Once again, thank you for all the wonderful reviews. I'm thrilled people are enjoying the story. Apologies for no individual replies this time. I had problems uploading last night, and now I need to walk the dogs and dash to work. So, on we go...
Chapter 8 - A new day
Elfhelm held his tongue as they rode away from Edoras, even though he longed to ask the princess what she had learnt the previous evening. When he had caught her eye earlier, she had given him a warning look, and then turned away. He had taken heed. Ceorl was watching them, and the unease that had pricked between his shoulders on that tragic day in the wood had immediately returned like a knife blade. For all the young rider bore the mark of an arrow in his flesh as proof that he too had suffered at the hands of the wild men, Elfhelm was still unable to shake the notion that something was amiss. Something more than just the gut-wrenching ache of Eomer's loss.
Now he bided his time as he let his horse walk patiently behind the princess's guards. There were two to the front. Two to the rear. He, the only Rohirrim, rode at her side. Behind them, riding with the wagon, came the princess's two maids. He glared at the backs of the men. Were they to be trusted, these men of Dol Amroth? He sighed. Perhaps more so than an unknown Rohirric face in these dark days.
They walked for an hour, by which time the Golden Hall of Edoras was no longer visible. Elfhelm was just beginning to think he might burst with the need to know what had taken place the previous evening when, at last, the princess ordered her guards to move ahead so they would not overhear her conversation.
"My Lord, my deepest apologies for keeping silent these long leagues. The news I bear is of too much importance to risk speaking it where there was any danger that we might be overheard. Indeed, as you can see, I choose not to share this even with those to whom I entrust my life." Lothiriel's eyes were grave as she looked at him. "When I tell you what I have learnt, I would ask that you keep your horse at a steady pace and your face turned towards Gondor, for even the wind may have eyes."
"I doubt anything that you can tell me will be shock. I have lived through too many dark days and seen deeds enough that have turned my stomach," Elfhelm replied gruffly. "Now, pray tell me quickly, what black spell has been cast over the queen that she behaves so?"
"No spell, my Lord, but simply the age-old weapon of a kinsman held hostage."
Elfhelm shook his head confused. "The queen no longer has any kin."
"That is what Ceorl would have us believe - would have you believe."
"I don't understand."
Lothiriel drew in a deep breath and fixed her gaze on the horizon. "My Lord, Eomer is not dead."
"Not dead? What madness is this? I saw with my own eyes..." Despite himself, he twisted round in his saddle to look at her.
"Elfhelm, please."
"Forgive me." He straightened and attempted to appear calm, despite the pounding of his heart in his chest. "But what you are asking me to believe..."
"What you saw was but a subterfuge to make you believe that which is not true. Trust me, my Lord Elfhelm, your king still lives. What is more, Eowyn begs of us to do all in power to both ensure his continued existence and his release from captivity."
"Eomer is alive." Elfhelm whispered the statement, longing to believe it so and yet barely able to comprehend that the words were coming from his own lips, let alone that they could be true.
"Yes, though I can give you no proof save Eowyn's testimony."
Alive. Elfhelm rolled the word around his mind, testing it against his emotions. Yes. It felt right. Like a well-worn tunic. And it made sense of all the tiny things that had clung to him like burrs. The king foolishly chasing after the wild men alone. Eomer not just losing his life in a senseless fight, but being mutilated beyond recognition. The slightly too-heavy weight of the dead body across his saddle. And the queen's behaviour. No, not the queen. The White Lady was not queen. Not if Eomer lived still.
"Elfhelm?"
He glanced towards her, saw the concerned look on her face.
"Are you well?" she asked.
He suddenly realised that a single tear was tracking down his cheek. He dashed it away. Pretended it was the wind in his eyes. But he could not deny the truth in his heart that it was a tear of joy. Eomer lived. His king and his friend was alive and... His rapture ended abruptly as the rest of Lothiriel's words finally sunk through.
"I am very well," he said harshly. "Which is more than will be true of those who are holding my king for hostage when I get my hands around their filthy necks. What would the White Lady have us do to aid her brother? Does she know where he is being held? And by whom?"
