Trust To Hope - Chapter
Thirty-Two
Author: Novedhelion
Type: FP Het
Fandom: Lord of
the Rings
Pairing: Éomer/Lothíriel aka
Anhuil
Rating: PG 13
Warnings: Epic battle scenes and some
scary images. (like...Fenwick?)
Beta: Riyallyn...to whom I will
owe a bottle of Cabo. Shoot, I owe her a case. AND she wrote most of
the parts of this chapter involving Cam and Amrothos, whether she
wants me to tell you that or not!
Disclaimer: Still not mine. No
matter how hard I wish it, they are STILL NOT MINE! But the dialogue
and stuff is - NO release to the public domain given or
implied!
"Oft evil will
shall evil mar."
Rohan
proverb
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Anhuil froze.
The
sound of horns resounding off the cliffs around the city was coupled
with the thundering of hundreds of hooves.
"Éomer..."
she murmured softly, a slow smile creeping across her face.
"Open
the gates!" she heard a guard yell from the tower.
Peering
around the corner of the wall, she watched from across the yard as
the horses burst through the gates, the white horsetail on Éomer's
helm flying in the breeze. Hooves on cobblestone echoed against the
walls of the courtyard, steel clashing as the Rohirrim rode in,
swords and voices raised. The haunting, lyrical singing of the
soldiers resounded as they slew their enemies. Anhuil watched from
her hiding place, her fingers tight around her
dagger.
--------------------------------------
Cam
gripped Níniel's reins tightly as the mare's hooves clopped
on the cobblestone-paved road. Up ahead, she could see the docks,
some ships already ablaze as the heavy flaming bolts peppered the
sails. Horns blared in the distance. The palomino balked as she
neared the docks, rearing up and nearly throwing Cam as she fought to
control her.
---------------------------------------
The
princess watched in horror as a Swan Knight near the wall where she
stood was felled by a Corsair arrow. Fury usurped fear, strengthening
her resolve. She ran from behind the wall, picking up the soldier's
dropped bow and yanking his quiver from his shoulder, and ducked
behind a stack of barrels against a far
wall.
----------------------------------------
A large
cutlass swung at Firefoot as Éomer pulled the reins sideways,
just beyond its reach. Lashing out at him was one thing, but he would
let no one harm his mount. Éomer leapt from the horse,
tackling the big man to the ground, rolling away from him and drawing
his sword. The Corsair lunged at him with the curved blade, grinning.
Dodging the heavy blade, Éomer pressed his attack, backing the
pirate up to the stone wall.
Chaos reigned in the courtyard,
a jumble of pirates, Swan Knights and Rohirrim, the sounds of war
cries, blades crashing and hooves on cobblestones echoing off the
high walls. The air was thick with arrows and flying spears. Anhuil
saw Éomer across the square, her heart in her throat as the
Corsair lunged yet again with his long, heavy cutlass.
----------------------------------------
Amrothos
shouted orders to his men as they arrived at the docks. Small bands
of Corsairs and Swan Knights fought among the docking bays and
shipyards, the ships anchored in the harbor still firing flaming
ballistae at the docked vessels. Cam made her way down the walk,
drawing her sword as she crept along the stacks of crates and barrels
piled around the docks.
She spotted the prince, still on
horseback, issuing commands. Breathing a small sigh of relief that he
had thus far refrained from actual combat, she winced as an arrow
flew past his head.
The prince turned the direction from
which the arrows came. Another longboat of Corsairs had emptied onto
the pier. Dismounting, he sent the stallion away from the pending
fray while calling for his men to form around him.
Cam
watched in awe as he strode resolutely to meet the marauders.
Graceful precision countered the sheer brutality of their attacks.
She slowly worked her way closer. The pirates didn't have near the
skill of the prince, yet they still had the strength of numbers.
A
loud, groaning sound and terrified screams jerked her attention
toward the harbor. A flaming mast gave way and crashed into the deck
of a very large ship. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the
ship was her father's. Helplessly watching, the sailors dove
overboard as the Thalion went up in flames. "Ada," she whispered,
praying he was not on board.
------------------------------
Clambering
up onto the stack of barrels, Anhuil ducked behind one for cover.
Upending the blade of her dagger into the wooden top until needed,
she fired the bow repeatedly, the blue and white fletched arrows of
Dol Amroth finding their targets efficiently. Her quiver empty, she
grabbed the dagger and leapt down, seeking Éomer across the
yard.
Just as her eyes fell on him, he drove his blade home,
nearly pinning the huge pirate to the wall behind him with his blade.
Anhuil's heart leapt into her throat as another Corsair hurled
himself toward the king's back before Éomer could withdraw
his blade and turn. Without thought, she reacted, the jeweled handled
dagger spinning across the square and nailing the man directly in the
back before she even realized it had left her fingers.
Éomer
turned, as the man behind him fell, the jeweled dagger he knew so
well protruding from his back. He looked up to see her across the
courtyard, smiling.
"ANI!" he called out as one of the
pirates leapt down from the wall, swinging his cutlass in her
direction. Scrambling for a weapon, she picked up a discarded spear
and swung it like a quarterstaff, trying to knock him off his feet.
