My apologies for the delay in posting. My return from holiday coincided with my husband's birthday, which swallowed up the weekend. Then last week, it was usual chaos of getting the boys back to school, plus settling back into the routine. Anyway, hopefully I shall be posting regularly again from now on.
Warmest thanks as always to everyone who takes the time to review and encourage. It is always much appreciated.
Chapter 11 - The key to freedom
Four days had passed. How many more did she dare allow to drift by without taking action? How much deeper into the spider's lair did she dare travel? Eowyn gazed out of her chamber window towards Gondor. The messenger should have arrived by now. Soon Aragorn and many others would be journeying to Rohan for the funeral of an unknown man. Her heart twisted at the anguish she had bought upon them, particularly Aragorn, for she knew that he had formed a deep affection for her brother. As for Faramir - no, it was better not to think of Faramir and the hurt that she had deliberately inflicted in order to protect him.
If only she knew how things fared with Lothiriel and Elfhelm. Then she would know how soon she could act and how much longer she had to tolerate Ceorl. With every passing hour his influence over the Royal court increased, but she did not dare act. Not yet. Not until she was sure Eomer was safe.
A knock at the door startled her from her reverie. She knew instantly that it wasn't Ceorl. He no longer bothered to knock, instead entering her bedchamber as though he already had the rights of a husband. She shuddered at the thought of being wed to him, and thanked the gods that so far he had not tried to touch her in such a way. If not Ceorl, though, who might it be? Eagerly she turned towards the door, praying that it might be Eothain or one of the other marshals that she still trust. She was disappointed, however, to discover it was merely a servant girl – a young lass that she did not recognise.
"My lady, may I have permission to clean?" The girl did not look at her as she dropped into an awkward curtsey.
"Of course." Eowyn was shocked to see fear on the girl's face when she straightened up. "What is wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing, my lady." The girl quickly fetched a broom and other cleaning equipment from the hallway.
"You look frightened," Eowyn said, determined to have the truth.
The girl's hands were trembling as she picked up her duster. "Please, my lady, don't harm me. I wish only to clean your chamber."
"Harm you?" The idea was so ridiculous Eowyn gave a peal of laughter. "Why on earth would I do such a thing?"
The young girl flinched and ducked her head down, her shoes suddenly of utmost interest.
An unwelcome suspicion crawled along Eowyn's spin and her amusement vanished. "Speak," she commanded. "Tell me why you barely have the courage to enter my presence."
"Please, my lady." The girl began to back towards the door, but Eowyn was too quick for her. With three swift strides she placed herself between the girl and her escape. To her dismay, the girl backed away from her as though she was monster, cowering against the wall.
She made herself smile and kept her voice gentle. "Come, come. I will not harm you. You have my word." That earned her a distrustful look. She sighed. "Clearly someone has been spreading lies about me. I ask simply that you tell me what you have heard."
With obvious reluctance the serving girl spoke, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "They say you have been driven mad by the loss of your brother, my lady."
"Do they now,' Eowyn said, indignation rising in her chest. "And who are they?"
"Everyone, my lady," the girl replied.
That news shocked Eowyn. "And does everyone believe such a thing of me?" The girl stared at her shoes again, her silence giving Eowyn all the affirmation that she needed. She stamped down on the anger that she felt. How could her people be so easily convinced? Did she really seem so frail of mind? Or was it Theoden's legacy that now worked against her? She set such thoughts aside, and pressed on with her questions. "Is that all they are saying?"
"Yes." The girl nodded her head vigorously
The answer came so quickly, Eowyn knew it was lie. "Do not think to fob me off with some falsehood. I am neither mad nor a fool. What else do they say?"
Scarlet heat burned the girl's cheeks. "Oh, my lady, please don't..."
"Hurt you?" Eowyn was growing impatient. "Have I not already given my word? Now speak."
The girl twisted the duster into a tight spiral as she summoned up the courage to give voice to her words. "It is said that in your grief you deny that the king is dead. That sometimes you can be heard, when you are alone in your chamber, speaking as though he still lives."
Eowyn's heart sank. Ceorl was a lot cleverer than she'd given him credit for. By spreading word that she was so grief-stricken she still believed Eomer alive, he had effectively ensured that none would now believe her when she spoke the truth. She cursed him silently, but made herself smile at the servant girl once more. "I thank you for your honesty," she said calmly. "As you can see, my mind is entirely whole and I am quite rational and not in the least bit dangerous. Now please, go about your cleaning."
