A/N: Many, many thanks for all the encouraging reviews. My apologies for the shortness of this chapter and for not replying to individuals. I'm about to go on vacation (and should actually be packing) but did not want to leave without doing an update as it'll be a couple of weeks until the next one. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Until September - adieu.
Chapter 10 - A glimmer of hope
Elfhelm was impressed. Although he was not sure why he was so surprised to be so. After all, Eowyn was royalty and she perfectly capable of not just riding all day, but of going into battle and taking on the Witch King himself. Despite her example, he had not expected much of the Princess of Dol Amroth. She had struck him as altogether more feminine - perhaps because of the silk dresses she wore, or perhaps simply because of her manner. However, he had quickly discovered that first impressions could be misleading. They had made excellent speed the previous day, thanks in no small measure to the fact that the princess had been quite at ease with the long hours in the saddle. Indeed, at the end of the day, she moved far more lithely than he - something that had pricked at his Rohirric pride and made him feel as old as the plains across which they travelled. Apparently being the only sister of three brothers had not turned her into a soft, pampered young lady, but had instead made her something of a tomboy. Looks, he realised, could be extremely deceiving.
He hadn't been quite so impressed by the fact she had roused him from his sleep before the first rays of the sun had lit up the sky. She had apologised for the early start, explaining that she found it impossible to sleep on the hard ground. However, he could not find fault with her argument that her inability to sleep was fortuitous because it meant they could hasten on with their journey and therefore bring about Eomer's rescue all the sooner.
As a result they had managed to travel deep into the wood by the time the sun had reached its zenith. Perhaps another hour and they could expect the trees to begin to thin. By dusk they should have travelled far enough to get their first glimpse of the craggy hills within which they hoped to find the king.
Elfhelm's gaze drifted over to the princess once again. Her determination to rescue a man she had never met still struck him as strange. Was it possible that her interest in the king was not entirely selfless? He had heard rumours that her father was eager to see her wed. In Rohan it was not unusual for a woman to delay marrying until she had seen two dozen summers or more, but he was aware that in Gondor the tradition was to be at least betrothed before leaving one's teens. Lothiriel was young, but she had seen more than twenty summers for sure. A great many women had set their sights on Eomer when he was Third Marshall of the Mark, even more did so now he wore a crown. Why shouldn't the princess be amongst them?
He smiled at the thought of his friend wed to this young woman. Although Eomer had seven summers on her, it might perhaps be a good match. She could ride as well and as hard as any Rohirric woman he knew, and she had proven that she was not afraid to speak her mind. What was more she had not flinched at coming to Eowyn's aid and risking her life on this venture. Rohan could do far worse than have Lothiriel of Dol Amroth as its queen. As for Eomer the man - his smile widened - Eomer definitely needed a woman who would not flinch at the task of helping a hot-blooded impetuous warrior master the cool, cautious skills of a statesman. Somehow he suspected Lothiriel would welcome that challenge.
Not that she was perfect, of course. He had offered her a bow to help him hunt rabbit for their evening meal at the end of the previous day. In response, she had shaken her head sadly. "I fear my eyesight is not sharp enough to aid you in catching such small quarry," she'd said. "Let me aim at a Mumakhil or even perhaps a deer and I stand a good chance of hitting it, but a rabbit? That would be nothing but a brown blur to me unless it had the good manners to sit but a few arrow lengths away." And then there was the slight matter of her not knowing how to prepare a pair of rabbits that were still in their coats, although to be fair she had been willing enough to learn.
"Elfhelm?" Lothiriel's voice cut across his musing. "It is past midday. Shall we let the horses rest? I have to confess to being in need of respite too."
He nodded his agreement guessing that this was a polite way of informing him that she needed to empty her bladder. His own body had been making him aware of such a need too. Once they'd dismounted he watched over the horses while Lothiriel vanished into the trees to answer the call of nature. On her return, he did likewise. He was on his way back when a scream cut through the woods. His sword was in his hand in an instant. Crashing through the trees he rushed back to princess - and was astounded to see her standing alone and unthreatened by the horses.
"It wasn't me," she called, turning back to her horse and pulling her knife from its resting place under a saddlebag. "It came from over there." She gestured to the north.
"Stay here!" he said, setting off at a run. A second scream reached his ears, chilling his blood. He adjusted his direction, jumping over a fallen tree with scant concern for the branches that caught at his clothes. Seconds later he found the source of the noise. It took him the briefest of moments to realise what was going on. A young woman was sprawled on her ground, her face bloodied and the front of her tunic ripped open from neck to navel. Kneeling over her was an ugly brute of a man with red hair.
Elfhelm felt his blood boil at the sight. "Take your filthy hands off her, scum," he snarled, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the hilt of his sword.
The man swung round, and his face twisted into a sick contorted smile. He raised his own weapon in a casual guard. "Lower your weapon, stranger. I have no quarrel with you. If it's the girl you want, there's more than enough of her for the both of us."
The man was clearly both a bully and a coward. Elfhelm spat on the ground to show his disgust. "What I want is to teach you how to treat a woman with respect." He moved closer.
Realising he had no choice but to fight, the man stepped away from the girl, and began to circle Elfhelm warily. "Very well, it matters not to be whether I spill your blood before doing so with hers."
