A/N – First a few replies to those who reviewed the last chapter.
Eokat – First to review as always g Thanks for spotting the typos.
Lady Scribe – More Eomer for you this time.
Haldir's Heart and Soul – Lothiriel thanks you for the advice.
Naughty-by-Nature – Hopefully I'll be able to post regular updates from now on. I've tried to make this part a bit longer too.
Elegant Couture and Lindahoyland – thanks for your continued support. Sorry about the cliffhanger. I couldn't resist. Me bad.
Now... Lothiriel is keen to get on with the story!
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Chapter 12 – Into the light
Lothiriel resisted the urge to step backwards, knowing that to do so would make her seem weak. Although her stomach was turning to water, she knew the only way out of this situation was to take control verbally, to act as though she was in charge even though he was clearly stronger and bigger. She tilted her head haughtily.
"I do not believe I am required to give account of my movements to you."
"Is that so," he sneered.
"Indeed," she replied with far more confidence than she actually had. "Kindly let me pass."
"I'm afraid I cannot do that. What kind of gentleman would I be to allow a beautiful woman to travel abroad alone in the dark?" His tone was still mocking. His concern false.
"I neither require nor welcome your concern," she snapped. "Now step aside."
His smile widened. "No." he said, lurching forward to grab her.
She was ready for that, though. Twisting to her right, she evaded his reach and broke into a sprint, her hand feeling for the small knife she had concealed in her bodice. Behind her Selred cursed, and then she heard the heavy footfalls of his pursuit. She knew, of course, that it was unlikely she could outrun him. She was lighter and perhaps faster over a short distance, but he was strong and would easily outpace her over time. Her fingers curled round the hilt of the knife, and she pulled it free, taking care to keep it out of his line of vision. Her breath was coming in gasps now, and her skirt had grown damp with sweat and was clinging to her legs, hampering her movement. She yelped as a heavy hand clamped down on her left shoulder, yanking her to a violent stop. With a fear-fuelled howl of aggression she let Selred swing her round, using the momentum to slash out with her knife.
He bellowed as he saw the blade and leapt back. For one wild moment she thought she succeeded in wounding him. A moment later, though, he lashed out at her, knocking the blade from her hand.
"Cut me with a knife would you?" he snarled.
She staggered back, but this time he was too quick for her. Thick fingers closed around her wrist and she was pulled up against him. His breath was hot and foul as he hissed into her face. "Now it's my turn to have some fun." His free hand moved to the lacing of her bodice. Desperately she tried to knee him in the groin, but he'd already anticipated her move, and she found herself unceremoniously spun round so her back was to him. She cursed as he wrapped her tightly to him with his left arm and renewed his assault on her clothing with his right hand. Glinting in the moonlight she saw her knife lying on the grass. Beyond her reach, the blade seemed to be mocking her. Stupid, it whispered. Stupid to think she could succeed in stealing the key and escaping.
Selred groaned into her ear and she cried out as she was forced to the ground by his weight on her back. Crushed beneath him, she knew what would happen then. He clearly intended to force himself upon her. Tears of fear and frustration welled, but she refused to let them spill. She might not be able to stop him taking her body, but she would not give him the satisfaction of relinquishing total control. Instead she would spit in his face and mock him as he took her. She tensed, waiting for him to flip her on to her back.
Selred didn't move.
Shocked she thought she heard someone call her name. Then suddenly Selred's weight was dragged off her. She rolled over, grabbing her knife and holding it up in a trembling hand as she stared into the face of... "Elfhelm?"
"Are you alright, my lady?"
"Elfhelm?" She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. "What in the name of the gods are you doing here?" Trembling she stared at the Selred's unconscious body, sprawled in the grass next to her.
"Rescuing you it would seem," he said dryly.
"I thought I told you to stay with the horses," she said, still barely able to believe he was standing in front of her. He leaned down, grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
"You did, but fortunately I do not always do what I'm told any more than you do." He glanced towards the village. Lights were burning in many of the cottages and the pinpricks of yellow that were people carrying lanterns were beginning to head their way. "We need to get out of here? Did you get the key?"
Lothiriel quickly thrust her hand into her pocket. "Yes," she said, relieved to find it was still there.
"Let's go then."
"What about him," Lothiriel asked. "Is he..."
