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Chapter 6 - Strange behaviour
Ceorl was impatient to begin reaping the rewards of his subterfuge, but he knew the wisdom of biding his time. The new queen of Rohan had shut herself in her chamber and was refusing to see anyone other than the Princess of Dol Amroth. Such a situation could not be allowed to continue, of course, but her new advisers were wary of intruding on her grief too soon. He'd heard Elfhelm arguing that it would do no harm to allow her a day or two to come to terms with her brother's loss. Ceorl suspected the sentiment was warmly welcomed because Eowyn was not alone in her grief. It seemed that none in Edoras wished to face up to the loss of their young king. Well, soon they would have to. Soon they would have a new king and the brief reign of Eomer, Son of Eomund would be consigned to the historical record books where it belonged.
By the afternoon of the second day, he decided he had waited long enough. Power was calling to him and he could no longer resist its siren's call. He wanted it. Needed it. Longed for all of Rohan to know that he, Ceorl, had the intelligence and the strength to rule the country the way it should be ruled. It was his right. And he would not stand in the shadows any longer. Taking care not to be seen, he hid in the hallway outside Eowyn's chamber until he saw the princess leave on an errand. He immediately slipped into the room unannounced. Eowyn was standing by the window, her back to the room.
"My Lady." He bowed extravagantly as she spun towards him, and for the briefest of moments he regretted the hurt he had caused. Her beautiful skin was blotched and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. Although it was late in the day she was still dressed in her night attire, and her long blonde hair hung in a tangled mess about her face. She seemed like a frail young girl, rather than the strong White Lady of Rohan who had faced down the Witch King.
"What is it, Ceorl?" she asked, apparently too exhausted from her grief to care about the impropriety of his presence.
He straightened up and smiled warmly. "I have come to end your misery over Eomer."
Grief twisted her face afresh at the mention of her brother's name. "What do you mean? How can you end that which is without measure?"
He stepped forward, caught her hand and tried to draw her towards a seat by the fire. "Please, sit a moment."
"No." She pulled away, finally seeming to recognise the situation she was in. "Tell me why you are here."
His sympathy vanished. She was like a young colt that had yet to accept a saddle on its back, a situation he intended to change. "Very well. But from now on, you will do exactly as I ask of you or it will not go well with your brother."
"My brother is dead," she murmured, staring at him as though he were mad.
"No," he said. "Your brother is my prisoner."
"What?" She stepped back, clasping the cold stone window sill with one hand.
He smiled again. "I can imagine what you're feeling. Disbelief. But perhaps also hope."
"Do not tell me what I feel," she snapped. "It is clear you are quite mad." She began to move past him, towards the door.
"If you call the guards, you will be signing his death warrant."
She froze. Then turned slowly back towards him. "My brother's body is lying in the Golden Hall."
"No, my Lady. The body of a stranger with your brother's build and colouring rests in the hall."
Anger sparked in her eyes, but he also saw the uncertainty, and knew that she was snared. "Explain."
"Please, sit." He held out his hand, and this time she did as he requested. He resisted the urge to smile at her compliance. It was such a little thing to take a seat at his bidding, but he knew it was the first step on the road to her complete and utter surrender to him. The thought sent a rush of excitement through his body and the siren call of power thrummed louder in his veins. Pulling up a second chair he sat opposite her. "While we were out hunting, I lured your brother into a trap." He remembered with pleasant triumph the shocked look on Eomer's face when he realised he'd been tricked. "Men loyal to me took the king prisoner while I pretended to have been injured by wild men. Your brother is very much alive, Lady Eowyn. Whether he remains that way depends on you."
She shook her head in bewilderment. "Why should I believe you?"
"I can give you proof," he said, knowing that she desperately wanted his words to be true, even though that truth would inevitably be uncomfortable.
Her eyes narrowed. "What kind of proof?"
