Chapter 30
Rohan, January the 21st, 3019
The sun shined bright. Too bright. The sound of a whetstone made a terrible, ear-splitting noise. Her throat felt like someone had forced her to swallow a fistful of sand. Her stomach, her chest and her back ached awfully. All of her body was in a state of pain. Lothíriel tried to stand, but her legs were numb, tied so tight together that she could feel the rope digging into the flesh of her ankles. Her wrists were not faring any better and suddenly, ice cold water was splashed on her face, leaving her coughing and gasping for air.
Someone laughed. "Looks like our dear princess is finally awakening".
It was a man's voice. Lothíriel thought it sounded vaguely familiar, but she was too preoccupied with trying to get enough air into her lungs to think more of it.
"You'll drown her if you keep at it. She's of no use to us dead, you know that", the same voice spoke again.
There was another laughter. Different from the previous one. But this too sounding familiar to her muffled ears. Her eyes shut in attempt to keep the blinding light from causing her to pass out, Lothíriel rolled on her side and with a grunt, she managed to sit. There was a tree behind her, or perhaps it was something else – she honestly could not say. She leaned back on it, breathed deeply in and out before finally daring to open her eyes. Two figures were towering over her, but for the life of her she could not bring them into focus. When after some interminable moments her eyesight sharpened, she shuddered. "Y-you…".
"I-I what?", the voice mocked her.
"You… dead".
A hand smacked her squarely in the face. "Do I look dead to you, whore?".
Lothíriel landed on the hard ground. There was a young woman slumped beside her. She was petite, with flaxen hair and on the front of her brown gown, was a big black stain. "Beyrith?", she called.
Panic took her over and she started shaking her maid, dry tears stinging her eyes. "What have you done to her?", she shrieked, convinced somehow that the girl was dead. But she wasn't, and when her eyelids fluttered open, she held her tight against her chest. While she slowly came back to her senses, Lothíriel glanced around and tried to get her bearings: they were in a narrow valley enclosed within high hills, the ground was covered in a fresh layer of powdery snow, the sun - which had felt so bright upon awakening, was actually hidden behind thick, dark clouds that concealed the unusually close mountain peaks.
They were on the slopes of the White Mountains, she realized.
For how long had she been out cold? For how long had they been riding? She remembered being in the solar with Beyrith. It must have been shortly past midnight. They were finishing writing a song, when Ides brought them two cups of tea and…
No, not Ides.
Lothíriel turned around and stared in horror at the hall's attendant. The same who had served them the poisoned beverage. The same who – in all likelihood, had carried her and Beyrith out of the city under the cover of darkness. His name was Albeam, she had spoken to him a few times and his was just one of many familiar faces inside the hall. Familiar enough that his presence would never be questioned. Familiar enough to be able to move unseen and undisturbed through the entire household.
It was then that it dawned on her that she and Éomer had committed one awful, deadly mistake: "You… you were the mole".
The man smiled. "Told you she's not half as daft as she looks like".
By his side, Trewyn glared down at her in disgust. "Her wit won't save her this time".
Lothíriel shivered. Of fear – sure, but also of cold: a merciless wind was sweeping the bottom of the valley and in her soaked clothes, she'd soon freeze to death.
"We can't light a fire, but what Albeam said is true: our guests would be enormously disappointed if they were to ride all the way here, only to find you dead. And we don't want that, do we?".
Trewyn tossed her a blanket and Lothíriel hastily wrapped it around her and Beyrith's shoulders. Cradling the half-limp body of her maid back and forth, she tried desperately to gather some strength and courage to face the nightmare into which they had plummeted. Éomer was going to come for them – she told herself over and over again, they only needed to hang on, perhaps delay whatever plan their captors had made. "W-who are your guests?", she asked.
The smile on Trewyn's face was both wicked and hideous. She leaned over and whispered in her ear: "Zarn and Cedarn. Do you know who they are?".
Lothíriel shook her head.
"Zarn is the chieftain of one of the Dunlendings' tribes. Cedarn is his brother and right-hand man. And thanks to you, they will take down the Third Marshall and throw the East-mark into chaos".
"That will never happen. Éomer…".
"Éomer knows what Dunlendings do to captive women and he'll be willing to do anything to rescue you - including relinquishing his position. And with him gone, the East-mark will soon be on its knees".
Lothíriel felt as if the ground had suddenly opened beneath her feet, throwing her into a dark, bottomless pit. "Why, Trewyn? I know you hate me, but why do you do this? Why do you shame your family so? What has Grima promised you, that would be worth the death of your own kin?".
"Grima has promised me nothing but death and for that, I have to thank you", she hissed. "The moment our plan to get you and your brother killed failed, Meregith and I had no other choice but fleeing Aldburg and soon, we found that we not only had to watch our backs for Éomer's men, but also for Grima's ones! Twice we barely manged to escape his thugs and that good-for-nothing housekeeper was but a burden: she could not ride for too long – nor too fast, was always cold, fell ill three times over the course of less than two months!".
"It was you…you killed her", Lothíriel realized.
Trewyn grinned. "I knew it was only a matter of time before we'd be found. I knew that if I waited to survive, I needed to throw you off my scent. Stupid old woman never saw it coming, really thought we were going to settle in that awful old shack!".
"You stabbed her in the back, like the coward, gutless witch that you are!", she cried.
"I did. But first, I sold the sword I won at last year's chase tournament at the shop of a nearby village, so to lure Éomer and his men there. At that point, all that was left to do was finding someone to make you believe I had died too. For once, luck happened to be on my side: on the road, I stumbled into a young couple travelling all alone on their wagon. I pretended to be lost, asked whether I could stick with them until the next village. The moment they fell asleep, I slit their throats, dispensed of the man's body and took the woman's one to the farm. I dressed her in my own clothes, put my necklace around her neck and my sword in her hand, ensured she'd be burned beyond recognition. I used the man's shoes to leave different sets of footprints all around the place, took his horse and rode away. No one's bothered me ever since", she explained with a sinister smile.
