Chapter 26
I don't want to be a burden for you.
The trail of the kidnappers was clear enough and it was easy to follow. Judging by the tracks, there were some two dozen Riders, maybe more. It amazed and infuriated Éomer that they had done this deed under his very nose. If they all had taken part in the abduction, then it was no wonder Alfwen had been powerless against them. With a grim mind, he thought the blood he had seen on the grass could very well be hers, too. If it was so indeed – if she was dead – how was he going to bring the news to Erkenbrand and Léoma, who had such high hopes for their daughter?
For me, there is no veil between what is and what may be. You don't know how hard it can be to remember others do not see the world like I do.
Alfwen's fate was one of the many questions that passed through his mind as the King's Company followed the visible track of Riders. Trackers had quickly discovered it, for the earth was damp from recent rain, and horses' ironclad hooves had left deep marks in the earth. They could not go at full speed, though. If there were any signs of Lothíriel or Alfwen, or if one or two Riders had left the main company, he wanted to be aware of it.
Never once did I dare to hope that there would indeed be a man outside my family I could trust with my sight.
His rage and panic had now passed; instead, he felt like his entire being was consumed with deep, aching distress and dread. At the back of his throat, a howl was stuck: it couldn't quite come out, but it continued to choke him and made each spoken word a tight, hoarse sound. He couldn't recall the last time he had felt a terror like this. How much more could he take before it would burst in his chest? If he had felt detached from his wife during these past few weeks, now he realised it was nothing compared to this. It was like not knowing if he'd ever be warm again.
I don't know if it makes any sense to you, but with a gift like this, it's often easier to just let it lead you.
Over and over, his hand felt the pouch he wore on his belt, containing some everyday objects he needed on the road. Lothíriel's letter was there, too. He had only read it three times, but he felt like her words were already branded into his memory, like runes of power into a sword's blade. Her sadness and yearning and loneliness, and the heartfelt plea for him to come back to her, now filled his thoughts. She had written those words even as he himself had wondered how to make up with her – she had wanted it too, but neither of them had been able to say it out loud. And now, thanks to their stupid, stupid stubbornness, she was being taken Béma knew where. If only he had spoken to her sooner... if only...
Having this gift does not mean knowing all, or even understanding everything that is seen.
He did not blame her for going to see Wulfrun with just Alfwen. If she had felt as unwell and isolated as he believed, and if she had sought Wulfrun's aid for one very particular reason, then he could understand why she had wanted privacy. Alfwen was a capable guardian who would have kept her safe from most dangers, and neither of the two women could possibly have expected that someone would attack them at the edge of Snowbourne, a village so near to the heart of the land – and under the very nose of the King of Rohan. He himself wouldn't have expected this sort of thing here. Perhaps she had made a mistake, but after reading her heartfelt letter and finally understanding how deeply troubled she was, he couldn't be angry with her. How could he, when it was clear to him how his unkind words and actions had made her feel and act this way? Her mistake was his, too. If he had taken the initiative sooner, as he should have, then she would have felt comfortable asking him to come with her, and not dread the possibility of being dismissed once again. She had given him so many signs that she needed time to learn, and she needed his support, his guidance. And what he had done but refuse it? What had he achieved but pushing the woman he loved into a breaking point?
I just see things. It is your hand that wields the sword. I chose – I wanted – the man, not the king. Bear with me until I find a way to choose them both.
Bear with me until I find a way to choose them both.
Bear with me.
Her voice echoed in his head, over and over again, and only now when it was too late did he understand what she had been trying to tell him.
But great as his worry and anxiety were, Éomer knew he couldn't let himself think of the worse possibilities: what torment she had been subjected to, or what her kidnappers might be doing to her right now. If he did – well, that was a sure way to lose his mind. Only this could be allowed: finding her and bringing her home, safe and sound.
Although the first glimpse of blood on the ground had rather shocked him, even made him wonder if they had killed his wife, Éomer was less certain of it now. Taking her life meant a death sentence to each and every one who took part in it; she was more valuable alive. Even if he couldn't imagine what the kidnappers hoped to achieve, and how they meant to avoid his vengeance.
The tracks lead to the crossing of river Snowbourn. They noticed the villains had tried to hide their trail at this point, but without particular success. Éomer guessed it was because they were running in haste and so had no time for effective feints. In a way, this was a hopeful thought. Hurry meant they wouldn't have time to subject their prisoners to cruelty and abuse. On the other hand, catching them would not be easy, because the King's Company could not ride at full speed while they followed the tracks and looked for possible traces of the prisoners, or single riders that may have left the main group. Would Lothíriel or Alfwen dare and try to slow them down? He hoped not. It would only try the patience of their kidnappers and put them in more danger.
His Riders were quiet as they made their way. Usually, they would be talking and singing, but his mood seemed to have infected them all and set an atmosphere of unease over the party. Maybe they feared it would somehow provoke him if they made unnecessary noises. Éomer was not proud of it, but momentarily he even wondered if some of them might be glad for their queen's predicament – if they secretly approved of whoever had done this and taken things in their own hands. Not that he had ever seen or suspected such disloyalty among the Knights of the Royal Guard, but at the moment, he couldn't quite fight the dark and dismal thoughts that passed through his mind.
He resented this feeling. That he doubted the men he rationally knew to be ready to fight and die for him was like a small betrayal in itself.
For the most part, his Riders left him alone, knowing there wasn't really anything they could say to make this easier to bear. However, after they had crossed the river, Éothain rode closer to him. The Captain wore a deep frown on his face and his whole body was tense, as though a drawn bow.
"A word, my lord?" he asked quietly. Normally he wasn't so wary and formal about getting his king's attention.
Éomer grunted in answer, which his friend seemed to take as a yes.
"I was thinking of something the Queen said yesterday, right after we had delivered that boy to his mother... I've been raking my brain over it but I don't understand", Éothain said quietly.
"What did she say?"
"She suddenly took my hand and said: His hand is forced. She had that look in her eyes – you know the kind. What do you think it means? Could it be related to this sorry affair?" Éothain said, frowning.
