A/N – Just a few brief lines of gratitude to those who have been so wonderfully generous in their reviews. Then on with the story.
Viggomaniac: Thank you for the lovely review. I hope I don't disappoint in the future.
Naughty-by-Nature: Sorry you had problems reviewing. Thanks for taking the trouble to find a way round it. I'm afraid Ceorl is even more despicable in this chapter.
Lady scribe of avandell: Thanks for all the great reviews. Will Elfhelm and Lothiriel go to Gondor? Hmmm – we'll see g
Eokat: Never amazes me how quickly you manage to review. Glad you're along for the ride.
Athelas63: Don't let go of that thread you're hanging by.
To everyone else: Thank you. Thank you. Your reviews brighten my days no end.
Chapter 7 – A painful lesson
Something was wrong. Very wrong. Lothiriel stared up at the ceiling of her bedchamber and replayed the events of the day one more time. No matter how she tried to explain it to herself, no matter how often she told her it was madness bought on by grief, she found herself unable to accept that there was not some darker force at work behind Eowyn's strange behaviour. Frustrated she pushed the bedcovers aside and slipped from the bed. She knew that Elfhelm would be waiting to escort her home at first light. However, she simply could not imagine leaving Rohan without at least attempting to uncover the mystery surrounding her sudden dismissal from Eowyn's favour.
Moving to the door she opened it and peered out into the dimly lit hallway. Silence greeted her. Heart pounding, she slowly made her way to Eowyn's chamber, praying that she would not be seen. Moments later she froze against the wall. A shadowy figure was watching over the queen's doorway. How foolish of her to think that the queen would not have protection through the night? Now what was she to do? Every sense warned her that it would be unwise to be seen entering the queen's bedroom, and asking permission to do so would be even worse.
She would have to find another way in. Through Eowyn's window perhaps? She had always been good at climbing trees. How difficult would it be to scale the wooden walls of the Golden Hall? There was only one way to find out. She did an abrupt turn and collided with a solid mass of masculine flesh. A heavy hand pressed over her mouth, preventing her from crying out, her arms were pinned to her side, and then, before she could even think about fighting back, she was dragged into the nearest chamber.
"My apologies," a deep voice growled. The hand slowly moved from her mouth and the hold on her arms eased. Terrified she spun round to face her attacker and found herself looking up into the face of Lord Elfhelm. He gave her an apologetic, if somewhat rueful, look. "I believe we were heading for the same destination, and no doubt for the same purpose," he said.
"The queen?" she asked, desperately trying to calm her breathing. Damn the man. He'd all but frightened her to death.
"Aye, the queen."
She brushed away imaginary creases from the front of her nightgown, smoothed her hair, and tried to pretend that she was perfectly at ease with being abducted from a hallway in the middle of the night. "I take it that you too found her behaviour this afternoon most odd?"
"Odd is not the word I would use," Elfhelm said with a scowl. "I'll wager a year's coin that she was not acting from free will although for the life of me I cannot imagine what hold anyone might have over the White Lady."
"Whatever it is, it is strong for sure. I have seen her with Lord Faramir, and I cannot believe anything short of a life or death situation would force her to give him up."
Elfhelm studied her face a moment. "The sooner we uncover the truth, the better, yes? And since our access to the queen is blocked, perhaps we can assist one another."
"I had thought to climb the walls..."
Elfhelm gave a soft chuckle. "Had you now. I would wish you well in such a venture, but I think there is an easier way for us to gain an audience. One less likely to result in you breaking your neck."
Indignant at his amused dismissal of her suggestion, she raised her eyebrow in question.
He continued. "One of us will create a diversion while the other gains access to the queen."
She nodded, accepting the plan had logic. "Very well. You distract the guard and I will slip into Eowyn's chamber."
"With all due respect, my lady, I believe it would be easier for you to distract the guard while..."
"My Lord Elfhelm, I think decorum dictates it would be wiser for me to be alone with the queen in the middle of the night." Lothiriel fixed him with a stern gaze, and he huffed out his reluctant acceptance.
"Very well."