"She believes he is being held beneath ground. There are caves, are there not, to the north of the woods you hunted in?"
"Aye. So pray tell me why we are still riding south towards Gondor?"
"Because Eowyn feared that we might be watched. Have you seen any sign that there may be eyes upon us, Lord Elfhelm?"
"None, your highness, even though I have kept watch for exactly such a thing."
Lothiriel blew out a long breath. "Good. Let us hope that is so, for true or not, we must act. Do you think we have come far enough south to now not draw attention should we turn north and circle around Edoras to the west?"
"Aye, far enough that one man and a horse will not be noticed."
Lothiriel bristled. "And what of a man, a woman and two horses?"
Elfhelm snorted. "You cannot be serious, my lady. Such a mission is not for the likes of - "
"Of a princess?" she snapped, eyes flashing dangerously. "Eowyn bid me aid her brother, and aid him I will."
"My lady - "
"Lord Elfhelm, I have no doubt you have many skills that I do not. Strength of arm. Skill with sword and arrow. The eyes and ears of a tracker. However, I sense that other talents may also be required if we are to see Eomer restored to his throne. I would ask you to trust me in this. And to accept that you will not be riding to his rescue alone."
She spoke with such authority, Elfhelm's many years of practicing unquestioning loyalty to the crown of Rohan momentarily stole his ability to argue . By the time he found his voice, she was already giving orders to her servants. It was clear that the guards were not at all happy with her decision to send them on to Dol Amroth without her, but in the face of her grim determination they also had little choice but to obey.
Finally she drew alongside him again. "Since they know nothing of where we are going or what we are planning, they will not speak of it." She shivered. "Even under duress."
Elfhelm twisted in his saddle as he thought of letters that he had dispatched the previous evening, letters that were even now travelling towards Gondor. "We must send word to King Elessar at once."
"No. We cannot. A single misplaced word could cost Eomer his life. No one must know that he still lives until we are sure that he is once again a free man."
"Your highness – "Elfhelm opened his mouth to protest. The sharp pain of believing that Eomer was dead was still fresh and raw. To knowingly inflict such hurt on the King of Gondor - it was almost more than he could bear. Cursing softly, he did not finish the sentence. "You are right, much though it pains me that others will mourn for no reason."
"Better to mourn falsely than to unwittingly be the cause of Eomer's death," Lothiriel said. She leaned over and squeezed Elfhelm's arm. "King Elessar will understand."
"And what of your cousin, my Lady? Will the White Lady's letter not break his heart?"
Lothiriel's face was grim. "It is a dangerous game that Eowyn plays. She risks the love of my cousin in order to protect him. She hopes the letter will make him stay away from Rohan and the danger of being used as another pawn against her."
"A dangerous game indeed. And from the look on your face, I would say that you do not believe the prince will stay away."
She hesitated. "My cousin has changed much since the war. I would not try to foretell his actions. But what I do believe is that when this is over, together we will stand in the Golden Hall and watch Eomer-King preside over the wedding of Eowyn and Faramir."
"That will be a very fine day, my Lady. May I suggest we waste no more time in bringing it into being."
"Indeed." Lothiriel applied her heels to the side of her mount. "We ride north!"
-----------------------
Eomer awoke to pain. A groan escaped him as he drew his unbroken arm under his body and pushed himself from the bone-numbing cold of the floor. Slowly he dragged himself to the rear of the cave and propped himself against the wall, wrapping his arm around the bruised muscles of his torso. With his other hand he tested the ache in the side of his face. His lip was split again, dried blood had crusted in his beard while he was unconscious. Fortunately, though, he hadn't been hit hard enough to break bone. Both his nose and cheek seemed intact, the latter bruised but not swollen.
