Chapter 33
Edoras, February the 27th, 3019
"I don't like this", muttered Théocanstan when they came in sight of the city.
Neither did she, but that was beyond the point. Lothíriel's hand traced the edges of the parchment folded inside her saddlebag: "We part here", she told her guards, her voice flat and colorless – a stark contrast to the heart pounding wildly in her chest, "Elfda and I will proceed alone. You may all return to Aldburg".
Before anyone could speak, she urged Greótblæst into a brisk gallop and tried savouring the last miles of their journey. The wind tumbling her hair, the crispy winter air, the sight of the usually green plains now turned yellow after weeks of snow cladding the ground. But for each thump of her mare's hooves, her heart grew heavier and the only thing she could see, was the dread of what laid ahead.
Éomer was going to be furious, but there was no other way.
She parted from Elfda at the gates and mindless of the curious glances her sudden appearance in the capital was spurring, she pressed on. She dismounted in front of the Golden Hall and took a moment to lean against Greótblæst, her fingers raking through her black mane, her senses focused on her mare's steady breath.
I can do this.
Shoulders squared, Lothíriel climbed the stairs and pushed the doors open. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness of the hall and when they did, she headed towards the room she knew being Wormtongue's den. She placed her saddlebag on the large oak table and poured herself a cup of water. A couple of sips later, the door behind her opened with a sinister squeak.
"Lady Lothíriel, what an unexpected pleasure. It's been too long since your last visit".
Lothíriel turned around, a polite smile plastered on her face, and extended an arm towards the councillor, waiting for him to bow and kiss her hand – as etiquette demanded given the difference in their stations. "As I'm sure you know, I've been rather busy with arranging our trading agreement with Dol Amroth and ensuring a fair distribution of supplies throughout the winter. Not to mention my recent unfortunate encounter with a couple of disloyal members of our household and their Dunlendish friends. Luckily, it all worked out for the best".
"Indeed", said Grima, and she had to give him that not even a flash of annoyance was displayed across his pale pace.
Determined to be the one steering the conversation, Lothíriel did not give him a chance to say more. "I am here today because something else has been keeping me very occupied during these past few weeks", she said, and slipped a paper across the polished surface of the table. She observed attentively as he unfolded it and did not bother to stifle a grin when she saw his features hardening – even if just for a brief instant. "I'm sure you recognize the thirteen names on that list, for they all belong to men in your service. As we speak, they are being rounded up and locked into Aldburg's dungeons. Some will no doubt refuse collaborating, but we both know it's only a matter of time until one of them will start speaking. And when that happens, I bet we'll hear some interesting tales".
Lothíriel sat in the chair at the head of the table, her hands curled around the carved armrests. "The first name on the list – Goldda, belongs to the man you dispatched to Aldburg to get rid of any compromising evidence Albeam might have left behind. He found nothing of course, because by the time he arrived in the city, the late attendant's house had already been thoroughly searched by our men. And I must admit, what we found greatly exceeded our wildest expectations", she said, her head tilted slightly to the side.
It was a lie. After a month of painstaking tailing and stalking, those thirteen names were all they had managed to put together. But Grima didn't know that, and she counted on the fact he'd fear more damaging information had been revealed when rummaging through Albeam's belongings.
"I do not know what the customs in Gondor are, but in Rohan we do not detain people without an accusation. I wonder what the pressed charges against these good people are, and whether you understand the consequences of your actions, Lady. I really wouldn't want to see you accused of being an accomplice to your husband's crimes".
Lothíriel chuckled. "They are being detained on charges of suspected treason. Whether the allegations will be confirmed or not, depends entirely on you". She leaned with her forearms on the table: "As I'm sure you are aware, in the past months someone has taken great care in ensuring all people across Rohan knew where the supplies that have kept their children well-fed throughout the winter were coming from, and who they had to thank for their timely arrival".
Lothíriel paused and let the implicit threat sink in. At the time the trading agreement with Dol Amroth had been signed and approved, she hadn't really understood Lady Aldwyn's insistence that word shall be spread of the role she and Éomer had played in securing the deal. That there would be enough food for everybody had seemed like a victory in itself and if some among the King's councillors wanted to take the merit, then be it. Now, she was grateful for her friend's foresight and she could see that it was not about having her ego stroked, but rather about ensuring that when such times came, the people would remember who those who had fought for their survival were.
And that was especially important for those living in the councillors' strongholds.
When the news of Éomer's imprisonment had broken, it had become clear Grima was taking the final steps that would secure him total control over Rohan. With Prince Théodred dead and the King subjugated to his will, Éomer was the last pawn still standing in his way and she knew that sooner or later, he'd have him executed. Until that happened however, Grima still needed the Council's support to keep things running smoothly, and it would be very unfortunate for him if someone managed to undermine its credibility during such crucial times.
"Rumours are being spread of disloyalty amongst the King's councillors. Rumours of greed and thirst of power, rumours of the Third Marshall and the Lady of the East-mark – the very same ones who had ensured nobody would go hungry during the winter, being held captive under false accusations of treason at the hand of a handful of corrupted advisors. Of course, such rumours could be either dispelled with the news of my husband's release. Or, they could be fuelled with enough supporting evidence to start a wave of uproars that will tear your Council apart, thus crushing all your plans. After all, what between the outcome of your men's interrogations and what we found in Albeam's house, there's plenty to suggest a coup is on the way".
Lothíriel looked straight into Grima's unblinking eyes, mindful to ease all tension from her body. Truth was, unless one of the spies Gárwine was questioning provided them with some evidence– which she strongly doubted, her plan was nothing but an exceedingly sophisticated bluff and her success depended upon deceiving a master of deceit.
"You'd rather toss our country into a civil war, than seeing your husband pay for his crimes?".
"I'd rather see my country fight evil, than seeing it succumbing. And", she added, "I'm willing to sacrifice myself for a just cause".
Her words picked Grima's interest and the Councillor's gaze was now fixed on her.
"I know you want a reassurance that should you release Éomer, we won't come after you and try taking you and the rest of the Council down. Which is why, I'll remain here. As long as I'm your guest", she told him with a sly grin, "Éomer will not dare touching you".
Surprise and something else – excitement perhaps, played across his face. From Grima's perspective, she was not nearly as valuable as Éomer. But she had no doubt he was already planning for a time when he could use her against her husband without having to fear any repercussion.
All she could hope, was that that time would never come.