Unsuccessful, she threw it up to block his blow, backing toward the
barrels. Her training in the use of a quarterstaff was seriously
lacking, and she made a mental note that if she got out of this one,
it was not something she would neglect in the future.
Éomer
tried to make his way to her, cutting his way through the throng of
men battling in the yard. Near panic seized him as he swung his blade
at everything between him and the princess.
------------------------------------
Shaking her head,
Cam made to move toward Amrothos. "What have we here?" the
menacing voice came from behind, stopping her cold.
Every
instinct screamed at her to run. Stealing a glance toward the
embattled prince, Camwethrin swallowed her fear and turned to face
the pirate.
He laughed at her look of determination. "Little
girls shouldn't be wandering around in the dark, all alone," he
taunted. "It isn't safe."
She glared at him, blue eyes
ablaze, hoping her voice would not belie her fear. "Not safe for
whom?" she asked sarcastically, brandishing her blade.
He
was a bit taller than her, and slight of build. In his hand, he
carried a small club. His lopsided grin showed several missing teeth.
She flinched in disgust at his appearance, and his smell.
Dark
eyes widened in recognition as he looked closer at her. "You've
got your daddy's eyes, girl," he announced, unconsciously raising
his weapon. "I swore to him when he locked me up that I would see
him dead. But this might be even better."
Before she could
respond, he lunged at her, swinging the club toward her head. She
ducked his blow and stepped away, raising her blade to him. He
charged again. Sidestepping his attack, she quickly turned and thrust
her blade into his side. The club fell to the ground as the pirate
looked at her, wide eyed. Closing her eyes tightly, she yanked her
sword back; cringing as she heard his body hit the
ground.
--------------------------------
Throwing the
spear shaft up horizontally with both hands, the princess attempted
to deflect his overhead blow. His curved blade bounced off but split
the staff in her hands, rendering it useless. She gripped the broken
pieces and backed up against the barrels, his blade at her throat. "I
don't be thinkin' I'll run you through, missy. You're too
pretty to waste." He reached to grab her arm.
Anhuil swung
the broken piece of the wooden shaft, striking him at the side of his
bald head. He growled low, bringing the heavy basket-handled hilt of
his cutlass up and striking her across the temple. She crumbled to
the ground, falling back against the barrels.
Before the man
could turn, a cold blade ran completely through him from behind.
Éomer kicked him forward off his sword, knocking him out of
the way. He glanced quickly around the courtyard, watching the few
remaining pirates retreat as Éothain's men rode through the
gate, their bows and blades singing together.
Éomer
quickly wiped the blood from his weapon and sheathed it. Dropping to
his knees, he slid an arm behind Anhuil's shoulders, helping her
into a sitting position. Taking in the condition of her dress, he
yanked off his cloak and wrapped it around her. "Ani...are you all
right?" he asked as she raised a hand to her head, wincing.
Her
eyes met his. "You are late," she chided softly.
He
chuckled. "You are not married yet, are you?"
Anhuil
smiled. "Not yet."
"Good," he told her,
lowering his lips gently to hers in a soft kiss. "Then I am not too
late to remedy that." He helped her to her feet, one arm banded
around her waist. She took an unsteady step, grasping his arm for
balance.
Éomer swept her up into his arms. "We need
to get you inside," he stated calmly, walking toward the palace
entrance.
"I can walk," she murmured softly against his
shoulder.
"I am certain you can," he answered, making no
move to put her down. Up the front steps of the palace and through
the doors, he carried her into the palace. A uniformed servant
dashing through the halls with a pan of water stopped to gape at him.
"Where can I take her?"
The maid thought quickly. "His
Highness' study is right through there," she said, indicating a
nearby door. "Is the princess injured?" she asked, her dark eyes
widening. "Shall I send for a healer?"
"No, only some
water and cloths. Be quick, please," Éomer requested,
kicking open the door to the study and carrying her inside.
"Put
me down," Anhuil fussed. He turned his head to look down at her, a
mischievous glint in his eye. "Do not dare," she warned him
teasingly, as he sat her down carefully on a small divan near the
fireplace in the study.
"I would not dream of it." He
brushed her hair back, inspecting the cut on her temple. "That was
quite a blow."
"I wish people would stop striking me in
the head," she muttered, fingering the cut herself.
"I
wish you would learn to stay out of harm's way," he chided
teasingly. "Do you frighten me just to see how many times I can
endure it?"
"I do not take orders from you, Your Majesty,"
she argued softly.
He smiled down at her, gently lowering his
lips to hers. "Duly noted, Your Highness."
"Good."
The maid scurried into the room, an older woman with her
graying hair in a braid down her back. She carried a basin and some
cloths, placing them on a table near him. She wet the cloth and wrung
it out, proceeding to wipe the blood from the princess' face.
"I
will do it," he said, reaching for the cloth.
"But...my
lord...it is not proper for a man to..."
Éomer cast
Anhuil a helpless look. "You Gondorians certainly are a proper
lot," he muttered, turning to the maid. "I will see to her," he
repeated. "There are many others who need your assistance.