He curled in on himself, the memory of an earlier beating drifting through his mind like a dark echo. On that occasion, men had taken their fists to him on Grima's instructions. It had been a physical reinforcement of the message that he was no longer welcome in Rohan. The irony of this second beating having been, no doubt, ordered by Grima's half-sister was not lost on him. However, what concerned him more was that there seemed to be no sense to what had just happened. Unless it was simply to make him fear the sound of human footsteps approaching his cell. Or to drive home the knowledge that his life now lay in the hands of a woman who clearly hated him and wished him nothing but harm.
That thought chilled him more than the cold, and the overwhelming sense of powerlessness weighed heavily on him once again. No. He would not despair. That was what she wanted. There was still hope. Erika had promised to return, and he believed her to be a woman of her word. And if she could just reach Edoras and speak with Eowyn... He was sure that no matter how wild the story might seem, Eowyn would not rest until she had put it to the test. She would send men to look for him, and Erika would lead them here. That was his hope. The one thing that still gave him the strength to believe he would not die here. The one thing that made the long hours bearable.
He'd tried to keep track of the days, but it was difficult. The faint light from the cave mouth was his only guide to the passing of day and night, and he could not tell how long he'd been unconscious. It had been light when his attackers arrived, and light when he regained consciousness. But had a night passed between? Similarly when he slept. The icy cold of the rock against his skin and the constant gnawing hunger of his belly meant he drifted in and out of sleep at odd times, but when he woke with frozen limbs and cramped muscles he could never be sure how long he'd slumbered. Sometimes he felt he'd been here forever, sometimes he convinced himself that it was but a brief couple of days.
Footsteps.
Despite himself he tensed, the memory of the beating already having its effect on his nerves. With grim determination he forced himself to appear relaxed and at ease. It might be impossible to banish fear completely, but he would not allow it to show on his face or in the manner of his bearing. He would not give Galwyn the satisfaction of knowing her treatment of him was having any effect.
"I came as soon as I could."
His visitor was hidden behind a lantern, but he recognised Erika's voice immediately.
Relieved, he scrambled to his feet and hurried to the bars of the cell. A glance towards the cave entrance told him it was had grown dark outside. "I would not have you travel by night. There are dangers enough..."
"Do not have concern for me, my lord king. The sun will not be long in its bed. Indeed, by the time you have drawn a map, it will be risen. I would make the most of the day by setting off early."
Her words surprised, driving home the fact that he was disconnected from the passing of time. She lifted the lantern higher and then drew in a shocked breath at the sight of his face. "You have been beaten."
He pursed his lips as frustration at his circumstances threatened to spill over. She did not deserve to be harshly told that he was well aware of that fact. That he did indeed find it difficult not to dwell upon it. "You have parchment and ink?" he asked instead.
"Please, let me..." She reached towards him, her gaze still intent on his new injury.
"Do not have concern for me," he snapped, turning her words back on her. "It is nothing more than a bruise. Save your energy for the journey to Edoras."
For a moment, he thought she would argue with me, but then she inclined her head in submission.
"As you wish." Her tone told her she was obeying the king, but she was less than impressed with the man. He swore silently to himself, and wished he could explain his worries to her. But that would take time and Galwyn could arrive at any moment. Or his abusers might return. He would not wish for Erika to suffer at their hands.
"I do not mean to be rude," he said, as she set the lantern down on the floor, and then pulled a roll of parchment, a quill and a bottle of ink from her bag. "It is simply that time is precious." He took the writing tools and squatted down on his side of the bars, making best use of the light that spilled from the lantern. "I'm not exactly sure where in the cave hills I'm being held, but you should be able to orientate yourself easily enough from the sun. You need to head south." For the next few moments he scratched out a rough map that would lead her across the plains, through the wood and then to Edoras itself. "Is that clear?"
She looked uncertain. "I have never ventured further than the surrounding villages, sire, but you make the way sound simple enough." She rolled the parchment up and put everything back in her bag. Taking up the lantern she once again scanned his face, her expression concerned. "I will travel as fast as I can."
"May the gods speed your journey and keep you safe," he replied. "Now go. Quickly."
