A/N: Sorry for the (very) extended delay. Olena, you, and readers like you are the reason I write. Thank you.
R&R
Enjoy!
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Chapter Thirty-seven
Serafina urged her horse forward clumsily in the growing darkness as Éomer beckoned. The rest of the riders had already disbanded as they rode up the sloping roads of Edoras. The afternoon had consisted of little else other than riding and a failed escape attempt that resulted in her falling off her horse and very nearly being trampled by the other horses.
Éomer led her inside a stable. She dismounted awkwardly and turned to face the horse-lord.
"Take this - rub it into your face,"
She looked down at what he was holding out in his hands and started as she made out the shape in the gloom, "That's horse manure!"
"Rub it in," he repeated evenly.
"If you think that insisting is going to make me to rub -"
"I think that if I want to secure the allegiance of your Ranger then I need to ensure your safety,"
"By rubbing manure in my face" she said dryly and continued in a lower tone, "Aragorn is not my Ranger, and your allegiance with him is irrelevant to me,"
Éomer frowned and looked down before bringing his eyes back up to pierce hers with dislike, "I might have guessed as much," his voice dripping in unexplained irony. "He is not your Ranger, he is your path to the throne of Gondor. I know your type, but don't think I can't play your game. What is it that you want?"
She clenched her jaw at his accusations. Looking him straight in the eye she gave him his answer, "I want to get as far away from my heir to Gondor's throne as possible," she bit scornfully, "You have nothing that I need to make me stay, you have only your own goals to satisfy,"
Serafina turned away from him and smiled spitefully to herself as she made her way on foot towards the entrance of the stable. Before she took three steps something slid around her neck from behind and cool metal pressed on her throat.
"Then here is how I will satisfy them," he said in her ear as he pressed the sword into her skin along the flat edge. He turned her around and pushed her against a wooden pillar with the sword still threatening. His eyes were dangerous in the darkness and she felt the chill of fear close in on her.
Éomer leant in close, whispering harshly, "You might not need me, but I need you. If you will not help out of your own charity then I will use you for my own purpose. I need Aragorn's allegiance, I need his help. Rohan may fall to ruin, but I will fight for it. For Aragorn's trust I need to keep you safe until he returns, what you do after that moment is irrelevant to me. Do you understand?"
Serafina narrowed her eyes but inclined her head a mere inch to indicate her comprehension. He did not remove his sword.
"I do not see the need for manure," she said bitterly.
"Short of me presenting you before my uncle with a sack over your head, we have no other option,"
"A sack?! For what purpose?,"
"It's best to be cautious," he said evasively.
Serafina rolled her eyes, "If caution is your game you should not call me Serafina,"
Éomer laughed but otherwise ignored her comment, "You will rub the manure onto your face, or I will do it for you. The more repulsive you are, the less likely they will take an interest in you,"
"And dirt will not suffice?" she asked tartily.
His face screwed up in rage and Serafina felt something damp and pungent smeared onto her face. He grinned nastily at her, "Rohan soil is too precious to be wasted on you. Manure suits you well. Now rub it in and I will introduce you to the King,"
Serafina followed the man as he led her out of the stable and towards the Golden Hall. She tried desperately to rub the majority of the manure off her face but seemed to only succeed in making the coverage even. Her nose was permanently wrinkled at the smell but she kept her back straight; trying desperately to feel less repugnant than she smelt.
Trudging behind him she took no notice of the things she passed. At the doors of the hall a man instructed her to remove her weapons. Éomer watched her pull out each of the daggers from it's sheath and she eyed him defiantly. Her hand hesitated at her chest, knowing that the man knew of the dagger but a small, sharp sideways movement of the horse-lord's head made her drop her hand. She gave him a questioning look but he offered her no explanation and told the warden that that was all. She quickly cast her gaze to the man ladened with her daggers and saw disgust and pity in is eyes as he tried not to look at her.