Please...go and help them." He took the cloth from the maid's
hand.
"Yes, sir," she answered. With a short curtsey, she
ducked out of the room.
Pressing one cloth to the cut to stem
the bleeding, he used another to wash the blood from her face. She
glanced down at her torn dress, blushing slightly at how much of her
was exposed, tugging his cloak a little tighter around her. "Thank
you, once again," she said, her fingers gripping the soft wool.
"I
will soon run out of cloaks." He grinned, running the back of his
fingers across her bruised cheek. "Are you certain you are all
right?"
"I am fine."
"You are stubborn."
"And
you are not?" She smiled, holding the makeshift bandage to her
head. She tried to take the cloth from his hand, but he resisted,
holding her chin firmly with one hand and cleaning her cuts with the
other.
His expression darkened. "Ani, I need to find your
father," he told her. "He and your brothers are in danger.
Fenwick has--"
Imrahil bursting through the door interrupted
his words. "Lothíriel! The maid said you--"
He stopped
short at the sight of Éomer sitting beside her, gently
cleansing a small cut on her cheek.
"Éomer!" The
prince flew across the room, his face panic stricken at the sight of
the blood on his daughter's face, not to mention the tattered state
of her clothing. "We have looked everywhere for her! Fenwick said
the Corsairs had taken her. Is she all right? Where was she?"
"I
am fine, Ada. A few scrapes, that is all," she assured him.
"In
the courtyard," Éomer answered. "I found her in the
courtyard."
"What were you doing in the courtyard?" the
prince asked.
"Fighting," Éomer answered for her.
"Saving my sorry hide." He looked up at her father. "Again,"
he added, looking down at her proudly.
The princess turned to
her father. "Ada...Mardil has been lying to you. Cam and I have
proof that he has been giving information about the fleet movements
to the Corsairs. Cam found a journal...it is all in writing...I will
show you--"
Imrahil stared at her, trying to grasp what she
was saying. "Lothíriel, what are you--"
Éomer
interrupted. "Imrahil...where are your sons?"
"Elphir is
upstairs, with Elessar and Faramir. They are routing out the
remainder now. I believe Erchirion and Amrothos have gone to the
harbor."
"We must go, Imrahil. I will explain on the way
but there is no time now." Éomer turned to the princess,
speaking quickly. "Ani...you can show us the journal when we
return. Promise me you will stay here." He rose to his feet.
Anhuil read more in his expression than she wished to.
"Éomer...."
"I will be back. I promise." He
helped her to her feet, moving toward the door. Bending down to kiss
her, heedless of her father's wide-eyed stare, he hugged her close.
Imrahil stood and followed him to the door, taking a key from his
pocket and pressing it into her hand.
"Lock this door,
Lothíriel. Do not open it unless you know who is on the other
side," her father warned.
She nodded slowly, looking down at
the key in her hand. A sudden thought occurred to her.
"Ada...Cam...she followed Amrothos to the harbor..."
"We
will find her, Ani," her father assured her, kissing her cheek and
stepping out into the hall.
Éomer took her hand,
pressing his lips to her fingers lightly. "Be careful, Éomer,"
she said softly.
"I will. I have a promise to keep." He
flashed her the devilish grin she loved so much. "I love you, Ani,"
he whispered, and stepped out the door behind her father.
"I
love you," she said softly, as he followed Imrahil out the door.
She locked it behind them and leaned back on it, praying for their
safety.
---------------------------------
Slowly
opening her eyes, Cam's shock was abated by the sight of Amrothos
fighting off two Corsairs. Only a handful of his men remained
standing, all desperately fighting for their lives. She broke into a
run, praying he wouldn't actually need her.
The prince
fought valiantly, deftly maneuvering between the two pirates, but he
knew he could not keep this up much longer. The man on his left
lunged and missed, throwing himself off balance. Amrothos took the
opportunity and quickly dispatched him. Seizing the opening, the one
on his right stepped in with a vicious slash across his abdomen.
The Corsair laughed in victory, thrusting his blade in for
the kill. His smile quickly turned to one of shock as his sword was
slammed to the ground. Looking up into furious blue eyes, he managed
a slight gasp before the unexpected blade ripped across his throat.
Amrothos staggered back, sinking to the ground in pain. Cam
stepped in to take his place. Taking a deep breath, she raised her
sword as another pirate lunged at her. He stopped mid-stride, and
fell to the ground.
She looked up into familiar steel grey
eyes. Erchirion gave her a slight nod and turned away, intent on
finishing off the last of this band. Cam dropped her sword and fell
to her knees, pulling Amrothos into her arms.
"No," the
blonde whispered as she cradled the prince. She cringed when her gaze
fell over the ugly gash across his abdomen. Pulling off her cloak,
she wadded it and pressed it with her hand to the wound to staunch
the flow of blood, trying desperately to fight the wave of panic that
crested as she saw just how much blood there was. "Amrothos," she
pled, "look at
me."