Without uttering a single word, Wormtongue stormed out of the room. Lothíriel breathed out and resisted the urge to start pacing the room - she didn't want Grima to return only to find her wearing a hole in the floor. For all he knew, she had come to him with a solid plan, one she had absolute confidence in, and she could not show herself as a nervous wreck.
Hours went by, the sun set and without any candle to light, the room descended into an eerily quiet darkness.
Lothíriel knew what was happening, Gárwine had seen it coming and they had planned accordingly. Knowing Grima would not make a move unless he was certain there was at least some truth to her threats, they had deliberately scrapped a couple of names from the list of spies they had taken in: Brytta and Fulda, two brothers, native of the Westfold but both living in Aldburg since Yule. Gárwine was going to make sure he'd parade the first captives right under their nose and brag about some of them having already delivered interesting information. One of the brothers would surely ride to Edoras to warn Grima of the impending danger, thus confirming the seriousness of her threats.
The night grew old and Lothíriel shifted restlessly in her chair, her back and shoulders sore from being unaccustomed to wearing an armour – even if a light one, for so long. The glow of sunrise had just started warming the sky, when Grima finally reappeared. He nodded at the window and when she looked out, Lothíriel spotted Éomer leaving the city, his sister, Elfda and four other men in tow.
After an hour ride, Éomer pulled Firefoot to a halt. "Enough!", he snapped, refusing to cover another inch of ground unless they told him what exactly was going on. He should be locked in his cell, likely awaiting a mock trial and then the gallows. Instead, he had been inexplicably released in the middle of the night and rushed by Éowyn, Elfda and a small group of men in Lady Aldwyn's service, out of the city. Not one word to explain what was happening, only a vague we'll tell you once we are far enough from the city.
It was Elfda's presence that he found especially worrying. What was the man doing there? He was supposed to be in Aldburg, training Lothíriel, not in Edoras helping him escape!
At Éowyn's silent command, all men dismounted. Elfda walked the horses away while his comrades stood in a tight circle around him: "What is going on?", he snarled, his sister's presence being the only thing that kept him from unsheathing his sword.
"Lothíriel bailed you out".
Stupor was his first reaction, quickly followed by confusion and then, a choking dread. "Where is she?", he asked, and sensing the circle tightening around him, he knew the answer. "She's in Meduseld, isn't she?".
Éowyn raised her hands in front of her. "Please, Éomer. You need to understand that you cannot go back for her. If you do, all she has done would be in vain".
"W-what has she done?".
"She had Gárwine apprehending Grima's spies and taking them in for interrogation. She led Wormtongue to believe she was in possession of incriminating evidence against him and that unless he'd have released you, she'd have used it to cause serious unrest in the councillors' strongholds and consequently across the entire country".
"…and?".
"And she offered to take your place because as long as she's his prisoner, Grima knows you won't go after him". Seeing the blank expression on his face, Éowyn took a cautious step back: "She won't be alone, Éomer. I will ride straight back to Edoras and see that she is well, I promise I'll look after her and…".
"You should not have allowed it!", he bellowed, shaking in both rage and fear knowing that even as they spoke, Lothíriel was in Grima's slimy clutches. He turned around and rushed towards Firefoot: he'd get her out of Meduseld - no matter the cost, he'd take her home and then he'd make sure she understood that she could not ever do something so reckless again, that he'd rather rot in a filthy cell for the rest of his days than knowing her at the mercy of their worst enemy. He only managed a couple of steps, when Lady Aldwyn's men were all of a sudden on him. He fought them off, landed a punch here and a kick there, but they pinned him easily to the ground, each limb caught in the iron grip of a different goon. "You were supposed to protect her!", he spat out, glaring murderously at Elfda.
The man was unimpressed. "I followed your wife's orders - we all did. You should be grateful for what she's done".
He growled something – an insult, a threat. He didn't even know to be honest.
"Have you thought of the implications of Grima holding over the last living members of your house? A snap of his bony fingers and the line of Eorl would be no more. What happens then to Rohan? What happens to our people?".
"Lothíriel's sacrifice is not the answer. That's not a price I'll ever be willing to pay!", he spat back. "You shouldn't have let her anywhere near Edoras, whether that meant disobeying her orders or not!".
"Stop talking like she's already dead. Stop talking like she's some sort of silly, gullible girl. When your wife sets her mind to something, Bema have mercy of whoever dares standing in her way. Do you even realize what she's just done? She's used every little tiny bit of information in her possession to fool Grima, she's played him like a damn fiddle!".
Éomer stared daggers at the man holding his right arm, who was openly smirking like this was somehow funny.
"Lothíriel won't be not alone in Meduseld. Éowyn will be there. Háma, Guthláf and Beywyn have already been alerted to keep an eye out for her. I – together with the four gentlemen here, will be hanging around the hall and should the need arise, your sister knows she can call on us at any time. Grima won't harm her, Éomer. As long as he believes her threat to be real, as long as her reputation stands, he won't dare harming a hair on her head, he won't risk enraging our Southern neighbours by putting his hands on the niece of the Steward of Gondor while she's under the King's protection. Your wife bought us some precious time and if you now barge into Meduseld demanding her release and giving away her ruse, it will all be for nothing".
His face pressed against the moist grass, Éomer tried to appease the nauseous mix of feelings boiling within him. There was a small voice in his head – a vestige of what little rational thought he had left, that told him Elfda was right. Lothíriel hadn't burst into Meduseld without a plan, screaming like a madwoman – which was precisely what he'd have done, had those four brutes not stopped him. He was also right when he said his imprisonment was a death sentence for both him and Rohan, and that Grima would think twice before raising a hand on his wife.
With Théodred gone, the future of his country rested entirely on his shoulders and now more than ever, Éomer knew he could not afford being impulsive.
And yet there was an urge that was damn hard to ignore, one that screamed that he could not abandon Lothíriel so, that he should gather every last one of his men and do everything in his power to set her free – including sieging the capital and burning the Golden Hall, if needed! Leaving her behind felt like pleading his lungs to stop breathing. But he had to, Éomer realized. He had to, because there was more at stake than their individual fates and ignoring it, would be an insult to everything that Lothíriel was, everything that she had done.
The grip of Lady Aldwyn's men finally loosening, Éomer managed to climb back on his feet. "If Grima…".
"If Grima touches her, I'll kill him myself", Éowyn promised.
He pulled his sister into a hug, his hands balled into fists, his mind reeling. How had things gone so terribly wrong? How had they allowed a treacherous advisor to drive their country to the brink of collapse? The King – once a wise ruler and mighty warrior, no longer cared about his people and his family, so much that he hadn't even said a word when Grima's men had shackled him and dragged him to the dungeons. His cousin – everyone's hope for a better future, had been slain. His sister was little more than a prisoner in her own home. Himself, the Third Marshall of Rohan, though no longer a captive, was practically an outcast. And his wife – the love of his life, the one light who had kept him going for the past year, had offered herself as a hostage in a last desperate attempt to save him.