He sank back in his now familiar spot at the rear of the cave. The sun had indeed risen in the short time Erika had been with him. He began to calculate how long he might remain a prisoner. It was easily a day's walk across the plain to the woods. Perhaps another day to pass through it, given that she would be unfamiliar with travelling through a thick press of trees and undergrowth. And then two to Edoras. Assuming she was able to speak immediately with Eowyn, he could perhaps hope that riders would be sent out the same day that she arrived. Which would mean rescue might be with him on the sixth day if they rode hard and found him without delay. Six days. It would no doubt seem like a lifetime, especially if Galwyn kept him on the meagre rations of stale bread and water. But he would survive it, and he would be rescued. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off into the first peaceful sleep since his capture.
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Riding north had not proven as simple as Lothiriel had imagined. Elfhelm had insisted that they swing round in a wide arc to avoid the routine patrols that still watched over Edoras and its surrounding villages. As a result by nightfall they were actually directly due west of Edoras, and had made no forward progress towards the wood.
"A whole day wasted," she chafed as she woke the next morning, stiff from sleeping on the ground and sore from long hours in the saddle.
"We cannot know what influence Ceorl already wields," Elfhelm replied. "It will aid Eomer naught if we fall into the hands of men who answer to that blackheart rather than to the king."
"Do you really believe allegiances would be traded so quickly?"
Elfhelm adjusted the girth on his mount before replying. "Eomer is believed dead. Who knows what lies Ceorl might already be spreading about our departure from Edoras. We can but hope that he believes us to be travelling innocently to Gondor, but if I were in his shoes, I would have men loyal to me watching the roads north."
"So much intrigue," Lothiriel murmured.
"Aye, my lady. I have lived through more than my share of that. Dark days when evil seemed to prevail, and all that was good and true was being driven from our lands."
Lothiriel swung up onto the saddle of her horse, and waited as Elfhelm did likewise with his own mount. "You speak of the time Eomer was banished, do you not?"
Elfhelm urged his horse forward, his face like granite. "Aye."
It was clear he did not wish to speak of it, and so she changed tact as she drew alongside him. "What is he like, Elfhelm? Are the stories that are told of him true?"
His expression softened and he shot her an amused look. "Is he really a hero worthy of great songs and the admiration of a princess? Is that what you're asking, my lady?"
Heat rushed into her cheeks. "I was merely curious to know more of the man that we are risking our lives to rescue."
"Then it is only fair that I reply honestly."
He paused and Lothiriel found herself suddenly fearful of his reply. This was, after all, the man who perhaps knew the King of Rohan better than any other – who would have seen him at his worse and, unlike Eowyn, did not have a sibling affection to blind him to faults.
Elfhelm cleared his throat. "He is indeed a hero, my lady. None save perhaps King Elessar can rival him for valour on the battlefield."
"And what about off the battlefield?"
"He is a fine man – fair, loyal, honourable."
"He must have some faults," Lothiriel protested.
"Aye."
"And?" She didn't know why she was asking, but it suddenly seemed important to know what Eomer was really like. Faramir's description had intrigued her, but she knew that her cousin had deliberately painted a favourable impression in an attempt to play cupid. So in love with Eowyn was he, that all things Rohirric had a magical quality in his sight, and he could think of nothing finer than for her to share in his joy by match-making her with Rohan's most eligible bachelor.
"He has a frightful temper when roused," Elfhelm admitted. "Although he does his best to keep it in check. And..."
"And what?"
"No, I cannot say. To admit such a thing brings shame to all of Rohan."
Lothiriel twisted round in her saddle to look at him. "That is most unfair. To hint at something and then refuse to speak." She hesitated and then thought better of pressing the matter. "No, I will not ask you to say more if it will sully the good reputation of Rohan, and of her king."
Elfhelm smiled. "Well, perhaps if you were to swear not to repeat what I say. After all, you are risking your life for him. It is as well that you know what kind of man he is."
"I swear," Lothiriel said quickly, her curiosity getting the better of her, even though she was not at all sure she now wanted to hear what it was that Elfhelm knew.