-------------------------------------------
In
the corridor, Imrahil regarded the king as they walked briskly. "I
do not know how or why you are here, my friend, but I thank the Valar
you are. How did you know?"
"I was not certain," Éomer
responded. "I did not want to say so in front of Ani, but an
attempt was made on my life less than a fortnight ago. The assassin
was Umbarian. He claimed to have been hired by Mardil
Fenwick."
Imrahil stopped in his tracks. "Mardil?"
The
king nodded. "I would wager he is behind this attack as well,
Imrahil."
"Éomer...are you certain?" The prince
was incredulous. "But...he was wounded tonight, trying to fend them
off when they took Lothíriel..."
"A flesh wound at
best. Am I correct?" Imrahil pondered this momentarily, remembering
the wound to Mardil's arm. "You know I have no love for the man,
but I swear to you I speak the truth."
The prince held the
king's gaze for a moment, then nodded. "We had best get to the
harbor," he responded, long strides carrying him swiftly toward the
doorway. Throwing a backward glance over his shoulder toward the
prince's study, Éomer followed him out into the
courtyard.
Swan knights and Rohirrim moved about the
cobblestone paths of the courtyard, moving the wounded indoors.
Imrahil and Éomer both were relieved to see few wounded
knights from either realm, and even fewer dead. The courtyard was
littered with dead brigands.
A Rohirrim lieutenant strode
toward Éomer, leading Firefoot. "Your mount, Sire." He
bowed dutifully.
"Thank you," Éomer nodded, taking
the reins. "How many?"
The soldier stood straight. "Eight
dead, Your Majesty." Only Imrahil noticed the slight reaction in
Éomer's eyes. To lose even one man was not acceptable. The
young soldier continued. "Not sure how many wounded from our éored,
but I would guess around twenty that will need care. We have taken
them inside."
The king nodded. "Gather the men that can
ride. Leave twenty here, and the rest shall follow the prince to the
waterfront. Quickly!"
The young man bowed, turning to bark
orders at the rest of the soldiers in the courtyard. Imrahil
took
the reins of the horse brought to him from the stable and leaped
astride him gracefully. He glanced down at Éomer, who was
looking back toward the palace. The king turned to face the prince.
"Do you think she will stay--?"
He stopped mid-sentence,
their gazes meeting.
"My friend, will you--"
"I
will. Go."
The prince nodded, turning his mount toward the
gate, calling the men to ride. Metal shod hooves clopped on the
cobblestone as the company broke into a gallop, headed for the
harbor.
--------------------------
In the office, the
princess leaned on the door, listening to the sudden quiet that
enveloped the palace. Only a few voices could be heard from upstairs.
With a deep breath, she opened the door a crack, peering into the
hallway. The sound of hurried footsteps made her push the door shut
again quickly. As the sound passed, she cracked the door open
cautiously.
Neville was making his way down the hallway,
stepping over broken pottery, muttering to himself. Her eyes
narrowed. Fenwick. What had Éomer started to tell
her?
Determined, Anhuil slipped out of the office, moving
quietly down the hall. She bent to retrieve a sword from a fallen
soldier, surprised when his hand gripped it tightly.
"I am
sorry," she told him.
Releasing his grip on it, he looked up
at her. "Princess..." he murmured.
"Caerwyn!" she
gasped, recognizing the young man as one she had grown up with, and
sparred with often. His father had been one of her mother's
personal guards. She helped him into a sitting position against the
wall.
"Take it," he told her. "I will not need it
again."
"Do not speak it, Caerwyn!" she hissed back. "I
will send a healer."
"Take the sword, Your Highness. I
pledged it to your father. If you have need of it, I would not deny
it to you."
"But you may-"she stopped short as she
followed his gaze down to the wound in his side. She knew that no
healer would be able to help this young man. He looked up at her with
hazy grey eyes, his skin pale. "Take the sword, Princess. Please. I
would be honored."
"The honor will be mine," she told
him, laying her hand on his cheek.
"May it protect you,"
he whispered, his breathing shallow. "As my father did your mother.
As I would you, were I able."
"You have done what you
can," she told him softly.
"Where are you going?" he
asked weakly.
Anhuil smiled. "Hodo, mellon. Amin pela.
Hannon le."
Whispering a few words of prayer, she rose to
her feet and disappeared down the hall, following Neville. Stealing
down the back stairs, she stepped out into the cool evening air.
The
garden was eerily silent. Sounds of the ongoing battle at the harbor
echoed off the walls, but her own slippered footsteps sounded loud on
the stone path. Holding the sword ready, she moved cautiously,
following the sound of Neville's heavy breathing and low grumbling.
As they approached the rear sea wall, other voices made her stop
suddenly, ducking back into the shadows.
"Mardil Fenwick!"
the voice hissed menacingly.
Fenwick's voice. "What are
you doing here? Have you completed the task? Where is the
prince?"
"We need to talk, Fenwick. You double-crossed us,
you pathetic skainswate," the pirate sneered, his sharp rapier
coming uncomfortably close to Mardil's throat.
"Double-crossed
you?"
"You never said nothin' 'bout Rohan bringing a
damned cavalry!"