She watched as he strode across the chamber and yanked open the door of a closet. "What are you doing?"
"Eomer has –" He drew in a sharp breath and then continued gruffly. "Eomer had a taste for Gondorian brandy."
A shiver slid down Lothiriel's spine as she suddenly realised they were in the king's sitting room. Glancing round she quickly absorbed the details – a table and chairs by the hearth, another table against the wall bearing pen and ink, and a single large closet. It was stark, masculine, and lacking any indication that it was used as anything other than the fulfilment of duty. She found it rather sad that the king's personal space should be so functional.
"Ah! Here it is." Elfhelm pulled a dark brown bottle from the closet and drew the stopper from its neck. His expression darkened with sorrow as he murmured something in his own language and then swallowed a large mouthful of the alcohol. Lothiriel guessed his words were a salute to his dead friend and king, but still she could not comprehend his sudden desire to drink.
"What are you doing?"
"Do not fear, my lady. I merely wish to give the appearance of drunkenness." He slopped brandy down the front of his tunic. "There, I believe that will suffice. Are you ready?"
She nodded, and watched in amazement as Elfhelm lurched unsteadily towards the door. Had she not known he had swallowed only one mouthful, she would have believed him well into the grip of drink.
"Do not fail me, princess," he said, and then he stumbled out into the corridor, a torrent of slurred speech tumbling from his lips and the bottle swinging wildly in his hand.
Hidden in the doorway, she watched as he collided with the guard, spilling drink over the man's tunic. She caught him mumble something about Eomer and then, to her dismay, saw the Marshall break down in tears. The act of drunken distress was so realistic she had little doubt that Elfhelm was in fact drawing on his own deep love for his lost king, and she suddenly found herself struggling to keep her own tears at bay. She even felt sorry for the guard, who looked both bereft and uncomfortable as the Marshall sobbed in his arms.
It only took a few moments for Elfhelm to gather the guard into a brotherly embrace, and the two men staggered off down the corridor, the guard no doubt eager to offload the apparently distraught Marshall onto someone else.
This was it. Taking a deep breath, she did not waste the opportunity Elfhelm had created. Sprinting down the corridor, she opened Eowyn's door and silently slipped into the chamber.
"No, Lord Elfhelm created a distraction. Eowyn, what is going on?"
Relief that she suddenly had an ally stole Eowyn's strength and she sank into the chair by the fire.
"Eowyn?" Lothiriel was at her side in a moment, concern knitting her brows together.
"I am well," Eowyn said, gathering her thoughts. She grasped Lothiriel hand, grateful for the feel of warm flesh and blood. "I am so sorry about this afternoon. It was the only way I could think to alert you, but I was so afraid that instead it might simply alienate you." She drew in a shaky breath and managed a weak smile. "Thank goodness for your intelligence, my dear Lothiriel."
Lothiriel dropped to her knees beside the chair. "Pray tell me everything, Eowyn."
Fortified by the sense that she was finally able to take action against those who plotted against her Eowyn nodded. But where to start? She had been told so many contradicting things, had seen so many strange sights. She drew in a deep breath, calmed herself and then announced the one thing of which she was most sure. "My brother is not dead."
"What?" Lothiriel's eyes widened in sceptical surprise.
"You must believe me," Eowyn said.
"But we – You saw –" She shook her head as though to clear her thoughts, and then began again. "Eowyn, the riders returned with his body."
"No. They returned with a body. A mutilated body that was recognisable only by the clothes it was dressed in." She shivered at the thought that some poor soul had been killed to create the sick evidence of her brother's death. "It was not Eomer. He is being held captive. His life will be forfeit if I do not do exactly as I am told by Ceorl."
"That young rider who was with you this afternoon?" Lothiriel raised her eyebrows in shock.
"I know. With his mild manners and pleasant ways he fooled me too. He has set his sights on the throne of Rohan. And he intends to gain it by marrying me."
"And if you refuse, Eomer will be killed?"
"Exactly."
"And once you are married?"