Éomer frowned too. It surely sounded like his wife had seen something, but what was it, and why had she said it to Éothain? On the other hand, could he blame her for not confiding in him? Moreover, did she mean him, her husband? Had he seen somebody forcing him to do something he didn't want to do? If these villains were bold enough to seize her, it was quite feasible they would also try to use her to blackmail him.
"I don't know", he said at length in a tight voice. Éothain's face became grave. He must have realised he had just made his friend and king's mood even more troubled.
So they went on, following the track in silence, each listening only to their own thoughts and the chilly northern wind. Éomer strained his eyes to horizon, hoping to catch even the smallest silhouette of a party of riders, and trying to keep calm against the thoughts that threatened to consume him. Was she hurt, were they cruel to her, was she cold and tired, would they give her food and drink and blankets... did she maybe need some medicines, which Wulfrun had not been able to give to her? If she grew ill while surrounded by enemies, who would take care of her? Alfwen would try to, if they let her. And that was only if these villains had such mercy and kindness in them. This thought almost roused his anger anew, but it quickly dampened when he thought of his wife and what she must be going through.
Let me find her safe and sound. Béma, guard her now. Don't let them see what she can do...
What then, if some vision overtook her and she revealed the truth by accident? Lothíriel couldn't always hold back the things she saw. A freezing tremor went through him. This was exactly what she had feared, and he had let it happen even though he had promised to keep her safe. How could he ever face her again, even if he could outsmart this awful situation? The only way he was able to comfort himself was maybe she could see him now, and knew that he was coming for her.
The day grew older and they rode. The track led steadily to the east, and towards the lands of East-Mark. Suspicion grew in Éomer's mind, for there were indeed powers in the east of the land that were hostile against the Queen, and might even take her as a prisoner. But what could they be plotting? All this seemed like madness. Who in Rohan could possibly expect to survive laying their hands on Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil of Dol Amroth? Gondor loomed tall behind her back, even if her husband didn't.
So many questions and so little answers. The only thing was the trail before him, leading him onward... and Béma knew what awaited him at its end.
Evening came, but Éomer pushed forward. The kidnappers would not be eager to slow down and they already had a dreadful head start. However, their horses would be more tired and even in their haste, they would have to stop sooner or later.
It was a dim night. The wind drove clouds across the face of the moon, which made following the track more difficult. In the dark they were more likely to miss possible signs that could tell something important. As much as it frustrated him, the party had to slow down their pace. Eventually it became too dark, and in any case, the men and horses needed to get some rest. Hard as it was, Éomer gave orders to stop and settle down for the night, although he forbade his company from making fires; he didn't want to reveal his position to the kidnappers. Himself, he barely felt the weariness and his eyes still searched the dark horizon as if his gaze could pierce the shadow.
So they made a camp on the plains, and tired Riders quickly quieted down. But Éomer himself lay on his bedroll, staring at the cloudy sky and fighting the painful urge of jumping on the back of his horse and racing to look for his wife by himself. Where was she now? Had her kidnappers stopped for the night, too? Béma, he hoped so. Lothíriel wasn't used to long and hard rides, and it would be doubly difficult if she was already feeling poorly. His stomach hurt with the idea of her being tired and in pain and having no chance to rest.
In her letter she had told him she felt like something was coming. Was this it, then? Had she seen her abduction, or even parts of it, before now? He tried to think if she'd be very scared or not. Granted, she had written of feeling afraid... but was her fear more due to their troubles, or because of the future? He could recall her calm manner back in the Houses of Healing, when the fate of all the world hung on a balance, and there was no guarantee of a free morning for the realms of Men. She had been one of the few to stay hopeful. Another time, she had told him: What must happen will happen, whether I see it or not. It sounded like even the most dreadful future did not ultimately scare her. Maybe it was just not knowing whether she'd be facing it with him by her side or not... a perspective he could easily understand.
For now as he was spending the night under the sky, not knowing where his wife was or if she was all right, he felt the vastness of his own mistakes in not holding on to her as he should, and the utter terror of the possibility that he was going to lose her. A life without her... never had this idea felt as horrifying as it did now.
He gritted his teeth against the deep, agonised sigh that tried to work its way up his throat. Béma, let me find her. Let me bring her home safely, and I will not forget my duty again.
It was still hours before dawn.
They continued their chase as soon as it was light enough to follow the track again. In the pre-dawn gloom Riders from Edoras had come to join the King's Company, but most of them Éomer dispatched to search the long leagues of the East-Mark while he himself with his guards continued to follow the trail. If they were lucky, his scouts might find some clues out there, perhaps encounter eyewitnesses, and also herd the kidnappers in. When the land was crawling with Riders loyal to the throne, these villains would have a harder time hiding and getting away.
"I would still advise caution, my lord. If these kidnappers begin to feel pursued at all fronts, they may do something unwise – even hurt your lady wife. We may have to prepare for that possibility either way", said Éothain as they spoke in low voices.
"She and Alfwen are their only leverage. I cannot believe these are complete madmen, even if their actions would suggest otherwise. They must realise they will be annihilated if a single hair is cut in my wife's head. And Erkenbrand will burn down what is left when I'm done."
"Quite true, but desperate men commit desperate acts. We need to be careful, if you want her back in one piece. Not to mention, I don't think either of us wishes to be the man who tells Erkenbrand that his daughter is dead", Éothain said gravely.
Éomer grunted in answer. His captain was not entirely wrong. This group had been bold enough to take both the Queen and daughter of Erkenbrand the Marshal, and by underestimating them he would be putting the two women in an even bigger danger. It also perplexed him. What could these people possibly hope to achieve? Did they truly believe they could avoid both his and Erkenbrand's wrath? This act would leave a lasting mark, no matter what the outcome was.
"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it", he finally said to his captain. There was no sense in making strategies yet, not when they didn't know what and who they were up against.