"Valar sake, man...he might have had two
hundred men. That heathen should not have even been alive to show
up!" he growled back. "YOUR men were supposed to see to
him!"
Anhuil's blood boiled, but she held her place in the
shadows, listening.
"I sent three of my best archers after
that peasant! Lost the best one, too!"
"He got what he
deserved if he let himself be caught!" Fenwick snapped. "And how
DARE you accuse me of double-crossing you! If your men had done their
job, none of this would have happened! As it is, my plan is
completely destroyed! Months of preparation and planning, and your
carelessness has completely annihilated any chance of--"
"Mardil!"
Neville's breathless voice came huffing along. "Mardil, I must
speak with you!"
"What now?" Fenwick demanded.
"Prince
Imrahil has gone to the harbor. He took most of the Rohirrim with him
and his own guard..."
"Where is the princess?"
"I
went back to the dungeon, see...to check on her..."
"Where
is she, Neville?"
A pause. "She is gone, Mardil. The guard
is dead and she is gone."
Fenwick let loose a string of
curses, then turned to the pirate. "What about that peasant king?
Did you at least dispatch him?"
"I saw him in the
courtyard, with the prince," the valet offered tentatively.
"He
did not go to the harbor?"
"I do not think so," came the
reply.
"He is looking for her, then. Find them. Find them
both," Mardil demanded. "Kill that damned heathen and bring her
to me."
The sound of footsteps retreating made her duck
further into the shadow along the wall. Three Corsairs ran past,
swords in hand, headed for the palace.
---------------------------------------
In
the courtyard, Éomer gave orders for the remaining men to
search the grounds, routing out any stragglers. Striding quickly
across the greensward, he came to the dead pirate that had almost
killed him. His hand closed over the jeweled handle protruding from
the back of the black leather armor, retrieving her dagger. Quickly
wiping the blood and gore from it on the dead man's clothing, he
glanced down at the engraving on the blade. He would have to try to
remember to ask what it said.
Clenching it tight in his fist,
he made his way back to the office of the prince.
--------------------------------
Leaning
against the wall, the princess watched until the pirates were out of
sight. Fenwick and Neville stood atop the sea wall, watching them
go.
"They had best not fail me again," the younger man
muttered.
"What about the princess?" Mardil turned a
questioning glance on him. "You asked them to bring her to you.
Surely you do not think she will still marry you."
Fenwick
threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, no, Neville my friend. She
would never marry me now. Especially once she finds out it was me who
had her heathen lover killed and would do the same to her father and
brothers."
Anhuil's heart raced. Rage at his betrayal
welled up inside her. Her fist gripped the hilt of the sword
tightly.
"So what do you want with her? Should we not just
get out while we can?"
"You go ahead. I am not leaving
here without my prize. She was promised to me."
"But
Mardil, your plan--"
"My plan is nothing now. But I will
have her. One way or another, I will have Lothíriel. And when
I tire of her, I am certain the Haradrim would still pay a nice price
for a slightly used daughter of a prince." He laughed out loud. "Go
on, Neville. Get to the boats. Take our belongings and get to the
ship. I will be there shortly."
"Yes, sir," the pudgy
man murmured, clambering slowly down the stone steps and lumbering up
the path.
The princess seethed in her hiding place. Now it
was just Mardil Fenwick, standing alone on the wide wall surrounding
the garden. Staying to the shadows as much as possible, she crept up
the stairs slowly, sword at ready by her side.
---------------------------------------
The
sounds of combat ceased and Erchirion knelt by Amrothos' side,
inspecting the wound. "Little brother, Ada is going to have your
hide for coming down here with no armor."
The youngest
prince gave a small smile. "I expect as much. It will not be the
first time."
Erchirion returned the smile. His gaze fell on
Cam, her faced etched with worry and her eyes welling with tears. He
reached over and squeezed her shoulder. "Do not worry, Cam. He is
only doing this so he can lay about with you rather than doing any
work."
She answered with a mirthless laugh. "We need to
get him to the palace."
He nodded, "I sent a couple of men
to retrieve a cart. But I do not believe they will return before the
Corsairs regroup. We cannot carry him on horseback."
"I
know." Her gaze returning to her prince. His breathing grew
labored. "Just hurry up and finish it, Erchirion," she whispered,
gently brushing his hair from his face.
"My Lord?" A
soldier stepped forward.
Erchirion looked up and then
followed the man's gaze. Turning back to Amrothos, he patted his
shoulder. "Hold on, little brother, this will be over soon." He
stood and strode
away.
-----------------------------------------
Éomer's
long strides carried him swiftly to the door of the study. It was
slightly ajar. Knowing what he would find, or rather, what he would
not find, he shoved it open anyway. The empty office did not surprise
him.
Muttering Rohirric curses under his breath, he stepped
back into the hallway. A wounded soldier leaned against a wall,
holding a hand over his bleeding side. "My Lord..." he whispered
hoarsely.
The king jogged to him, dropping to his knees.
"The princess..."
"What about her?" Éomer
asked.
The young man's words came in ragged gasps. "I
gave her my sword. She followed that valet of Fenwick's."