Despite her best efforts, the girl still looked as though she would rather be anywhere in Edoras than in the chamber of the mad queen. Despondent Eowyn returned to the window and gazed once again across the city towards Edoras. Then suddenly her attention was caught by a grey horse, which was neighing loudly in one of the paddocks. Firefoot. The horse reared up, whinnied loudly and then galloped around the enclosure as though contemplating jumping the fence. "You miss him too, don't you?" Eowyn whispered.
Abruptly Firefoot stopped and pawed impatiently at the ground. Then he turned and, for one strange moment, seemed to look up at her before once again whinnying loudly. Eowyn felt hope stir in her belly at the sound. He was calling. Calling to his master. She couldn't explain why, but she knew that Firefoot had not given up on Eomer. That the horse somehow knew his master was out there somewhere. And if Firefoot still clung to hope, how could she not to the same? Eomer was strong. He would not easily give up his life or his kingdom. And if anyone could find him and bring him safely home it was Elfhelm.
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Lothiriel could feel Elfhelm's eyes on her as she prepared to leave. Any moment now he was sure to attempt another protest and she felt herself tensing in anticipation. They'd travelled as close to Erika's village as they had dared. Now they were hiding in a small stand of trees midway between the village and the craggy hills within which the king was imprisoned.
"I still think this plan is ill-advised," Elfhelm said.
"And I still say we have no other choice," Lothiriel countered, relieved he'd finally spoken again. "Erika clearly cannot return to the village and now your face has been seen also." She swung a makeshift bundle of spare clothes and food onto her shoulder, and then patted Elfhelm's arm as he grunted unhappily. "I appreciate your fear for my safety, but trust me, having grown up with three brothers I know how to take care of myself."
"I doubt your brothers are anything like this witch," Elfhelm retorted.
Lothiriel refused to let his pessimism affect her spirits. "Thanks to Erika, I have everything I need to deal with Galwyn."
At the mention of her name, Erika stepped forward. "Are you sure you'll be able to find the meeting place? Have I described it well enough for you?"
Lothiriel smiled down at the younger woman. "Rarely have I been given such fine details. Do not worry. I will find you. And then, together, we will free the king."
"May the gods smile sweetly on that,' Eomer murmured. "Fair you well then, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth. May our next meeting be soon."
"Fair you well, Lord Elfhelm. Erika. Until the morrow."
With that, she set off on foot towards the village.
As she expected it was dusk by the time the small huddle of thatched homes came into sight. Nervousness welled up in her belly, stealing her breath from her, and she stopped for a moment to calm herself. She had heard many stories of witches and wizards as a child, but never before had she encountered one. Her earlier bravado in front of Elfhelm seemed to have faded with the daylight and she could not help but think how much more pleasant it would be to be entering the gates of Dol Amroth right now rather than heading towards some dark unknown. Turning back was not an option, no matter how nervous she might feel though. The key to Eomer's freedom quite literally lay ahead, and if she did not retrieve it then his blood would be as much on her hands as on anyone else's. She took a deep breath and walked towards the village.
A pair of chickens darted for cover as she strolled between the houses. A dog barked half-heartedly. Then ahead of her, a shadowy figure stepped from one of the homes.
"Greetings," Lothiriel called. "Can you tell me if I might find a generous soul who would give me lodgings in this place tonight?"
"What is a young woman doing in the northern plains of Rohan unaccompanied?" came back the reply. The voice was deep and masculine.
"That is a long story," Lothiriel answered. "But one I will gladly share if only I had a roof over my head."
There was a long silence, and then a second voice spoke from the gathering dark. This one female.
"If it is hospitality you are seeking, my lady, you had best come with me." A tall woman stepped from the shadows, holding up a lantern as she did so. "My name is Galwyn."
So it was to be straight into the serpent's lair. Lothiriel caught a glimpse of long, dark hair and thin, narrow features in the yellow light of the lantern. Behind Galwyn stood two burly males, one of whom Lothiriel recognised as Selred from the descriptions Elfhelm and Erika had given her. Fear caught in her throat as the danger of her actions became all too apparent. She forced the emotion away with effort and kept her voice calm, smiling at Galwyn. "Thank you. Although I have little to offer, I will do my best to repay your kindness."
"This way." Galwyn gestured towards the largest dwelling in the village - a cottage set slightly apart from the others. As Lothiriel followed her, the two men fell into step behind. Despite her best intentions, a shiver ran down her back and it was all she could do to stop herself turning to look at them. To her immense relief, though, Galwyn addressed them when she reached the door.
"You can go now. We will be well enough alone."
"If you're sure," Selred growled, giving Lothiriel a dark look.
"Quite sure," Galwyn replied, clearly unhappy at the suggestion that she would feel otherwise.
"Good night then." Selred sauntered off, whistling tunelessly, his companion in tow.