"Dead? No, though he deserves to be. I didn't dare run him through for fearing of injuring you. He'll wake with a headache worse than any hangover though." He glanced at Lothiriel, his face contorted with conflicting emotions. "I cannot strike a man dead while he is unconscious."
She shivered. "I would not ask you to, even though it's what he deserves."
He grabbed her arm, urging her forward. "We really have to move."
Together they fled into the night.
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It was almost dawn when Erika led them to a spot at the top of a steep grassy incline. "There," she said, pointing to the craggy rock face on the opposite side of the narrow valley floor.
Elfhelm pulled his horse to a halt next to the one Lothiriel and Erika were sharing, and studied the cave mouth, seeking out the telltale signs of guards. As far as he could see there was no one around. "No guards?" he asked.
"They were none when last I was here," Erika said.
Lothiriel slid from the saddle and squinted across the valley. "Galwyn was no doubt confident that everyone believed the king to be dead."
Elfhelm shuddered at how close that had come to being true. He dismounted and joined Lothiriel at the edge of the slope that led down to the cave. "Give me the key. I will go." She opened her mouth to protest, but he silenced her with a sharp look. "We agreed, did we not, that we each have different skills. If there is anyone other than the king inside that cave, I believe I am best suited to dealing with them." His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword and he gave her a meaningful look. "I want you to stay with the horses. Really stay with them this time. If I don't return with Eomer, ride as fast as you can to Gondor and tell King Elessar all that you know. Do not enter the cave."
For once she didn't argue with him. Her face was grave as she handed over the key. "Be careful," she said.
He nodded curtly and then made his way down to the valley floor. Glancing up at the two women, he was relieved to see they were well hidden and the horses were out of sight. If Erika was wrong and there were guards in the cave... He stopped that line of thought, knowing it was bad luck to think of death when facing danger. Fate had a way of delivering what was expected. Better instead to imagine himself walking out of the cave with Eomer at his side.
He'd reached the mouth of the cave now and he could feel the chill in the air from its shadowy interior. Pressed against the outside wall, he drew his sword, taking care to not let the sharp metal hiss against the scabbard as he did so, then he leaned forward, peering into the darkness. There was no obvious movement. His ears gave no warning of unwanted occupants. His heart was beating faster now and the familiar tension of pre-battle nerves wrapped around him like chain mail. Slowly he stepped inside, taking care to keep to the walls, every sense alert to possible attack. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he made out a chair by cold, dead fire, a couple of barrels, a table. His footsteps silent, he pressed deeper into the darkness until at last he made out the bars of the cell.
"Eomer?" he hissed.
There was no reply.
He moved closer, peering into the cell now. For a moment he thought it was empty except for a large pile of rags on the floor and his heart sank. Was he too late? Had a message somehow been sent from the village, and the king removed to another location? Had they really travelled so far only to be foiled now? He was about to turn away when the sound of a ragged intake of breath caught him by surprise. Spotting a lantern and a flint on the table, he sheathed his sword and snatched them up. Moments later a dim yellow light lit the darkness and, with a rush of relief, he realised that the bundle of rags was in fact the king. He was lying with his back to the door, curled beneath a filthy blanket. Whether he was asleep or unconscious, Elfhelm couldn't tell, but he was definitely alive. Thank the gods, he was alive.
"Eomer." Elfhelm risked calling his name aloud, as he set the lantern down and thrust the key into the lock. The king stirred. The key finally turned and he yanked the cell door open. "Eomer, it's me. Elfhelm."
"Elfhelm?" Eomer rolled slowly onto his back and stared up at him in disbelief. "Is it really..." He raised one arm and rubbed at his eyes, revealing the bandaged splint that still held his broken bone in place. His gaze drifted to the open door as he sat up, and suspicion narrowed his eyes. "Is this some new trickery?"
The question was like a punch to the stomach. Elfhelm had expected to be greeted with relief and perhaps even joy, certainly not suspicion. Clearly Eomer had not simply been held captive for the past few days. Someone – Galwyn, no doubt – must have been playing mind games with him. Anger pooled in Elfhelm's stomach at the thought, and his voice was harsher than he intended when he spoke again. "Aye, it's really me, Sire." He raised the lamp higher so that Eomer could see him more clearly, but as he did so he sucked in a sharp breath at what his own eyes saw. Erika had warned him of Eomer's physical state but even so it was a shock to see the king dressed in ill-fitting rags, his hair matted with dirt and an ugly dark bruise marring one side of his face. "By the gods, Eomer, whoever did this to you will pay dearly." He held out his hand. "Come. Let's get you out of here."