"And what do you think you will accomplish by selling me to the Dunlendings? You think without Éomer, the East-mark will suddenly forget who you are and what you have done, and take you back as if nothing happened? You betrayed your country and your people, Trewyn. And for what?".
"Ambition. The desire to become something more than the wife of a lowly man. Something I doubt you'd ever understand, princess", she spoke with contempt, "You've wasted most of your life locked in a room, doing absolutely nothing and being happy with it. And the day you decide you want something more, you are – oh so very easily, served everything you've ever wanted on a silver platter: the power to rule over a city you despised, the love of a man you hated, the respect of people you loathed. Life is always easy for your kind, isn't it?".
"Easy? I was sold by my father like cattle at the market, I was almost killed by some wargs! Everything I have here in Rohan, I fought for it tooth and nails, I earned it!".
"And now you'll see it crumbling down like a house of cards. Zarn and Cedarn will take you deep into their lands, where no Rohirrim will ever be able to find you. They will have their fun with you before passing you to their men. Éomer will be willing to sacrifice everything to rescue you, but Zarn will see that he fails and loses everything he holds dear in the process; the fall of Aldburg and the East-mark will be our gift to Grima, our way to get back in his good graces. And with the land in turmoil, the Wormtongue will be in dire need of someone reliable to rule the city and ensure its loyalty to his cause…".
Lothíriel almost laughed. "Someone like you?"
"Like us", Trewyn said nodding at Albeam.
"And you think the people of Aldburg will sit and watch while you take the seat that had been Éomer's? No, Trewyn: the Rohirrim will never forget, they will never bow to you and your hound!".
"They said the same of Edoras, yet look how Grima holds it over. Whether by hook or by crook, the people will learn to bend their knees to their new lords".
"Was this your plan all along? Did Meregith know?".
Trewyn and Albeam sneered. "Meregith knew nothing about us and Grima until last June. She always hated you - you know that, but that you had the audacity of surviving the encounter with those two wargs, that she could never forgive. I mean, put yourself in her shoes: because of you, her no-good daughter left Aldburg and the East-mark for the first time in her entire life and got brutally slaughtered before she even made it to her destination. You on the other hand, not only you arrived in Aldburg and showed us nothing but scorn and contempt, but the day you decide to do something so foolish like running away, you survive it all: the wargs, the trap, a night spent in the cold; you hanged in there until your knight in shining armour came to the rescue. And then, the worse thing happened: Éomer – the one who had never even spared a glance for little Dawyn, fell for you. The day he took you to the old watchtower, I remember watching Meregith staring at the two as you headed for your romantic picnic, and I knew she'd have done anything to get rid of you. I approached her and albeit reluctantly, she eventually agreed that working together would have benefited us all. After you showed even more audacity by surviving unscathed the ambush on the way to Edoras, she became obsessed. That's when she found the letter in Éomer's nightstand. We came up with a plan to get your marriage annulled and you and your escort killed, but once again you proved yourself disgustingly lucky: Éomer was supposed to ride until the ruined remains of the old camp in the Eastemnet, waste at least a couple of days before realizing he had been tricked and return to Aldburg. But of course, on his way there he had to meet one of the herdsmen who prompted him to turn back immediately, thus saving you".
Trewyn stood and checked the rope on her ankles, tightened it to the point Lothíriel could not even feel her feet anymore. She did the same on Beyrith, who lied awake but perfectly still in her arms, as if too afraid to even blink an eye.
"Somehow, Meregith was convinced she could get rid of you without Éomer suffering any consequence. She was delusional, and we indulged her fantasy of a future without you, but with Éomer still holding firmly the East-mark together. I should have probably killed her as soon as we fled Aldburg but in hindsight, I'm glad I didn't: without Éomer finding her dead body, I'm sure it wouldn't have been so easy for me to convince you I was dead too. Once you and Grima were off my back, I managed to get a letter delivered to Albeam. He instructed me on how to get in touch with Zarn and we stayed put until the right moment approached".
"How do you know this Zarn?", Lothíriel asked, and perhaps the man's unusual dark hair should have been an answer on its own.
"I'm half Dunlending".
"That how you justify betraying your own country?".
"My country betrayed me the day an Eeorling murdered my father for no other fault than being a Dunlending in love with a woman of Rohan".
He spoke in a low voice, his eyes flashed with an anger that terrified her. Beyrith shivered and suddenly, the clutches of a terrible guilt assaulted Lothíriel: "Let her go", she asked.
"I'm sorry?".
"She has nothing to do with any of this, she has done nothing to deserve being given to your Dunlendish friends. I beg you, Trewyn, let her go! I-I swear she won't say a word, she…".
"If you want to beg, then you should first get on your knees".
Albeam chuckled. The two captors exchanged a malicious glance.
In spite of the cold, Lothíriel felt a rush of heat creeping up her neck. Her heart was beating too fast. Her breath was ragged. Her hands were clammy. No, no, no!, she thought, and cursed herself for how pitifully puny she was. She wasn't thinking straight – that much she knew, yet she tried nevertheless to shove her shins beneath her thighs. Her movements were frantic, desperate…
Then, her maid spoke. "If you cut me loose, I'll slit your throat like you did with those two travellers".
Trewyn laughed. "And here I was, thinking someone had cut out your tongue. Tell me, girl, do you bite as well? Or is barking all you can do for your Lady?".
"Untie me and I'll show you".
A kick hit her right in the stomach, sending her rolling in the freezing snow. "No!", Lothíriel cried and rushed after her. Beyrith was coughing, her face was red, there were tears welling in her eyes.
"Do not beg, Lady", she groaned.
