Chapter 28
Edoras
November 3019
Éomer stared down into his cup of ale. It had been quite some time since he had received word about Lothíriel's suicide in Dol Amroth. He could still picture Prince Imrahil's face as he had given not only Éomer the news, but Éowyn as well. The heavy feeling of grief and guilt had weighed heavily on his heart from that day on because he knew, despite his attempt to resolve his relationship with Lothíriel with a letter, he'd had some hand in her death.
One thing that had surprised him is how struck by her loss he had become. He knew it was right to mourn a friend, and he had even admitted to Éowyn that he had feelings for her the day he had penned the letter, though he hadn't even recognized how deeply he felt for her until it was too late. How many sleepless nights since had he laid awake, imagining going to Dol Amroth himself and arriving just in time?
"You know," Éothain's somber voice sounded behind him. When Éomer did not turn to greet him, he made his way around the table Éomer sat at, picked up a full cup of ale and took a seat opposite of him. "If you don't allow yourself to smile, at least once in a while for your people, you'll soon be called Éomer King the Melancholy. And how will you ever find a wife to love if you are melancholy?" Éothain reached across the table and touched his shoulder. Finally Éomer looked up and saw Éothain's encouraging smile. His own expression remained hard.
"So I will be labeled melancholy. So I will not find a wife to love. These are things that I already have come to terms with." He sighed deeply and took a drink from his cup. "The woman I love is dead; laying at the bottom of the ocean, never to be found." His friend's smile fell and he held up his cup in a toast.
"May Béma watch over her sleeping self." He took a long drink before placing the cup back on the table. "But you still need a wife, Éomer. You are the last son of your line. You have a responsibility to tend to your line."
"I know." Éomer turned his face upwards and stared at one of the carved pillars. "I have thought that I should invest time to find a wife from Gondor. It will help to ease us back into a time of prosperity. You will remember that the only reason we will survive the coming winter at all is due to Prince Imrahil's generosity. But," he hesitated, "I am not ready just yet. I still need heal from the loss of Lothíriel."
"I understand." He turned the cup upwards, finishing the last of the liquid contained within. "Perhaps it would help to go and say goodbye to her."
Éomer focused on Éothain. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Go down to Dol Amroth after the Yule. Perhaps a few months before your sister's wedding and say your goodbyes over her grave. Allow yourself to move on."
Târêt
November 3019
"Remember to concentrate." Yusraa whispered while Mheydar stared into the smooth disk made of obsidian. "Don't just look at it, look through it." She did as Yusraa instructed and the obsidian seemed to take on a translucence. When she stood silent for a few moments she heard Na'man.
"Is she ready?" His deep voice filled the room as he spoke.
"Yes, my lord." Yusraa answered for Mheydar. "What do you wish to know?"
"Tell me what I must do to see Zwendi surrender." The command was simple. Mheydar's mind had been blank but as soon as Na'man had uttered the name of one of the Chieftains who led a large nomadic tribe, it seemed to fill her to the brim. The obsidian cleared completely, becoming like glass, and the room faded away.
She now stood in the midst of a huge encampment. She walked through it as people went about their daily lives until she came to a large tent made of black cloth. Entering it, she saw a tall man with skin nearly as dark as the very cloth surrounding him. He wore no shirt and on his skin were scars running down his chest and back in a pattern. On his hip was a curved dagger with a hilt that resembled a snake's head. Between the snake's fangs was a finely polished, round ruby. He stood frozen in front of a table with a large map.
A young man rushed into the tent and stared at the enraged man. "Lord Zwendi," he approached slowly, as one would to a feral animal. "I know not how, but the Lord of Târêt, Na'man, knew we would come from the west and his riders who attacked in the darkest part of the night cut loose many of our water horses and punctured our other water skins." He licked his lips. "We are too far from any water source other than Târêt, though I do not think we could take the city before we die of thirst. The walls are tall and thick and they have many arrows."
Zwendi did not move for several moments until at last he let out an enraged cry and threw the table – along with all it's contents – onto its side. "So it seems I must bow to the man who not only murdered my wife, but our child who had not yet seen even three summers as well?" Zwendi spat onto the ground. "I should curse his name until my bones have dried in the ground." His fists clenched together at his sides and when he finally turned Mheydar could see a single line of wetness on his right cheek.