Éomer
muttered another curse. "Which way?"
The young man
inclined his head toward the corridor that led to the garden.
"There," he managed.
"Thank you," the king said
softly.
"Please...go after her...find her...she's..."
"She
is what?" the king asked. "What is it?"
The soldier
swallowed hard and managed a slight smile. "She is good with her
bow, sir...or a dagger...but she is not very good with a
sword."
Suppressing an inappropriate grin, Éomer laid
a broad hand on the young man's shoulder. Dark eyes met his pale
grey ones. "I will find her. I promise." He leapt to his feet and
took off down the hall at a dead
run.
---------------------------
Fenwick stood on the
rampart, looking out across the sea. The fires in the harbor were
visible from the wall, and his gaze fell on them idly. He turned at
the sound of footsteps in the dark.
"Who is there?" He
drew his sword and turned in her direction.
A slow smile
crossed his face as she appeared from the shadows. "Lothíriel.
I wondered where you were." She said nothing, breathing slow,
ragged breaths, trying to control her anger. Fenwick strolled toward
her casually, his sword still in hand, but lowered. "I have been
looking for you, my dear. I was worried sick."
She had
lowered the sword, hands at her sides, concealing the blade in the
folds of her skirt. "Your concern touches me, Mardil," she
responded sarcastically.
"Of course I was concerned. I was
wounded myself, trying to defend you," he said, indicating the
bandage on his arm. He took in her ripped clothing and disheveled
appearance. "You appear to have had a rough evening," he
commented. "Did those animals do this to you? Did they harm
you?"
"Spare me the dramatics, Fenwick. You would have
given them your own mother if it served your purpose."
"How
did you escape?"
"Apparently they far underestimated
my resourcefulness," she responded tartly.
He tried
unsuccessfully to suppress a smirk. "Lothíriel,
darling...you are distressed. Let me take you inside and get you a
nice cup of mulled wine. You must be chilled." He reached for her,
and she backed away quickly.
"Do not touch me," she
warned.
"Princess," he crooned soothingly, "I realize
the events of this evening have been traumatic. And to have those
barbarians from Rohan show up probably did little to ease your
nerves. It must be terribly distressing for you, him showing up for
your wedding."
"Not nearly as distressing as it will be
for you when he finds you," she commented.
As he stepped
closer, he noticed the Rohirrim cloak draped around her shoulders.
His eyes narrowed. "You know that peasant king is as good as dead.
My men are looking for him now."
"You have already tried
to have him killed, and your men failed."
"They will not
fail again." Fenwick smiled as he approached her.
"I
would not have married you even if he had not come. I know about the
bribes you take from the Corsairs and the information you give them.
Cam found your journal. I was prepared to tell Ada everything, before
this attack."
He shook his head, making a clicking sound
with his tongue. "You think you are so clever, my little
princess."
"I am not your princess," she stated flatly,
squaring her shoulders.
"You ARE mine," he said
menacingly. "You were promised to me, by your own hand."
Her
hand clasped the hilt of the sword tighter. She was grateful for the
dark of the moonless night. "I will never marry you, Mardil
Fenwick."
"I did not say anything about marriage, now, did
I?" He pressed his advance, backing her up until she leaned against
a stone column. "But you are mine. And I will have you."
Anhuil
swiftly brought the sword up, only to have it blocked deftly by his.
Fenwick took one step back and smiled at her. "Impressive." He
blocked another blow from her blade. "But you forget. I have
watched you and Valesa spar on many occasions. I know your every
move." He blocked her again as she moved forward, lunging. "You
see, that is how you truly win. Find out an enemy's weakness, and
press the advantage."
"I will kill you if any harm comes
to my family or to Éomer. I will slit your throat myself. I
should, for all of the innocent blood you have spilled. I hope they
paid you well for it, you murdering bastard!" She swung the
borrowed sword.
Fenwick leapt back, laughing. "Paid me?
Ah..yes....the Umbarian gold...I suppose the little tramp found that
as well. The truth is, my dear, I do not work for them. They work for
me."
Her shocked expression elicited more sinister laughter.
"You do not believe me? I am the one who ordered this attack on
your beautiful palace."
"Why, Fenwick? Why attack Dol
Amroth?"
The calm smile that spread across his face
frightened her. "What better way for a prince and his sons to die
but in a blaze of glory protecting their home?" He snickered. "And
the poor, grieving princess, left to rule in their absence. She would
need a husband to help her rule."
Her emerald gaze blazed at
him. "That was your plan...to kill my father and my
brothers?"
"You would want them to die valiantly, in
battle, would you not? I would give them a hero's death. No soldier
could ask for more." He smiled wickedly. "What about your king?
What manner of death would you prefer for him?"
With a growl
of effort, she lunged forward again, thrusting her blade. Steel
clashed as she matched him blow for blow. Caerwyn's blade was far
heavier than her own, and he laughed at her as she struggled to wield
it, holding it now with both hands. "You are brave, little
Princess. I grant you that. But I tire of toying with you."