After a couple of days spent visiting nearby villages, Éomer returned to Aldburg in the late morning of a snowy, freezing day. The sky was heavy with dense, white clouds, the kind of which promised hours – if not days, of intense snowfalls. With some luck, he'd get to spend them home with Lothíriel. Éothain would tease him mercilessly over how married life had made him soft and lazy, but he couldn't care less – especially since it was absolutely true! As they rode through the gates however, he immediately got the feeling something was wrong. The city was in an uproar, there were guards rushing in and out of almost every building, horses had been saddled and waited for their masters in front of the stables. Halfway to the hall, he spotted Gárwine barking orders around and made haste towards him. "What is happening?", he demanded to know.
His second-in-command twirled around and he wasn't sure whether he was happy or scared to see him there. The man was not himself, and that worried him greatly: "Éomer, you are here!", he cried, "It's Lothíriel. She…she is gone!".
Éomer halted, those words sounding so absurd that it took him a moment to register their meaning. "What do you mean gone?".
"I mean gone, vanished into thin air! Beyrith too!".
Behind him, Runhild came running down from the old watchtower, Balláf in tow. "She's not there either!", she informed them.
How – or when, he had dismounted Firefoot and grabbed the two men by their tunics, Éomer would never know: "You were supposed to keep her safe!", he yelled and slammed them both against a wall. Éothain tried to hold him back, while Háca put himself between him and the recipients of his wrath: "Calm down and let them speak!".
Though blinded by rage, Éomer knew his friend was right. Unwilling to have that discussion where the whole city could see – and hear them, he beckoned for them to follow him inside the hall. "Tell me what happened".
Gárwine cleared his voice. "Lothíriel and Beyrith were last seen yesterday evening…".
"Yesterday evening?!", Éomer almost jumped at him again, "How did it take you this long to realize she was missing?!".
"Lothíriel is teaching Beyrith how to r…".
"I know that!", he shouted, his patience running dangerously thin.
Runhild stepped forward. "Then you know they spend their evenings together, Lord, and often stay up until very late. Yesterday after supper, Lothíriel told me I could retire, and so I did; and because she was in the hall, she had no guards with her either. Beyrith is the one who helps her making ready in the morning while me, Eofor and Balláf, normally meet her in the hall. When earlier today Lothíriel failed to show up, I simply thought she and Beyrith had overslept. I went to wake her up and found her room was empty, the bed untouched. I raised the alarm and Gárwine ordered the whole city to be searched because…".
"… because they must be here, Éomer", the man stepped in. "Last night, the gates were shut and today, what with the snow and this freezing cold, only a handful of people have left the city. I spoke with the guards on duty and they assured me Lothíriel was not among them. We are going door to door and…".
"They're not here". All eyes turned on him and Éomer could not say how he knew it, only that it was so. "They're not here", he repeated, a nagging pit opening inside his stomach.
"But how can they have left the city without anyone noticing?".
"Did any cart or wagon passed through the gates today?".
"No".
"And you are sure the gates were shut last night?".
"I am. I know the men who were on duty, I'd trust them with my own life".
Éomer leaned against a pillar and shut his eyes closed. He felt like he was moments away from starting to punch the wall until his hands would be bloody and broken, but his wife was missing and if he wanted to find her, he needed to stay calm. Lothíriel and Beyrith had not left the city through the gates – the only way in or out the city. Aldburg's defensive walls were not as high or solid as the Hornburg's stone ones but climbing them with a reluctant hostage was no easy feat. And that – Éomer realized, left him with only one possible answer to that riddle.
He stormed out of the hall and headed North-East.
Aldburg had been built atop a small hill but on that side of the town, a dip in the land had made necessary the construction of a drainage ditch to channel the rainwater away. There was a small hole in the walls through which the water was dumped out of the city. Éomer found it buried under a thick layer of snow and started digging it away with his bare hands. He did not know what he was looking for - that morning's intense snowfall had obviously covered any track Lothíriel and her kidnappers might have left behind. Yet he continued nonetheless with his desperate effort while behind him, Balláf and Háca approached the people who had gathered around.
It was then that he saw it, a tiny red dot emerging from the pristine ground. He locked his trembling fist around it and let out a raging, terrifying scream: the red bracelet an old woman had given him for the Lady of the East-mark, the one Lothíriel never took off!
"Lord?", Háca called him. There was a child half-hidden behind him. He took his hand and encouraged him to step forward: "Lord Éomer is simply worried, no reason to be scared", he reassured him, "Will you tell him what you just told me?".
The young boy cast him a frightened look and even as he spoke, he kept his face half pressed against Háca's leg, as if trying to hide from him. "Last night I woke up because I had to pee. I did not want too awake mama and papa, so I went out on my own…", he mumbled.
"And? What happened then? What did you see when you went to the latrine?", Háca prompted him to continue.
"I-I saw a man, Lord. He was dragging a very big chest. He halted right where you are standing and pulled something out of it. I don't know what it was, but it seemed also big. He pushed it into the hole and then took the empty chest and carried it away. I wanted to go and see what he had put in there, but he returned too soon. There was someone on the other side of the wall, I heard them speaking. The man then crawled into the hole and disappeared".
Éomer stood, tried to look calm so he would not scare the child. "This man, did you recognize him?".
"No, Lord. Twas dark and he wore a hood".
"Did you hear anything of what he and the other person were saying?".
The child hesitated. "Mama says is rude to eavesdrop…", he mumbled staring at his feet.
Every single muscle in Éomer's body was tense, there were thoughts in his head he did not wish to entertain: Lothíriel and Beyrith were alive, he told himself. No one would go to such trouble just to dispense of two dead bodies. Perhaps they had been knocked unconscious, but they were alive! "What is your name?", he asked.
"Éaddan, Lord".
"Your mama is right, Éaddan: no one should eavesdrop on other people's conversations. Do you know Lady Lothíriel, do you know my wife?".