"If you manage to speak to Lothíriel", he said, his voice almost breaking, "tell her I love her and that should we survive this bloody mess, I'll give her a piece of my mind for being so obscenely brave and cunning".
Éowyn chuckled. "You really should. She's already the prettier in the couple, not fair that she's also the smarter".
He pressed a kiss on her forehead and got in his saddle. Edoras was no longer discernible on the horizon, yet his eyes lingered for a long while in the distance, as if he could see the Golden Hall and Lothíriel within. "Where's my Eored?".
"Lothíriel ordered Éothain to take it to Gippeswyk. You should be able to reach them by noon".
He nodded and after one last glance, he was gone, riding fast to his fate and leaving behind all he held dear, all he had ever loved in this dark like of his.
When one of Grima's thugs had led her to her cell, Lothíriel could barely contain a smirk. She had given for granted that she'd be accommodated in one of Meduseld's guestrooms, but Wormtongue had obviously taken her threat very seriously and decided to keep her locked in the dungeons instead.
She spent her first day in captivity sitting on the thin cot that was supposed to be her bed for the next foreseeable future and found that while she was not too bothered with the grimy state of her surroundings, having nothing but her thoughts to keep her company was less than ideal. All she could do in the cramped space of her cell, was sitting and brooding until her mind was drained and her body restless from the prolonged immobility.
Determined to make the best of her situation, Lothíriel awoke at dawn of the second day and decided she'd spend the morning working out. Getting on the floor on all fours, she extended her legs, knees resting on the floor, and bent her elbows. She lowered herself until her nose was almost touching the floor and then, she contracted her muscles and pushed herself back up.
When Elfda had first showed her that exercise, he had actually been standing on his toes. She had tried to do the same but failed miserably, coming very close to crashing her face on the ground. Ruefully, she had come to the only possible explanation for such ruinous debacle: there must have been some missing muscles in her body, because she really could not see how she would ever be able to summon enough strength to perform the exercise like Elfda had intended. Even with her knees bent, she had at first only managed to do six meagre reps. Yet less than three weeks later, she had already increased to ten and to her utter surprise, she now counted until thirteen! She repeated the exercise twice more, then moved to some other ones intended to strengthen her arms and shoulders.
By the time she was done with her routine, she was sweaty and mildly panting, her hair sticking to the damp skin of her neck.
Just like the previous day, she had not been served any breakfast and she now found herself waiting impatiently for her lunch. When it came, it was by the hand of a grim looking man who eyed her way too long and way too bluntly for her own comfort. He placed the tray on the floor and as soon as he had retreated upstairs, Lothíriel sunk on her knees and bit eagerly into the crunchy bun. She froze when her tongue touched something strange and stared incredulous at the tiny piece of parchment someone had lodged into the bread. She looked left and right, as if afraid the discovery might itself conjure one on Grima's men. But no, she was alone there. Only her, her lunch and – she suspected, a few mice.
She popped a piece of cheese in her mouth and carefully unfolded the paper.
Éomer is safe. Sorry we can't do more. G. watches us. You're not alone, sister.
Feeling a little less lonely, Lothíriel smiled and mused at how strange it was to have Éowyn calling her sister. There had never been a real chance for the two of them to bond, they had only seen each other a couple of times and their interactions had otherwise been limited to a handful of polite but rather impersonal letters. How ironic that the opportunity to become closer, might come under such adverse circumstances.
Looking more closely into the bun, Lothíriel found something else: a tiny piece of black chalk. Without further thought, she flipped the paper and drew the sketch of a nasty worm being stomped by an armoured boot. Giggling to herself, she folded it and stuck it back inside the bun, only briefly regretting she'd not be able to eat it, if she wanted the message to get back to Éowyn.
That evening, another paper reached her in the same way.
Éomer wiped out large party of orcs West of Aldburg. They say they were headed towards us. G. is fuming. Hanged your sketch in my room. Made my day brighter.
Before getting to her food, Lothíriel drew another sketch, this one depicting a worm with wavy black hair and puffs of smokes rolling from his ears.
That night, sleep eluded her. She felt restless on her cot, cold under the only blanket she had been given, flinching at every small sound around her. The angst she had managed to quell at day, crept back on her at night, engulfing the dungeon and leaving her trembling and weeping. Her body curled in a ball, Lothiriel silently cursed herself: there were people who spent years in prison and there she was, two days in and already feeling the walls closing in on her!
It happened then, what had not happened since the day of the ambush: the rush of heat, the clammy hands, her heart beating fast – too fast.
She awoke the following day to a throbbing headache and a rising nauseous feeling. She barely made it to the corner of her cell before throwing up and for once, she was glad Grima had decided she should not be served any breakfast. She spent the morning sitting on a corner of her cot, her back pressed against the wall, her knees hugged to her chest, rocking back and forth and hoping lunch would come soon. Not because she was hungry, but because Éowyn's next bun message might perhaps lift her spirit, even if just a little.
The dungeon's only window was a tiny hole puncturing the wall at the far side of the room, well out of her reach. It was difficult to make the passing of time, but Lothíriel was fairly sure it was already the early afternoon and still, nobody had come to bring her food. She wondered whether that was another of Grima's device to torment her. Or perhaps one of his henchmen had found the hidden messages and she was being punished. Did that mean Éowyn was in trouble too? Should she be worried?
Caught in her frantic brooding, Lothíriel did not hear the dungeon's door flung open, nor the heavy steps of someone approaching. It was only when the key rattled in the lock of her cell, that her head jerked up to meet deep blue eyes staring back at her. She did not move, her mind only gradually wrapping around the stranger standing in front of her, taking in the sight of his golden embroidered cloak, of his ringed fingers and the crown resting on his head. With a gasp, Lothíriel clambered on her feet and ducked into a low curtsy, only to be swiftly pulled up by two strong arms. She felt like shrinking under the King's intense perusal.
"This is no place for a Princess, no place for a daughter of mine. Forgive me, my Lady".