Eowyn glanced towards the door and shook her head impatiently. "I do not know what he plans, Lothiriel. All I know is that my brother is alive somewhere. And you and Elfhelm must find him!" She grabbed Lothiriel's hand. "When you leave Edoras in the morning, do not ride south. Rather turn north. Perhaps in the woods where they were hunting, Elfhelm will be able to find some clue as to where Eomer has been taken."
"Is that likely?"
Eowyn refused to admit what she knew was the truth - that it was extremely unlikely that Eomer's kidnappers would've been foolish enough to leave a trail. "It is my only hope."
"And if we fail?"
Lothiriel's words were like a knife in Eowyn's heart. "If you fail, my dear Lothiriel, I will have to choose between saving my brother or saving Rohan from falling into the hands of an evil man." She looked into the dark red embers that glowed silently in the grate. "I think we both know what Eomer would have me do."
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Ceorl watched with cold satisfaction as the Princess of Amroth rode through the gate of Edoras with Elfhelm as her side. He was well aware that Elfhelm had distrusted him from the outset. Soon, very soon, he would need to find a way to dispose of the man permanently. For now, though, it was enough that he had been dispatched to Gondor. As for the Princess - his eyes narrowed as he traced her passage away from Edoras - Eowyn's dismissal of the friendship had been impressive, and certainly the kitchen staff were quite convinced that there had been a falling out between the two women. Now she was on her way to Gondor, it mattered not if Lothiriel was suspicious of Eowyn's motives. By the time she reached anyone who might listen, both the White Lady and the Golden Hall would be under his control, and her tittle-tattle would appear to nothing more than a foolish fancy.
All was going exactly as planned - except for one thing. Anger flared again as he recalled the way Eowyn had calming announced she would no longer be marrying the Prince of Ithilien. It was true that during the time he had outlined his plan for their future he had not thought to specifically forbid her from mentioning it, but that she had done so was proof that a spark of rebellion still dwelt in her heart, that she still believed that she could somehow turn the situation to her advantage.
And then there was the letter. He had been able to intercept it and read for himself that it did indeed contain nothing more than a curt ending of her betrothal to Faramir, but he was still suspicious that she hoped to gain something more from its delivery. It was clear he was going to have to watch her far more carefully than he had anticipated. First, though, he would drive home the lesson that there were dark consequences for disobedience.
As the wooden gates of Edoras closed, he turned and headed back into the Golden Hall, striding through the hallways as though he already owned them. On arriving at her chamber, he entered without knocking.
She jerked away from the window, her beautiful face twisting into a scowl at the sight of him. "Do even common manners escape you now?" she demanded.
He slammed the door shut behind him in response, strode across the room and grabbed her wrist. "I will display my manners when you display respect," he said.
She tried to pull free of his grip, but failed. "What are you doing? Let go of me!"
He dragged her towards the fireplace, releasing her once they stood before the glowing embers. "You do not seem to fully understand your brother's predicament."
She paled as she rubbed at her bruised wrist. "On the contrary, I am painfully aware that my brother is your prisoner. Have I not done everything that you've asked of me and more?"
"Exactly, my lady. You have chosen to do more than I asked." He glared at her as he thrust a poker into the coals, stirring up the fire. "You spoke out of turn yesterday." His anger returned with the heat of the fire. "And you wrote a letter to the Prince of Ithilien. For what purpose, my lady? Do you think he loves you enough to fight for you? That he will come to Rohan to save you from me?" He grew bolder when she did not answer. "Faramir is nothing but a shadow of a man. He will accept your dismissal of him without question, just as he always accepted that he was second best in his father's eyes."
"No." She finally came back at him. "He is a good man. Courageous and honourable. He is worth a thousand of you."
He gave the coals a viscious prod, making the flames dance even higher. "Then I am right. Despite what I told you about being obedient, despite what I said about accepting your fate, you still believe you can thwart me."
Eowyn's wide-eyed gaze flickered from his face to the fire, and then back. He saw the calculating look on her face. Saw her decide to humour him. "No, you are wrong, I sought merely to spare him embarrassment. I meant no harm."