The interior of the cottage was divided into two small rooms: a living area and a small bedroom. Both were surprisingly well furnished. Lothiriel caught a glimpse of a thick velvet covering on the bed as well a rich, upholstered bedside chair and an ornately carved table. The living area was well stocked with food - two hams hung by the fireplace, a large sack of flour leaned against one wall, and jars of herbs were stacked on shelves. On the table was a large bowl filled with eggs, a loaf of fresh bread, a jar of honey and a pat of dark, golden butter. The sight of so much food filled her with a quiet anger as she remembered Erika's tale that the king was given barely enough to sustain a child each day, let alone a grown man.
"You live well," she observed, the words escaping her mouth before she could stop them.
Galwyn's mouth tightened. "Not as well as some."
"I will gladly pay for both a meal and a bed," Lothiriel said quickly. She pulled a comb from her hair and held it out to Galwyn. "However, I'm afraid I cannot offer coin, only this. My escort proved to be a pair of ruffians who took my purse and my horse, and left me to fend for myself at the first opportunity."
"Your horse?" Galwyn looked genuinely shocked. "Not men of Rohan, I trust, for they would not do such a thing."
"No, not men of Rohan. I am Gondorian by birth. I was married - briefly - to a rider of the Westmark. He was killed in the war." Lothiriel adopted a suitably sad expression. "For a while I tried to keep the farm going with two bondsmen who had been willingly gifted to my husband by my family. When the farm failed I suggested we travel to Edoras. I hoped the king might have mercy on a widow of Rohan and grant me and my servants a roof over our heads and food in exchange for work in the fields of Edoras."
Galwyn snorted. "You might as well ask a dwarf for gold as ask the king for charity." She took the comb and studied it carefully.
"It is carved from the bone of a sea creature," Lothiriel said.
"It's pretty enough, I suppose." Galwyn pocketed the comb.
"I'm sure you could trade it if you do not desire it for yourself." She hesitated and then casually asked. "You have heard bad things of our new king?"
Galwyn gave her a sharp look. "There are some who believe it would have been better if Eomer of Rohan had died on the battlefield instead of Theoden-King." She gestured to the table. "Help yourself to bread and honey. There is fresh milk in the jug or, if you prefer, there is ale in that barrel over there."
"Thank you." Lothiriel replied, deciding it was probably wiser to let the subject of Eomer drop. She moved to the table and surveyed its contents. Once again anger stirred in her belly as she saw a small basket containing stale bread sitting beneath the table. She pulled her gaze away from the evidence of Galwyn's treatment of the king and forced herself to smile at the woman. "May I serve you something?"
"There's no need. We eat early in these parts."
"At least join me in a mug of ale," Lothiriel said, still smiling warmly. "Forgive me, but I would consider it rude to both eat and drink while my host partakes of nothing."
Galwyn huffed. "We retire early in these parts too."
Unperturbed Lothiriel took two mugs from a shelf. "I must confess I am mightily tired after a day of wandering by foot with scarce a notion as to where I am going." She turned her back on Galwyn as she filled the first mug with rich, foaming beer. Glancing over the shoulder, she saw the older woman had gone into the bedroom. She cursed silently. If Galwyn had retired for the night, her plan would be made all the more difficult. Turning back to the barrel, she hastily slipped a dark brown powder into the second mug, dissolved it in a small amount of ale and then filled the mug to the brim. She turned round, mugs in hand, to find Galwyn standing in the bedroom doorway, a blanket in her arms.
"You can sleep by the fire," Galwyn said, dropping the blanket on the rushes by the hearth. "I only have the one bed and I prefer not to share it with a stranger."
"Of course. I will be perfectly happy here." Lothiriel took a seat at the table, cut herself a slice of bread and spread it with honey. "Please, will you not join me? I poured you some ale."
With obvious reluctance Galwyn sat. Lothiriel picked up her mug and held it up as she made a toast. "To a better future," she said. She paused, willing Galwyn to pick up her own mug. For a long moment, the older woman scrutinised her carefully, then at last she took the mug in her right hand and clinked it against Lothiriel's.
"To a better future," she repeated, and then calmly added. "May it be one in which our enemies suffer that which they deserve."
A chill crept over Lothiriel at the vehemence of Galwyn's tone, but she hid her unease by drinking deeply. Across the table Galwyn did likewise, emptying her mug in a single draught. She set the mug down and wiped her mouth with her hand. Eyeing Lothiriel coldly, she rose. "Don't waste the oil in the lantern by taking long to retire to bed."
"I won't," Lothiriel replied. "Sleep well." She watched the older woman head into the bedroom and offered up a silent prayer to the gods. Oh yes, indeed, sleep well, Galwyn.