Lost for words, Lothíriel gaped at the King. She noticed Éowyn was standing behind him, smiling, her eyes brimming with tears. The dam broke then and without intending to, she leaned in the man's fatherly embrace, barely able to stand on her own. The King beckoned for Hama, who swiftly picked her up and brought her upstairs, Éowyn following closely behind. As she was being carried across the hall and towards one of the guestrooms, Lothíriel looked around in confusion. With all the doors and windows wide open to brighten its usual dimness and dispel the stiffness of its air, the Golden Hall looked like an entirely different place. She spotted Elfda marching through the doors and briefly caught him winking at her before her eyes moved on Lady Aldwyn and the unusual company gathered around her. She wondered whether she was being deceived, for how else was she supposed to explain the elf standing at the bottom of the dais? And was that a dwarf beside him? She stretched her neck and blinked, half-expecting them to fade away and prove nothing more than a trick of her tired mind. But they did not and noticing her bewilderment, Éowyn was quick to reassure her: "I'll explain everything", she promised, "but first, let's get you to your room".
Once settled on her bed, Hama bowed and left the room in hurried steps, like he couldn't possibly wait a moment longer to get back to the hall. Éowyn helped her into clean clothes and it was in muted silence that Lothíriel listened to the tale of the arrival of the Mithrandir and his party, the healing of the King and Grima's departure. "I'm sorry I could not do anything to help you", Éomer's sister said at last, "I tried to get you moved to a more decent accommodation, but Grima would not have it and his men were watching the dungeons and ensuring no one would visit you or offer you any type of comfort".
"Yet you anyway found a way to get in touch with me and for that, I'm grateful".
"It was the least I could do after you bailed Éomer out". Éowyn faltered then, her shoulders hunched and her head bent: "What you did for my brother, what you willingly put yourself through in order to save him, I… I shall never forget it, Lothíriel - no one will. I know I've been harsh with you in the past, but know this: I am proud and honoured to call you sister".
Lothíriel wrapped her arms about her and for a while they just stood so, each trying to soothe the anguish of months spent fighting Grima's machinations and the pain for all that had been lost in the process. "As much as I'd like this to be our happy ending, I fear it is not so", she spoke eventually.
Éowyn offered her a stretched smile. "You are right. We may have rid ourselves of Wormtongue, but our enemy has not been defeated. A great war is upon us".
"What will the King do?".
"I don't know, but I believe it's what they are discussing in the hall right now".
"Then that's where we should be".
At noon of the following day, Lothíriel sat in her saddle with a young girl curled up against her chest. At their backs, Edoras stood silent and deserted, emptied of its warriors who had ridden to meet Isengard, and emptied of its women and children who were abandoning the city to seek shelter elsewhere. Ahead of them, laid the road to Dunharrow, where they hoped they'd find safety until news of the King would come. Lothíriel's eyes lingered on none, roaming instead the plains that stretched far to the East, where her home laid, where Éomer had hopefully received tidings of King Théoden's healing and was now making haste to join him in battle. An anguished gasp threatened to rise from her throat, but she choked it down.
Hope had not forsaken them. Not yet.
Banishing all dark thoughts from his head, Erchirion looked over his shoulder and couldn't help but rolling his eyes skyward. A happy pup, that's what Amrothos reminded him of in that moment, merrily trailing behind him, beaming like it was the best day of his whole damn life. Not for the first time since they had docked, he wondered what exactly had possessed him to ask him to be their chaperone for the day. Literally anyone would have been better than him – especially considering the amount of teasing he was surely going to be subjected to. Deep down, he wholeheartedly hoped Míririen would suggest a more suitable candidate. After all, the presence of a chaperone was mostly for the lady's sake and as such, the role normally befell one of her relatives. He doubted her mother would be available, but perhaps she had a maid who could rid them of his brother's presence. Although, he mused, Amrothos was surely going to afford them more… privacy, than any prude maid.
As they arrived in front of Míririen's house in Pelargir, Erchirion was quick to notice some notable differences in its appearance. For once, the garden which had looked neglected and abandoned the last time he was there, had obviously been taken care of. The hedges were neatly trimmed, the grass cut and there were bushes of white and red roses that had recently bloomed. The front of the building too, looked slightly different – the windows had been replaced, perhaps? With a shrug, he knocked and waited.
An elderly maid opened the door, her eyes widening in recognition: "My Lord!", she said with an open smile, silently slipping out of the building and locking the door behind her. She glanced briefly at Amrothos, and he saw it appropriate to introduce him.
"This is my brother, Prince Amrothos".
She looked at him up and down, almost wrinkling her nose at the sight of him.
Understandable, really: the previous night, Amrothos had had the brilliant idea to challenge his crew at a drinking game with the predictable result that by midnight, he had already passed out. He had spent a good part of the morning purging his guts and looked absolutely terrible, the furthest thing from a Prince one could ever imagine.
"Is Míririen home?", he asked.
The woman looked around and beckoned for them to follow her across the square and to a secluded corner at the edge of a small fountain. "Míririen – my dear, sweet girl, no longer lives here, Lord".
Erchirion's first reaction was mild surprise, after which he drew the only possible conclusion: Míririen had moved to another house and he simply needed to know where that was. Yet something was amiss with the woman's countenance, and he studied her through narrowed eyes.
"I reckon I should not be the one to tell you this, but", she started to say and he inwardly snorted, for that was exactly what people always said right before blurting out their peers' most intimate confidences, "when last winter Sir Hebrion – Míririen's father, passed away, the poor girl was dismayed to discover her family was deep in debt. She tried to get their finances back on track and Valar knows, she'd have managed! But the cards were stacked against her and eventually, she had no choice but selling what little remained of their fleet as well as their house to Sir Anudor. The man was her father's major lender and Míririen – ever the caring girl, struck a bargain with him that would have entitled him to the house as well as everything within, at the condition he'd have given her a job as maid and allowed her, the lady Teliril – her mother, and myself, to live here".
Erchirion realized his hands were clasped into fists. "When did this happen?".
"January, milord. Only a few days after your last visit".
January! Why on earth hadn't Míririen said anything! He remembered thinking she seemed worried back then, he remembered her discomfort when he had inquired her about how business was going. But he'd have never imagined things to be so dire for her and her family!
"You said Míririen asked this Sir Anudor to provide her with employment as well as accommodation. Yet you also claim she no longer lives here. How comes this?", Amrothos interjected.
"She did work here for a couple of weeks. But then towards the end of January, something happened. I'm not sure what - she wouldn't say. Sir Anudor was absent at the time, so Míririen asked his lady wife for a two weeks' leave from her duties. When she returned fifteen days later, Sir Anudor's wife… she…", the woman struggled with her words, a crimson flush creeping up her neck, "she told her she was one day too late and that such behaviour was unacceptable. Can you even imagine?! She terminated her employment and gave Míririen and her mother two days to vacate their rooms. I was allowed to stay only because the lady needs a governess for her daughters but believe me, had I not been so old, I'd have rather left with Míririen!".