"If you do not," the young man turned to face the entrance to the tent where outside people passed by, unaware of what was happening inside the tent, "your people will surely die." Zwendi watched for a full minute before sighing. His shoulders hunched forward.
"Very well. If it is for them, I think even my wife and child will forgive me in the afterlife." As soon as Zwendi finished the word 'afterlife' everything around Mheydar became blurred and progressively became darker and darker. She closed her eyes and when she reopened them, she was once again in Na'man's study with Yusraa. Mheydar's body grew heavy and her strength ebbed away. This had happened ever since she had woken up from her fever. She would have fallen if not for the chair directly behind her. Taking a seat, she breathed heavily and forced herself to remain conscious.
"Tell me what you saw." Na'man stood in front of Mheydar.
Na'man watched as Yusraa half carried the Oracle out of his study. It had been frustrating waiting for Yusraa to train her, but his patience had been rewarded, though now he felt he should make up for lost time. Every single victory had become nearly effortless as the Oracle always saw either the most effective way to obtain a surrender, or the best time to attack. And now he was about to win against one of the most powerful chiefs to ever roam the deserts of Harad.
Long had the two of them contested each other, matching each others' strength. The closest he had ever come to defeating the man was when he had killed his wife and daughter several years before. Zwendi had let his bloodlust get the best of him and it had nearly cost him his life. Unfortunately the chieftain was someone who had been able to unite a few tribes against him and they had arrived just before Na'man was able to finish the fight. After that day, Zwendi had always been an obstacle to Na'man's goal of conquering all of Harad and uniting the tribes under his rule.
Now Na'man had the upper hand. He had defeated each of the tribes who were loyal to Zwendi. He did have to admit to himself that he admired Zwendi somewhat. It took a certain strength of character to be able to unite several of the nomadic tribes without actually conquering them. Perhaps he would keep the chief alive and turn him into one of his generals. He chuckled to himself as he thought of Zwendi constantly bowing before him as King. No doubt seeing such a thing day after day would be more pleasurable that seeing his blood stain the sand only once.
He stood and hastened out the door until he found one of the slaves. "Go and tell my generals to come here." He smiled, "We must prepare for our next victory."
Mheydar had been lying in her bed for hours and still her strength had not returned to her. Each time she had forced a vision to come to her, the time she needed to recover had grown. The door to her room opened and it took all she had to lift her head and see Hind enter. She gave a gentle smile and took a seat on the edge of the bed and brushed some hair off of Lothíriel's brow.
In the past months, the two women had become friends. Hind had initially been uncomfortable with the title of friend, but after some coaxing, she agreed. It still made Mheydar uncomfortable that slavery existed, but when she had asked Yusraa once about freeing all the slaves, Yusraa had dismissed her idea as childish.
Usually during these times of recovery, Hind and Mheydar were able to be alone. This time she told Hind of the earlier conversation. Hind sighed, "Lady, to change the ways of the world you needed to be either a god or given divine right to rule and neither of us possess those qualities, least of all a slave who was born to a merchant."
"Do you remember your family?" Mheydar gazed outside, past the balcony where night was beginning to fall.
"It's been such a long time." Hind's voice was barely above a whisper. "I never knew my mother. She died shortly after I was born. Her death drove my father to gamble. He would spend most nights at the docks and whenever he came home," she hesitated, "I actually preferred the nights he didn't come home."
"I'm sorry." Mheydar lightly touched Hind's hand. "I didn't mean to upset you with bad memories."
"Compared to my life after he sold me into slavery, it was a dream." Hind chuckled as a tears she refused to shed filled her eyes.
"Your father sold you?" Mheydar's brow knitted. "What kind of parent would do such a thing?"
"The kind who is told that if he sold me, all his gambling debts would be paid." Hind stood up and walked to the fire pit, stirring the logs until the dying embers renewed into flames. When she turned back around and faced Mheydar. "You should try eating something. It'll help you regain some of your strength."
"You shouldn't push her so hard." Yusraa spoke quietly before taking a sip from the golden goblet Na'man had provided. "If you don't ease up, she will die before the year ends."