"Very well." Elfhelm glanced around as though they might be overhead even though they were many leagues from the nearest village. He nudged his horse closer and leaned towards her, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "The king cannot hold his drink. I've known him to pass out after just ten tankards of ale."
"Ten tankards?" Lothiriel spluttered. "Such an amount of ale would knock out a horse never mind a man. That is your shameful secret about the king?"
Elfhelm's looked indignant. "Aye, my lady. Even that elf – Legolas – can best our king in a drinking game. It is indeed a most shameful state of affairs. I have your word now, that you will not speak of this? I would not have spoken except that, as you say, you have a right to know of the man you have chosen to aid – his strengths and – " He shuddered slightly. "His weaknesses."
Lothiriel gave a peal of laughter. "Yes, Lord Elfhelm. You do indeed have my word. Rohan's shameful secret will not be pressed from my lips, even under the most dire of circumstances."
Nodding his approval, Elfhelm spurred his horse into a trot. "Now, let us make haste. It is still a full day's ride before we even reach the woods, and with every passing minute the trail grows colder."
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Cold. Wet. Shocked.
Eomer jerked awake with a curse. Gasping for breath, he discovered he was soaked to the skin, and that Galwyn was standing on the other side of the bars, an empty bucket in her hand.
"Greetings, Eomer, once proud king of the Mark." She set the bucket down and sniffed the air. "That's better. The smell of unwashed male was beginning to be quite overpowering."
His teeth chattering violently he wrapped his arms around his chest, and declined to reply to her insults. Personal hygiene was hardly high on his agenda given she gave him barely enough water to quench his thirst each day.
"This silence of yours is irritating," she said. "I would have thought you would welcome conversation after hours of solitude."
"I would much prefer solitude to your company, and silence is a more welcome companion than your venomous words." He climbed to his feet and began to pace in the hope of bringing some semblance of warmth back to his body.
She picked up the skein of rope that lay on the table, and beckoned him towards the bars. "And do you prefer hunger to a full belly? Thirst instead of refreshment?"
Anger boiled in his veins. He knew what she was doing. Drenching him with ice cold water was just one of her petty ways to grind him down and make his life miserable. This game of humiliation was another - a blatant attempt to steal all hope from him and break his will. Well, it would not work. He would not let her defeat him this way. Nor would he let her goad him into refusing what little sustenance she offered him. Sooner or later, he would need his strength to escape this place. Lifting his chin defiantly he followed the now familiar ritual of allowing her to bind his hands on the other side of the bars. Once he was secure, she reached through and gripped his face, lifting her lantern high so she might see the bruises on his cheek more clearly.
"Leave me be," he hissed, jerking his head away from her intrusive fingers.
"Do you not wish to know why such punishment was inflicted?"
He glared at her. What new game was this that she would play? What answer did she look for?
"Your uncertainty betrays you, Son of Eomund." She unlocked the cell and retrieved the empty water jug. "You long for answers, do you not?"
He looked away. Angry that he did not know how to respond.
She replaced the bucket in his cell with the empty one, and set a fresh jug of water inside the door. "Would you like to know how your sister fares?"
"If you touch so much as a hair of her head..." he began before he could stop himself.
Galwyn laughed. "The protectiveness of an older brother. How touching. And does she feel the same way about you?" She smiled coldly when he did not reply. "Would she, for example, give up the man she loves and wed another to save your life?"
A fresh piece of the puzzle dropped into place. And with it came another knot of frustration. "You are holding me hostage to control my sister?"
"At last you arrive at the obvious." The cell door locked with a dull metallic clang.
"But she believes me dead. You told me so yourself."
"I told you she would see that the body your men carried back to Edoras was given a royal burial." Galwyn gave a mock sigh as she began to untie Eomer's hands. "She sees to a great deal that is not her choice, much as her uncle did before her." She stepped back quickly as the rope came free from his wrists. "Ironic is it not that the power behind the throne is once more a descendent of Galmod?"