Erchirion's head was mildly spinning as he put the pieces together. He knew Míririen had left Pelargir for fifteen days at the end of January. Of course he knew, for she had done it for him! And when she had returned home, this… this… Anudor's lady, this harpy of a woman, had seized her chance to throw her and her sick mother out! "Are these new employers of yours home?", he growled, not caring one bit about Amrothos' worried glance.
"No, Lord. They shall be back later today".
"Where is Míririen now?".
The woman sighed. "I don't know, Lord. She struggled to find a decent accommodation and I know she worked for a time at one of the taverns by the Southern pier. But she left because…", the old maid hesitated, looking suddenly angered, "… because there were duties she was not willing to perform".
Knowing exactly what type of duties she was speaking about, Erchirion steadied himself against the sudden urge to throw a punch in a wall – or in someone's face. Amrothos' hand was on his shoulder, his grip a painful vice: "Has Míririen left Pelargir?", his brother asked, his eyes fixed on him like he was desperately telling him to calm himself down.
"No, she's in the city. But she would not tell me where she's staying nor what she's been doing. She visits me once every week - in fact, she was here just a few days ago". With an unexpected grin, the woman leaned towards him: "She worries for me and always makes sure to check that I'm treated well. But there's also another reason why she keeps coming. Something having to do with certain letters coming from Dol Amroth, I believe…".
A rush of blinding rage clouded Erchirion's vision as he recalled the light-hearted content of Míririen's letters. How could she not tell him? How could she pretend all was well? How could she have so little trust in him, that she wouldn't even confess the way her life had been falling apart? Stubborn, proud woman! He could have helped her and wouldn't have asked for anything in return. How could she not know that?
As if reading his thoughts, Amrothos' grip on his shoulder tightened. "Swallow your ego and let's go find her".
Míririen sprinkled a pinch of salt and thyme on the seabass filet and balanced the plate on her forearm. With a fond smile, Thilion held the door open for her.
It was a beautiful day. Not sunny at all - in fact, it had rained for most of the morning. But patches of blues sky were now breaking through the black clouds and beacons of light shone on the distant green banks. Rising from the swamps, a sharp rainbow with a fainter one on top of it, climbed high into the bleak sky, drawing a perfect arc before falling onto the city.
How she loved such days!
Hurrying to the covered patio, she served the customers their lunch and almost squealed in delight when she realized the colourful spectacle had not faded yet. Careless of the few drops of rain still spilling over the city, she stepped outside. Life hadn't been easy as of late, but such was one of those precious moments when she really did not care, so long as she was still able to breath in the staggering beauty of her hometown.
"Sweetheart?".
Míririen rolled her eyes and silently muttered a very unladylike sweetheart my ass! The customers of The Whale were mainly nobles and – occasional scornful gazes aside, they were decent enough people. Every now and then however, it happened that she had to deal with less pleasant specimen of the Gondorian elite. Forcing a polite smile on her face, she turned around and walked back to the table she had just served. "What can I get you, Lord?", she asked, her mind quickly rephrasing the question to a way more appropriate what can I get you, you creepy swine? Lord Radon was a young man in his early twenties who she could have considered handsome, had it not been for the fact that one look at him, and even a half-wit would have recognized him for what he was: an insufferable boor whose only merit in life had been being born with a noble title and – along with it, a large purse.
"How about your company?", he suggested patting the empty chair by his side, his comrades smirking at her.
"I'm flattered, Lord. Unfortunately, I have to decline for it wouldn't be proper. Besides, I'm very busy". And I'd rather thrust a knife in my guts than sitting anywhere around you.
"Perhaps your pedigree is not good enough, Radon", said one of his friends.
"Indeed", he chuckled, "I have it on reliable sources that this one only likes to entertain princes, not simple nobles such as I".
Míririen felt the colour draining from her face. Taking advantage of her bewilderment, Lord Radon leaned back in his chair, his open palm descending so unexpectedly on her bottom, that she flinched and produced a ridiculous high-pitched squeal. She stood dumbfounded, only vaguely aware of her hand blindly reaching for the pitcher with the intention of smashing it on the bloody idiot face. But before she could do anything, she was hauled back by a pair strong, warm hands. "What is happening here?", thundered Thilion, glaring at the four noblemen sitting at the table, his face a worrying shade of purple.
"Relax, old man. We were just chatting with your maid".
"This is a reputable establishment, Lord Radon. We do not tolerate such behaviour and if you came here seeking more than just a meal, then I must ask you to leave".
The grin on the man's face briefly faltered. He glanced at his friends and without further word, they stood and left without even caring for settling the bill.
"Ye blasted scum. Are you alright, lass?".
"Y-yes, thank you", she stammered, mortified for the whole incident, "You can deduct their bill from my…".
"Please, Míririen", he snorted, "'Tis hardly your fault some men lack manners. Why don't you let me finish here and go upstairs to see if our guests need anything?".
Relieved at being dismissed, Míririen retreated to the upper floor and took a moment to compose herself, unsure whether feeling glad for Thilion's intervention, or rather upset that she had not had a chance to send Lord Radon collecting his teeth from the floor. She couldn't believe what he had dared telling her, and even less so that he had had the audacity to actually spank her! Still fuming, she barged into the inn's guestrooms and adjusted anything she found out of place. She changed the linens in the suite and replaced the withering flowers with fresh ones, surveying the room more attentively than she had done for the other ones for she knew it came at a considerably higher fare. The current occupant – an elderly lady from Minas Tirith, had left her a small tip on the bedside and she gladly slid it into her pocket. Once satisfied that all was in order, Míririen tiptoed to the top-floor and slipped into the room she shared with her mother. As usual in the early-afternoon, she found her fast asleep and tucked her in gently, her mood instantly darkening when she noticed she had – once again, refused to take her medicine.
She wasn't even angry. Just tired.
With a disheartened sigh, she walked out. After checking with Thilion, she left The Whale and wandered aimlessly around the city. She spent a couple of hours sitting on a stone bench in the city's gardens, glad for how quiet the place was on such gloomy day and uncaring of the slight drizzle dampening her clothes. She returned to the tavern shortly before dusk and after a quick cold bath, she made ready for dinner service. It was a lazy, slow night, and it was still early when the last customer paid and left. Eager to get another breath of fresh air before retiring, Míririen wrapped a cloak around her shoulders and headed outside.