"The only blood that will be split is your own," Elfhelm threw back. With a roar he attacked. His opponent staggered back under the onslaught, barely able to raise his sword in time to parry Elfhelm's blow. Sparks flew as they fought, but it was quickly apparent that Elfhelm was the far superior swordsman. As they broke apart and Elfhelm began to circle looking for a new opening in his opponent's defence, the man suddenly gave a cry of outrage and hurled his sword spear-like at Elfhelm's chest. Elfhelm had no choice but to throw himself to the ground. He rolled twice and then hurriedly pushed himself to his feet, but it was too late. His opponent had sprinted through the trees and was already in the saddle of his waiting horse. With a howl of frustration, Elfhelm watched him ride away.
Still stunned by the ferocity of the slap, Erika shook her head in bemusement as she found herself looking up not into the face of her rugged rescuer, but into the soft, features of a beautiful young woman.
"Take it easy," the woman said, slipping off her cloak and wrapping it around Erika to cover her nakedness. "Do not worry about your clothes. I have a spare tunic in my saddlebag."
"I thought I told you to stay with the horses!" a male voice shouted.
The face floating above her turned away. "And I thought that perhaps a young woman in distress might prefer to see another of her own kind." Grey eyes focused on her again. "Are you badly hurt?"
She had believed she was going to die, but not without first suffering the worst kind of abuse. That she still lived and was untouched seemed like a miracle. "I am well," she murmured, still not quite sure that she believed herself rescued.
"There is blood on your face..."
She reached up and touched her bruised and swollen lip. "A bloodied nose and a split lip. Nothing that will not heal quickly," she said, assessing her own injuries with a cool detachment. She pulled the cloak tighter and started to sit up. Immediately she felt a strong arm around her shoulders in support. "To whom do I owe my life?"
The woman once again turned towards her companion. "That would be Lord Elfhelm."
"And you are?"
"Lothiriel."
"What is wrong with him?" Erika asked, looking over at where Elfhelm was now kneeling on the leaf-strewn ground. The warrior's face bore an odd contorted expression as he stared down at the sword he'd picked up from the ground. "Is he hurt?" she asked, suddenly anxious that he had sustained some injury in her defence.
"Elfhelm? What is it?" Lothiriel called. "What is wrong?"
Slowly he turned to face them. "It's Guthwine. It's the king's sword."
Erika stiffened at the mention of the king. She studied her rescuer afresh. His dark green robe and ornate leather armour marked him as a nobleman, but that did not necessarily mean he was to be trusted. There was something about him, though, some air, that made her think that perhaps she could. As for the woman, well, her dark hair and grey eyes were too similar in colouring to Galwyn for Erika to not harbour some reluctance in accepting her immediately as a friend. However, it was clear from her accent that she was not from Rohan, and Erika could not deny the compassion and kindness with which she had just been treated.
Suddenly Elfhelm gave a frustrated cry. Erika flinched as he pushed himself to his feet and turned towards her in order to address Lothiriel.
"That ruffian may have been our best hope of finding the king. And I let him escape!"
"Elfhelm!" Lothiriel protested.
Erika caught the gesture and warning look that Lothiriel shot at him. With a rush of surprise, she realised that the distrust travelled in two directions. Lothiriel was clearly not at all happy that her companion had mentioned the king in front of her.
"Sorry," Elfhelm muttered. "It's just that it's so..." He kicked at a dead branch, sending it flying amongst the trees. "By the gods, to be so close." He growled again.
Erika's heart was pounding as she climbed to her feet. Her mind was spinning, weighing up a dozen possibilities. She knew she had two choices. To continue her journey to Edoras in the hope of speaking to the White Lady. Or to put her trust in these two strangers. She drew in a deep breath.
"You are a friend to the king?" she asked, directing the question at Elfhelm.
Elfhelm turned sharply, his gaze boring into her. It was some moments before he replied, his tone guarded. "Long have I served those who rule in Rohan."
Erika's gaze moved to the sword that he still clutched tightly in his hands. "Indeed, there are many who gladly serve, but perhaps only a friend would know the king well enough to recognise his sword?"
He looked down at the blade, and for one brief moment, Erika saw the anguish in his face. She swallowed hard, realising that if her suspicion was wrong, her rescuer would, in the next few moments, become her murderer. But if she was right...
She took a deep breath and committed herself. "I know where the king can be found."
"You do?" It was Lothiriel who spoke. Elfhelm was staring at her open-mouthed.
Erika turned to her and nodded. "Yes. But know this too, I would rather die than lead you to him if your intent is to do him harm."
"Harm?" Elfhelm spluttered, finally finding his voice. "Listen to me, young woman, I would gladly die a thousand times over if doing so meant that the king was able to walk free of whatever foul prison he is currently housed in."
Lothiriel stepped forward and placed a restraining arm on Elfhelm's arm before addressing Erika. "Elfhelm is the Marshall of the East-Mark. You will find no man more loyal to the king in the whole of the Riddermark."
"And what of you, my lady?" Erika asked. "What reason does one not of the Mark have for seeking the king so far from Edoras and in such unusual circumstances?"
"I am Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, cousin to Faramir, promised-husband of Eowyn, the White Lady. Your king will therefore soon be kin to me through the ties of marriage, and that, together with my love for his sister, is reason enough for me to come to his aid."
A princess and a Marshall of the Mark. Under ordinary circumstances Erika would've been overwhelmed by such illustrious company. Right now, though, her only thought was that these two people might help bring about the release of the king far sooner than if she journeyed all the way to Edoras. Given Galwyn's obvious hatred of Eomer that had to be a good thing.
Relief washed over her that the burden of saving his life could now be shared with those far more capable of bringing about his release.
"I will tell you everything I know," she said.