there was the fact that his clothes were torn and filthy, sagging on his tall figure as a testimony to the hunger he must have suffered. And his hair...
It had grown long, longer than he usually wore it. But that was to be expected. The thing she had not thought to see was the grey in the middle of gold. That and the look in his eyes, haunted and raw, were all the testimony she needed of the formidable truth. He had been in great pain and she wasn't sure that pain had yet ended.
The important thing, however, was that he was alive and free now, and she'd die before she let anyone touch him again. Everything else... well, she would figure it out.
Aragorn's words last night had roused some grave doubts to her mind and she had spent the last of the journey in wondering how very bad they'd find Éomer, but for the moment he did seem clear-minded despite the telling signs of the captivity. For one, he was concerned how the three had meant to conduct the rescue in the first place, and he was frowning when he voiced his doubts.
"I hope at least your original plan was not barging into the camp and attacking everything that moves", he said dryly.
"Of course not. We were hoping to settle this peacefully – negotiate with the chieftain to get you free", Aragorn replied with a small smile.
"But then we saw they were going to kill you, and I decided that would not do. So we didn't really have a choice but to change our plans and go with the barging in", Lothíriel put in. Her humorous choice of words did not seem to soften it at all, as Éomer's frown only deepened.
"I am still contemplating thrashing you for endangering yourself in such a reckless way and you're not really helping to change my mind", he informed her. She frowned right back at him.
"I thought we had already agreed you don't tell me what to do", she reminded him firmly. "And I know you wouldn't have cared about the danger or spared effort to find me, if I was the one to be captured and you knew I was still alive. You would have come for me, all alone if need be. So quit whining already."
Hearing that statement he fell silent and looked at her in silence, and she could see he understood.
But no more time for conversations were left then, for Éowyn spoke up: "They are returning. I don't see an armed company with them, so perhaps we are going to walk out of this alive."
Some riders were indeed approaching the hill-side, and judging her to be correct they made way down. They met Fanara and Varanat when the young chieftain was helping down his mother from the saddle. Both looked solemn, but as far as Lothíriel could tell it did not look like their expressions promised ill news.
Fanara was able to conjure a smile when her son had helped her down, though to Lothíriel it looked like the woman had suffered greatly because of what had happened today. She glanced at Éomer, who stood silent and tense and she reached for his hand carefully, and his fingers curled about hers. It would take a while to get used to the idea that they had made it successfully this far and they had truly found him alive. Meanwhile, she was not sure she could keep her eyes off of him.
"We have spoken to my tribe", Fanara spoke up at last. "Some of them would have had vengeance for the death of our chieftain, but I pointed out to them that so far vengeance has only brought us grief and loss. I also reminded them that it was the King of Rohan Sapat attacked, and that his treatment has been more fit for orcs than men. My son also said there are many men in the North who would consider this an open declaration for war, which disheartened those who would have exacted revenge. When I stated that we could negotiate a compromise, it was agreed that you should be allowed to leave this place."
"That is, if you will stand behind the word King Elessar here gave before – that the vengeance will indeed end here for your part, and you will not return here with the combined forces of Gondor and Rohan behind you", Varanat added solemnly.
"My word stands", Aragorn said, glancing at his fellow king. Lothíriel looked at him too: if anyone was likely to oppose this, it was him. Even if Sapat lay dead, the crimes against the King of the Mark would easily have roused Eorlingas to anger and war.
There was something about his expression that did alarm her and she nearly spoke up in haste, but then that look passed and Éomer nodded.
"Very well", was the only thing he did say, though his eyes remained dark and unreflective.
The postures of Fanara and Varanat relaxed visibly and they exchanged a relieved glance. She gave Éomer a small smile, one that held more sadness than anything.
"A high price has been paid for your freedom and life, Lord of the North. I hope you will appreciate that knowledge", she said in soft tones.
He bowed at her as a reply.
"I am grateful for all that you have done", he said quietly, and now a hint of something troubled appeared in his voice. "And I'm sorry for your nephew. He... his death was unnecessary."
"Aren't all deaths?" Fanara asked quietly, shaking her head. She looked at her son then and Varanat cleared his throat.
"As for me, I am rather anxious to get you four safely out of this land. You ought to return to your home kingdoms in north, and I will not have you die on the road after making it alive from this place", he said then, regarding the four before him. A slight smile touched his face, "I suppose it is fitting, considering you also took care of a rather nasty problem when you came here... I am speaking of Dhaub the Man-eater, of course. To tell you the truth, I have been rather disturbed by the matter of him, and the knowledge he had made his abode in Haradwaith. So, as my thanks I will come myself to escort you to safer roads."
Hearing that very helpful offer Lothíriel smiled, and saw from her eye-corner Aragorn bowing in gratitude.