"My enemies will not wait for me to be ready." Na'man tapped a finger on his desk. "I shouldn't wait for her." Yusraa narrowed her eyes as she studied him.
"Perhaps you feel that way now, but how will you feel when you no longer have her at all?" She placed the goblet down. "All that trouble to steal her away and convince her she belongs here and you go and kill her."
"She's had visions ever since she was a child if you may recall."
"That may be," Yusraa crossed her arms over her chest, "but those came naturally and not very often. Each time we force her, the vision steals a little of her life force. If she were not descended from the old sea kings, I doubt she'd even be alive now."
Sighing, Na'man stopped his tapping and leaned back in his seat. "Very well. What would you have me do?"
"First I would allow her to recover for a bit longer than a week or two and after she has regained her strength, then I would take her outside."
"She can go outside as often as she likes." Na'man scoffed. "She has a very large balcony."
"I mean that she should go outside the palace." Cel flew in from the open window and landed on her shoulder. She reached up and caressed his black feathers as Na'man's scoff turned into a dark laugh.
"After everything I went through to bring her here, you'd have me let her go?"
"As you know, her bloodline is strong." Yusraa began to pace. "My magic is not strong enough to convince her so long as my words are the only memories she has of this place. She is beginning to remember the dream of her past. If she remembers too much, she may realize the dream is real and she will be of no more use to you." She stopped pacing. "Let her see Târêt, see its people."
"And what guarantee do I have that she won't remember anyways and run away?"
"I will send Cel with her." As she spoke, the bird hopped from her shoulder and landed on the floor. In front of them Cel's body morphed until it took the form of a man clad in black armor with a cape of feathers. His head was covered by a hood that had nothing within it but shadows. "If there is anything that you should feel concerned over, I will see it."
Edoras, Rohan
Yule 3019
Éomer spotted the riders nearly as soon as he had exited Meduseld. The dark horses were in such contrast to the white snows that covered the once green plains that they would have been seen by nearly anyone with eyes. As he watched them galloping towards the city, he noticed that on the horizon many other riderless horses followed. Seeing that, he knew that one of the many groups of breeders would be joining Edoras in greeting the new year. Eventually the riders thundered up towards Meduseld being led by none other than Talia.
"My King!" She smiled brightly as she dismounted her horse. As soon as her feet touched the ground she swept down into a bow. "I beg you allow my breeders and our horses to camp at the foot of Edoras."
"Rise Talia." Éomer spoke clearly, "breeders are always welcome here and of course you and your father may stay the Yule night within Meduseld itself if you wish."
"A very kind offer, I am sure that my father would have been greatly honored by an invitation such as this," Talia's smile faded, "alas he has passed from this world."
"I am sorry to hear of that. Please see to it that your company is settled and perhaps we could talk afterwards." She bowed, and turned around giving swift commands. Her companions nodded and mounted their horses, riding off to meet the other breeders.
Talia made her way up the steps and stopped directly in front of Éomer. "You look well. Perhaps a bit tired, but overall, you seem to be in good health."
"I doubt Éothain would let me ever hear the end of it if I got sick before having a few heirs." Éomer chuckled and led Talia inside of Meduseld. "I hope your father didn't have a difficult passing."
Talia shook her head. "He went in his sleep." She paused. "It's actually because of him that I decided to come to Edoras for Yule."
"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows in anticipation. "What do you mean?"
"The day before he died, he kept muttering the same thing over and over again. 'The King must know not to give up hope. He must follow the raven's wing to the sea of sand to find the moon's blood.'" Talia looked at him as she pulled off her leather gloves. "Do you know anything of what he meant?"
"I have no idea." Éomer sighed. "But your father always had a knack for talking in riddles that would come to fruition one way or the other."
"Well is there anything you have given up hope of? Perhaps that will give you a clue."
"Unfortunately the only thing I have given up hope of is to see the woman I love again." Thinking of Lothíriel once more caused his heart to tighten.
"Then perhaps you will see her again since my father was usually right in these things." Talia stopped walking and Éomer faced her, his mouth in its usual grim line.
"I greatly doubt it, as she has lain at the bottom of the sea for half a year now."