Strolling along the pier, she found herself staring at the cleat onto which she used to tie off her sailing skiff. Like everything else of value she had once possessed, she had sold it over a month earlier and as silly as it sounded, parting with it had pained her more than giving away what little jewels and silk gowns she had owned. Through months of heartbreak for the sudden loss of her father and older brother and the fast deteriorating condition that afflicted her mother, her skiff had been her only gateway to a better place, one where she'd be finally alone, one where she'd be able to remember the good instead of the bad, one where she'd only have to worry about the direction of the wind and nothing else.
Whishing she had not come there, Míririen walked back. She had almost reached the end of the promenade, when a shadow stepped out of a side ally to block her way: "Well, well, well. Look who we have here…".
Splendid, she thought. As if the day hadn't been difficult enough, as if she wasn't already exhausted enough, now she had to deal again with that moron! In a last attempt to avoid escalating things, Míririen tried to ignore Lord Radon's presence. She walked briskly past him, but he snatched her arm and pulled her back towards him until she was almost squeezed against his chest. The man stunk of ale and pipe-weed, his voice was hoarse and raspy: "A lowly maid such as you cannot afford being so picky when choosing the men she spreads her legs for, sweetheart".
"And a rat such as you does not belong to the city's streets but to its filthiest sewers, you miserable turd", she hissed back, well past the point of caring for the status of the man she was insulting. She jerked her arm free, only to find Lord Radon's hand clasped almost painfully around her jaw.
"Mind your words, wench. You think I'm a lesser man than your precious Prince? You think I'm not good enough for the likes of you?".
Hearing those words, she could not stifle a humourless laughter. "Erchirion could be a beggar and you a King, and you'd still not be half the man he is".
Lord Radon's eyes flashed in anger, but before Míririen could ram her knee into his groin and enjoy the sight of him crumbling at her feet, a hand shot past her shoulder to connect with the man's neck, lifting him up until his toes were barely scraping the ground. "Care to repeat what you just told the Lady?".
Míririen could hardly name the feelings that rocked her body upon hearing that voice. Relief. Joy. Shame. Fear. Sadness.
His features set in an angry scowl, his gray eyes ablaze with cold hatred, Erchirion looked nothing like the cheerful prince she had come to know. "Let him go", she asked as soon as Lord Radon had released her, not wanting him to do something reckless and get himself into a scandal.
He ignored her and pushed her into Amrothos' arms. She looked up at the young prince and some sort of silent understanding passed between them. "Let me take care of him, brother. Meanwhile, why don't you walk Míririen back to her accommodation?", he offered.
Erchirion stood motionless, Lord Radon's quickly reddening face still held in his grip. "Please", she begged him and one finger at a time, he finally released him.
The man collapsed on his knees, coughing and sputtering as he tried catching his breath. And then – to her utter dismay, the flipping drunkard expressed an obvious death wish by climbing back on his feet and sniggering at her: "She must be really something for the Amrothian princes to share her in bed".
A growl rose from Erchirion's chest. Behind her, Amrothos muttered something along the lines of he asked for it.
Knowing things were about to go south, Míririen darted forward and kicked Lord Radon's knee with the hard heel of her shoe with all the strength she could muster, causing him to yelp and stagger back in pain. She grabbed him by the front of his coat and pushed him back, and back again, until the ground fell out from underneath his feet. With a womanly shriek, Lord Radon plunged into the freezing waters lapping against the jetty. She glared down at him as he broke through the surface, gasping and clinging pathetically to one of the dock's pilings. Seeing the small crowd that had gathered around them, she almost wished she could join him in the water, just so she wouldn't have to feel the prying glares boring into her back. "Can we go somewhere more private, please?".
Erchirion followed Míririen down the pier, his steps never closing the short distance she had put between them. She halted at the end of the quay, her head tilted back as she tried to take in the sight of the Amrothian ship docked in front of her. The crew had dispersed earlier in the day, all eager to enjoy their time in the harbour city before they'd set sail towards Minas Tirith to face a threat no one had dared naming yet. Only a couple of men remained guarding the flagship of the Amrothian fleet, and he quickly dismissed them.
Míririen hopped gracefully aboard and for a while, she seemed to completely forget about his presence. She explored the vessel with large, astounded eyes, her hand gliding on the railing as she climbed the steps leading to the quarterdeck. A ghost of a smile flickered across her face when her fingers curled around the helm, only to fade the moment their eyes met. With a sigh, she retreated further back and sat on one of the small casks that hadn't been carried to the hold yet. He joined her and looked up at the starless sky above them. "Why didn't you tell me?", he asked.
"Because I was ashamed. Because I did not want your pity. Because it's hard for me to talk about my father's vice. Because I found that whenever we were together, I could temporarily forget about my family's struggling finances and my mother's illness and pretend life was again what it used to be".
Míririen's voice was steady, her eyes dry. Yet everything about her spoke of an unbearable sadness. He sought her hand and laced their fingers together: "What was your father's vice?".
"Gambling – cards, dice, horse races… I'm not even sure when it all started, perhaps he had been doing it for years and as long as our business was thriving, he thought nothing of the money he was bleeding. But then things took a turn for the worse and all I know is that instead of quitting, he wasted all our family's wealth and started borrowing money from nobles and merchants, as well as from some of the city's worse loan sharks. Two days after we received the news of his and my brother's death, one of them – escorted by two grim looking thugs, knocked at our door and demanded our debt to be settled immediately. That's how I found out that my beloved father had squandered all our money".
"What happened then?".
"Our family owned some properties around the city. I sold them all and used the money to get the sharks off my back. I met with the other lenders and pleaded for time. Most of them – moved to pity no doubt, agreed. I was positive I could straighten our finances and pay them back within a year or so, but it seemed like everything was working relentlessly against me. We lost several ships due to either bad weather or corsairs taking a great deal of fun in terrorizing defenceless fishermen. When our creditors got wind of it, they deemed it wiser to demand for payment until we still had something valuable in our possession".
"Creditors such as Lord Anudor?".
"How do you know?".
"Your old maid".
"Of course", she sighed, "Gonhel has a big heart but also an undeniable big mouth. How much has she told you?".
"Enough to know what your stay in Dol Amroth has costed you, and what happened with your next employment".
Míririen brought her hands to her face and tried shifting away, but he did not let her. He pulled her closer until he had her sitting on his knees, his arms wrapped firmly about her. "None of what has happened to your family is your fault and there's nothing you should feel ashamed of".