Inside the hall was dark. Éomer walked in front but kept his pace slow and steady indicating to her to stay close to him as they walked the length of the building. When they reached the far end of the hall Serafina stopped half a step behind Éomer and cast her eye upon the throne before her. Upon it sat an old man, wrinkled and filthy. She wondered when the last time was that the man had washed properly - certainly it wasn't recently. It was her own stench though that kept her face sour rather than the undignified appearance of the old King.
"My King," began Éomer bowing his head, "I have returned and I bring news,"
Serafina's eye widened as the old man wheezed a word that she could not decipher. Strong footsteps sounded to her right and she turned to watch a beautiful young woman who appeared to be of a similar age as Serafina hurry to the King's side. Her blonde hair was like a curtain of sunshine. Serafina felt a hot surge of dislike race through her as she watched the maiden look tenderly upon the King.
"Uncle," the woman said softly to the King, "Uncle, my brother is returned. He has news for you,"
"Then he should tell it," said a sly voice from the hall in the direction the maiden had entered.
Serafina's head whipped around to see a pale man walk in. She felt his eyes pass over her as though she were dirt and come to rest on the Éomer.
"What news do you bring, and what is that thing by your side?" he asked with a snake like hiss.
His eyes looked somehow cold, she tried to repress a shiver as she looked at him.
"This is Serafina, she is a friend seeking refuge until her companions return for her," said Éomer.
"Serafina?" asked the maiden curiously.
"What companions?" asked the pale man talking over the top of her.
"We met a small party on the planes. They have some business to attend to and will come before the week is through,"
"They walk on Rohan soil? Unaccompanied, without permission?" he asked with a sly smile.
"They have my leave,"
"You do not have that kind of authority, Éomer son of Éomund,"
"They gave their word. They are friends,"
"Friends," hissed the repulsive man, "What a slimy word. Many times friends turn to foe. Do you not agree my King?"
Serafina watched as Théoden nodded weakly, though no comprehension was seen in his face, and she felt Éomer tense at her side, "Yes, and sometimes they turn to snakes," he said through gritted teeth. "You would know this better than anyone, would you not Wormtongue?" hatred was practically spitting from his mouth.
Prying her gaze from Éomer and the man called Wormtongue, she noticed the maiden had not taken her eye off her.
"You should watch your words, Éomer. It would not do to see you -" began Wormtongue.
"Brother? What did you say her name was?" the maiden interrupted, walking towards them. Her stomach sank in trepidation.
"Her name is Serafina, Éowyn,"
"Why is she so filthy?" she asked with distain.
Serafina's nose curled in dislike, "I could ask the same of your King!" she spat at the girl rashly. Éomer cringed. Wormtongue looked at her for the first time and watched attentively. Éowyn took a step towards her.
"Serafina. Serafina of Gondor?" asked Éowyn, with a keen look in her eyes.
"Serafina of Bree," she answered with a coldly.
"Brother, do you not think she -"
"Éowyn, tell me of Théodred," interrupted Éomer, "How does he fare?"
Éowyn's demeanour change instantly and Serafina watched repressed emotions surface in her features.
"I will take you to him," she said with a sad strength and turned to leave.
"No my Lady," said Wormtongue descending onto them like a scavenger, "there is still yet business to be attended to before you visit the sick,"
"He is not sick, he is dying," she spat defiantly.
"What is the new your bring Lord Éomer?" he asked turning from the sister to the brother with an awful smile.
Éowyn looked away from the men and her eyes rested on Serafina once more and her eyes narrowed.
"You look familiar. Who is your mother?" Éowyn asked abruptly before Éomer could answer.
"I have never known my mother. You would not know her either. She was Gondorian. Not some wench from Rohan." Serafina retorted.
"So you are Serafina of Gondor!" She exclaimed triumphantly, "I knew there was something I recognised, it must be the name!"