The
princess fought to maintain control of the large weapon as Fenwick
bore down on her. Stumbling backwards over the wieldy skirts, she
fell, the heavy blade clanging to the stone floor of the allure.
Mardil laughed, holding his sword under her chin. "Get up,
Lothíriel," he ordered, not offering her a hand.
Slowly
rising to her feet, her green eyes bore into his. The amusement in
those pale grey eyes infuriated her. He backed her up against one of
the raised merlons along the top of the sea wall. Glancing down at
the waves she could hear crashing below, she knew it was too far to
jump. Mardil closed the distance between them, the point of his
narrow blade still under her chin.
"We could have done this
the honorable way, Princess. I would have married you first. But no,
you chose a different path." He sighed dramatically. "Now the
only question that remains is do I take you here, or wait until I
have you on board my ship? You could provide quite a bit of
entertainment to a man while at sea. For that matter, you and your
little friend could entertain the entire crew, now, could you
not?"
Grabbing his wrist, the princess pushed the blade to
the side, her hand over his on the hilt. The heel of her other hand
caught him under his jaw, knocking him back a step. Enraged, Fenwick
backhanded her with his free hand, sending her flying back against
the stone column. She struggled to stay upright, a hand going to her
bleeding lip.
--------------------------------------------
Amrothos
looked up at his love with eyes strained with pain. "Cam, I have to
tell you something."
"No, Amrothos. You need to save your
strength."
"Camwethrin, I lov—"his words silenced by
her finger across his lips.
"Do not tell me that," she
whispered sharply.
"But..."
"No!" The tears
fell, her voice becoming desperate. "Do not think that I will allow
you to say this so you can quietly slip away. You will tell me when
you are standing on your own two feet."
The prince reached
for her, tracing the wetness on her cheeks. Bringing his fingers to
his lips, he tasted her tears. With a small smile, his eyes closed as
he whispered, "Then that is what I shall
do."
----------------------------------------------------
"Mardil
Fenwick!"
The deep voice boomed over the wall. A shadow
emerged from the dark, purpose in every stride. Fenwick quickly
grabbed her, pulling her in front of him with his blade at her
throat. "Another step, horsemaster, and you will watch her die
here."
Éomer stopped short. "What sort of coward
uses a woman as a shield?"
"The sort that puts more value
on his own life than on an honorable death, unlike some fools!"
Fenwick laughed. The sound of footsteps on the stairs widened his
grin. "It appears we have company."
Two Corsairs appeared
at the top of the steps, swords drawn. Éomer drew his own,
keeping Anhuil's dagger in his left hand. Fenwick glared at the
pirates. "Why are you standing there, fools? Kill him!"
"NO!"
the princess screamed, struggling against Fenwick's grip. Éomer
glanced quickly at her, offering a reassuring nod, then turned to the
men approaching him with their blades bared. The first one lunged at
him wildly. Éomer's sword glinted like vengeance as he drove
the first one down, running him through before their blades ever
crossed. The second one came at him, their steel clashing repeatedly.
This one was a better swordsman, any lack of skill made up for by the
ferocity with which he wielded his curved cutlass.
Mardil
laughed as the brigand continually ducked and dodged the broad blade
of the king. Anhuil dug her fingernails into Fenwick's arm,
squirming. He jerked her closer to him. "Be still, Princess," he
hissed into her ear. "This will be fun to watch. Bakkir is the best
swordsman the Corsairs have."
He laughed as the curved blade
whipped through the air, barely missing the king's shoulder. "Stop
playing, you fool, and kill him!" Fenwick yelled at the pirate.
"Kill him and I'll let you have her when I'm done with
her!"
Bakkir turned his head to grin at the princess. "Ani!"
Éomer called out. As he swept past her, he tossed her dagger
to her, turning quickly to thrust his blade behind him with both
hands. The leer on Bakkir's face quickly became shock, then
dissolved into nothing as he fell.
Anhuil caught the blade by
the handle. Before Fenwick could react, she plunged it into his
thigh. With a howl, Mardil staggered back, the blade at her throat
clattering to the allure at her feet. His grip on her loosened, and
she jerked away. One long-fingered hand wrapped around the jeweled
handle, staring at it in disbelief as he tried to regain his footing
on the wall. Stumbling backwards, his wide, grey eyes held hers as he
realized what had happened. "Lothíriel!" he screamed, as
his foot slipped over the edge of the wall. Fingers frantically
grasped at the smooth stone.
Éomer dashed past her,
diving toward the edge of the wall, his hand closing over Fenwick's
wrist. Bracing himself against the merlon with one hand, he struggled
to pull the dark-haired man up. "Give me your other hand!" the
king shouted to him.
"Why? So you can run me through
yourself?" Mardil struggled to reach the edge of the wall with his
other hand.
"Not that I do not have a strong desire to run
you through, but I do not kill unarmed men. Give me your hand!"
"Let
me fall, heathen," Fenwick hissed. "All your troubles will be
over."
"As will yours. I will not let you off that easily.
You have much to answer for, Fenwick! Give me your hand!" the king
demanded, letting go of the merlon to reach with both
hands.
