A/N: Thank you once again for your reviews. Glad to know folks are still reading and enjoying.
Chapter 17 - Fever and feelings
Lothiriel gazed down at Eomer, fighting back tears of frustration. It just wasn't fair. He did not deserve to suffer so. Even though he was unconscious, it was clear his body was wracked with pain. The tension of his jawline and his furrowed brow were proof enough. Then there was the fever. Sweat was beaded on his face and his clothes were damp to the touch, but he was shivering as though cold. Surely there had to be another way to aid him rather than adding yet more poison to that which already sought to destroy him. She reached out again, wishing she could soothe his hurt with a touch like her elven ancestors, and wanting him to know that he was not alone. To her surprise, as she brushed the palm of her hand against his cheek, he turned his face towards her, leaning in to her gentle caress. His lips moved, but the words were in his own tongue.
"What did he say?" she asked Erika.
"It was nothing but feverish babbling," she replied tersely, returning to her questioning of Breda about the possible location of a red ink bush.
"Shush," Lothiriel said softly to Eomer. "Everything will be all right. I promise." The words spilled off her tongue. Meaningless. Hollow. How could she promise him anything? Sudden anger raced through her. Damn Galwyn and her cruelty. How could she do this to a man that had done nothing but dedicate his life to his country? A man who had fought to bring freedom to others at great cost to himself. A man who would have humbly taken on the burden of serving his people as king until... Grief suddenly choked her. Until the day he died.
She had to do something. There had to be an alternative to poisoning him afresh. Perhaps if she returned to Galwyn's cottage there would be some clue. Would the herbs that she'd used to concoct her evil not be there still? If she could just have a few minutes to search the shelves with their jars and pots and...
"Beetles!" she said.
"What?" Erika shot her an impatient look.
"There was a pot of dead beetles on one of the shelves in Galwyn's cottage." She felt breathless, as though she had just been running. Erika was staring at her blankly. "One of my brothers once told me of a poison made by crushing the bodies of a certain type of beetle. The Haradim use it to tip their arrows when hunting." Without thinking she reached out and grasped one of Eomer's hands in her own. "Don't you see? That could be what Galwyn used to poison him."
Erika frowned. "And what if it is not?"
"Is it not better to treat him for something that might have been used against him than to blindly force another poison into him?"
"You know the treatment for this beetle poison?" Erika asked.
Lothiriel's spirits fell. "No," she said softly.
"I think I do." Elfhelm's voice sounded from the main room. "I have heard stories of Haradrim spies and assassins who use such a poison. Were these beetles the size of a man's thumbnail with dark red backs?"
"Yes. Each with a black spot at head and tail." Lothiriel's hopes rose again. "Please say they are the same."
"Aye. Sounds like it to me," Elfhelm replied. "It is an evil poison indeed. Given in small regular amounts it causes naught but minor discomfort. It is when the body is suddenly denied the poison that its real power is revealed." He turned to Lothiriel. "I did not think of it before because I believed it merely a myth of the Haradrim spoken of around camp fires when too much ale has been drunk. However, now I believe it is the very poison you speculated about earlier."
Erika was horrified. "That does indeed explain why the king became unwell so quickly after escaping from Galwyn's clutches. But what is the cure? Please do not say that the king needs is more of this poison in order to survive."
"To slowly wean the body from it is one cure, aye. But there is another. Goldenseal. It is said to work for many a poison, but I have no idea what it looks like in the wild."
"Goldenseal. Of course." Erika's face was suddenly animated.
"You've heard of it?"
For the first time in days, she smiled. "Better than that. I know where we can find some."
"Thank the gods," Lothiriel said. She gripped Eomer's hand tighter, as though somehow she could communicate the good news to him. Suddenly she realised what she was doing. Realised, too, that her behaviour was entirely inappropriate in front of the woman who had a claim to the king's heart. "Forgive me," she said, releasing her hold and gently resting his arm on the mattress.