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Selred was also drinking ale. Alone in his small cottage he filled his mug afresh and then returned to his seat by the fire. He was frightened - an emotion that did not sit well with him and which the ale seemed unable to numb. Perhaps he should've told Galwyn the truth when he returned from the wood. It had been simpler to lie, though. So much easier to tell her that the healer was no more, that he'd done what she'd bid him to do.
It was, however, Galwyn's fault that he had failed in the task. She should've known about the rider in the wood, should've warned him. If he'd been prepared, he could've taken the man on. Instead he had been caught off-guard, his thoughts on having the girl instead of protecting himself. He swallowed another mouthful of ale to choke down the notion that he had become too dependent on Galwyn's skill with the black arts to forewarn him of danger. But why had she not seen the rider or sensed his presence? Was it true that the flames of foresight were not all seeing? That the black arts were not capable of wielding power over all men?
And now there was this woman in the village. A noblewoman by the looks of her. Was it just coincidence? He ought to tell Galwyn the truth. Then she could decide. He shivered at the thought. She might kill him for lying to her. He knew she had cursed men for less, and then laughed as they'd grown sick and died. Galwyn, daughter of Galmod was a cruel and spiteful woman. Just ask the king.
The king. There was something else to be afraid of. If, by some bizarre twist of fate, Eomer of Rohan was to escape, it would be the end. Selred had no doubt the king would hunt him down and exact a severe revenge upon him. For his own sake he should warn Galwyn there was a rider near by and that Erika was in his company. They should kill Eomer now. If Galwyn wanted him to die painfully that was fine by him. He would happily make him scream for her, would even make him beg for the suffering to be over. Perhaps that would amuse Galwyn - to watch her enemy reduced to a state in which he would take his own life gladly. For his own part, all that mattered was that the king should die sooner rather than later. Keeping him alive was foolish and risky. Especially now.
He finished his ale and wandered outside to empty his bladder. As he did so, he glanced towards Galwyn's cottage. There were no lights burning. Presumably both Galwyn and her unexpected guest were asleep. Fear danced along his shoulders once again. Perhaps he should kill them all and be done with it. He could then take his money and run. Rumour had it there were plenty of opportunities for those with money to invest in Gondor. He finished his task, tucked himself away and headed back indoors. Tempting. It was very tempting.
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Lothiriel wasn't sleeping. She was listening. Listening and waiting. In the other room Galwyn's breathing slowed. Still Lothiriel waited. It was hard to judge how much time was passing, but she did not dare act too soon. Erika had said the powder did not always work exactly the same way. Sometimes the herbs used in making it were stronger or weaker depending on the season. Sometimes the person to whom they were given was more or less susceptible.
Finally, though, Lothiriel couldn't bear to lie motionless by the fire any longer. Throwing off her blanket, she moved slowly and silently to the bedroom door. In the faint moonlight, she could barely make out the contents of the room, but fortunately she knew the layout from her brief glimpse earlier. Treading as softly as she could she made her way towards the bed.
A soft snore from Galwyn startled her, and she froze, her heart pounding. Bedclothes rustled. And then there was nothing but the sound of deep, even breathing once again. Lothiriel relaxed her tense muscles and inched forward. She had hoped Galwyn might remove her dress before retiring, but such luck was not with her. The older woman was still clad in her dark robe.
Hardly daring to breathe herself, Lothiriel slowly pulled back the bedclothes. Galwyn did not stir. So far so good, but now for the tricky part. Trying to disturb the sleeping woman as little as possible, Lothiriel began to feel along the folds of Galwyn's robe, seeking a pocket. It seemed like an eternity before she felt the hard shape of a key beneath the fabric. But where was the opening?
She started again as Galwyn suddenly muttered something. Every instinct told her to flee. That being caught searching through a witch's clothing was not probably a very good way of ensuring one would die a nasty death. But then the rhythmic breathing began once more. Her hands were shaking badly now, and she took a moment to steady them before once again feeling her way along the seam of the robe.
There! At last. She slid her hand into the pocket and folded her fingers around the cool metal key. Now, with agonising care, she withdrew it inch by inch. When at last it was free she slipped silently from the room, gathered up her belongings and hurriedly stepped out into the night.
Cool air brushed against her face and she suddenly realised her skin was damp with sweat. She sucked in a deep breath, rubbed her fingers against the smooth metal of the key just to reassure herself she had indeed succeeded in her task, and then she headed around the side of Galwyn's cottage, intending to leave the village by the least obvious route.
She had barely gone twenty paces when a figure suddenly loomed in front of her.
"In a hurry to leave?" said a male voice, the tone dark and malevolent.
Cold fear grabbed hold of her as she recognised the voice.
It was Selred.