Chapter 37

Khätif

March 3020

Éomer walked quietly towards the tree at the edge of the river. Not far from the water's edge was the area that would be his battleground. The sun was nearing the horizon though he could still see there was more than enough time before his foe would arrive. He took a seat on a nearby tree stump as he unsheathed Guthwine. From his pocket he pulled out a whetstone and began to slowly run it along the edges of the blade. The rhythmic sound, accompanied by the movement of the water close to his feet was soothing. As he continued, instead of hearing or seeing, he felt Lothíriel walking towards him. His lips curved upward slowly into a grin as he turned his head. She walked so silently, she could have been a shadow, but all the same, he had known she was near. It was as if his very being acknowledged her presence.

"You've more armor than that I hope." Her voice was quiet and solemn.

"I brought more, though if I had known how truly hot it was in Harad, I would have left most of it to make room for anything else that would have been useful." He turned his attention back to Guthwine. "But do not worry for me. I am determined to not lose this fight." He had to hold his tongue before he added, 'to not lose you.'

The sky had already grown dark and the moon was beginning to peek up from the horizon when Na'man and his party arrived. In the dirt was a large circle and around it were four zesor, each holding a torch as steadily as statues. Their faces were covered in the pasty white paint that reminded Éomer of skulls. He studied Na'man. The two opponents were similarly equipped, though Na'man held not only a curved sword that gleamed in the firelight wickedly, but also a small dagger with a blade as dark as ebony. He looked to Na'man's party as well. Aside from the woman with a raven on her shoulder, there were only men with him. Each had a curved sword, sheathed and resting against their hips.

"No man will join in this fight. If one of them attempt to aid Na'man, or if any of your men attempt to aid you, the zesor will kill that man." Zwendi whispered. "These kinds of fights are not uncommon among the chieftains. If the rules are not followed, the fight is considered null and a battle amongst all will take place." Zwendi pointed to the line on the ground and this time when he spoke, his voice was louder. "Two may pass that line, but only one may return. Until one of you has died, neither may leave the circle." Éomer nodded. He took a few steps until he was in front of Éothain.

"I hope I have not caused too much worry for you, Éothain." Éomer grasped his friend's arm tightly.

"You have always caused me worry, but I suppose you've faced worse odds and made it out alive." He returned the grasp. "Make it out alive this time too." Éomer stepped even closer.

"No matter what happens out there. Keep Lothíriel safe." Éomer added in Rohirric as he locked eyes with Éothain until he nodded. They let go of each other and Éomer took a few more steps toward the circle. As he reached the line, he turned and Lothíriel was there. He could feel her anxiety, though she tried to mask it. Quietly, Éomer dropped to both of his knees in front of her. He waited for a moment in the stunned silence.

"Will you bless me?" He turned his face upward slightly. Lothíriel nodded and Éomer dropped his face once again. He felt her two hands press against his head before leaning down and gently kissing the area between them.

"Do not lose." She whispered before straightening. Éomer took a moment before standing again.

"I will return to you." He smiled reassuringly. He handed her the sheath of his sword before stepping over the boundary to his small battlefield. On the other side, Na'man looked at Éomer through narrowed eyes, his lips twisted into a malicious sneer. He shifted his gaze from Éomer and to Lothíriel.

"Pay close attention, Oracle. I mean for this to be the first of many lessons that you will learn. Before the end, you will bitterly regret trying to run away from me." With the last word he stepped over the line, allowing the duel to begin.

Lothíriel could feel her heart beating so hard it was a wonder that no one else heard it. Éomer and Na'man were circling each other slowly, each measuring the other's abilities as best they could. The light of the fire from the torches gleamed off the blades of the two swords. Each second seemed to drag on for an eternity until suddenly, without any warning, the two stepped forward and the metal clashed. In the silence, the ringing was nearly deafening. Their blades were locked together and she saw Na'man's lips moving, though she couldn't hear what he said. It clearly affected Éomer because he took a single step back, letting Na'man's sword go free.

The sneer that had been on his face transformed to a smile, though it was so dark and wicked that Lothíriel had to fight the shudder that crawled down her spine. He wasted no time in taking advantage of the opening Éomer had left him, but his strike hit only air as Éomer dodged to the side, swinging fluidly at Na'man's leg. The blow nearly landed but instead of hitting flesh and bone, it struck a line across the dirt, causing dust to fly up with the tip of the blade. On and on the cycle continued, each blow being dodged within a hair's distance. Each times the blades would occasionally meet each other with a clash, Lothíriel would jump, her heart skipping a beat. She didn't want to watch, but she couldn't take her eyes off of the two of them.