"That would be an honour, Chieftain", he said solemnly. Varanat smiled.
"Oh, I believe the honour is all mine. One does not get to travel with a group of living legends every day, after all..." he said, and suddenly there was something undeniably boyish about his expression.
Seeing all things had turned out so well, Lothíriel turned again towards her beloved horselord, who now stood a free man again. Ever so gently, she wrapped her arms about him... and at length he returned the gesture. He stank, he was haggard and famished, and perhaps he wasn't quite so well... but he was alive, she had found him, and as she stood here holding him with tears of relief streaming down her face, Lothíriel felt nothing else mattered... she would not give up as long as there was living breath left in them both.
The day had seen many things pass. Last night Éomer had spent as prisoner, and today he was free. At the dying of that day he could at last turn his back to the camp of Chieftain Sapat and look ahead to see his road without shackles. Only, it was not without a price: the weight of the lives he had taken during the long weary day was heavier than he'd ever have guessed.
But even as those dark thoughts would fall on him there were gentle fingers on his arm, and beside him stood the woman he had called Lioness. Before now he had never understood just how deserved that name was... she lived up to that name even now as she remained by his side, for she did not look scared of what lay ahead. Instead, he thought he saw some hope in her eyes.
She took his hand then, and he followed her, though he did not know where she might be leading him; he would have followed his princess to the ends of the world.
When she spoke, she was smiling.
"Let's go home."
A/N: Here is an update! Hope you enjoyed it!
And so our three companions have finally found Éomer. I must confess I had some difficulty in writing this chapter and I'm not sure I did so well with it. I still consider myself not so good at writing action, so I'm not certain that fighting bit was very good. I also wondered whether people would expect the confrontation of Éomer and Sapat to be somehow more dramatic. But what you see in this chapter was, for me, what seemed the most plausible turn of events.
The numbers between the two sides may seem uneven, but the reason our companions are able to overcome Sapat's force is partly because of the explosive attack of Éomer and then his friends, and partly because Sapat's death so dismays his men that they make an escape. However, I do believe without Fanara and Varanat they'd come back in larger numbers and take down not only Éomer but also his rescuers. But the fact that Fanara and Varanat intervene and convince the tribe that the revenge has to end here means they will walk out of this alive.
As for Dhaub the Man-eater, I've got the sense from my readers he is considered a very dangerous fellow, even to the point of needing one of the Istari to deal with him. He is nasty, I give you that, but though he served Sauron he's still just a mortal man with no powers beyond the ordinary. Still I figured people wouldn't receive it well if Lothíriel was able to beat him on her own - hence I involved Éowyn in the matter, and I think we can agree that the Slayer of Witch-king will hardly be dismayed by some torturer. Also perhaps the next chapter may give a bit more information on the matter!
I don't know if you expected the reunion to be something else, but when I considered how it would turn out I felt it might not be so dramatic in the end. For one, at that point I believe Éomer at least would be emotionally so exhausted that he wouldn't really be able to react in any powerful way. And I suppose it's partly because the realisation he's free and among friends again hasn't really hit him yet.
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
Michelle - That's precisely what I wanted to show with that scene. In the end Sapat is/was just human. Granted, he was so blinded by hatred and vengeance that he failed to see the bad effects of it (or refused to acknowledge them) til the very end. But I think that's a realistic human behaviour. Sometimes we fail to see how destructive our own determination has become. The futility of vengeance and violence are the other thing I wished to show, so I'm glad to hear you think so!
UntilNeverDawns - Thanks! Hope you liked this chapter! :)
The Hare and the Otter - I rather liked that bit too! :D
MairaElleth - You're definitely right, and I constantly wonder if I've done well with the violent and dark scenes I've written, but I think it's good to at least try, because how else is one going to learn to do it? Anyway, I think story-wise that twist was necessary, but I also believe it bothers Éomer. I mean, Shaugit didn't directly harm him, but in that situation he was just so cornered and desperate he felt he had no choice. And yes, I did very much want to show how revenge can be a destructive thing, and how innocents are bound to suffer for it.
Wondereye - As I said, I'd imagine Lothíriel would recognise Gandalf, and with the war in the north ended I think Gandalf's days of fighting the shadow were over.
I'm afraid Rohan will have to wait for a bit for now. This is deliberate on my part, because not only do I wish to keep my readers on their toes, but also because it doesn't really seem like the place to delve into what is happening in Rohan. But we'll get there!
Talia119 - Hopefully it was an exciting climax at least! Though I'm not sure if I managed to write it so. Thanks for your thoughts on Éomer! I do agree he will have to forgive himself, but even then I think it might go beyond that. Of course we all deal with abuse and traumatic events in our own way, but I do think it wouldn't leave him unaffected.