Her hands clutching at the thick fabric of his coat, Míririen surrendered to a silent cry. "I just…", she said, her voice cracking, "… I cannot reconcile the picture of the caring man who raised me, to that of the gambler who spent his days wasting away a fortune, not caring one bit about his family, his children, his ill wife. To us, he was the most loving father. He used to spend every spare moment he had with us, saw that we'd receive a good education but also that we'd always pursue our passions – even if that meant deviating from what most people thought proper. He taught us the value of happiness and freedom above that of propriety and social expectations, and was always so supportive, so understanding, that we thought there would never need to be any secret between us. But in the end, it was all but a lie…".
The words she spoke and the hatred marring her voice, stirred a familiar pain deep within him. "I don't think it was a lie, Míririen. I think your father was as caring and loving as you say, and you are the living proof of it, for you are the strongest, most independent and fearless spirit I have ever met. I don't know what drove him in the downward spiral of gambling. But what I do know, is that even the most honourable man can fail and perhaps, the best thing we can do is to find in ourselves the strength to forgive and move forward".
"I wish he had told us. I wish he had asked for our help…".
"I know, I know", was all he could say, and leaned back against the railing, one hand slowly rubbing her back, the other holding the nape of her neck.
"I should have told you, Erchirion".
"Yes, you should have. And you shouldn't have risked so much to come see me - though I will selfishly admit that seeing your face that day in Dol Amroth, made me the happiest man in all Arda".
Míririen's hand brushed his unshaven cheek in a tender caress. "Perhaps it was for the best to get fired from Lord Anudor's staff. He's an awful man with an even worse wife, and I'm better off without them".
"Ever the optimist, aren't you?", he taunted her, and tilted her chin upwards so he could look into her blue eyes. "Where are you and your mother staying, Míririen? Gonhel said you refused telling her…".
"I had to", she explained, "After Lord Anudor's wife kicked us out, she started sending me what little money she could spare from her wage. I told her to stop and in response, she just went to the inn at which we were staying at the time and paid the bill on our behalf. So, after we moved to another place, I decided to be more discreet".
"And where would this place be?", he asked, refraining from pointing out that she truly was the proudest, most stubborn creature he had ever met.
"Do you know The Whale?".
"Of course. They have some of the best fish in town".
"The owner – Thilion, was a customer of us. After he found out we were struggling to make a living, he offered me a job – one that only involves serving tables and cleaning rooms, and a place for us to stay. He and his wife have been very kind and we… we are doing well enough".
He could see the lie, could see that nothing was well enough. And he felt a stab of pain as he realized his carelessness had made her life a whole lot worse. "That Lord Radon, the things he told you… has it ever happened before?".
Míririen tried wriggling away but he held her right where she was. "There have been occasional malicious gazes", she admitted, "though I can't say whether they were because of my association with you, or rather because there's nothing some wealthy people love more than spurning a former peer fallen into disgrace. But no one has ever gone as far as Lord Radon - except for Lord Radon himself".
"It wasn't the first time he harassed you?".
"He was at the tavern earlier today and made some… remarks".
"… and?", he prompted her, sensing there was more to her story.
"He smacked my rear", she reluctantly confessed, her voice so low he practically got what she was saying by reading her lips. "That is all, I swear! Thilion rushed to my defence and kicked Radon and his friends out. I was simply unlucky to stumble upon him tonight and as much as I am grateful for you and your brother's intervention, I assure you I'd have managed to put him in his place", she hurried to say, "I'm no helpless damsel, I'll have you know!".
His anger subtly faded at her prideful declaration – as if anyone in his right mind could ever mistake her for a helpless damsel! But Valar, he wanted to find the bloody bastard and beat him to a pulp!
"It's far more humiliating that I was the one to knock him out, Erchirion. I know there are very few people in Gondor you do not outrank, but Lord Radon's family is affluent and the last thing I want, is for you to start a feud because of me. Besides, I was the offended party: it's only fair I paid him back and if I say the matter is closed, so it shall", she declared in a tone that brooked no argument and sweet Elbereth, she already had him eating out of her hand!
"Alright, captain. I promise I won't go after him", he conceded, his surrender made somewhat easier by the fact he knew there was no way Amrothos hadn't gotten Lord Radon out of the water and roughed him up at least a little before letting him go, "but if he ever dares disrespecting you again…". He left the sentence purposefully unfinished, and Míririen knew better than challenging him.
"This is all my fault", he admitted. "The day I invited you for lunch at the Laughing Heron, I should have known better than snatching you away without as much as a chaperone, I should have known slanderers would have talked. I'm sorry, Míririen".
"Had I had qualms about being alone with you, I wouldn't have accepted your invite. Not to mention", she said with an impish smile, "our culinary trip would have been terribly dull, had we taken a chaperone with us".
His thumb circling one of her dimples, he pressed a feather-like kiss on her lips and knew right then he was lost – had been since the moment he had laid eyes upon her that night at Lord Thalador's villa. "I'm leaving tomorrow", he murmured, "our father has called us to Minas Tirith to defend the city".
Míririen stiffened. "Defend the city? Does that mean…".
"Yes. I don't know when and if I'll be back", he said, voicing for the first time the concerns that had been consuming him since the day he had received his father's letter, "and all I could think of when we docked here earlier today, was that I wanted to see you. After Gonhel told us what had happened, Amrothos and I spent the entire day searching for you. I was terrified I'd not find you in time, terrified I'd have to leave without seeing you one last time".
A veil of panic clouded Míririen's eyes. She cupped his face to kiss him fiercely, then stood and stretched a hand towards him: "What were your plans for today?".
"Taking you for lunch, spend some time at the city's gardens or wherever else you might have liked to go. I had even taken Amrothos with me to act as a chaperone…".
She glanced briefly at the rising moon: "It's not too late yet. I first need to check on my mother, but after that we could grab something to eat and find a nice spot in the gardens to enjoy our meal. And propriety be damned, I say we need no chaperone".
They did, but in that moment, he foolishly decided he no longer cared. He took Míririen's hand and let her guide him down the pier and then through a maze of narrow alleyways. They were almost at the tavern, when she suddenly dropped his hand: "Mother!", she gasped, rushing after the woman walking down the empty street, "What are you doing out here?".
Lady Teliril looked at her daughter with a faint smile. "What a pretty young lady you are. Do we know each other, my dear?".
Erchirion sucked in his breath.
"It's late and I need to go home", she went on, "my husband is sure to worry if he gets back before I do. You remind me of him, you know? You have the same eyes. What is your name?".