Na'man caught Lothíriel's anxious expression and looked at her for a split second before taking three steps backwards, nearing the line. He took a defensive position before speaking loudly and clearly. "My dear," his voice was as silken as always, though to Lothíriel it felt akin to slime, "I'm surprised that you're so worried for your former love." He sneered as Éomer inched closer, looking for any opening. "But, if it means so much to you, I will make sure that you are not separated from him." He began to laugh haughtily. "Even after the body is mere bones in your bed."

Lothíriel felt the blood rush from her face as the image of Éomer, long dead, lying beside her filled her mind. Her throat filled with bile, but she managed to swallow it. Na'man's laughter increased as Éomer covered the remaining distance. Éomer swung more rapidly, no longer acting with much care for his defense. Not that it mattered. Na'man was so busy defending and dodging that he could hardly get a swing in until he finally left is shoulder open. Éomer took the opening and brought his blade downwards. Na'man pitched forward, causing Éomer's blade to pierce the skin, but not deeply enough to cause much harm. At the same time, Na'man struck out at Éomer's legs with his dagger, before rolling away to the side.

Blood glistened down Na'man's arm, but instead of an expression of pain, there seemed to be a gleeful triumph about him. Lothíriel turned her attention to Éomer. He was standing defensively, his back to Lothíriel, but as he began to edge around the circle, she saw why Na'man had looked pleased with himself. Éomer's trousers were cut at his thigh and the skin that she could see underneath was shiny with blood. She clutched her hands together to keep from fidgeting nervously.

Éothain let out a shaky breath. The cut on Éomer's leg had been too close to the femoral artery, but thankfully had just missed it. It was bleeding as could be expected, but given the amount of blood, it hadn't been too deep. Éothain had been beside Éomer since he had begun to train with a sword. The two were as close as brothers. The fight had carried out in a rather predictable manner up until both men were wounded. The more serious injury was clearly made by Éomer, but there was a sense of unease that Éothain couldn't shake. The Haradric man was clearly pleased with himself, but he couldn't figure out why, but after years of training and experience, his warrior's instinct was not often wrong. Although Éomer had been cut, it was little more than a scratch. After being wounded, Na'man seemed to stay along the edges of the circle, moving defensively as if he was an animal tamer circling a wild lion.

"Since you won't live past this night," he called out tauntingly, "I suppose I should tell you how I plan to teach the Oracle a lesson about defying me." Éothain watched as Éomer's already dark expression grew even more murderous.

"There is nothing on this earth that she needs to learn from you." He growled as he thrust forwards. It nearly hit, but Na'man circled away, out of Éomer's range. When Éomer realized that he was overextending himself, he brought his sword back and took a defensive stance. With slow, short movements, he inched closer to Na'man. As Éomer grew closer Na'man took a few slices before skirting away again the the edge of the circle.

"You should give up while you still have time." Na'man taunted as he circled around Éomer, "the gods are on my side, quite obviously. No god would care about a man who would lie with his own horse." He sneered, "no decent woman either." He shrugged, "I suppose that means if the Oracle is in love with you, as you obviously desire, she would be a horse lover's whore?"

Éomer didn't even respond except to lash out angrily. The crashing blade knocked against the curved sword so quickly and with such ferocity that Éothain was a bit surprised that he didn't see sparks ignite between the weapons. Éomer's intensity didn't last for very long. After only a few minutes of his enraged battering, he began to slow.

Something was wrong. After all the years that Éothain had seen Éomer fight, he knew that he had better stamina than that, especially if his opponent had foolishly made him angry. All of that experience seemed a pittance as he watched his king's movements grow slow and sluggish. He no longer looked like the prestigious warrior who had prepared over the past several hours for a fight to the death, and instead looked as though he had just left one of Rohan's best taverns after drinking more ale than was good for any man.

The world was spinning under Éomer's feet. How he managed to remain standing was a mystery to him. Every time he looked up and tried to focus on Na'man in front of him, he felt bile rise in his throat. His arms were growing stiff and his sword felt as heavy as it had when he was only a child. His leg throbbed painfully. Out of everything, that pain felt the strangest. Firstly, it shouldn't have been hurting more than an itch, which it had in the beginning when the blade had pierced his flesh, but shortly thereafter it had begun to tingle and pulsate as he had moved forward and attacked Na'man. It wasn't long after that frenzied attack that the dizziness had set in.