A couple of hours after they had started to follow the trail again, one of the trackers shouted out loud and called for his king. Éomer and his captain both dismounted and went to see what this was about, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw the tracker pointing at trampled grass and some strips of bloody garment at what appeared to be a night camp. Like the King's Company, they hadn't made a fire last night, which would have betrayed their location for miles away. The bloody bits of fabric looked like makeshift bandages to bind someone's wounds. At least one person was hurt, then, and it looked serious. Frantically, he examined the bits of garment, but it didn't look like anything Lothíriel or Alfwen had been wearing. The fabric was coarser and plainer than the clothing of the Queen herself and an important member of the royal household would be. However, this might not prove anything. It could still be either Lothíriel or Alfwen's blood. If the bleeding was this strong... he shuddered and shut the possibility out of his mind.
One of the Riders also discovered some bile on the ground, suggesting that somebody had been ill. Éomer tried to calm himself, although he could well guess who that someone was, and the reason for them being sick. But there were no traces of blood nearby, which gave him a tiny bit of hope – even against the agonising idea of her being in this horrible situation while she was ill.
"We carry on", he growled as soon as the entire spot had been searched and it was determined there were no other signs to be gleaned. The company mounted and continued to follow the trail, but the feeling of unease was now heavier on them. All dreaded what they would find at the end of this road.
The track kept leading them east and the trackers surmised this party was only a few hours ahead of them. It was probably because there was at least one injured among them, and one who was ill, that the distance was not more. There was still some hope of catching them, unless the kidnappers were able to find some cover. On the open ground, they would be no match against the King's Guard, but direct confrontation might put the two prisoners in the line of fire. It would take just one tragic mistake, one errant arrow or spear, and that was not a chance he was willing to take.
More than one innocent life was at stake.
But when the trail began to bend to the south, a new sense of foreboding grew on Éomer's mind. They were now deep into the East-Mark, near the borders of Wold almost; in these parts, only herders wandered with their horses and sheep. Éomer pondered this as his company tirelessly raced on. What plan were they following? Did the villains mean to take shelter in some village or fortress along the way, or was this change of course thanks to all the Riders of the Muster of Edoras, who were now swarming the land in the search of their queen? Maybe this meant the kidnappers' options were running short.
"Do you think someone would give them shelter?" Éothain asked him, wearing a look of grave and intense focus on his face. At least there was one man who shared Éomer's urgent need to save the Queen.
"I'm not sure. It depends on who these people are. Helping someone who has committed such a crime is risky", Éomer muttered.
"... but if it is someone powerful, someone they trust, they might do it", Éothain said out loud what his king hadn't.
The two men shared a glance, and Éomer had a feeling they were both thinking of the same name. Even so, it did not seem like something that he would do. This individual would surely plan something more subtle... and it always came back to this fact: how could anyone suppose to still have the King's favour after laying hands on his wife and queen? What kind of a blackmail did they think they could subject him to, and how were they planning on avoiding the King's justice?
Even so, Éomer knew he couldn't underestimate what he had before him. Who knew how bad it would get? There was the disturbing possibility that resolving this would come at a great personal cost.
Perhaps his captain sensed what was on his mind.
"Have faith, lad. I do not think your wife has shown her last trick yet", Éothain said quietly. Éomer only prayed he was right.
It was hard to say at which point the thought had first entered his mind; perhaps some part of him had expected this from the moment Éothain had found Lothíriel's knife in the bloody, trampled grass. Or maybe it was long, long before it. It could even go to that day on the plains, when the bridal escort was bringing Lothíriel to her new homeland, and she had first shown her unusual abilities by calming the young injured man. Éomer had seen Lord Eadwig among the onlookers, and though the man's face had been impassive, some sense of foreboding had still come to the young king.
And so, as the track finally led him and his company to Healding's gates, he was not surprised. But he certainly was disappointed.
When it first became apparent that it was indeed Healding at the end of this sorry road, the atmosphere in the King's Company had changed. New tension and sense of unhappy things to come had risen, and for a good reason. Lord Eadwig was not a chief of some small, unimportant house that had long since fallen from power. He had real influence and respect in the East-Mark; that he would dare to lay hands on the Queen herself was a dangerous move that could have grave consequences for them all.
As the Muster of Edoras closed in on the quarry, Éomer sent fast messengers to give orders: éoreds should stay well out of sight and keep their distance for the time being. The situation was dire and he did not want to escalate it any further by making the Lord of Healding feel cornered. He would first try diplomacy.
That was a difficult road, too. Lord Eadwig had not been born yesterday. It was possible he had already sent out messengers to muster his supporters in the East-Mark. How many would answer? Would any of them still recall all the blood and tears and sweat their king had shed as the Third Marshal for their sake? It could be very bad indeed, and Éomer knew he would have to make his move soon. But he and his company lingered on a small hill that faced the town of Healding. Silently he wished he could have seen through the spiked wall and houses, and known what was going through the mind of the lord of these lands. Not a soul could be seen anywhere near Healding. Eadwig must have called all his people inside the walls.
At long last, Éothain dared to break the silence.
"Are we ready for this?" he asked quietly.
"I hope to Béma that we are", Éomer muttered back. "Although I still wonder. This doesn't seem like something he would do. What compelled him to act?"
"Maybe he was more embittered than we thought", Éothain replied, but he didn't seem convinced. This was as much a mystery for him as it was for anyone else.
"Something must have happened. Something..." Éomer said, frowning, and a feeling came to him that he was on the brink of some realisation – that he already had the missing piece, but was not able to connect it to the whole. Unless...
Quickly he turned to look at Éothain. The Captain looked as shocked as he felt.
"The Queen said: 'His hand is forced'. What if this is what she meant? What if she talked about Eadwig?" Éothain asked him, almost too fierce to keep his voice down.
"I... I have to say it makes more sense than anything I can think of, Éothain", Éomer muttered, frowning deeply.
"Maybe she knew he didn't do it willingly. Or wouldn't do? Béma, my head hurts just to think of these layers of time. How does she manage it?"
Éomer nearly snorted out loud.