His anger sparked afresh. "Unfortunately for your brother I don't believe you. Perhaps after this little demonstration you will think even more carefully before you speak or act or think to make a fool of me."
"What demonstration? Ceorl?" She gasped as he threw a handful of powder into the fire, causing the flames to once again turn emerald green. Her brother's image once again appeared. He was sitting on the floor of his cell and, as before, he suddenly climbed to his feet. This time, though, his attention was focused on something beyond the bars that caged him.
She flinched as Ceorl caught her arm, his bony fingers digging into her flesh.
"Do not call out or it will go worse for him," he hissed.
Eowyn glanced at Ceorl, confused by his words, but almost immediately her attention was seized by the unfolding scene in the fire. Three large men stepped into the cell, locking the door behind them. In the green flames it was impossible to tell the colouring of the men's hair, but the one in the centre was much darker than the other two. He was taller and broader too.
Eomer's voice drifted in the smoke, his tone tense. "What do you want?"
"We have a message to deliver," the middle man said.
Eomer frowned. "I don't understand."
"You don't need to," the man replied. He jerked his head in signal to his companions, who immediately moved in on Eomer, each grasping one of his arms before he had time to react. He groaned as his splinted arm was yanked sharply backwards.
Eowyn's free hand flew to her mouth and she bit down on a knuckle as she watched her brother desperately trying to maintain his dignity in the face of an unprovoked assault. She glanced desperately towards Ceorl, finally guessing what was about to unfold. Wary of his warning not to call out, she kept her voice low, barely louder than a whisper. "Please, this is not necessary."
He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. "This would not have been necessary had you but thought of your brother yesterday."
A pained grunt from the direction of the fire pulled Eowyn's attention back. Horrified she saw Eomer was now bent over, wheezing for breath as he hung between his captors. The tall man rubbed casually at the knuckles of his right hand.
Eowyn felt sick. She'd thought she was being clever yesterday and instead... She flinched as Eomer's tormentors dragged him upright and his attacker moved in to deliver a second blow. "Please, Ceorl, stop this!"
He was watching the fire and did not bother to look at her as he replied. "Even if I could, I would not."
Eowyn turned away as Eomer doubled over again, a fist to his stomach stealing his breath from him. Ceorl caught her arm and pulled her back round. "You will watch," he hissed. "And you will be grateful that no permanent damage is inflicted on your brother - this time."
She fought back tears as Eomer was struck a third time. She had known from the moment Ceorl had made his demands clear that she might have to choose between her brother and her country, but she had not foreseen the possibility of being forced to watch the consequence of her decision. Every blow that Eomer suffered was far worse than anything she could have imagined, far worse than fighting in a battle and seeing the men around her being wounded or killed. This was personal. And she could not help but feel she was directly responsible.
Another blow was delivered, and this time Eomer's captors let him drop to his knees. She bit down on her lip as the punch was followed up by a sharp back handed slap that knocked him to the ground. A long moment passed as everyone stared at the unmoving body sprawled face down on the cold, rock floor of the cell, then the tall man prodded him in the ribs with a booted foot. Still Eomer didn't move.
The man snorted in disgust. "Seems I hit him too hard that time." Callously he turned away, leading the others out of the cell.
Eowyn jumped as the coals suddenly hissed, spitting steam and robbing her of the image of her unconscious brother. At her side, Ceorl set the empty water jug back on the table.
"Don't make me repeat the lesson," he said coldly. "Next time they won't stop when he passes out." And with that he turned and left.
She sank into the chair by the fire, buried her face in her hands and let her tears come. She should've been more careful. Should've found a better way to communicate with Lothiriel. Eomer's suffering was all her fault and the guilt she felt was worse than anything she had ever experienced. Worse even than watching her uncle's will slowly being stolen from him by Wormtongue's dark magic. Yet what else could she have done? Surely Eomer would understand? Yet knowing that he would did not ease her pain any more than she could ease his. Their only hope was the two people now riding away from Edoras, and silently she prayed that Lothiriel and Elfhelm would be successful.
For both Eomer's sake.
And her own.