Chapter 21 – Discovery
A/N: Thanks again for the lovely reviews. To everyone who asked about Aragorn and Faramir – they are still travelling uneventfully towards Rohan, but will be involved in the action soon. Meanwhile, there's a villain or two for Eomer and Elfhelm to deal with…
Selred drew his horse to a halt and waited for the other rider to approach. It was barely dawn, and the early morning mist swirled around him like a wraith, its cold fingers chilling him to the bone. This task should've been over by now. He should be waking in his bed, warm and comfortable, not still chasing shadows. Behind him the rustling of the trees sounded like mocking laughter, and he felt his chest tighten in irritation.
"Well?" he demanded, the moment the rider was in earshot.
"No one has passed me by. Neither on the road nor across open country."
"You're sure?"
"I swear my life upon it."
"Be careful what you voice, man. It may yet end up that our lives our forfeit." Selred twisted round in his saddle and glared at the wood. A curse upon this cur of a king. Somehow he had managed to evade capture. Galwyn's words rang in his mind. He rides not to freedom but to death. Perhaps Eomer of Rohan had passed his last hours in agony on the leaf-strewn floor of this pitiful excuse for a forest. If so, Selred's only disappointment was in not having been there to hear his death rattle. However, even if that was the case, that still left the mysterious disappearance of his companions. There was only one answer. They must have turned north again after that fog-covered chase through the trees.
"What new orders do you have for me?" the rider asked, shifting impatiently in his saddle.
Selred considered for a moment, his gaze taking in the three men who still rode with him. "Ride to Edoras," he said. "Tell Ceorl what you know - that the king is most likely dead of his mother's poison, but there are those who know that he did not die at the hands of a bunch of wild men."
"And what if he asks who these people are?"
"Inform him it is two Rohirrim, one male, one female, and a Gondorian noblewoman." Selred straightened his back. "He does not need to fear, though. I think I know where they are." He met the rider's gaze. "Tell Ceorl, I shall send him their heads as a wedding gift."
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"Where is Edric?" Eothain demanded as he supervised the eored early the next morning. "Has anyone seen him?"
"Please, Master Eothain, he is unwell."
He swung round to face the person addressing him, another young lad who would also have been considered far too young to ride out with an eored had it not been for the war. "Unwell? Where is he?"
"Still abed, sir."
"Abed?" The news was a shock. Few things kept Edric from his horse, and to be absent on a morning such as this did not bode well. "Has a healer been to see him?"
The boy paled. "No, sir. 'Tis only too much food and ale."
Eothain growled at that suggestion. "You had better hope for his sake, more than a hangover ails him. Members of this eored do not shirk their duty because they have drunk too much." He strode in the direction of the cottage that was home to several of the young riders. Moments later he rapped on the door and then marched into the dimly lit interior without waiting for a response. "Edric?" A low groan greeted him. "Get up, lad," he said, spotting a prone form on one of the beds. "We are about to ride out and…" He swore as he rolled Edric onto his back and caught sight of his pale clammy skin and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. "By the gods, lad, this is no hangover. What ails you?" He wasn't surprised to receive no answer. Edric was barely conscious. His breath was coming in wheezy gasps and his pulse was weak and uneven beneath Eothain's probing finger. "I'll have the healer to you in no time," he said, squeezing the young man's shoulder. "Don't you go dying on me before I'm back."
A short time later the eored rode through the main gates of Edoras minus one member. Eothain's lips were set in a grim line as he led the way. The healer had been at a loss to explain Edric's sudden collapse, nor did he seem confident that he could treat him. He'd declared the symptoms to be most mysterious, unlike anything he'd ever seen before, and then quizzed the members of the house as to what Edric had eaten and drunk the previous evening. A cold dread had clutched at Eothain's chest as he recalled the casual way Ceorl had sat beside the lad, encouraging him to drink from the tankard he had filled for him. Dear gods, what was he thinking? That one rider would spike the drink of another for harm? Such a thing was beyond even imagining. And yet… Ceorl's dark expression when Edric had voiced a protest at his appointment drifted across Eothain's memory. Ceorl certainly had reason to dislike the boy, but was that reason enough to seek such a violent revenge?
His thoughts drifted to the queen, her beautiful face pale, her expression strained. Something odd was definitely going on. If only he knew what it was.
"Master Eothain?" the rider beside him addressed him cautiously. "Forgive me for disturbing your reverie, but are we not to ride north-east?"
Eothain glanced behind him and saw that Edoras was no longer in sight. "Not immediately," he said, setting his mind on the course of action that had teased him ever since the gates closed behind him. Disloyalty and disobedience, his mind whispered, as he once again faced south. He pushed the thought away forcefully. Something had to be done. Had to be said.
The rider frowned. "But surely the First Marshall…"
"I know what the First Marshall commanded," he snapped. "And his orders will be carried out. First, though, we will ride this way."
"May I ask why?" the rider asked.