He nodded. "Sometimes I see her walking by. Mama says she's a good woman, that we are lucky to have her".
"We are, Éaddan. But you see, someone has taken the Lady Lothíriel from us…".
"Was it the hooded man?".
"I believe so. Lady Lothíriel needs our help and if you've heard anything the man said, that might help us finding her and bringing her back here".
The boy frowned. "I really did not hear much, Lord. But I think they were speaking about riding to the mountains. Will that help?".
He took his hand and shook it gently. "It will. Thank you, Éaddan".
While Háca walked the boy back to his parents, Éomer turned around and tried to figure what those words could mean. Perhaps the men who had kidnapped Lothíriel and Beyrith had a hideout somewhere up the mountains. Perhaps they were planning to lay low until things had cooled down, and then ask for a ransom. They were half-day ahead of them, but surely counted on the fact they'd have no idea where they had gone and under normal circumstances, it was unlikely they'd have opted for searching the mountains' steep slopes and narrow valleys – especially in the midst of winter. The snow on the ground was going to slow them down but if they pushed their horses, Éomer reckoned they could make it to the feet of the White Mountains by dawn – maybe earlier than that. Even so, mountains was hardly a specific place and they'd have leagues over leagues of terrain to scout.
"Éomer?", Runhild interrupted his brooding, "the chest Éaddan mentioned, I-I think I know where it might have come from". With no further word, she headed back towards the hall and then down into the cellars that she, Beyrith and Lothíriel had cleaned up a few months earlier. Holding a torch, she entered the furthest room and pointed at the empty floor: "They are gone, I knew it!", she cried, "There were two huge chests here, big enough to carry a person!".
"That might explain how they managed to take Lothíriel and Beyrith out of the hall without any of the guards noticing it", Éothain pondered, "They carried them to the drainage, forced them into the tunnel, hid the chests somewhere and fled the city long before anyone would raise the alarm. This can only mean the person who did this is…".
"… is a member of the household, for how else would he know when to strike or where to find those chests?", Éomer finished the sentence for him. "Gárwine, is any member of the staff missing?".
"I'm not sure, but Ides will surely know".
They found the maid standing in the cold outside of the hall, still as a statue and pale as a sheet. When asked, at first she shook her head. Then, her eyes went wide: "Albeam".
"Albeam's missing?".
"No. I mean, yes!", she corrected herself, "One of the guards who was on duty last night, said he left the hall somewhen around midnight and told him he was not feeling well and would have stayed home today. Everybody else is here, Lord, he's the only one missing!".
"Did the guard say whether he was carrying something when he left?".
"Yes, two large chests. He claimed they were filled with stuff that Lady Lothíriel wanted to donate to the orphanage. The guard helped him loading them on a wheelbarrow and even offered to carry them himself, but Albeam refused".
"And he didn't find it strange that someone would make a delivery in the middle of the night?!", Éomer yelled.
"A-Albeam has been helping clearing the cellars, Lord, it wouldn't have been the first time he carried something to the orphanage on behalf of Lothíriel!".
"What do we know about this Albeam?", asked Háca.
"Not much. He was hired by Meregith, but that was many years ago - long before she let her hatred for Lothíriel consume her. I believe she knew his mother and was trying to help him after she had passed away. He has been a loyal member of the staff since, never gave me a reason to doubt him", said Éomer and suddenly, it hit him. They had all assumed that after Lothíriel had run away back in April, it had been Trewyn the one who had left Aldburg in disguise and broke the news to Grima. But what if she hadn't. What if it had been someone else to carry the message, someone whose name had always been on that damned list he had given to Lady Aldwyn: Albeam!
You stupid half-wit!, Éomer cursed himself.
After Meregith and Trewyn's death, he had thought the hall a safe place and let his guard down. Instead, the enemy had still been lurking among them, ready to strike when they least expected it!
"Gárwine, I'll leave you in charge of the city with half of my Eored".
"No, Éomer. Let me come with you, I might be able to…".
"You will stay", he ordered, "Should the city be attacked, I need to know it's in good hands and able to hold until we return!".
"You think that's what will happen?".
"No. But I left the city undermanned once, and I'm not doing the same mistake again. While we are away, shut the gates, send scouts around and inform my cousin and Lady Aldwyn of what is happening. Assuming Grima is behind this, his men must have taken Lothíriel and Beyrith to the mountains either to keep them hidden there, or to take them North without the risk of running into one of our patrols. Even if they are on the move as we speak, the snow on the mountains will be twice as thick as it is here: they will have no other choice but following the bottom of the valley, they will be slow, cold and tired. I will take half of the men and enter the mountain range from the South while you", he said turning towards Éothain, "will take the other half and seek entrance from the North".
"It's a good plan", he convened, "even with the plains covered in snow, I should be able to ride fast enough to get around them and outflank them. At which point, we'll have them trapped between the two of us and unable to flee North". When later that day their ways parted, his friend leaned in the saddle and grasped his hand: "Both Lothíriel and Beyrith are survivors and if there's someone who can make it through all of this, it's them. We'll find them, Éomer, and we'll bring them back home".
The first group of Dunlendings reached their camp at dusk. They were led by the man named Cedarn and appeared to be as exhausted and miserable as they were after hours spent in the blistering cold.
Sitting by Beyrith's side, Lothíriel tried not to think of her frozen limbs and focused instead on what was happening around her. There was tension in the camp, Albeam and Cedarn were quarrelling animatedly. From what she could gather, the Dunlendish party was hours late. Trewyn and Albeam were keen on riding North, while Cedarn insisted they waited for his brother Zarn to arrive and for the blizzard to subside. This was good news, she thought: the longer they tarried, the higher chances for Éomer to track them down. "I believe we will stay here for the night".
"Yes, and we should try to run before the sun rises".
Beyrith spoke so casually, that Lothíriel wondered whether she had misheard her. "Run?".