He leaned forward intending to help Eomer to his feet, and was shocked when the king flinched. He'd never seen Eomer react in such a way to anything. Even as a boy, he had been fearless. "Everything's going to be alright," he said as though soothing a skittish colt. "It's over, Eomer. Do you understand? It's over." He held out his hand again but this time did not try to help the king up. Perhaps after days of captivity it was not surprising that rescue should come as a shock. Hopefully all Eomer needed was a few moments to realise it was really happening.
The king stared at the proffered hand for a long moment, and then ran his tongue over scabbed lips. "Over," he repeated softly, as though still trying to convince himself. Then, at last he reached out, grabbed Elfhelm's hand and lurched to his feet. He swayed wildly, and Elfhelm immediately stepped forward, sliding one arm around his waist to steady him.
"Sorry," Eomer murmured.
Elfhelm frowned. He knew Eomer had been half-starved for the past few days, but surely lack of food should not have made him that weak so soon. "Are you unwell?" he asked.
That produced a snort of bitter laughter from Eomer. "Now that you are here, my friend, and now that door is open, I am very well." He attempted to smile, but it looked more like a grimace and did little to reassure Elfhelm. "'Tis nothing but a bit of dizziness from rising too quickly with a stomach that has not seen enough food. It will pass." He pulled in a deep breath and then eased himself from Elfhelm's grip. "There, see."
"Aye, my lord." Elfhelm had seen hour-born colts looking sturdier on their feet, but since this was not the time or the place to fuss over the king's health, and there was little to be gained by contradicting the king he kept the thought to himself. Far more pressing was the need to get out of the cave and then put a distance between themselves and anyone that might, even now, be tracking them from the village. "Follow me," he said brusquely, trusting that the king would, on this occasion, forgive him for taking command of the situation.
Eomer smiled at being ordered around by his Marshall. Rescue. It was the one thing that had given him hope through the long, dark hours. Now it was here he was shocked to find himself suddenly close to tears. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard, reining in his wayward emotions. This was hardly the moment to start crying like a baby. Crying over the death of a comrade was one thing. Tears at the sight of an open cell door was something else all together. He was, after all, the King of Rohan. He was a warrior. And now, thank the gods, he was a free man.
"Eomer?" Elfhelm had stopped ahead of him and was now looking back, concern creasing his weather-beaten face. "Are you coming?"
Shocked, Eomer realised he was still standing in the cell. Feeling more than a bit foolish, he forced his leaden legs to move and tried not to notice how weak he felt. Soon he would get to eat a decent meal, he promised himself. Then the throbbing in his head would stop. The cramping of his muscles would ease. And this irritating dizziness would cease. Soon. Very soon. All he had to do now was put one foot in front of the other and let Elfhelm lead him to freedom.
Owww! He put one hand up to shade his eyes as he stepped into the daylight. After days in darkness and gloom, it was almost unbearable, and it notched the pain in his head up a degree. Within seconds, though, his brain adapted to the new stimulus, and as he drew in a lungful of clean fresh air he was able to appreciate the beauty of being out in the open. The colours all seemed so vibrant. The wind on his face was like a lover's caress. The scent of the air was a feast to his senses. How easy it was to take such luxuries for granted when they were freely available. And how precious they seemed now as he followed Elfhelm across the flat bottom of the valley. Even the dampness of the ground against his bare feet was a pleasure. Suddenly, though, he realised where the Marshall was leading him and he came to an abrupt halt.
"Up there?" he asked, looking in dismay at the steep, grass-covered incline. He felt sweat trickle down his back from exertion of the short walk and although he was reluctant to admit it even to himself, he was finding it difficult to draw enough air into his lungs. Right now scaling the bank of green seemed about as feasible as climbing up Mount Doom itself.
"Horses await us at the top," Elfhelm said.
"Right." Eomer gritted his teeth. He could do this. He would do this.
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The sound of laboured breathing and what sounded like a steady stream of Rohirric cursing told Lothiriel that someone was nearly at the top of the incline. Shooting Erika a nervous look, she drew her dagger and peered round the foliage they were hiding around. "It's Elfhelm," she hissed, relief flooding through her. She stepped into the open, and realised that it wasn't Elfhelm who was swearing.