"Because we may be fortunate enough to cross the path of King Elessar in this direction, and I feel the need to pay my respects to him before spending the winter far beyond the reach of any communication from either Edoras or Gondor."
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"Well, if this isn't a welcome sight," Elfhelm said as he stepped indoors, his arms laden with firewood. His gaze rested on Eomer, who was at the table spooning oatmeal into his mouth with obvious enjoyment. Sitting beside Eomer was Lothiriel. She was feeding milk-soaked bread to the youngest of Breda's children, and for the first time in days her expression was relaxed. The three of them made a pretty picture, and he couldn't help but think that it was high time his king set about producing a family of his own. Lothiriel glanced up, and smiled happily, and he winked at her, before turning his attention back to the king. "Dare I ask if you left any breakfast for the rest of us?"
"There's plenty for all of you," Breda replied, before Eomer could swallow his mouthful and comment. She reached for another bowl as Elfhelm deposited his burden on the hearth. "Thank you for doing that."
"It is the least I could do to repay your hospitality," he replied, taking the now full bowl from her.
Eomer turned his head towards Breda. "I too am truly indebted to you."
She smiled and squeezed his shoulder. "It is thanks enough that you are enjoying my oatmeal. Although my husband partakes, it is probably his least favourite meal and he never fails to grimace at the sight of it."
"It's delicious," Eomer declared, scraping up the last mouthful. He leaned back in his chair and gave a satisfied sigh as Breda cleared away the bowl and put a mug of tea in its place.
Not wanting to disturb the domestic harmony by trying to find room at the table, Elfhelm headed outside to eat. He had barely settled himself against the outer wall of the house when Erika turned the corner carrying a bucket of fresh milk.
"Good morning," she said, cheerfully.
"Good morning. Breda has hot oatmeal on the fire if you've not eaten already."
"Indeed I have not," she said, heading into the house.
To his surprise, she returned moments later with a bowl in her hand. "May I join you?"
"Of course."
She sat next to him, poked at her oatmeal, and then gave a soft chuckle.
"May I ask the reason for your amusement?"
Her eyes were alight with mischief. She bent her head towards his in a conspiratorial manner. "I believe the king is showing off in front of the princess."
"Is he now?" He was uncertain that Eomer would appreciate being the subject of gossip.
"He is attempting to demonstrate his ability to coax an unwilling child to eat."
Elfhelm almost choked on a mouthful on oatmeal. "Eomer is feeding the baby?"
Erika laughed again. "I believe I used the phrase attempting to. Unfortunately the infant is not aware that one should show respect for the King of Rohan and that spitting food onto his chest is somewhat impolite."
He could not help but join in her laughter. Eomer's skill with a difficult horse was probably unparalleled in all of Rohan. He was no doubt discovering, though, that a young human was much more of a handful than any horse he'd ever encountered. However, he was glad that the king was momentarily engaged in something other than worry for his kingdom. Being strong enough to leave his sick bed for breakfast was good, but he still had his doubts that Eomer would be strong enough to ride for Edoras the next day. That, however, was a problem for the morning.
"She would make him a good wife," he observed as their attention turned back to breakfast.
"That she would," Erika agreed. "Although she may need to educate him in the ways of small children."
They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of the sun on their faces and the warmth of the food in their bellies.
"What of you, Elfhelm?" Erika asked. "Do you have a family?"
He hesitated, the subject a difficult one. When finally he spoke, he tried to make it sound like he was simply reciting historical fact, but the words still reverberated with echoes of the pain. "My wife died in childbirth nigh on ten years ago."
"I'm sorry," she said, setting her bowl on the ground.
"It was a long time ago."
Silence drifted between them again. Elfhelm watched the chickens scratching in the dirt across the yard. The dog came out of its kennel, yawned widely and then settled in the sun. The familiar sound of a horse's neigh came from the stable. Abruptly he found himself envying Breda's husband. A home rather than a camp. A family eagerly awaiting his return from market. It seemed an attractive alternative to war and the constant of Rohan.
Erika's voice was gentle. "Ten years is a long time for a man to be alone."
He turned to look at her. "How did you know I'd been alone?"
She shrugged lightly. "Perhaps the recognition of one lonely person by another." She held his gaze. "My betrothed died at Pelennor. Barely a day has gone by when I have not missed him. I have even…" She hesitated, clearly seeking the strength to continue. "There have been times when I have not wanted to go on. Days when it has seemed too difficult to even draw breath into my lungs."
The thought of her taking her own life horrified him. "Erika…" He couldn't find the words. Didn't know how to express what he was feeling.
She gave a small smile. "It's alright, Elfhelm. I believe…" She hesitated again. "I believe that somehow meeting the king, seeing that Rohan has a future, somehow it has made me begin to think that I too can have a future. Perhaps even one day a husband and children." She reached out, took his hand in her own and gently squeezed his fingers. "Ten years, Elfhelm. That's a long time for a man to be alone."