"I-I am Míririen, lady", she answered, and he could see her fighting back the tears. "Why don't we sit together for a moment? There's a tavern just around the corner that I'm sure you'd like".
"How sweet of you to invite me. But I could not possibly accept, I must go…", she hesitated, like she had momentarily forgotten where she wanted to go, "… home, yes. I must go home and make supper for my young boy".
Ignoring her daughter's pleas, she set off down the road and headed the exact opposite direction where her house used to be. Erchirion caught up with her and bowed politely: "Lady Teliril, please forgive me for interfering but I believe you should consider Lady Míririen's invite. The streets are too dangerous at night for a lone woman. Let us walk you to the tavern and then I give you my word I'll personally inform your husband, so that he may come and escort you back home".
She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders. "Dangerous, you say?".
"I'm afraid so, lady, and I'm sure Sir Hebrion wouldn't want you to endanger yourself".
"Yes, perhaps you are right", she conceded and accepted his proffered arm.
Míririen listened in stony silence to her mother talking merrily of her husband and her son. With his help, she walked her to the room they shared and once the door had closed behind them, Erchirion sat on the floor and waited.
By the time she returned, the night had grown old. She guided him to one of the free guest rooms and collapsed on a chair. "Sometimes she does not recognize me", she spoke flatly, "sometimes she does but can't remember at which stage in life I am – a toddler, a child, a grown woman… In those rare moments of clarity, she knows she's walking the fine line between consciousness and oblivion, and avoids speaking out of fear that she might embarrass herself or say something wrong. When it all started a couple of years ago, we thought hers was nothing more than a fleeting, harmless forgetfulness. Now, I find myself a daughter who became mother, to a mother who became daughter".
Erchirion kneeled in front of her and offered the only comfort he could think of. For the longest time, Míririen rested in his arms like a broken doll, arms hanging by her side, eyes frighteningly blank. She stirred at some point and looked at him in a way that had him holding his breath. Caught by surprise, he almost fell back when she threw herself at him, lips kissing and hands tugging impatiently at his clothes. Appealing to what little self-control her heady touch had not yet consumed, he captured her wrists: "No, Míririen".
"Why?", she asked, the hurt in her eyes almost undoing his resolve.
"Because you're upset, and this is not how I'll have our first time together be".
She scoffed, pain quickly shifting into anger. "There won't be a better - more honourable, first time together, Erchirion. Not for us. You are leaving tomorrow for war and should you return safely, nothing will ever change the fact that you are a Prince and I a tavern wench".
"Don't!", he snapped, hauling her to her feet so abruptly that she winced. "I do not know what awaits me in Minas Tirith, but what I do know is that I'll be thinking of you every waking moment, for that is what I've been doing for the past five months and I don't see it ever changing. And should I return, then I swear to you that the first thing I'll do upon touching these shores, will be taking you as wife!".
It was out before he knew it and Valar, he did not regret speaking those words! He had never explicitly thought about it, still too taken with exploring the meanders of his and Míririen's blossoming relationship to plan too much ahead. But he loved her, and an untimely death in battle was the only thing that could keep him from marrying her.
As if turned into stone, Míririen stared at him, mouth gaping, all colour gone from her cheeks. "Y-you can't be serious, Erchirion. You cannot…".
"I can and I will. Say you'll marry me, Míririen".
"You are a Pr…".
"I'm a man who has seen too much death in his life to let petty concerns about different social status stand in his way to happiness".
Míririen quivered. She stepped closer, her hand tensely cupping his face.
"Say you'll marry me", he asked again and this time, she nodded, her lips stretching into that beautiful, bright smile he knew he'd never get enough of.
That night, they slept in each other's arms and upon sailing off the following morning, Erchirion handed over the helm to his brother and stood on the deck until Míririen's slender profile was but a speck in the distance.
So long, love.
Author's notes: so, I had a few ideas or this chapter, most of them being book canon. However, Lothíriel's efforts could not be in vain and I wanted her to go after Grima and make use of the information she has gathered in the previous instalment. As such, the plot here turned out to be something in between book canon, movie canon and AU. Éomer is imprisoned like in the books, but he's set free thanks to Lothíriel and rides away, falling into his book canon role. As per Éowyn, I went book canon having her leading Edoras in the King's absence and taking the people to Dunharrow. Hope you liked this twist!
Lathril: really cunning of her, especially the idea of not removing the spies and let them be instead while they learned all they could about them. This way, she caught Grima completely unaware and managed to trick him into releasing Éomer. Yes, it is March indeed as the last bit of this chapter takes place on March the 3rd! As per Runhild, she's just a little too exuberant for Théocanstan! ;)
Beancdn: until now it was always Éomer who had come to Lothíriel's rescue. This time, it went the other way around, as she used the information in her possession – plus a pinch of trickery, to have him released. And yes, she's definitely on her way to Dunharrow!
Katia0203: yes, that's why I went with a weird mix of AU/book/movie canon here. All the effort she has put in curbing Grima's power could not go wasted. And you are absolutely right: way too stubborn to sit and watch while Éomer is imprisoned on false accusations :)
Rho67: I really appreciate you're following in spite of the story not being completed yet, for I absolutely cherish your reviews! It's been a trait of Lothíriel to find renewed strength every time something bad happens (like after the wargs or the ambush), and this time she served a real blow to Grima. I honestly hadn't even intended for Amrothos to have any role in this story, but now I really dote on him. Glad to hear the sibling relationship work from someone with more practical experience than myself :) I appreciate reviewers more than I can say and it's really a joy for me to answer to all of you. Not only encourage me to continue, but more often than you know, you also give me hints and tips on how to improve the story and the characters. So, thank you so much or that!
SwanKinghtoftheNorth: yeah, about that… :) As mentioned above, I sort of went for a mixed approach here! It felt right for the story, hopefully added an unexpected twist while at the same time not disrupting the book's pivotal points. Really curious whether you liked it!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx: I swear I was laughing the whole time while writing the Amrothos bit :) They really are sweet, though I had been dropping hints here and there that something might have been amiss with Míririen, and here we found out what's her story - which makes even more significant what she did for Erchirion in the previous chapter.
tyskvalkyrja: with the war coming, things are indeed really dark. Yet in the midst of it, some flickers of light: Lothíriel got Éomer out of prison and though she had to spend a couple of days in the dungeons – courtesy of Grima, she was soon released and is now on her way to Dunharrow. Erchirion's wish to spend a day with Míririen before leaving for what he knows being open war, leads him to learn what she had reused telling him until now. And while hers is another dark story, they at least got their sweet moment before parting.
Catspector: darkest indeed!