"The king?" she asked, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest.
"Right here," growled a deep voice.
As Eomer took the final step onto flat ground, Lothiriel caught a glimpse of matted, dirty blonde hair and a flash of surprise in his eyes as he saw her. Then he bent over, his hands resting on his thighs as he struggled to catch his breath, and all she could see was the rags he was dressed in and the dirty bandaged splint on his left arm. So, this was the King of Rohan. The man Faramir had been so eager for her to meet. No doubt, this was not quite the first impression her cousin would've chosen.
"Are you alright, Eomer?" Elfhelm asked in concern.
Erika brushed past Lothiriel. "Does he sound alright?" she snapped. Before Elfhelm could reply, she was standing in front of Eomer, one hand resting on his back. She frowned. "My lord, are you in pain?"
"No, no. I'm just... a bit..." Eomer straightened up, his eyes widening. "You're alive."
Erika raised an eyebrow. "I believe we were discussing your health?"
In response, Eomer said something that Lothiriel had no hope of understanding, but his actions made his feelings very clear. He grabbed Erika and pulled her into his arms, holding her as though he would never her go again.
An unwelcome emotion stabbed through Lothiriel. She turned away, conscious she was an outsider and embarrassed at the intimacy of the scene she was witnessing. So, the King of Rohan had already given his heart to another. Well, that was fine. After all, she hadn't set out to rescue him with any notion that the adventure might lead to romance. Her loyalty – her friendship – belonged to his sister.
"Eomer," Elfhelm called the king's name softly, and Lothiriel caught sight of the Marshall nodding towards her.
"Forgive me," Eomer said immediately, finally releasing Erika, who stood speechless by his side, her cheeks scarlet. "Galwyn told me Erika was dead. To see that she is not..." He sighed deeply, and looked once again at Erika.
"Elfhelm, let us not waste our time with introductions," Lothiriel said coldly. "Galwyn may already be awake, and if so, she is sure to organise pursuit." She turned towards the horses, ashamed at the feelings of envy that refused denial and angry at herself for their existence. She was no spoilt brat who expected the world to revolve around her so why did it suddenly hurt so much that a man she did not even know had not given her barely so much as a second look.
"Eomer," Elfhelm said, ignoring both her comment and her action. "This is Princess Lothiriel of Dol Amroth."
"My lady," Eomer called. "Please, I am sure the situation we find ourselves in is no doubt grave, but can you not at least spare one moment for me to express my gratitude, for I presume your presence here is not just one of idle passing."
Reminding herself that he was a king, she knew she had no choice but to turn and face him.
"We do not have time to tell you now of all that has gone on," Elfhelm said to Eomer. "But, it is true the princess has played a significant part in bringing about your freedom. Without her bravery and courage, we might never have succeeded in obtaining the key to your cell."
Lothiriel shot Elfhelm an angry look. What did he think she was? Some prize horse who needed her good points highlighting to a prospective buyer? But then suddenly she realised she was the subject of Eomer's complete attention. The experience was not at all comfortable. Despite the bruising on his face, the matted hair and the filthy rags that he wore, there was no mistaking the fact that he was a handsome man. And though she told herself that his physical attractiveness was neither here nor there and that she had seen plenty of handsome men in her time, it was not so simple to ignore the intensity of his gaze. As he stepped closer, she saw his eyes were hazel – light brown flecked with green. Intelligent eyes that seemed to penetrate her body, stealing her breath away.
"I am indebted to you, Lothiriel of Dol Amroth," he said formally, his gaze never leaving her face. Reaching out he took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it – the gesture one simply of court etiquette between a king and a princess. Why then did the touch of his lips send a rush of heat through her body? For a moment she was speechless, but then she saw Erika standing behind him.
She snatched her hand back and met his gaze with a calmness she did not feel. Her tone was cold again. "It is your sister you should be indebted to, my Lord. I am merely here at her request."
"My sister?" Eomer repeated. His expression suddenly hardened and he spun away. "Elfhelm, how do things fare in Edoras? Is it true that all but Eowyn believe me dead?"
"Aye, my Lord, but may I suggest we discuss this while moving? There may indeed be men in pursuit of us."