"Éomer!" Anhuil's voice came from behind
him. "No!"
----------------------------------------
"Erchirion!"
The Admiral's voice boomed as he strode purposefully toward the
prince. "Gather your forces to the west end. We need archers to
stop the..." his voice trailed off as the younger man shook his
head. "What is the problem?"
Erchirion looked to where his
brother lay. Cam bent over him, her body wracked with sobs.
"What
the hell is she... Oh, no." Merric stopped, staring at his daughter
and the young prince. Damned if he'd let the Corsairs win again.
He whipped around, barking orders. "Place the archers here and
here," he gestured to the positions. "Form up the lines behind
them. Then hold this position until I say otherwise."
"Yes,
my lord," Erchirion answered, not even noticing the breech in
protocol.
Confident his orders
would be followed, the Admiral spun on his heel, moving toward his
daughter.
"Valesa," her father's deep voice and his arm
around her shoulder startled Cam. She looked up to see his
disapproving stare. He turned his attention to Amrothos. Checking him
over, something he had done far too many times, he looked back to his
daughter. "He is still alive. Put more pressure here." He took
her hand and pressed it tighter against the wound.
The docks
shuddered with a sudden pounding. The Corsairs had regrouped en
masse. They stomped their feet and shouted taunts, attempting to
drive fear into the hearts of the remaining Swan Knights. A sound
like thunder rolled in the distance.
------------------------------------------
Fenwick
stopped struggling, allowing the king to pull him back up. As he slid
his knees back up over the edge, he grinned up at Éomer, who
was still holding his arm, sitting back on his heels. "Mighty noble
of you, horsemaster," he snarled. "But you should have let me
fall." With that, he lunged forward, the fingers of his free hand
grasping the dagger he had pulled from his thigh. Instinct made Éomer
shove Mardil backwards. The blade missed its intended target, grazing
the exposed chain mail on the king's arm and slicing a line down
the leather of his vambrace as he slipped once more over the parapet.
Scrambling forward, Éomer tried once more to reach
him, as the fingers disappeared from the smooth
stone.
-----------------------------------------
"Ada..."
The
pain in her voice nearly broke Merric's heart. Cupping her face in
his hands, he gently dried her tears with his thumbs. "It will be
all right, girl." Kissing her forehead, he added, "Just keep your
head down."
The Admiral stood and rejoined Erchirion. "Is
everyone in place?"
"Yes," the prince replied.
The
rumbling grew louder, like an avalanche slowly rolling through the
city.
"Archers ready!" Merric bellowed.
The jeering
stopped and the Corsairs began to look nervous.
The cacophony
from the city grew louder, hollow echoes bouncing off of the
buildings on the harbor.
"Aim!"
The thundering
reached a crescendo, and suddenly stopped. Lining up behind the
Admiral, the Rohirrim reined in their mounts, waiting for orders to
charge.
Looking past the Admiral and the Swan Knights, the
Corsairs pointed and shook their heads. Nearly as one, they began
jumping off of the pier, frantically swimming back to their
ships.
Merric shrugged his shoulders and gestured to the
fleeing pirates. "Fire at your leisure," he ordered, unable to
contain his smug grin.
-------------------------------------------
Lying
prone, the king peered over the edge of the wall into the dark water
below. Waves crashed against the stones at the bottom of the wall,
the darkness too deep to see clearly. Éomer heaved himself up
into a sitting position, leaning on the stone behind him.
Drawing
his knees up, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on them. He
pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, muttering a curse
softly. Moving to kneel beside him, the princess placed a hand on his
arm.
He turned, moving to pull her into his lap. For a long
moment he simply held her. Finally, she raised her eyes to his. "Are
you all right?" she asked, brushing her fingers over a scrape on
his forehead.
"I am fine. Did he hurt you?" He placed one
hand on her cheek.
She shook her head, then glanced back at
the edge of the wall. "Is he..."
Éomer nodded. "It
is a drop of at least twenty fathoms."
Closing her eyes, she
drew in a deep breath and let it out, shakily but slowly. She was not
unaware of the sharp rocks below the seawall.
Éomer's
hand on her cheek turned her face back to his. His mind raced for the
right words, but finally decided words were not necessary. Not yet.
He placed both hands on her cheeks and gently covered her mouth with
his.
Suddenly, she pushed him back. "Listen."
No
longer did she hear the echoes of clanging steel, the screams of men
and the thundering of horses' hooves on stone. The flashing of
flaming arrows over the harbor had ceased. "It is over, Ani," he
said softly.
"My father..."
"We will find him,"
he assured her, standing and helping her to her feet. She bent to
pick up Caerwyn's sword as Éomer retrieved Fenwick's
fallen blade. Taking her hand in his, he tugged the cloak over the
front of her torn dress and led her down the stairs toward the
palace.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hodo,
mellon. Amin pela. Hannon le - Rest, friend. I will return. Thank
you.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: For those who asked, the "allure" is the walkway along the top of a rampart, or a wide, solid wall. A "merlon" is the raised section of brick along a defensive wall that archers can hide behind. "Parapet" is just a fancy word for a wall or fortification.