Her maid parted the blanket and revealed the shredded remains of the rope that had been around her wrists and ankles. In the palm of her hand, was a sharp pin – one of those she used to fix her braids. "Can you do the same to yours?".
She did not need to ask twice. Lothíriel took the pin and started working her rope. It was a slow, painful process: her hands were frozen and clumsy, at each movement the rope would dig deeper into her wrists and the pin was peeling the skin off the fingers. Yet it worked and once the grip had been loosened, she and Beyrith lied in the snow, cuddled together and pretended they had fallen asleep. She wasn't sure how long they stayed so – hours most likely, until the camp had fallen silent and the only men awake were those keeping watch. Lothíriel counted five of them, three of which looked like they were about to fall asleep while a fourth one kept cursing and rubbing his feet, more taken with the cold than with checking his surroundings. They only needed to wait a little longer and they might really stand a chance. While she bided her time, Lothíriel tried to think of what they would do once on the run. They needed to take advantage of the darkness and put as much distance as possible between them and their captors. She had no idea where they were or how they had arrived there, but the best thing to do was probably heading the opposite direction to that Cedarn and his men had come from, wait for the sun to rise and then head East, hoping to find a way back towards the open plains and – with any luck, some settlement where they might get help.
It was a risky plan and chances were, they'd get caught again - she knew that. But at the same time, what did they have to lose?
Once most of the guards had dozed off, she seized her chance and signalled Beyrith to move. Together, one inch of frozen ground at a time, they rolled and crawled towards the edge of the forest. With the camp now out of sight, Lothíriel tried to stand but fell promptly back: her legs were numb, she had eaten nothing but a piece of stale bread since they had been kidnapped. With Beyrith's help, she stood and one shaky step at a time, both leaning on each other for support and trying to ignore the cold biting on their feet, they walked away and into the dark, silent forest. She lost count of how many times they stumbled and fell. Their progress was atrociously slow, at times they were sinking in the snow almost up to their waist and soon, a harrowing pain was radiating up her right leg. Lothíriel tried to keep going but her calf was shaking almost uncontrollably, and she wondered how it could be so frozen and yet hurt that much at the same time: "I-I can't", she gasped.
Beyrith tried to pull her back on her feet: "We need to keep going. Come on, Lady".
She followed her until a small creek and there, she finally stopped. "You must go ahead without me, Beyrith. I can't keep up, I'm just slowing you down", whispered Lothíriel, and she knew all too well what that meant. She was going to be recaptured and taken back to the camp; she'd be alone; she'd be punished for running off and Zarn would soon arrive. She was signing off for something far worse than what they had experienced so far, something from which there might have been no return. But she couldn't let Beyrith follow her in the same miserable fate, not when she stood a chance to make it to safety and let Éomer know what he should do. "You follow the creek for as long as you can - that way you won't leave footprints behind. Sooner or later they'll realize we are missing and come search for us. I-I will circle around and drag them as far as I can from you".
"No!". Beyrith grabbed her by the shoulders and started shaking her: "You can make it, Lady, I know you c…".
"I can't!", Lothíriel cried, her will dangerously close to come crashing down. She needed Beyrith to leave before she'd lose her courage and change her mind. "It's my leg, it won't hold for much longer. I'll never be able to make it anywhere, but you can".
"If you stay, then I stay!".
"No, you will do as I say: you will follow the creek and keep heading South. Once on the plains, look for villages or farms – there should be some between the Great West Road and the mountains. Ask them to give you a horse and if they refuse", she said pulling the white gold ring that had belonged to her mother off her finger, "then give them this and buy one. Ride to either Aldburg or Caerdydd – whichever is the closest, and tell them what has happened".
Beyrith threw her arms around her neck and teared up.
"If I don't make it back…".
"Don't say it, Lady. I will find Lord Éomer, he will come for you and…".
"… and perhaps all will be good. But if I am taken where he can't reach me, if Trewyn and Albeam's plan succeeds, then I need you tell Éomer that…", Lothíriel shivered, the words weighting on her chest like a crushing weight. "I need you to tell Éomer that their word can't be trusted. That Rohan matters more than anything else and that the people need him". She tore Beyrith's arms from around her neck and stepped back: "Go now", she told her and when the girl still would not move, she turned her around and pushed her sharply towards the freezing water gurgling in the creek. "Go!", she yelled and observed her helplessly as she walked away.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to curl in a ball and weep until passing out. But she knew that if she wanted to give Beyrith a chance, she needed to keep going. Much to her dismay however, she realized she was not alone: "What a sappy farewell", a voice spoke behind her, "a pity it was for nothing. Cedarn will catch your maid and I'm sure he'll enjoy her while he waits for his brother to be done with you".
No, not yet!, Lothíriel thought. She knew their captors would soon be on their heels, but she had hoped she'd have more time to drag them on a fruitless chase!
Glancing over her shoulder, she noticed Trewyn was standing all alone behind her. Albeam and the rest of the Dunlendings were nowhere to be seen – probably busy searching for them in the thick forest. Unexpectedly, a strange calm settled over her.
Look as little of a danger as possible… Lothíriel kneeled in the snow. Started shaking and whimpering.
Trewyn's footsteps approached.
Bide your time… She covered her face with her hands, begged her to have mercy and let her go.
Trewyn squatted in front of her and laughed. She was amused by her fear, entertained almost.
Wait for the right moment… She let her pull her up, staggered to throw her off-balance.
Trewyn's feet scrambled, she cursed and instinctively grabbed the trunk of a nearby tree to steady herself. Her guard was down, she wasn't even bothering to keep a hold of her.
Strike without hesitation.
She hit her with all the strength she possessed, her fist colliding with her unprotected throat exactly in the spot Elfda had showed her all those months earlier. Unable to look elsewhere, Lothíriel observed in a state of shock and horror the woman falling on her knees, hands locked around her neck as she tried desperately to breath in some air. Her cheeks reddened, her eyes bulged, veins popped on her face, her movements became convulsed first, feeble then.