He heard laughter, though it was not joyful, but instead malicious and dark. With that laugh Éomer knew he had to push past these sensations. After the fight was done, he could give into the dizziness and pain, but now, he had a job to do. He had made a promise to Lothíriel. He had made a promise to her family. He had to protect the woman he loved. He would not lose this fight! He took several deep breaths. With each exhale, he shunned each discomfort to the back of his mind, giving it no more thought. He had survived much worse battles, where the odds were stacked against him and not only survived, but had come out victorious.

The sun had already gone past the horizon and the only light came from the torches surrounding the two men. Na'man was still on the other side of their small battleground, his head back and shoulders heaving as he laughed at his assumed victory when, with a rush of exhilaration, Éomer, like a lion striking out from the shadows, silently launched himself forward with every bit of power he could muster, his sword tip pointed directly at Na'man's chest.

The first sound Éomer heard was the clatter from Na'man's sword and dagger as it fell from his hands to the ground. The laughter turned into a gasping cough. His eyes came forward and a look of absolute shock was met with Éomer's resolute gaze. Taking another deep breath, Éomer stepped back and with one swift motion, he pulled the now reddened blade from Na'man's body. Na'man fell back, the blood coloring the dirt and sand beneath him. In that same instant, he heard a cry of anguish and saw the white haired woman bolt past the torches, skidding to a stop on her knees in front of Na'man.

"No,"she sobbed as she collected his head in her lap. She bent forward as Na'man's body began to convulse. The dizziness was beginning to overcome him again, and this time, he didn't have the wherewithal to remain standing any longer.

As Éomer's body began to fall forward, several rohirrim rushed forward and caught their wounded king before hoisting him up and carrying him off the battlefield. Zwendi limped forward and held out a hand, indicating that the men of the mark stop. When they did, he inspected the cut on Éomer's leg closely and without a word straightened, a hardened look on his face.

"Bring me the sword," he called out to one of the zesor. The man followed the instruction silently. Zwendi ran his finger across the side of the blade near to the edge. His fingertips were oily as he raised them. He touched them to his tongue and tasted the oil before spitting multiple times. "Cerastes! " He addressed the rohirrim, "Take him to my tent, immediately. I have antidotes for many poisons." He turned back to some of the men of his tribe. "Yapost vepek jajak mheydor te gonkepo om mirs siatekaa forl pe pest ov we cerastes. Ponwem estorou! " Two men jumped forward and hastily led the rohirrim into the mess of tents. Lothíriel was about to follow them but Zwendi stopped her. "You cannot leave just yet. You must stay and witness the end of the zamzes in Lord Éomer's place." Lothíriel looked beyond the tents as the last of the rohirrim disappeared behind tents. She nodded to Zwendi. He then turned and faced the rest of his men and the zesor. "Ser volal jeforee om val defar, " he pointed to Na'man's party and Yusraa who was still sobbing over Na'man's lifeless corpse. "Om, kosol te vik val ve pestatee zaasik beh pestasa sovom ve sil lilipa we ekar te satar om jokam foh canan tekom. Ber jefor bopar rova yel te akol we zamzes san valal we assis lilipa re wanor te achir foh teskas ipos ve sil. " The men and zesor he was addressing stepped forward and within a few moments, had the men from Na'man's party bound along with Yusraa.

Two women stepped forward and began to wrap Na'man's body in a thick, white cloth. They did it so efficiently that it was clear they were not strangers to such a practice. To their side another pair of women was setting up logs that looked much like an altar. As soon as the altar was built, the largest of the zesor stepped forward, and lifted Na'man's body off the ground and placed it onto the altar. Another Zesor, nearest to Lothíriel silently stepped forward and held out a torch to her.

"In Lord Éomer's place, you must light the pyre to show that he was victorious." Zwendi whispered to Lothíriel. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and stepped forward slowly. When she touched the flames of the torch to the kindling the fire was set and she stepped back, watching as the man who had caused such grief burned to ash.

Translations:

Cerastes - Deadly viper

Yapost vepek jajak mheydoree te gonkepo om mirs siatekaa forl pe pest ov we cerastes. Ponwem estorou! - Lead these good men to my tent and begin healing him for poison from a deadly viper. Go quickly!

Ser volal jeforee om val defar - Restrain those men and that woman

Om, kosol te vik val ve pestatee zaasik beh pestasa sovom ve sil lilipa we ekar te satar om jokam foh canan tekom. Ber jefor bopar rova ye te akil we zamzes san valal we assis lilipa re wanor te achir foh teskas ipos ve sil. - And see to it that the snake's body is burned before the sun has a chance to rise and touch his skin again. Any man who would try to win a duel in such a manner has no right to spend his eternity under the sun.