"Serafina of Gondor? The thief child?" asked Wormtongue, his eyes narrowing in delight. He smiled at her as she shifted her weight, "Look how she squirms,"
Éomer head turned towards her but Serafina knew she couldn't wait to see his expression. She sprinted for the door as fast as her legs could carry her but blackness enveloped her before she made it half the length of the Hall.
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Serafina woke on the cold floor with a stiff back and an aching head. Hunger registered in the back of her mind but she tried to ignore it. Her surroundings were dimly lit with the weak golden glow of torchlight in a room that had never seen the radiance of the sunshine. Around her were bars. Thick iron bars. She was in a cell.
With instant terror she flung herself at the doorway and searched for the lock.
"It's no use," came a tired voice to her left.
She spun around and saw Éomer in the adjacent cell. Her back arched at the sight of him but she didn't answer. Her hands found the lock - it seemed simple enough.
"Do you see those steps there?" he asked with gruff exasperation.
Serafina looked up and saw the outline of a stone stairway leading up into darkness. Dismissing it, she started searching her pockets for pins to pick the lock.
"That is the only entrance or exit to these cells. The doorway is but a few feet wide and it is guarded by two of my uncle's men. There is nothing else down here apart from a few empty cadges like these ones. Picking the lock won't help you."
Her mouth was so dry and parched she couldn't answer him straight away. Angrily she swallowed as best she could and spoke with more harshness than intended, "What then do you suggest we do?"
"Wait," he said with more patience than she believed of him.
"What an excellent plan," she said snidely.
"We wait for your ranger,"
"Aragorn?" she asked flatly.
"He is our only hope,"
"Why are you here?" she asked changing the topic.
"Because my uncle's reign is being commandeered by a slippery snake of a man. He can no longer recognises me as a friend," Bitterness and hurt resonated in his voice and Serafina's nose turned up at the sound. She refused to feel pity for him.
"There must be a way out,"
"I assure you there is not. If they catch you, they may send you to Minas Tirith," he paused watching her reaction, "We await Aragorn."
Regret for not convincing Éomer to use a fake name coursed through her. He hadn't recognised Serafina, but Éowyn and the man called Wormtongue had. Waiting for Aragorn was not an option, and neither was Gondor.
"You are certain Aragorn will come?" she asked.
"You are not?" he asked quickly.
"What would bring him here?"
"His word alone will hold him accountable. Do you have reason to doubt it?"
The suggestion that Aragorn's word could be doubted was so preposterous that it almost made her laugh. She caught herself quickly though and her heart sank when she realised she was trying to make Éomer doubt him. Disgusted with herself she shrugged noncommittally in answer, hoping he would fill in her silence with his own doubts.
"Look thief," he said. She cringed at the name. "I don't know what is between the two of you -"
"There is nothing between us," she interrupted harshly.
"Yet you are so anxious to leave," he said with a smirk, then continued more seriously, "Aragorn may be our only hope of leaving these cells,"
"I had always planned to be far away by the time he arrives,"
"Lover's quarrel?"
She threw him a filthy look. He, however was unaffected.
"I saw the way you looked at him and the glow on your cheeks after you said goodbye. If you want my opinion-"
"I don't want your opinion," she spat harshly, but a heavy blush set in her cheeks.
Éomer lifted his hands in surrender but continued, "So you would prefer to be taken to Denethor and made to answer for your crimes rather than be released from your cell by the Heir of Isildur?"
She jutted out her chin, "There is a chance I could escape the men on the way to Gondor,"
"Yes you could escape with your superior husbandry skills," he laughed. "No, your options are either Gondor or Aragorn."
"You should have used a false name," she mumbled angrily.
"For you?" he asked surprised, "I had no knowledge that your name was known by any, least of all that it was known because you killed the chief advisor of Denethor when you were but a foal,"
"Your sister knew,"
"Yes she did, she has a memory for that kind of thing. As women do. It would have made no difference to our situation in any case,"
"I disagree," she said through clenched teeth.