Erika gave her a puzzled look. "I would not be thanking the gods just yet. It will take half a day on horseback to go and then return. I do not know if he is strong enough to fight the fever that long." Her face brightened once again. "Breda, you have a well, yes?"
"Behind the house, yes. Good, clean water is one thing we have plenty of."
"Good clean cold water," Erika said. "We may save him yet. Elfhelm, can you carry him out to the well?"
"Aye."
"Give us ten minutes, and then bring him.' Erika moved out of the way to give Elfhelm access to the bed. "Breda, we'll need an animal trough. Do you have one spare?"
Puzzled, Lothiriel watched as Breda nodded and hurried outside. "What are you planning?" she asked Erika, as she followed the young woman out into the daylight.
"Desperate situations require desperate solutions," Erika replied. "While I seek the Goldenseal, you must keep him cool." She hurried towards the barn to help Breda and Anlafsson, who were now dragging a large metal trough into the yard. "Bring a bale of straw," she said the boy, gripping one of the handles that were at either end of the trough.
Still puzzled, Lothiriel went to help. "Let me," she said to Breda, taking the handle at the other end. "We don't want to be delivering your babe as well as everything else."
Breda smiled and gratefully straightened up. "Indeed not, I promised Anlaf that I would not bring this child into the world before he returned.
Minutes later they were clustered around the well. Using Lothiriel's knife, Erika cut the binding from the straw and began to pile it into one end of the trough. Suddenly Lothiriel caught on. "A cold water bath?" she said. "You hope to quench his fever that way?"
Erika nodded, and then straightened up as Elfhelm approached with Eomer once again on his shoulders. "Put him in the trough."
Elfhelm's expression darkened, but he did as he was told. Now that she understood, Lothiriel helped to adjust the straw behind the king. "Are you sure this will keep his head up?"
"No," Erika replied. "But this will."
Lothiriel gasped as Erika took her knife once again and cut Eomer's shirt from him. Twisting the material into a narrow strip, Erika then looped it around his chest and under his arms before tying the ends securely to the metal handle behind him. It was a crude but efficient way of keeping an unconscious man in place. Apparently, however, Elfhelm did not approve. He paced away from the scene, swearing colourfully.
"Would you prefer that I let him drown?" Erika demanded, moving to the well.
"It is not your treatment of him I am objecting to," Elfhelm snapped. "Unless I am very much mistaken those bruises were caused by fists."
Puzzled Lothiriel stepped forward, and then sucked in a sharp breath as she saw the swirls of purple and yellow marring Eomer's torso.
"He was beaten by Galwyn's men," Erika said, pulling up a bucket of water. "And before that he was thrown from his horse. Did you think he broke his arm tripping over a stone?"
Elfhelm glared at her. "What I think..." he began, his voice tight. "Is that I would like to run my sword through the people responsible for hurting him."
"A most noble sentiment," she replied calmly. "But right now it would be more helpful if you could draw water so we can prevent this fever from claiming his life." She handed the full bucket to Lothiriel and thrust a second empty one at Elfhelm. Scowling, Elfhelm turned to the well.
"Tip the water over his head and shoulders," Erika commanded.
Lothiriel dipped her fingers into the water. "It's icy."
"That is the general idea," Erika replied.
It seemed a cruel thing to do even though she knew it was for a good reason. Biting back her reluctance she tipped the bucket and sluiced the water over him. His reaction was immediate. He drew in a sharp breath and tossed his head from side to side, murmuring incoherently. Lothiriel closed her eyes, shutting down her own distress.
"It is necessary," Erika said softly beside her.
She nodded, opened her eyes, and took the second bucket. "Forgive me," she murmured to Eomer as she once again deluged him in icy cold water.
Erika nodded her approval. "You must continue to do this while I seek the Goldenseal."
Elfhelm turned from the well. "You are not going alone."
"Lothiriel needs you here," Erika said.