And then, she stopped fighting, stopped moving, her arms falling limp around her lifeless body.
Realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time, Lothíriel gasped. She moved closer and as she looked down at Trewyn's twisted face, she was scared to find there wasn't an ounce of pity left within her for the woman lying at her feet. Because of her, her brother might have died. Because of her, Beyrith might still die. Because of her, she might not get to see the man she loved ever again. Because of her, she had ahead of her days of terror and torture.
Without sparing one word, she stepped over her body and walked away.
In a last flicker of strength, she whirled her arms around, let the twigs scratch her face and tear her clothes. Several times she retraced her steps, moved in circles before heading once again up the mountain. She did not care about the cold, nor the pain in her leg. There were voices behind her, her captors were close. Her leg gave in but still she kept going, crawling and laughing, exhausted to the point of the delirium.
Then, there was a thud. The feeling of something warm dampening her hair. A tremor that shook her head to toes. Pain.
And after that, only darkness.
Erchirion awoke with a start, screaming and in a pool of sweat. He stumbled out of the cabin and into the bitter cold of a misty night, panting and shaking.
"Brother?".
Leaning on the taffrail, he tried breathing in and out. Valar, what was that for a dream?
Amrothos stepped closer and helped him seating. "Are you alright?".
"I-I don't know".
"What happened? You look like you've seen a ghost…".
"Nightmare… Lothíriel", he only managed to say.
Amrothos fetched him some water and a blanket. He was still sweating like a swine, but he knew he could not stay out there wearing nothing but a light tunic. "It was just that, a nightmare", he told him, though his confidence seemed to falter in the face of his distraught state.
Surely Amrothos was right, Erchirion told himself. But then why couldn't he get rid of the dreadful feeling growing in his chest? His memories were fragmented, confused. "I saw a snowstorm and Lothíriel running in a dark forest. She seemed… scared, in pain. And then I heard a strange noise, saw the ground turning red with blood… something's wrong, brother. I know I must sound crazy, but I can feel it: something bad has happened".
"To our sister?".
"Yes. It's not the first time this happens…", he confessed.
"It's not the first time you have such dream?".
"Back in April, I dreamt of two ghastly creatures chasing a gray mare. I thought it was just that – an awful nightmare. But then months later…".
"Months later we found out Lothíriel had been attacked by two wags and her horse killed". Amrothos stood and summoned the crew: "We can be in Dol Amroth in less than a day and send a messenger to Aldburg".
"You believe me?!".
"I believe I've never seen you that scared in my whole life and find it quite frankly disturbing. You and Lothíriel were always close and perhaps… I don't know, perhaps you can feel when something bad happens to the other. And I'd much rather go look for answers that sail with you in that state. Get back to your cabin and get some rest, I'll…".
There was a sudden swishing sound. A strange force pushed him back against the railing. Erchirion stared in shock at the arrow protruding from his chest. He felt no pain, only a slight burning sensation. The world spun and the last thing he saw before the black cold waters closed on him, was Amrothos' horrified face.
Lothíriel was awake – had been for a while now. Through the little gap between the tent into which she had been tied up and the soaked ground, she studied the camp silently. Her limbs were stiff, she'd have liked nothing more than stretching them. Yet for hours now she had not dared moving a muscle and whenever someone came to check on her, she'd pretend she was still unconscious. She could not say how late it was - late morning or early afternoon perhaps? They were still in the forest, but they had moved and were no longer camped in the same clearing where they had spent the previous night. Zarn did not seem to have arrived yet, while Albeam was sitting in a corner, his face beaten to a pulp. She wondered whether that had to do with Trewyn's death, weather it had been him who had attacked her the previous night and that was the result of the Dunlendings protecting their hostage from his wrath.
Either way, the only thing that mattered now was that Beyrith was nowhere to be seen. With some luck, her maid would reach one of the farms nestled on the Eastern slopes of the mountains and within a day, she'd be safe in Aldburg and able to inform Éomer of their enemies' plan. That was all the comfort, all the hope she needed for the moment.
There were shackles around her wrists and ankles – solid metal ones, the kind of which she'd never be able to release on her own. Not that she'd have wanted to try anyway: after the previous night's attempt, she was too shattered to even stand, let alone run. A throbbing pain radiated from the wound on her head, her hair was drenched in both dried and fresh blood. She must have been hit with something heavy - a stone perhaps, and knocked unconscious for many hours.
Later that day, in the midst of a blizzard that did not seem to have any intention to give them a break, the moment she had long dreaded approached. A half-dozen shadows emerged from the forest. The man who led them was embraced by Cedarn and after much hushed talks, he headed her way in long, calm strides. The flap of the tent was pulled open, a puff of snow blew past her. Still lying on the hard ground, Lothíriel did not move, tried steadying her breath as much as she could in spite of her terrified state. "I know you're awake".
She did not answer. A rustling sound told her the man had removed his cloak. He poked her with the hard tip of his boot and kneeled behind her. Even through her closed eyes, Lothíriel could feel him looming over. "I said I know you're awake", he spoke again.
His voice was raspy, he spoke the Rohirric language with a thick, ugly accent. He remained silent and for a moment, Lothíriel dared hoping her acting had been convincing enough. Then, there was a sharp, gnawing pain as fingers were squeezed into the wound on her head, and she screamed. She screamed even more when he pulled her up, her head spinning so fast she thought – actually hoped, she'd pass out. But she didn't, and had no choice but staring into Zarn's dark, cold eyes. He was looking at her like he had already stripped her of her clothes, a crooked smile on his face: "I told the straw-head bastard I wanted you unspoiled, but you made him angry when you killed his woman. You are lucky Cedarn was there when he found you, or he'd have killed you".