"Do you?" he asked, clearly aggravated at her hostility, "If I had used your name Miyra, I guarantee we would find ourselves exactly where we are now. They would have taken you prisoner regardless, for you travelled with me and you make a nice hostage to ensure your friends come to find you."
"But if they didn't know who I was, they wouldn't be threatening to send me to Minas Tirith if I escape,"
"That point is moot, you can not escape,"
A heavy clunk sounded from the top of the stairway. She swung her head in the direction of the sound and watched as a pair of boots descended the steps until a man stood in front of her offering a small plate of bread and a watery looking soup with a pitcher of water. She took it from him without a word and retreated to the furthest corner of her cell to eat in silence.
The silence between the prisoners continued and Éomer became increasingly more agitated as the time wore on. Eventually the horse-lord fell into a deep sleep. She watched him snore quietly as he slept sitting almost upright against the wall of the cell. She disliked him, that was certain. But he had allowed her to keep her last dagger - she hadn't needed to use it yet, but looking at the state that Edoras was in, she was grateful for it nonetheless.
Now that night had probably fallen Serafina began entertaining ideas of escape. She could pick the lock easily enough, but the issue was the guards at the top of the stairs, and whatever it was that lay beyond. One dagger was not enough to escape, she knew that she could not hold her own for long with such a small weapon, especially with an unknown number of assailants. And if she was caught, which she had to admit was likely, they could send her to Minas Tirith. Even Serafina had to admit that there weren't a lot of options.
Frustratedly she gave up and yanked the books out of her pouch; somehow she needed to distract herself from what would happen when Aragorn arrived.
Voices broke Serafina's slumber. She sat up groggily in time to see Éomer's cell being opened. Trying desperately to make out the words being spoken it took her almost a full minute to realise they were not speaking in the common tongue. She glared at Éomer as if he had purposefully spoken Rohirric to prevent her from being privy to their conversation. Éomer nodded to her as he made his way out of the cell and up the stairs, but he called something out to the guards before leaving. Serafina assumed it was a slight on her and set her face into a permanent scowl.
Why was Éomer suddenly freed? Could it be that Aragorn had arrived already? Serafina's stomach did a sickening flip. She sat motionless in her cell, wondering weather she should feign sleep. If Aragorn had arrived she would know soon - he wouldn't keep her waiting.
Soon enough their were footsteps on the stairs. The feet though did not belong to Aragorn, nor to Gimli or even Legolas, but to three women who each had a distinct no-nonsense look about them. The first was large and stern, the second tall and grim, the other was short and stocky. They each carried a large steaming basin of water and had cloth draped over their arms.
Serafina stood abruptly and backed to the corner of her cell. The women let themselves in and stood facing her. The largest set her basin on the ground and turned to Serafina.
"We're under strict instructions to wash you, as you are not be let out of this cell. Lord Éomer said you wouldn't give trouble," she said warningly looking her up and down.
Serafina swallowed and tried not to cower before the intimidating women - it had been a long time since she had had anything to do with women. Pulling herself together and jutting out her chin she nodded curtly.
"Good then, off with your clothes,"
Gritting her teeth Serafina tried desperately to think of the positives, in a short amount of time she would be clean and no longer smelling of orc blood and horse manure. That surely was a good thing.
Turning away from them she stripped carefully, ensuring her dagger was safely hidden in her leather pouch from Galadriel. When she turned to face them she saw a ghost of pity cross their faces. Looking down Serafina saw why; her body was overly thin, almost shrivelled and covered in bruises and welts.
Her legs seemed relatively unscathed, only thin with a smattering of light bruising. But everything above was frightful. Her arms looked like twisted twigs, her right wrist looked disfigured from scarring in the low light and her left shoulder was a brilliant shade of purple. When she looked at it she could actually make out the handprint of the orc in her flesh, it was slightly darker than the rest of the bruise and scarily large. She shivered. Looking down, she saw her hip bones protruding like they do on a famished child that has never had a hearty meal, but she was unable to decide if the shape or the colour was worse. The bruise was at it's deepest on top of her right hip bone. From there it stretched around almost to her navel changing colour from deepest black to purple, blue, green and eventually petering out to a sickly looking yellow.