"Watch and see." He drew a small pouch from his pocket, and then shook a pale green powder from it into the palm of his hand. "Look into the fire, my lady." Horrified fascination on her face, she did what he asked. Carefully he recited the words his mother had taught him, and then he blew the powder into the flames. There was a loud crack, like hot stone breaking apart.
"Is that all?" she demanded. "You wish to play games with a firecracker?"
"Look!" He gestured towards the flames as they suddenly turned a deep emerald green.
She leaned forward and then gasped. The dark magic had worked. An image had formed in the flames – an image of the king sitting on the floor of a cell, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head bowed. Suddenly, though, he looked up as though conscious that he was being watched. A frown creased his features as puzzlement registered on his face.
"Eomer?" she gasped his name out loud.
Immediately the king jumped to his feet, staring round his prison as though expecting to see her. "Eowyn?" His voice sounded in her chamber as clearly as if he was standing next to her.
"Enough." Ceorl grabbed a jug of water from a table and threw its contents onto the flames, dousing the fire. He turned to her. "Now do you believe me?"
She was trembling, whether from anger or shock he could not tell. Nor did it matter. He knew the bond between the royal siblings. It was their one weakness. A weakness he intended to exploit to the full.
Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest as she met his gaze, and her tone was tight with reined emotion. "What is it you want of me?"
"Just one simple thing, my queen. Your total obedience."
He climbed to his feet. The Princess of Dol Amroth might return at any moment and he could not risk being found here alone. Not yet, anyway. There was time to put the first link into the chain that would bind Eowyn of Rohan to him, though. He stared down at her, all compassion now buried beneath his ambition. "Tomorrow you will summon me to your chamber on a matter of business. I will tell you more then. In the meantime you will speak to no one of this discussion, do you understand?" Her gaze drifted to the dead fire. "Eowyn, do you understand? You hold your brother's life in your hands."
She looked up at him, a haunted look in her eyes. "Yes. I understand."
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Lothiriel knew something had happened the moment she re-entered the room. The vital spark that fired Eowyn's energy had returned. But there was something more too. There was a strange light in her eyes that Lothiriel was at a loss to explain. All she knew was that it frightened her.
"What's happened?" she asked, setting down the platter of food she'd fetched from the kitchen.
"Nothing." The answer came too quickly. "Why do you ask?"
"You seem..." Lothiriel struggled for the right word but failed to find it. Reluctantly she let it go. "It does not matter. Come and eat."
"Perhaps later," Eowyn said. She paced before the hearth. "Lothiriel, please do not think me rude, but I wish to be alone for awhile."
The request was not entirely surprising, but again Lothiriel felt uneasy that Eowyn would dismiss her now. Something had definitely happened while she'd been absent.
"Of course." She inclined her head politely. "If you need me, send for me. I will come immediately."
"Thank you." Eowyn suddenly crossed the room and grasped her hand. "You are a good friend, Lothiriel. I may have need of such a friend in the days ahead."
"Eowyn..."
"Please, for now, I would be alone."
A deep sense of unease settled on Lothiriel's shoulders, but she was at a loss as to how else to draw Eowyn out. Eowyn was, after all, no longer just her friend. She was a queen and as such her requests demanded obedience. Reluctantly, Lothiriel returned the pressure of Eowyn's fingers with a squeeze of her own, hoping the simple gesture would convey what she could not put into words. Unable to do anything more, she turned to the door.
"Lothiriel."
"Yes?" She spun back, hoping Eowyn had changed her mind about keeping her own counsel.
Eowyn's face was once again devoid of emotion. "Could you ask someone to come and re- set the fire? It seems to have gone out."
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A child with a fever kept Erika in the village for three days, but the face of the prisoner haunted her dreams each night. She tried not to feel responsible for him, but she could not shut her mind to the knowledge that he was there, and that he'd begged for her help. When finally the fever broke, she instructed the mother on how to continue the child's care, and then she packed herself a meal and set off with her herb basket.