"Now do you see what she's dealing with?" he asked wryly. But his heart was still beating at a faster pace as he thought of this revelation. Could it be true? What event could possibly force a man like Eadwig? Instinct told him the answer was affirmative, even if he couldn't explain it. Either way, he would still have to be careful. If Eadwig was already sitting between rock and a hard place, further pressure on him could incite some very bad reactions.
On the other hand, it also explained some other things. His poor wife, ill and unhappy and lost, had not been in a good place when she had gone to see Wulfrun, but her foresight may also have given her some mistaken sense of trust in Eadwig: she had thought he wouldn't raise his against her unless he was forced. Yet perhaps there was also a small consolation in this. If abducting her had been some sort of a desperate measure he would not have taken willingly, Eadwig may also refrain from causing her any serious harm.
Bracing himself for what was to come, Éomer let out a sigh, and continued, "We are wasting time that we don't have. We need to move."
Éothain nodded gravely.
"Keep your calm, no matter what happens. Our first priority is to get your queen and Alfwen alive and well out of that town", said the captain quietly, and Éomer grunted in answer. He knew this very well, but it was also quite possible his pride and patience would be challenged. It all depended on how secure Eadwig felt in his position.
Tension grew almost unbearable as the King's Company approached the closed gates of Healding. Flamefoal felt it too, and tossed his great head anxiously, but the horse settled at Éomer's stern order. One of the Riders had produced some light cloth to be used as a flag of truce. It was now tied to a tall spear-shaft and it flew high above the quiet company. Éomer's eyes sought the walls of the town and saw quickly that they were expected. Eadwig himself was there, and many armoured men. The lord of the town was stone-faced, but a slow, sweeping glance across the faces of his people revealed much. Éomer could sense their fear and uncertainty, and some threw nervous glances at their leader. He locked gazes with a few of them, and saw them quickly blanch. Good. Fear could be useful. It also meant he was not meeting an unified front; these people did not want to fight their king. Lord Eadwig had put them in a difficult position, too.
"Lord Eadwig", Éomer called to the man as soon as he was close enough. At his signal, Éothain and the rest of the Royal Guard stood back, although he knew his captain had strong opinions about him getting inside the bow-range. But the young king met the eyes of his opponent steadily, holding himself as though no weapon could touch him.
"I have come to get my lady wife. I expect I'm not wrong to assume she resides behind your walls at the moment", he spoke, still holding Eadwig's eyes with his own.
"You are not, my lord, though I must express my surprise. I had not thought you would come for her so quickly."
"I've lost enough family members to know I must make haste when another one is at risk. And you left me clear enough trail to follow, Lord Eadwig. Marshals of the Riddermark know their land, and how to track stealthier parties with less clues."
"Well, I was in haste, too – otherwise, I would have tried to make your task a bit more difficult. But I admit my mistake. I should have remembered you are more at home on these fields than royal princelings usually are", said Eadwig, and though his voice was cool, there was also some respect in it.
"I am not a royal princeling, but I am a man determined to make sure my wife is safe. Where is she? Is she all right?" Éomer asked, keeping his voice as level as he possibly could.
For the longest minute, the two men held each others' gazes as though in some kind of a battle of wills. Éomer knew he couldn't show just how desperate he was to see her, but he had enough presence of mind to guess at what Eadwig was thinking of right now. He believed the man was calculating his risks, and whether it was very dangerous not to show her to him.
"Think well of your next action, Eadwig. It may have grave consequences for all of us", he said clearly. He could hear a murmur rise among Eorlingas manning the walls of Healding, and an older man standing right next to Eadwig leant close to whisper something into his ear. Eadwig's expression tightened ever so briefly, but then he made a gesture with his hand and a small commotion broke out on the wall.
"I have sent for her, my lord", Eadwig said, and Éomer sat a little easier in the saddle. That Eadwig dared to let him see his wife meant she was not badly injured. The aging lord must realise that all hell would have broken loose if the King thought she was not in the condition to rise to the wall, or if Éomer could see even at a distance that she had been mistreated and abused.
"And the Lady Alfwen?" Éomer asked.
"She is a bit more... cantankerous guest. But she is in perfect health as well", said Eadwig.
The young king kept his expression level. If the two women were unharmed, then whose blood had they found? It had to be someone in Eadwig's party – Alfwen's handiwork, perhaps. It could also explain what Lothíriel had said to Éothain. A fight had broken out, someone had got hurt, and it had put Eadwig in an impossible position. In the spur of the moment, he may have even felt that capturing the Queen was his only option. But whether these guesses had anything to do with truth, he would have to find out later.
Room was made on the wall, and then Éomer saw his wife again. Lothíriel was escorted there by two guards. At least they had not dishonoured her by tying her. She looked unharmed and it even appeared that they had given her a clean dress. Yet he could see no one, not even her guards, wanted to stand too close to her. He imagined it was that same sense of cold, perilous force that sometimes could be felt around her when she was angry. Her very features seemed to be carved out of ice or perhaps deadly steel, so sharp you might cut yourself against her. But Éomer knew it was not just her anger and a gift of ancient Elven blood – it was also her armour.
He caught her eyes, and for a moment the veil was lifted. All coldness was gone from her eyes, and a look was exchanged between them that spoke louder than a thousand words. There was a clarity and wholeness in her gaze that consoled him a little bit: they hadn't subjected her to cruelties, physical or otherwise. He could see her distress and discomfort of having endured a hard journey, but also a glimmer of hope and joy. His heart beat a little faster. All the hurt of these past few weeks was gone, for she trusted him and was no longer scared. That she had this faith in him was like a balm that healed tender wounds inflicted between since their troubles started.
He did not want to tear his gaze away from her, not when that silent look felt like deep ice between them was thawing, but moments were passing and everyone around him waited for his next words with bated breath. What would happen now? Would the King of Rohan send his men against this old and proud town, and Eorlingas spill each others' blood? The fear and anxiety were so thick that the very air felt heavy with it.