His hand slid down to uncuff her, and Lothíriel trembled in fear.
"Tell me", he whispered in her ear, "will the Marshall be upset to learn other men have enjoyed his precious Gondorian prize?". He locked his fingers around her neck, groped her savagely while he forced his mouth upon hers.
A blind, burning rage grew within Lothíriel at the injustice of it all. She and Éomer had been through so much and fought so hard to be together. Why would the world not let them be? Why was there always someone trying to tear them apart and make ash of their hopes and their future? She sunk her teeth into Zarn's flesh, snapped her knee at his crotch but missed her target. The chieftain cursed and punched her. The air was knocked out of her body but that did not keep her from hurling herself at him, her nails badly scratching his face as she aimed for his eyes.
But for all Elfda's teachings, she was just too weak and her captor too strong for her to prevail.
"I like women who put up a fight!", Zarn laughed. He spun her around, twisted both her arms behind her back and straddled her.
"Éomer will skin you and the rest of your miserable crew alive! You will beg for death before he's done with you!", she yelled and tried desperately to hold onto that fury. But as she felt her skirt being lifted and her undergarments torn away, the fight went out of her, replaced by a dark, crippling terror. She heard Zarn unbuckling his belt and then… then his body stilled. He made a strange gurgling sound and something warm dropped on her lower back. When he landed by her side, eyes wide and blood pouring from his slashed throat, she was so paralyzed with fear she could not even bring herself to look away.
"Lady?".
Someone. Someone was in the tent.
Lothíriel turned around and almost cried. A giant of a man, clad in rugged clothes and with strange white hair and blue-greyish eyes, stood behind her. In his left hand was a blood-dripping dagger, his right arm was outstretched towards her: "We need to go, Lady", he said and in spite of the urgency in his voice, he did not try to grab her.
"W-who are you?".
"We need to go", he insisted, "Can you walk?".
Lothíriel tried to take a step but fell almost immediately. Her legs were weak and sore, but even worse was the pain in her head. She felt dizzy, could hardly keep her balance and her vision was becoming strangely blurred.
"I can carry you", the stranger said.
He took the cloak that had been Zarn's and wrapped it around her shoulders. Like she weighted nothing at all, he picked her up and stepped carefully out of the tent. It was only then that Lothíriel heard the furious barking and growling in the distance, and noticed the camp was practically empty. "What's happening?", she asked.
"My hounds are keeping them busy", the man spoke through gritted teeth.
There was shouting. The growls gradually turned into yelps. The yelps became wails. No more than five hundred feet from Zarn's tent, hidden behind a large boulder, a gray stallion waited for them. When she was lifted in the saddle, the sudden movement caused a flash of pain that momentarily blinded her.
"We will ride until dusk, so to be sure they're off our backs. Then, we'll head somewhere safe".
Lothíriel barely heard those words. She wanted to vomit. And to sleep. Most of all, she wanted to get back on solid ground because the motion of the horse was making her feel like her head might explode any moment. "Éomer, c-can we stop?".
There was no answer. As they bolted through the forest, a hand probed the wound on her head – gently, and yet so painfully anyway: "Stop Firefoot, please!", she sobbed.
But her plea felt on deaf ears and once again, darkness descended upon her.
Éomer had hoped he'd be able to reach the mountains latest by dawn but caught in the jaws of one of the worst snowstorms he could remember, it wasn't until the late morning that he finally spotted the white slopes ahead of them. If they headed South, in about five miles they'd come across a narrow valley which would lead them deeper into the mountain range. Éothain would be sweeping the area as he approached from the North and he intended to do the same but first, he decided to make a stop in the South-most farm of the whole region. The place wasn't far from their current position and perhaps, the people living there had noticed something. They reached it at around lunchtime. Both men and horses were frozen and exhausted, while he was in a state beyond it all: he could not feel the cold, nor the weariness. He had eaten a piece of cured meat while on the way and not because he was hungry, but simply because he knew he had to keep himself well-fed if he wanted to keep the chase for as long as it was needed to get Lothíriel back. She was alive – he knew that, could feel it in his heart. But knowing very little of the men who had taken her and their intentions, he was tormented by the notion of the things their captors might have done to her and her maid.
Éomer pushed those thoughts away. All that mattered was that she was alive, that he'd find her and bring her back home. Together, they'd heal the wounds and find the strength to move on.
He dismounted in the deserted forecourt of a barn. The wind was howling but if anything, the storm was finally breaking. A plump man and a young lad came out to meet him; they carried swords, but quickly lowered them when they recognized him and his men. "Lord Éomer?".
"What's your name?".
"Hágel, Lord. And this my son Fulgrim. Please, come in", he invited him, but Éomer ignored his offer.
"Hágel, have you noticed any strange movement in the past couple of days?".
"Strange movements?".
"Yes, like travellers headed towards the mountains, for example".
The man frowned. "Can't say I have. But a girl knocked at our door earlier today. Petty little thief thought she could fool me".
"A girl?".
"Yes. She offered me a ring in exchange for one of our horses – hardly a fair trade! When I refused, she asked whether she could borrow one. I refused again, but offered her shelter and promised I'd take her to the nearest settlement once the storm had passed. Next thing I know, she was trying to steal one of our horses!". Hágel spat on the ground and pulled something out of his pocket. Something that caused Éomer's heart to sink: "This is the ring she tried to sell me, I bet she stole this one too! Don't worry, Lord, I locked her up and will take her to the elders next week: they can decide what to do with her".
Éomer snapped the thin white gold jewel from the man's hands with enough force to knock him down. He barged into the house, shove the man's wife out of his way, kicked open every single barred door he came across until finally, he found himself staring into two familiar blue eyes: "Beyrith?".