She had a good memory for the way the land lay, and although Galwyn had attempted to confuse her by travelling a circuitous route to the caves she was fairly confident that she could find the location again. Conscious, though, that Galwyn might have set a watch on her she first set off in the direction of one of her most favourite collecting points. Feverfew grew there and since her supply was now depleted, it was the perfect excuse for leaving the village.
Three hours later her basket was more than half full of common herbs and she cautiously began to wind her way towards the craggy hills with their caves and gullies. She feared that Galwyn might also have set a guard on the cave, but as she approached from a secluded ridge she discovered that was not so. Odd. Did Galwyn not think anyone would be searching for the nobleman she held prisoner?
For a while, she simply watched the cave entrance. No one entered or left. Realising she had no way to discover if the prisoner was alone other than to enter the cave, she made her way down to the entrance and peered cautiously into the gloom. Nothing but silence met her.
Her heart was pounding as she stepped into the shadows. Slowly she made her way past the dead fire, the chairs and the barrels of provisions. Her eyes quickly became accustomed to the dark and as she reached the bars of the cell she realised he had been watching her approach. For a long moment she simply stared at him. He was sitting on the floor at the back of the cell, his long legs drawn up to his chest and held in a protective clasp. Galwyn had provided him with clothes since last Erika had been here, but the thin wool garments were hardly suitable attire for one she was convinced was of noble birth. The pants barely reached half way down his calves, revealing a stretch of muscled leg and bare feet. By contrast the tunic he wore was several sizes too large and was almost falling off one shoulder. Both items were more suitable for use as rags than clothing.
Suddenly he pushed himself to his feet and moved to the bars with a swiftness that startled her. Instinctively she stepped back even though she knew he could not reach her.
"You came alone?" he demanded, peering into the gloom behind her.
She nodded, stepping forward again so she could assess his condition. "How is your arm?"
He glanced at the splint as though he had forgotten the injury. "It pains me less each day."
"That is good. And your head?"
"You have to help me," he said, clutching tightly at the bars. "Please."
She glanced nervously over her shoulder. Although she wasn't afraid of Galwyn, she had no desire to end up joining this man in his prison. "Help you how?"
He shook the door of the cell. "The key..."
"Galwyn no doubt keeps it on her person. I am skilled at picking herbs, not pockets."
"Then you must ride to Edoras. Tell my men where I am."
"Edoras?" She peered at his face as though his identity might suddenly be revealed. "That's the home of the king."
"Yes," he said impatiently. "My home."
She stared at him, taking in the proprietary way he had just laid claim to the royal residence. Then suddenly the clues came together and she gasped in surprise. "That cannot be. You cannot be Eomer, King of Rohan."
He glanced ruefully round at his surroundings. "I know that may seem hard to believe, but it is the truth."
"Word that there was a new king reached us some time ago," she murmured, not adding that the passing of a crown from one man to another seemed of little relevance when there were day-to-day worries about whether there was food enough for all.
"Erika, you have to go to Edoras. Speak with my sister, Eowyn."
The words blurred into an incomprehensible rush of similar sounding syllables as she tried to understand what was going. Was it possible that he really was the king? She'd had no doubt that he was a nobleman. So why not the most noble of all? He was the right age to be the new king. And it was said Eomer, King of Rohan and previously Third Marshall of the Mark, was a skilled warrior. She had seen his body, seen how few scars he bore. That was either evidence that he had significant ability on the battlefield or that he was a coward who kept to the rear. Since he did not seem like a man who allowed fear to control his actions, that led her to the frightening conclusion that he was indeed speaking the truth. That no matter how bizarre the idea, he was the king. And in that case...
"Forgive me," she stammered, dropping into what she hoped was a curtsey.
He stared at her as though she was mad. "What in the name of the gods are you doing?"
She straightened up, heat burning her cheeks. "I'm sorry, sire. We have little reason to practice bows and curtsies this far from your court."
In response, he slammed his hands against the bars. "Do you really think I care about court protocol?"