"Lord Eadwig", Éomer spoke once again, meeting the old lord's eyes directly, and his voice was strong and clear. "I did not come here today in wrath, but in hope. That hope is to spare lives, not to take them. As great as my anger was at first, it is not something I wish to unleash on any man or woman who shares a homeland and a tongue with me. Yet you may rest assured you will witness it face to face, if you insist on continuing on this path. The Muster of Edoras stands ready to lay siege to your home, and more Riders will join their ranks on my call. If they are commanded, you shall see them beat against your walls and break the doors of your own home. I would rather not give them this order and I can't believe you desire it, either. Release the Queen and Lady Alfwen, Eadwig, and you may have my word that your House, old and proud as it is, will still have a future in the Riddermark."
A silence followed his words. All eyes now fixed on Lord Eadwig as his people and the King's Company waited for his response. Éomer watched the man as well, and though the old nobleman's face was still a carefully controlled mask, his hands were gripping the wall before him so tightly that his hands were like white claws. He had to realise he had no hope of prevailing in battle.
"You speak not like the young Marshal who once guarded these lands, but like a true king, worthy of your fathers and even Eorl himself. It is good to see such a lord guiding our people once again. But a king like yourself ought to have a great queen, a lady born and bred in our own green valleys. You are young still, my lord, and I can understand a choice like this is not easily made, not even with the experience of many years. Still, even a young man may understand the danger of mixing his blood with that of a witch. I don't blame you – enchantments have led great men astray before, and perhaps she concealed her true nature even from you until it was too late to cast her back to shadows and twilight. But it's not yet too late to repent and send her back to those who first raised her at their bosom", said Eadwig, sounding rather like an old, eloquent adviser trying to guide his liege-lord to the correct path. In a strange way, this moment reminded Éomer very strongly of another conversation made before the closed doors of a fortress. Eadwig spoke well, but his voice did not have a power like Saruman's. Yet he was still reminded of how the wizard had entreated to Théoden and spoken honeyed words that, in the end, concealed only poison.
And like Saruman in his time, perhaps Eadwig's words convinced some, but not all. A murmur rose, Riders stirred around the young king, and some faces up on the wall grew more frightened than before. Somewhere beyond the gates, a woman's voice rose and cursed. Éomer recognised it instantly; Alfwen was not happy. But at least she was alive and well enough to be making a ruckus.
Éomer took a deep breath and sought momentarily Lothíriel's face on the wall, drawing there the calm and patience he needed in this moment.
"A man will be judged for his choices, whether he is a king or not. But I will not be judged for my choice of bride like this, and not by you, when you have never given her the chance she deserves. You will only see what makes her unusual, not what makes her great. And you, Eadwig, are counted among the great in this land, and yet all that you can muster against your queen are superstitious allegations. Witchcraft and enchantments! Who here actually believes it? What response do you expect from her kin, or our Gondorian friends? Are we to show them we are just the kind of barbarian folk as their worst expectations have always implied – so terrified of witchcraft that all new things send us into panic and even to abandoning the rule of law? I wonder, Eadwig, what accusations would you have made if the Queen was a lady of Rohan, though not your daughter? Isn't it true that your chief complaint against the Queen of the Mark is that she is not your blood? And so for the sake of your injured pride and shattered ambition you are endangering the lives of your people and the very peace in this land", Éomer answered. His voice remained firm and clear, rising at times and then growing slower again. Words streamed from his tongue with ease, even surprising himself. It had not been his way to be so well-spoken, but instinct told him it was the only way he could hope to defuse this moment, and to show the people of Healding why their lord was asking them to stand agaisnt their king. This was something where he could not smash his way through, and succumbing to rage would only be his downfall. And there was Lothíriel, too. He could well recall how she had spoken in Eadhild's behalf, and how it was largely thanks to her that the poor woman's case had turned around.
His wife, bound and captured as she was, inspired him.
The face of his opponent was now bone-white, and only his blue eyes seemed alive in his lined face. People around him were starting to whisper between themselves, and some even stirred in anxiety. Had his words convinced at least some of them, like he had hoped? They were already afraid of his wrath, but if he could also make them see how empty and futile Eadwig's case was, then he had better chances of breaking the defences without doing battle.
"Fine words, my lord, but I have my concerns, too. You speak of Stoningland and what those people faraway would think. But are their opinions more important than our own ways? Are we to live in fear of what they may say, and let sorcery live on among us, on our very throne? And you, my lord – are you taking your orders from the White City, or even Dol Amroth? Is Rohan no longer sovereign and independent?" Eadwig asked, speaking as calmly and pleasantly as before, even though his eyes showed he was everything but.
Again Éomer had to breathe deeply and force down the outrage that threatened to push through. This insult was not easy to bear, but by losing his temper he would only be proving Eadwig's point. So he mustered his calm again and answered.
"You may twist my words to your heart's content, Eadwig, but it won't change the truth. There is a wide world beyond our borders, and you may be quick to forget the bonds of brotherhood that were forged in the great battles of our time, but I am not. Friendship and respect for your friends is not the same as giving up your own mind. There is more to pride than being your own master, there is also living up to your word. Would you have me break mine just to suit your own purposes? Is that what you want on the throne of Eorl – a king without honour? You would accuse me of taking my orders from somewhere other than Rohan itself, and yet at the same time, you are blackmailing the crown you have sworn to serve. Even now you keep my wife and consort as your prisoner. Tell me, Eadwig, if somebody took the person who is most important to you in the world, what would you do?" Éomer asked, feeling slightly more confident again. More and more people were stirring and tension reached a new high. Another man appeared on Eadwig's side, perhaps to bring some word from below the wall, and he began to quickly whisper into the old lord's ear.
But the silence did not last long, for another voice suddenly rose.
"Where is Guthild, Lord Eadwig? Where is your daughter?"
A sudden silence fell and all the eyes turned to the Queen. Then whispering rose again, like bees buzzing. She stood quiet and still, but her eyes were looking somewhere far away, and Éomer knew that she had just seen something. An ill feeling shifted inside him. Indeed, where was Guthild? What did she make of her father's actions?