"You are not going alone," Elfhelm repeated firmly. "It is far too dangerous."
"Elfhelm is right," Lothiriel said. "It will gain us nought if you are captured or killed while seeking this herb."
"And what of you?" Erika replied. "What if Selred tracks us here?"
"Then I will protect Eomer as best I can or die in the attempt. But without the Goldenseal, I will merely be putting off the inevitable."
Erika frowned, and then nodded. "Very well. Let us not delay any longer." She turned and headed towards the stable.
Elfhelm hesitated a moment, his gaze on Eomer's pained face. "We will return as swiftly as we can. May the gods be with him." He gave Lothiriel a short bow and then strode after Erika.
Lothiriel stood for a long moment, looking down at the king. This was not how she had envisioned her first time alone with him. He was feverish. Half-naked. And muttering incoherently to himself as he shivered and sweated in an animal trough. The situation could hardly be less ignoble. Why, then, did her heart twist at the sight of him? And why did the thought of losing him make her ache deep within? Was it simply that he was Eowyn's brother and therefore precious in her sight because of that? Or was it that, through his relationship with Elfhelm, she was beginning to appreciate what a loss he would be to Rohan? Perhaps it was both. After all it couldn't possibly be anything else. She barely knew him. And besides, she didn't believe in love at first sight.
She froze as the thought formed. Now she really was being absurd. Caring for him was fine. Indeed after all they had been through over the past few hours it was to be expected. Love, though. Ha! Perhaps she was the one that was feverish if she was drifting down such a ridiculous line of thought. And besides, she had seen him with Erika. There was absolutely no point in even contemplating the notion. No, she cared for him because he was Rohan's king and Eowyn's brother. Nothing more, nothing less.
That settled in her mind, she took a deep breath, picked up the bucket, and with grim determination returned to the task entrusted to her.
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Elfhelm was frightened. Not of Seldred and his men, but of the rush of emotion he had felt when Erika had suggested seeking out herbs on her own. Now, as he watched her riding ahead of him, he tried to convince himself that it was merely concern for his king that had caused the reaction. The only problem was that he had never been much of a liar - to others or to himself. He swore silently. She was surely far too young for him to even be noticing, never mind having feelings towards. He couldn't help it though. He admired her courage, liked the fact that she was intelligent and skilled but bragged of neither trait, and he found it amusing to watch this chit of a girl putting Eomer in his place. Few would dare to even try. Fewer still would actually succeed.
He tried once again to dismiss what he was feeling. It was just a misplaced responsibility because he'd saved her from Selred, he told himself severely. His emotions mocked his logic and made him sigh heavily. So he was attracted to her. Well, what did it matter if he admitted it? Nothing was going to come of it. He was at least twice her age, if not more so. Even if he was foolish enough to let his feelings show, she would not reciprocate them. What young woman would want a grizzled old warrior like him?
Despite himself, though, he could not prevent his mind wandering into an imaginary future where he was no longer alone. It had been eight years since his beloved wife had gone to the halls of their fathers. Eight long years during which he had mourned her loss and slowly come to terms with life without her. He knew she would not begrudge him companionship now. Indeed, she had urged him to take another wife when she realised that the illness wracking her body was not to be defeated. This, however, was the first time he had ever remotely considered the idea. But no, this would not do. Erika was not for the likes of him. She would no doubt meet a handsome young rider in Edoras and be swept off her feet. If that happened, he would be glad for her and would dance at her wedding. As for now - he would see that she was safe from harm.
"Elfhelm. Look!" She turned in the saddle and pointed towards a clump of broad-leaved plants with bright yellow stems.
"Is it Goldenseal?" he asked, his thoughts suddenly focused back on the purpose of their journey.
She was already off her horse. "I believe so."
He didn't dismount, preferring the vantage point of horseback to keep an eye on their surroundings. As she quickly harvested what they needed he silently sent up a prayer to the gods. This had to work. For Eomer.
And for all of Rohan.