Heat burned her face as she realised her stupidity. "Sorry, but it is not every day that I find myself in the presence of a king."
Instantly regret crossed his face. "No, I am the one who should apologise. I am not myself." He spun away, muttering something about already having proof that he was half-crazed, then turned back. "Shall we just – Whoa!" He grabbed at the bars as he lost his balance and almost fell. Regaining his feet, he swallowed hard and refocused on her.
She stepped forward again, concerned for him. "What's wrong? Is it your head?"
"It's nothing. I'm fine."
Did he think her a fool? She fixed him with the look she normally reserved for difficult children. "A grown man does not nearly fall for no reason. Tell me what ails you."
He glowered at her, clearly reluctant to speak.
"Well?" she demanded. He may be the king, but she was a healer and not about to allow a man's stubbornness to keep her from doing what she was good at.
"It is nought but hunger that ails me," he snapped, as though shamed into admitting to some dark weakness. "I cannot remember the last time I ate a proper meal."
"Galwyn has not given you food?"
"Nothing but stale bread, and little enough of that."
"Why did you not say?" she demanded, even though she could guess the answer. The king was a proud man, used to relying on his own strength and abilities. She pulled her cloth-wrapped lunch from her basket, quickly unwrapped it and held it out to him. "Here. I'm afraid it is not much." Indeed, the portion of bread and cheese was barely adequate for her own needs, let alone a well-built man who was half-starved.
"I cannot take your meal," he protested.
"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, thrusting it at him. "Eat."
He hesitated for one more moment, his gaze transfixed by the food, then he reached for it. "Thank you." He bit into the cheese and gave a soft groan that she assumed indicated the pleasure of having food in his mouth. "Thank you," he mumbled again, as he chewed.
She glanced around the cave, then suddenly realised she could probably offer him more than her scant provisions. Moving to the nearest barrel, she prised the heavy wooden lid from it. Dried meat. Perfect. Grabbing a chunk as large as her fist, she pushed it through the bars to him. He smiled gratefully, but shook his head as she reached for more.
"Take some for yourself if you will, but Galwyn will know someone has been here if you give me more than I can eat in one go, and hungry though I am, it will take me a while to chew through this." As though to demonstrate the meaning of his words, he tore at the hard meat with his teeth, pulling free little more than a few fibrous shreds.
He was right of course, but it angered her to think of him going hungry when there was ample food just a few strides away. Reluctantly she put the lid back on the barrel and turned to him. "Tell me how else I can help."
"Ride to Edoras," he said. "Tell them I am alive and where they will find me."
"I cannot ride for I do not have a horse. I will, however, gladly walk if you will tell me the way." She frowned as she thought through what she was offering to do. "There is one problem, though. If they think you dead, how will I persuade them otherwise?"
He chewed thoughtfully. "I will tell you something that only I could know. That should be proof enough that you have spoken with me." The excitement in his eyes suddenly faded. "Erika, you know that Galwyn will try to stop you reaching Edoras if she was to discover your purpose."
She stared at him, surprised by his concern for her well-being. "The danger is irrelevant. You are the king, and so may command anything of me."
"If there were another way..." He did not finish the sentence, but the frustration on his face was clear.
"There is not," she said firmly, hoping the truth of that would ease his discomfort at what he was asking of her. She glanced over her shoulder, and realised the light was beginning to fade. "It grows late. I will return tomorrow with more food, and I will also bring parchment and ink that you may draw me a map."
"Thank you."
She resisted the urge to attempt another curtsey, but it simply did not feel right to just walk out of his presence, even if he was dressed in rags and caged behind iron bars. Hoping he wouldn't object, she bowed her head to him, then snatched up her basket and hurried from the cave.
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Elfhelm glowered at Ceorl. The young rider was seated next to the queen, an entirely inappropriate position as far as Elfhelm was concerned. He said nothing, though. Ceorl was there at the queen's bidding, and it was not his place to question her choice of advisors, at least not to her face. The Princess of Dol Amroth was also present, although for what purpose Elfhelm could not imagine.