His mind was spinning. If Eowyn knew he lived then surely she would find a way to send help. But hard on the heels of that hope came a second, unwelcome thought - he had sent Erika to Edoras for nothing, had asked her to risk her life to deliver news to the one person who was already aware of it and who was perhaps now least able to help. He should have told her to seek out Elfhelm or one of the other Marshalls. He cursed silently, then suddenly realised Galwyn was waiting for a response. It would not do to let her know what he was thinking. Quickly, he pushed all thoughts of Erika from his mind. There was nothing he could do to help her now other than pray to the gods for her safety.
He made himself sound confident. "You are a fool if you think such a plan will work. Eowyn knows I would gladly die for her and for Rohan. She will not stand by and let your son seize power through her."
"That is no doubt what she will tell herself. That soon she will act, sacrificing the brother she loves in order to save her country. But first she will trust to hope - believing that some way to rescue you will reveal itself. And so she will hesitate."
"No," Eomer said vehemently.
"Yes," Galwyn corrected. "She will hesitate and Ceorl will grow stronger, entangling her day by day until finally she cannot move against him."
"No," Eomer said again. "She will not allow that to happen. You are sorely mistaken if you think she will allow her feelings for me to trap her so."
"You are the one who is mistaken. For it is one thing to decide to sacrifice someone you love, but it is another matter entirely to watch them die a slow, painful death. To hear them screaming in agony hour after hour when you know that it is within your power to stop their pain."
Eomer snorted in derision. "What would you do? Drag me to Edoras and torture me in the Golden Hall itself?"
Galwyn smiled cruelly. "There is no need for that. Have you not heard of Flames of Farsight? Your sister has. Indeed, she was most - impressed - with a recent demonstration of their clarity of vision."
He stared at her in horror and an icy coldness that had nothing to do with the damp of his hair and clothes stole his breath away. Erika had told him Galwyn dabbled in the dark arts, but he had not thought it important. Now, though, he suddenly recognised the real purpose, the truly evil intent behind the senseless beating he'd suffered. Eowyn had seen it. Had no doubt been forced to watch. The cold in his belly was suddenly replaced with fury. He threw himself at the bars, reaching through them in the vain attempt to catch hold of Galwyn. If he could but grab a handful of her cloak, he would drag her close and choke the life from her.
She was too quick for him, though. Stepping back, she laughed at him from a safe distance.
"You can't keep me prisoner for ever," he said, his knuckles white as he gripped the bars. "And when I do get out of here..."
"You'll what?" she sneered. "Look at you. Bruised, bloodied and shivering like a newly whelped pup. Do you seriously think I'm afraid of what you might do to me?" She thrust her hand into her pocket and drew out a small leaf-wrapped package.
Despite himself, Eomer's gaze locked on it. Food. Damn her. She was skilled in twisting the knife into his every weakness. He watched as she unwrapped the leaves, revealing a portion of succulent chicken and a chunk of bread so fresh he could smell its yeasty fragrance.
"Would you like this?" she asked, holding it out to him.
He wanted to scream his defiance. Wanted to tell her he would rather starve than be dependent on her malicious pretence at charity. But he knew he could not afford such a rash act. He had to survive. If rescue came, he had to be ready, had to be strong enough to walk - perhaps even to run. His teeth gritted so hard his jaw ached, he curtly nodded his head.
"Such ill-manners," she said, locking his gaze with her pale, blue eyes. "Ask nicely."
Silence hung between them for a long, painful moment as he wrestled with his need for sustenance and his knowledge that this game could quickly spiral beyond his control. If he gave in to this today, what would she demand of him tomorrow? Would he end up like a lapdog begging for scraps?
"Very well," she said. She turned to go.
"Please." It was just a word, but it felt as though she was ripping his soul from him.
"Please what?" she asked, her face already triumphant.
"Please, may I have the food."
With a victorious smile, she threw it at his feet, then turned and left.
He sank to the ground, and told himself his limbs were trembling because he was cold, wet and hungry. It was difficult to deny the hollow ache in his chest, though. And as he picked the chicken from the ground and chewed the first mouthful, he realised it tasted of nothing but defeat.