"Silence, witch!" said Lord Eadwig, losing for the first time all the eloquence and calm he had possessed until now. He cast Lothíriel a truly burning look, and Éomer nearly grasped his short bow, which was fastened to his saddle. Some primal instinct, one that urged him to protect his mate, almost had him starting a full war right there. But Théoden had not named him the Third Marshal for nothing, and his hand still obeyed his thought even in this dire situation.
Lothíriel seemed unfazed by Eadwig's hostility.
"I'm the Queen of Rohan and you would do well to remember it", she replied calmly. "It is easy to fear, even hate, what you don't understand, and clearly you do not understand me. But I understand you all too well. I've met men like you before. For you a person's worth – especially a woman's worth – is only in how useful she is to you. Otherwise she may be discarded, whether she wills it or not. I hope that is not the lesson you have taught your daughter. Yes, I have much to learn still, and often I find myself asking if I truly am worthy of the trust placed in me by the King. But at least I believe I can give more to him than cold ambition and greed and lust for power. Beware, Eadwig, if you think he will tolerate these things – if you expect he will bend to them like you have bended."
She looked around herself, and seemed to stand taller than anyone around her, even the tall Riders watching her. Once more she spoke, "There was the White Wizard, widely revered and honoured among the Free Peoples. Were his powers not for good? Didn't he heal your own king? No mortal man or woman can compare to him, I least of all, but if I were a witch indeed, my colour would be white as well."
Everyone seemed to be holding their breath. All focus was now in this small area, between the King, the Queen, and the stubborn lord. Perhaps even the sky could have crashed upon their backs and nobody would have noticed. Éomer's mouth felt very dry as he observed his wife and his opponent. In her words, there was both pride, but also humility – a rare mixture which showed that while she knew her own shortcomings, she also rose above those of the man who had taken her. Éomer wondered if others thought like he did: that her dignity was more impressive than Eadwig's superstitious accusations.
A white witch. A tremor ran down his spine, something like foreboding and hope. She may just have turned around all the accusations made against her eccentricity.
"You will let her speak in this way, my lord?" Eadwig attempted after a short, stunned silence.
"Why wouldn't I? Things may have been different for a long time, but now there's a queen in Rohan again, and she speaks with the voice of Lady Læs. I think the women of this land are starting to listen, just as we all should. The Lady of the Mark is not a servant to any one man, not even the King, and she will not be replaced by whim or blackmail. Unless, of course, you believe that our people are in fact nothing but a band of brigands who vote for their leaders by shouting matches, and all our old ways and traditions worth only of mocking", Éomer replied firmly. "What will it be, Eadwig? Do you still wish to do battle today and spill the blood of your own people?"
Eadwig's mask was cracking. He was loath to give in, but he must realise how precarious his position was. He could no longer even trust that the Queen wouldn't be defended by his own folk: her words, and those of the King himself, had stirred many of those who had listened to the exchange. And Eadwig's intention had never been to take her like this. Such a poorly planned abduction could not have wide support to begin with, and judging by Eadwig's earlier words, Éomer's company had arrived before he could make any preparations. If he tried to fight, then all of Rohan would deem his actions as wholly unlawful and his judgement would be that much more severe. And what good would the very unlikely victory bring him? Éowyn would descend on him like a storm and the very peace of the western lands would falter. Whatever Eadwig's ambitions had been, Éomer knew he had never wanted such an outcome. Even the accusation of witchcraft now rested on a more dubious ground.
He was in a dead end, but that still didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. A beast was often most deadly when it was driven to a corner.
"I propose a negotiation, my lord, but with a smaller audience. If I come out with a few companions, do I have your word that no weapon will be drawn against me and mine?" Eadwig asked at last. Having so many listeners had done him no favours, and Éomer guessed he now bitterly regretted that he hadn't demanded for a private negotiation from the start. But Eadwig hadn't known what Éomer's approach would be, and so he had gambled. Perhaps he had made the same mistake as others before him: he had taken Éomer for a violent brute who always sought to solve his problems by force.
"Very well", the young king agreed at length. He didn't like that this confrontation had already gone on for this long, or that Eadwig wouldn't answer him straight. But then, he had been gambling too, and perhaps with better results than the Lord of Healding. He sensed the old lord would not give in, not unless he was granted some dignity. If that was the price of saving lives, especially that of his wife, then Éomer would pay it.
He signalled his company and retreated, putting some distance between themselves and the town. The spiked walls remained occupied, but Lothíriel had vanished by the time Éomer halted again: he guessed they had taken her back down to wait for whatever would be the outcome of this negotiation. The hills around the town were silent. Even if Eadwig had sent for his allies, none had yet come close enough for the Muster of Edoras to spot them.
The gates of Healding were opened and Eadwig rode out with two other men. Éomer took with him Éothain and his standard-bearer, but the rest of his men were ordered to stand back. He could see their dark and impatient looks, and he understood them well. This was every bit as difficult and frustrating as he had expected.
Bracing himself for what was not going to be any easier confrontation, he looked ahead and met Eadwig's eyes. Up close, he looked tired and worn; his skin had almost an greyish tone and it looked tightly drawn over his facial bones. The weight of his dangerous choice and the long race must be heavy to bear, and he was not a young man.
But what this meeting would have been was to remain a mystery. For as soon as the two little parties had halted to face one another and were about to begin, Éothain suddenly spoke.
"Sire, a Rider is approaching", he said, pointing southwards. Indeed, the shape of a person on a horse was galloping hard towards the town. Éomer glanced at the Rider only very briefly before his eyes flashed back to Eadwig. Which one this messenger was coming for, and what news did they bring? What if the East-Mark had risen for Eadwig, and the Muster of Edoras was already vanquished? Or had the eastern lords sent word that Eadwig was on his own? Either way, messengers rarely rode like that, as if their lives depended on it, unless their news were bad.
"Expecting company?" Éomer asked nevertheless, keeping his face collected.
"No. Are you?" Eadwig asked back, holding his reins so tightly that his knuckles were white.
"I would rather settle this between just ourselves", said the young king.
"Likewise."
Moments later, the Rider finally reached them. She was a young, fair-haired woman, light of build and so quite ideal to act as a speedy messenger. Éomer did not know her, although that didn't necessarily mean she was not of the Muster of Edoras. Her eyes widened when she recognised the King of Rohan and bowed her head.