He bowed as Eowyn turned her attention to him and held out a rolled parchment to him.
"Send a rider to Gondor," she commanded softly. "They must be told of our loss and given the opportunity to pay their respects at my brother's funeral."
Her words were like a sword thrust to his heart. He still could not truly comprehend that Eomer was dead. That, after all they had been through together, he had lost his friend and king to a band of wildmen while out hunting. His eyes drifted to Ceorl as he stepped forward to take the letter. The rider met his gaze coolly and Elfhelm felt a chill run down his spine. Something was definitely amiss. If only he could work out what it was.
He backed away, bowed again to the queen and turned to go.
"Wait, Elfhelm, there is another task."
"Yes, my lady?" He spun round and found she was holding out another scroll.
"I would have you deliver this to Lord Faramir."
"Of course." He took hold of one end, but she did not release it into his hand. Her eyes held his, her gaze penetrating. "My lady?"
She glanced towards the princess and then back at him. "You should be aware that the Prince of Ithilien is unlikely to welcome the news carried in this letter."
"I understand," he said. Faramir and Eomer had formed a close friendship since the end of the war. The Prince would be devastated at the news of Eomer's death.
"No, you do not," Eowyn said. "The letter contains news other than the loss of Eomer."
Suddenly Ceorl was on his feet. He snatched the parchment from Eowyn's hand. "We did not discuss this course of action," he snarled.
Barely able to believe his eyes, Elfhelm's hand dropped to his sword. How dare Ceorl treat the queen with such disrespect? Before he could act, though, Eowyn had snatched the letter back. "I will not allow Faramir to come to Edoras and be made a laughing stock."
"You will do..." Ceorl began, then abruptly stopped, his face turning red with barely restrained anger. "Are you sure this is wise, your majesty?" he said tightly. "Have you truly considered the consequences of such an action?"
Eowyn turned and fixed her gaze on Elfhelm. "Do I not rule here?" she demanded.
"Of course you do," Elfhelm stuttered, uncertain whether she really expected a reply and confused as to why she asking the question of him, rather than Ceorl. His fingers curled reflexively around the hilt of his sword.
Ceorl glanced at Elfhelm, fury in his eyes, but then he bowed his head and once again addressed Eowyn. "Forgive me, your majesty. It is merely concern for you that makes me speak so boldly." He sat down again, his lips a tight white line.
Eowyn turned back to Elfhelm and held out the parchment once again. "This informs the Prince of Ithilien that I have reconsidered my decision to marry him." She released it into Elfhelm's hand. Shocked he stared down at it.
The princess leapt to her feet. "Eowyn! Are you mad?"
A sad look crossed the queen's face. "No, not mad." She drew in a deep breath. "Rohan has lost much of late. Too much. Since I am the last of the House of Eorl, it is only right that I should wed a man of my own country. Rohan needs a pure heir – one with nothing but Rohirric blood in his veins. Faramir will understand."
"I cannot believe my ears," Lothiriel said. "What nonsense is this you speak? You love Faramir. And he you."
"The princess is right, my queen." Elfhelm finally found his voice. "Such a sacrifice is not necessary. The people will accept Faramir as your consort. I am sure of it."
"My mind is made up. As soon as it is appropriate, I will choose a husband from our own kind." She gave Ceorl a dark look.
"That is ridiculous," the princess said.
Eowyn pushed herself to her feet, anger flashing in her eyes. "Perhaps if it is so ridiculous, you would prefer not to remain in Rohan. You did come solely to woo my brother at the request of your father, did you not? Let us then end this façade of friendship between us."
"Eowyn..." Shock drained the colour from the princess's face.
"Elfhelm," the queen snapped. "I would appreciate it if you would accompany the Princess of Dol Amroth on her journey back to Gondor." She sat down again, her face cold and emotionless. "This audience is over. You can leave. Both of you."