The stocky woman walked over to her and led her gently towards the basins. It was all she could do to stop herself from wondering when this nightmare would end.
She sat alone in her cell, clean and dressed back into her clothes which had also been washed, dried and mended. After spending all of what she presumed to be the afternoon wrapped in blankets she had distracted herself by practicing her reading and writing. Relief flooded over her when the fat woman brought her clothes back to her. Her body looked even worse now that her skin was clean, for the bruises looked fresh and contrasted starkly against her skin.
Aragorn had been in Edoras for what she estimated to be most of the day and it was now very late in the evening. The first sign of his presence was Éomer's departure from the cell. For hours afterwards Serafina had been on edge wondering when her turn would come, would he come down to find her himself, or would she be sent for by the King like Éomer? But nothing had happened.
Snippets of gossip did reach her ears though from above the stairs. The man called Wormtongue had fled, and Aragorn had saved his life. Serafina thought it a pity, the snake probably deserved to die, but she was pleased enough that he was gone. More disturbingly though there was a rumour about a wizard travelling with them. Some just said it was rumour but Serafina felt uneasy. Could it be Saruman?
However the worst of the rumours going around was that she was to be used as a bargaining tool. The guards didn't mind sharing this little piece of information with her when they made the trip down into the cell to check on her, they knew it frightened her. Relations between Rohan and Gondor had been growing thin, and with war approaching Rohan wanted Gondor to be indebted to them. Serafina, they had said, would make an excellent gift to the Steward of Gondor.
The hours stretched on. Eventually she was able to distract herself from the rumours toying with her mind and focus all of her attention on the books Galadriel had given her. She was making slow, but steady progress. Deeply absorbed in a poem about the beauty of Lothlorien a gruff voice from the stairway jolted her mind back to the present. She stuffed her books back into her pocket and walked to the front of her cell to get the best look at her visitors.
"Where is she? Where's the girl we chased over 40 leagues who lands herself in a cell the moment she enters the realm of Men?"
"Did you expect differently Gimli?" came a fair voice in reply, "I expected nothing less" he added in an undertone.
The elf and dwarf came into view and Serafina felt a distinct lightening in spirit. In their arms they carried trays of food and drink, much more than she had been given in all of her pervious meals combined.
"You Lassie," Gimli began, addressing her directly as he came to stand in front of her, "have been nothing but trouble. Do you have any idea of the situation we are trying to get you out of?"
Serafina raised an eyebrow at the dwarf playfully, "The cell?" she asked.
"Don't you get smart with me Lass," warned the dwarf gruffly.
"I heard the rumours," she said straightening her back as if to appear unconcerned, "They're thinking of sending me to Minas Tirith?"
It was Legolas' turn to raise an eyebrow at her nonchalance, "Yes, they are." He paused looking her up and down, "Théoden King and his niece Éowyn have no love for you. Éomer defends you, though I cannot fathom his reasons," he said questioningly.
"He wants Aragorn's allegiance," she answered unconcernedly.
Legolas looked unconvinced, "No matter the reason you're future is still undecided while other, more pressing matters are discussed,"
"What pressing matters?" she asked frustratedly.
"We received news today that a band of Uruk-Hai are heading this way," he paused gauging her reaction. Serafina gritted her teeth, desperate to not appear scared. Legolas continued, "There is still some debate as to how to -"
Serafina had to interrupt him, she did not want to talk about the large orcs that haunted her sleep. "Merry and Pippin?" she asked abruptly.
Legolas frowned for the interruption but Gimli smiled grimly, "Our search was not in vain, they are alive. We did not see them though and I'm not convinced they are in the best of company,"
Legolas frowned at the dwarf then addressed Serafina, "Gandalf trusts them, that should be enough."