"Sire! What providence has brought you here? I had not dared to hope that the King himself could be reached so quickly!" she wondered out loud, almost as breathless as her sweating, panting steed.
"That is a tale for another time. What is the matter?" Éomer asked keenly. If the Rider was glad for his presence, it implied some event that was outside both his and Eadwig's plans.
"I have bad news, Sire. Lord Eadwig, it is about your daughter – she was returning home from her visit to her mother's kin when the company was waylaid. It was mostly women of the Lady Guthild's company, and her cousins who had begged to come to stay with her in Healding. We had not many guards because you had a need of your men, Lord Eadwig. Those few that were with us were no match to the attackers. Yet I would have stayed and protected the lady, had she not ordered me to go get help", the young Rider explained quickly, and as she did, all colour drained from Eadwig's features.
"Who were these villains? What did they want?" Éomer asked quickly, sitting up straighter in his saddle. Flamefoal snorted, as if he too understood the conversation and could almost smell the battle.
"They were Men, Sire, and there were some two dozen of them. I think they were Eorlingas, although they looked like they had been in the wild for some time. They had set an ambush on the road, barring our way. We couldn't escape. Yet the attackers did not seem to be trying to kill – they tried to shoot me only when I ran", she replied.
"Eorlingas?" Éomer repeated, first in shock, and then in dismay. It was clear who these people were: the same bandits who had haunted the Great East Road lately, although none of their previous misdeeds had suggested that worse was yet to come. Elfhelm's reports had not in any way foreboded this kind of atrocity.
"Aye, Sire. They did not look well organised or equipped, but they were desperate and angry", said the Rider.
Eadwig stood in silence, his face distorted with anguish. Sheer shock had apparently taken his ability to speak, until at last few, strangled words made their way out – quite unlike his usually calm, deep voice.
"My fault... if I had paid more attention to the Marshal's requests and less to my own ambitions, I might have done something..."
"Do not lose hope yet, Eadwig. I don't think they will harm the prisoners, not so soon at least", Éomer said quickly to him before looking back at the young messenger, "Have you any knowledge of where they headed? How long has it been since the attack?"
"No, Sire. Lady Guthild bade me to ride as hard as I could and make the alarm. I did not look back", she replied. "It is five hours, maybe a little more. A couple of them had horses and they chased me at first, and it took me a while to get rid of them."
"You did well. Now go and bring your horse to the stables. You both have earned your rest. I'll send someone to find you if we have more questions", Éomer told her. She looked grateful and bowed once more before taking her leave.
The young king turned his horse so that he was facing the Lord of Healding again. Eadwig's face was still twisted with pain and shock and he looked frozen, like he was unable to shake this and act. It was most uncommon in a man of his age and experience. Was he not a cool-headed, calculating man who commanded respect? Hadn't he steered his folk through the grim years of constant attacks from Mordor, dauntless and determined against every wave of enemies? But Guthild was his daughter, and his only child.
Maybe somewhere under all the machinations and ambition was a heart that, deep as it was hidden, still felt true and strong emotions.
"Eadwig, I need you to snap out of it. If we act now, we may still be able to save your daughter and her companions", Éomer said to him seriously, almost reaching out to grasp the man's arm
Slowly Eadwig raised his eyes to meet his king's gaze. The glassy look of shock turned into surprise and disbelief. He seemed older than he ever had, as though he had aged a decade in the course of just few minutes, but at the same time, a tiny glimmer of hope also ignited in his blue eyes.
"You would try to save my family even after what I've done to yours?"
"Of course I would. She's of the Mark, is she not?"
The old lord stared at him for a quiet moment, perhaps assessing his trustworthiness and whether his offer of help was but a ruse to get back his own loved one. But Éomer met the gaze steadily. Eadwig would find no falsehood in him. Guthild was his subject as any other, and the day he allowed villains and ruffians to waylaid travellers in his own lands, he might as well give up the throne. Helping her could also be the way to finally end these troubles.
Eadwig breathed deeply in and out. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, and then cross some threshold that was not, perhaps, completely painless. When he spoke, his voice was resolute once more.
"Help me, Sire. Help me get my daughter back safe and alive. If you do this, then I will let your queen go, give up all my plans, and surrender myself to your justice."
To be continued.
A/N: Finally, an update! This chapter took its time, both because I wasn't satisfied with what I had written, and both because of past few weeks. I've got a promotion at work, which means learning new stuff (often more challenging than before), and afterwards I haven't had much energy for writing.
Anyway, for all my troubles there are parts in this chapter that I really like, and I hope you enjoy it too.
There were some comments about Lothíriel and her actions – namely that she was somehow selfish and childish when she went to see Wulfrun. I respectfully disagree. She definitely made a mistake there, but I also think the reason for it is more complicated. It's important to remember the mental and emotional strain she had been under until that point, and also that she hasn't been physically well either. In my opinion, that's just the way people are: the more they are under stress, the more it clouds their judgement. Making mistakes under this kind of duress is not selfish or ignorant or childish, it's just human. And the whole point here is that it's her estrangement from Éomer that pushes her down this path and makes her lose her confidence. Being a queen is an extraordinary burden for one so young and she's still new to it – she still needs his guidance and support, which he has effectively denied for the past few weeks. I find that people become careless over themselves, or even stop caring altogether, when they are pushed hard enough.
There's also the issue of her sight and it impacting her judgement. It has never actually backfired like this, and that is something I wanted to explore in this story at some point since the beginning. I wanted to show Lothíriel suffering the consequences of having too much faith in her ability to see. All the same, perhaps I shouldn't be surprised, because women in fiction and even in real life still are frequently judged more harshly over their mistakes.