The girl looked up at him and hastily retreated in a corner, shaking like a leaf. "I-I didn't want to leave her. Please, Lord, I swear I didn't want but she told me I had to! I tried to raise the alarm, but they locked me in here and that stupid old man would not believe me when I told him I needed to get help for Lady Lothíriel, said I was only making excuses to save myself after I tried stealing his horse!".
She was terrified, Éomer realized. Terrified of having failed her lady, terrified of what he might do to her. Bema. Hands raised in front of him, he approached her slowly: "It's alright, Beyrith. I believe you", he assured her. He removed his gloves and took her hand. It was red, swollen, covered in blisters. There was a nasty bruise on her forehead and her feet had been wrapped in bandages.
At least the stupid old man had had the decency to tend to her wounds and frozen limbs.
He sat beside her - close enough that he could still hold her hand, but not that much that she'd feel threatened. "I need your help to find Lothíriel. Will you tell me what happened, please?".
Beyrith nodded. He was not surprised when she made Albeam's name, but every single drop of blood in his body froze when she revealed the identity of his accomplice and their plan. "Lothíriel asked me tell you something, Lord", the girl said between strangled sobs, "she wants you to know the Dunlendings can't be trusted, that whatever exchange they will propose, they will never hold their side of the bargain. And also, that… that Rohan matters, and that the people need you…".
Her words felt like a dagger had been twisted inside his guts. Éomer stumbled back. His fist crashed through a wooden wall like it was made of cardboard.
Before the day was over, he might be asked to choose between his country and his wife. The Lady of the East-mark was telling him she was willing to sacrifice herself, but what of him? How could he live with himself, how could he return to Aldburg without her, how could he awake every day knowing he was there and she was not, how could he keep looking after their people when he knew he had failed the only woman he had ever loved and abandoned her to a faith perhaps worse than death itself?
Please do not ask me to choose, please do not let her be taken from me…
Author's notes: the real villain was finally unveiled. Trewyn did not die alongside Meregith and in fact, she is the one who killed her.
After Lothíriel was attacked by the wargs, Éomer confided to Éothain that I have known for quite some time that we have a mole. As much as Meregith had always hated Lothíriel, she was also fiercely loyal to Éomer and Rohan and wouldn't have started spying for Grima just because of their marriage – especially since it started as a catastrophic one. Her hatred grew in time and led eventually to her refusal to send a search party after Lothíriel. After that, things just went from wrong to worse with her. As it hopefully came apparent in the few exchanges between her and Lothíriel – and between her and Éomer, Meregith was no longer thinking straight and slowly became willing to do anything to get rid of Lothíriel. She managed however to make those around her believe she had changed while at the same time, Trewyn and Albeam were taking advantage of her and her position in the hall.
For Grima, to be always informed about what was happening in Aldburg, it was clear his mole could not have been someone like Trewyn – who did not live nor work in the hall and as such would not have been able to spy as effectively as someone like Albeam. The choice of the mole as someone I never mentioned before, is intentional: he's no one of particular relevance, he does not attract attention on himself but at the same time, he is one whose presence would never be questioned. He's the perfect spy and in Trewyn, he found the ideal partner. Ultimately, the girl did not care for Éomer's attention, her betrayal is not one prompted by unreciprocated feelings, but rather by ambition. She might have been attracted by him, but in the end she was only interested in him as a way to climb up the social ladder – if not by marriage, then by destroying his relationship with Lothíriel and thus Éomer himself. Meregith was a tool to her, one she took advantage of up until the very last moment.
Grima is not involved in the kidnapping, but Trewyn knew he'd likely take advantage of it, if he saw there would be something for him to gain. Her hope that he'd have put her and Albeam in charge of the East-mark is probably misplaced, but it's true that had her plan to get rid of Éomer been successful, Grima would have likely stopped considering her as a threat and perhaps found a use for her – if not now, then in the future.
As per Lothíriel, there was simply no way she'd have managed to run away with a leg that is no longer able to sustain prolonged efforts. She knew it and did the only reasonable – and incredibly brave, thing to do: she prompted Beyrith to go on without her, while she tried to lure the captors away. But first, she got to deliver some justice by taking down Trewyn, something the woman had surely not seen coming. Lothíriel has had a rough time and one way or the other, she's slipping in and out of consciousness. Luckily, she was rescued by a mysterious man and once again, she's on the run with the captors on her tail. And Erchirion's fate too, is no less uncertain…
Katia0203: so much happening. Éomer is on his way but had it not been for the mysterious saviour, he'd have arrived too late to save Lothíriel from Zarn's degenerate intentions. His help is still sorely needed as the Dunlendings will try recapturing Lothíriel and avenging their chieftain, but at least thanks to Beyrith he knows what he's riding against. Erchirion is adorable but Amrothos has a good point: if he doesn't want to harm Míririen's reputation, then he needs to thread more carefully.
xX Mizz Alec VolturiXx: he is! I guess he hasn't realized it yet, Amrothos on the other hand…
Rho67: Amrothos acts a bit like he's a fool and cares for nothing, but he's still Imrahil's son and definitely not a stupid one. As per the desk and the following line, a bit of teasing is always good! ;)
AmandaBaker852: she's no longer in the hands of her captors and escaped Zarn just in time. But she's far from being safe, I fear…
tgo62: more cliffhangers here, I'm afraid! Grima had more spies and Éomer and Lothíriel have been outsmarted this time…
tyskvalkyrja: ah, I see what you meant now and well, time will tell (we are little over than a month away from Théodred's death according to canon)! ;) I also missed so much the Christmas markets this year. They are not really a thing in Italy, but after almost ten years in Switzerland I've grown to love them and really hated that I could not get to enjoy some Glühwein and sweets! Love that you're enjoying the journey and always taking the time to leave me some amazing reviews!
Wondereye: as Runhild says, Lothíriel was in the hall and as such, she did not have guards with her. Especially after getting rid of Meregith and Trewyn, she and Éomer assumed their household was a safe place. A mistake they are paying dearly…