"Merry and Pippin are with people who were friends of Gandalf's? How do you know this if you did not see them?" she asked impatiently.
"We saw Gandalf," answered Legolas simply.
Serafina looked from Legolas to Gimli in utter confusion, "How? In a vision? Gandalf is dead," she said flatly.
"He lives," countered Legolas.
Serafina glowered at him, as she spat "How dare you! First Boromir is dead, now Gandalf lives?! Would you spin me such lies in front of Aragorn?"
Legolas and Gimli looked at each other uncomfortably. Serafina's chest was heaving and she was struggling to contain her frustration. Attempting to gather herself she looked at her two visitors, they seemed to be having a silent war between themselves. After a moment it appeared Gimli won.
"Serafina," began Legolas tentatively, "Boromir-" but whatever he was going to say remained unsaid as the door above them burst open.
"Where is she?! Serafina!"
Serafina took a couple of involuntary steps back, she had never heard that tone from him before - not so strongly. Panic sounded out of place in Aragorn's voice. He called her name again as he rushed down the stairs.
His footsteps were followed closely by another's, "Aragorn!" cried Éomer.
Aragorn reached the bottom of the stairs and came into view. Serafina's eyes were wide with alarm. Aragorn relaxed visibly when he saw her but his face held a curious expression. He strode to her cell, Legolas and Gimli stepping back out of his way. Serafina flushed in his presence. He was slightly out of breath from exertion and his eyes were dark in the low light.
"Fia," he gestured to her, "Come here."
Serafina hesitated but stepped awkwardly towards him. Her discomfort was clear on her face.
He grabbed her waist with his right hand as soon as she was within arms length and pulled her toward him, only the iron bars separated them. Serafina straightened her back but Aragorn took no notice. He grabbed her chin and pulled it up to face him. His eyes searched her face as if taking in ever inch of her.
"Uncanny, isn't it" said Éomer, but it wasn't a question.
Aragorn did not reply. Instead he grabbed her right hand and lifted her arm up to the light to examine it. Slowly he started to relax.
Serafina swallowed, "Aragorn, what…?"
But it wasn't her he answered, "What does this mean Éomer?"
"That is not a discussion for this place," he answered swiftly.
Aragorn turned his attention back to her face. She was know so red that she was sure her face looked like a beacon, he didn't seem to notice. He brought his hand back up and held her head, his fingers burying themselves in her hair at the nape of her neck. He took some deep breaths in, closing his eyes. Serafina shifted uncomfortably as Gimli, Legolas and Éomer looked on.
"Lord Aragorn, my uncle waits," said Éomer, clearly signalling that the purpose of the visit was attained and time was not to be wasted.
Aragorn drew Serafina in slightly, eyes still closed. Serafina swallowed again, trying to keep her composure. He rested his head on her forehead. Indulgently she closed her eyes, unable to work out the meaning of such a visit that was evidently almost over. She tried to keep her mind present but it was little use. Her mind was racing with memories of their goodbyes and the visions from Galadriel's mirror. Was he saying goodbye to her? Would she indeed be sent off to Minas Tirith?
A sudden surge of anger coursed through her. How could he do this? She ripped his hands off from her neck and stepped away from him. Furious that he would deign to visit her as a parting gesture she opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of his visit. Before she could speak, he reached into her cell and placed a hand gently on her mouth to silence her. She narrowed her eyes at him but he ignored it.
"Please Fia," he said wearily, "do not fight with me, not now. There will be time for that,"
"Aragorn," came Éomer's voice again, reminding him.
Aragorn nodded, and walked away and up the stairs without looking back, Éomer following in his wake.
"Well!" exclaimed Gimli, "What was that about?"
Legolas looked at Serafina equally bemused. Serafina ignored them both and walked to the corner of her cell an sat, willing them to leave her. With heavy sighs the elf and dwarf finally unladen their arms full of food placing it inside her cell and left without a word.