I must admit, I had a thought of Lothíriel as a "white witch" from early on - even though she herself doesn't necessarily identify as a witch. I'm not sure there is really a clear idea of black and white magic in Middle-earth, and even the very concept seems ambiguous. For example, to mortals much of Elven crafts would seem somehow magical, but the Elves themselves didn't necessarily regard it so. It was rather because of the Elves' surpassing skill in craftmanship that mortals didn't necessarily understand, and so they explained what they didn't understand as magic. On the other hand, the order of the Wizards (and some of the mightier Elves) seemed to have powers of spellcasting, and one of Sauron's aliases was the Necromancer (= a practitioner of dark arts that dealt with the dead). Frequently throughout the legendarium, "dark arts" are somehow mentioned in relation to the villains. However, there is indeed the order of the Wizards and their hierarchy of colour, white being the highest and closest to light and the pure intention for good. Thinking of Lothíriel's childhood, she probably had no understanding of what magic is, and certainly she wouldn't perceive what she could do as magical. That's probably the reason she didn't think beforehand that anyone else would think so, either. What is interesting about her is that she can be wise, but also naive and uncertain. In her current situation, she realises it's very much in her interest to classify herself as a mortal and much weaker but nevertheless just as well-intentioned equivalent of Gandalf the White - the true White Wizard. Thus she finally takes ownership of the word wicce, which has formerly been used against her. Like Éothain told Éomer much earlier, "witch" is the closest thing Eorlingas can understand, and it doesn't have to be a bad word.
Thanks for reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think.
Inspiration for the chapter: Forndom - Finnmarken
Katia0203 - I have a feeling it was Alfwen's doing! Lothíriel probably tried to use her knife, but she's not a fighter.
It was definitely easier for her to put her thoughts down in writing. I think she was probably afraid she wouldn't be able to say out loud what she needed to, or that her emotions would get better of her and prevent her from talking in a calm manner. I would agree Éomer probably isn't likely to write a letter like her, but reading her thoughts does help him to make sense of his own feelings - and to understand her perspective.
Indeed, we'll see! ;) Her not being well could be because of either reason!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - Thanks, glad you liked it! Her letter was my favourite part, too.
Jo - He's definitely trying!
Kehlan – I'm sad to see how harshly you keep judging a woman whose mental and physical well-being are not quite in peak condition. Yeah, she made a mistake. But what's the point in writing about people who never make mistakes? She's been under emotional strain for some time, and I think that would cloud her judgement. Not to mention, she had no reason to expect an attack – the situation in the town had defused thanks to her and Éomer's earlier actions, she had a competent guard with her, and it's still extremely bold to go after her when Éomer was so close. Until this point, there wasn't even any clear signs that the opposition against her was organised to such a degree.
I would recommend making more effort to read between lines. Is it Éomer's fault that Lothíriel went out at that hour and was abducted? No. But is he responsible for not taking better care of his marriage, pushing his wife away when she so clearly needed him, and not making effort to reconcile? In my mind, the answer is yes. And because he's not a heartless man, he understands this quite well, and sees how it lead to her isolation, made her feel unable to confide in him in a time when she needs his support more than ever, and subsequently caused her to go out without him. Like they say, it takes two to tango, and these poor darling fools have really bungled up theirs.
Elsa - Thank you! :)
Simplegurl4u - Indeed! I think Lothíriel was hoping and expecting it of him, because she wants him to show her how it's done, and because lately she has lost her confidence in herself - and he can be an ogre when he's angry and stubborn. Éomer should have acted sooner and now he feels quite regretful that he didn't. And you are quite right - an emotionally loaded situation is sometimes much easier to defuse in a letter.
What can I say - sometimes you just need to end a chapter with a bang!
EStrunk - Glad you liked the letter! It's very much my favourite part of the last chapter, too.
I think Éomer now has all the determination he lacked before. I find that when people are faced with losing something or someone important, they really understand how much that person means for them. A stubborn man like him needs a kick sometimes, if you get what I mean. ;)
Kate - Thank you! I'm very fond of Alfwen, too!
mystarlight - Thanks!
Guest - I think you're missing something important: she can manage and be a queen he deserves. During their first two-ish months of marriage, she was doing fairly well. The whole point here is that they need each other to make this work. It was when their troubles started, and when she began to lose her confidence, that her performance changed. Yes, Lothíriel has made some mistakes, but isn't that what people do when they're struggling to cope with a strain and burden like hers? And she's doing this without the help of her husband and the person she most needs. She is learning but for weeks her most important teacher has done little to support her. Éomer has not been helpful: he has pushed her away, avoided her, and spoken to her in unkind words more than once. He has not tried to get her to confide in him again. He hasn't fully understood her sensitivity or her need for his faith in her. Add to this the fact that she has been frequently unwell both in mind and body, and I think you might be able to see how unfair it is to simply call her actions selfish or childish or ignorant. I wouldn't say based on just like three months that she should never be a queen.
Not to mention, like she explains, her sight doesn't always do her favours in judging what is dangerous and what is not. She still hasn't quite found that middle ground with her new role and her sight. I don't think anyone, even her, had a reason to believe that two rune staffs and some minor political unrest meant that an armed group would actually dare to snatch the Queen of Rohan from under Éomer's very nose.
Éowyn Strongheat - Sorry it took so long, but real life can be such a bother!
Wtiger5 - Glad you liked the letter! S**t is going down, indeed.
Hope you liked this chapter!
Prince Pondincherry - Thank you for your comments! I would say her comment about not leaving Edoras is indeed more along the line that it will become her home - and the more she gives in to Éomer, the more likely it becomes she'll marry him. Which is what happened eventually. I think you're quite right to assume being crippled would be a great personal tragedy for her.
I think Éomer is one of the least powerhungry characters in the story. Like you said, he seems perfectly happy where he is, wanting no more than he already has. I personally headcanon that becoming the King is something of a crisis for him, not just because he didn't want it but also because of his cousin. He probably knew it was possible he'd inherit the throne, considering Théodred was already in his fourties when he died, but still had no heir.
He's been lucky in concealing where he gets his info, and the loyalty of his men is indeed a big reason he was able to do it. But I doubt it will be so easy now when there's talk of his queen being a witch and she has, in a way, owned up to it.
I think it's very much on brand for Rohirric kings to get in tavern fights!