He looked away, confused by her words. Confused by his feelings. Then far off in the distance something caught his attention. He raised his free hand to shade his eyes.
"Elfhelm?"
"Riders!" he said, yanking his hand free and scrambling to his feet. "Into the house. Now!" He peered towards the horizon, trying to judge the speed and number of the approaching horsemen, and then he turned and hurried after her. "Eomer! Riders are coming. And I suspect they are not friends of ours."
The king jerked away from Lothiriel, who was dabbing a damp cloth against his baby-stained tunic. His expression turned grim, but there was also a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. "How many?"
"A small group. Perhaps four or five." Elfhelm dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword. "They are riding hard and fast. We have but a few minutes before they will be upon us."
Eomer swore, and then glanced around the room, his gaze taking in Breda and the children. "Is there somewhere you can hide?"
She nodded as she picked up the baby and clutched him tightly to her chest. "The orc hole. It's beneath the table."
"Orc hole?" Elfhelm asked.
"A cellar beneath the floor. My husband dug it to give us somewhere to hide the little ones should orcs ever come to our home."
Eomer was already on his feet, pulling ineffectively at the table. Elfhelm moved to help him and was surprised to discover the table was no where near as heavy as Eomer's exertion had implied. He glanced at the king, noting afresh the shadows beneath his eyes, the pinched cheeks and his pale, sun-starved skin. The physical trauma the king had suffered over the past few days was not easily remedied by a few brief hours of rest and a bowl of oatmeal.
With the table moved, they quickly cleared away the reeds that covered the ground, revealing a wooden trap door. Elfhelm pulled it open and peered into the dark space beneath. He glanced at Eomer. "There is room enough."
Eomer nodded, and then clicked his fingers at the women, who were now standing together. "Quickly now."
Breda didn't hesitate. Gathering up the children she ushered them down the small wooden ladder that provided access, and then followed them, the babe still in her arms.
"Lothiriel, you next." Eomer beckoned her.
She shook her head. "No. I can fight."
Eomer repeated his beckoning gesture with impatience. "I do not doubt it, and it may yet come that you will need to, but for now, please… do as I ask." In response, Lothiriel merely tilted her chin defiantly.
Elfhelm interjected hurriedly, pre-empting further protest. "Please, my lady, there is no time for discussion." And certainly no time for an argument between the royal houses of Dol Amroth and Rohan.
She glanced at him and then turned her gaze back to Eomer, frustration on her face. "Very well, since his Majesty commands it." Stiffly she moved past him and made her way down the ladder.
Erika met Elfhelm's gaze as both men turned towards her. "May the gods keep you safe," she said softly. Her concern for him was bittersweet, but he had no time to think of that now.
"Quickly," he said, holding out his hand to help her onto the ladder. He glanced over his shoulder at the king. "You too, Eomer."
Indignation flashed across Eomer's face. "You think I should hide like a woman?"
"I think you've only just risen from the sick bed." He looked to Erika who had not yet descended the ladder. "Tell him."
To his surprise, though, she shook her head. "It is not for me to command his Majesty."
"What?" Elfhelm was hurt by her lack of support. "Have you not frequently done so?"
"When his life was threatened by poison and fever, yes. As a healer I had such a right. Now that threat is no more, it is not for me to question his Majesty's wisdom in choosing to stand against an enemy."
Eomer shot Elfhelm a look of rueful triumph. "It is good to know that someone actually remembers I'm still king."
Erika's expression was calm. "I do not think any of us ever forgot that, Sire." She paused, shifting her attention to Elfhelm as she quietly added, "Of course, were his Majesty to seek my advice, I might be required to voice my concern that his strength is not fully returned."
"Thank you!" Elfhelm said. "Eomer, please…"
"No!" There was anger in Eomer's eyes now. "I will not hide. These men would have celebrated had my sick bed become a death bed. I will face them."
The sound of horses' hooves in the yard reached Elfhelm. "They're here," he hissed. "Please, Eomer."
Eomer glared at him, and then nodded to the trapdoor. "Close it."
Still Elfhelm delayed. The brief exertion with the table and rug had brought a glistening sheen to the king's face, and although he was upright he was gripping the back of a chair for support. This was madness. Whether Eomer wanted to hear it or not, Elfhelm owed it to him to speak the truth. "Look at yourself, Eomer. You can barely stand unaided. How do you expect to wield a sword?"
With a grunt, Eomer pushed himself away from the chair. "I will manage well enough." He held Elfhelm's gaze for a long moment, but then looked away. "Close the door, Elfhelm."
There was a raw edge of appeal in Eomer's voice that cut into Elfhelm and made it impossible for him to argue further. Silently cursing the king's stubborn pride, he did as he was told. Both men started as a man's voice shouted from the yard. "We know you're here. Give yourselves up and we may show mercy to those who are sheltering you."
"The table. Quickly," Eomer said, but he made no move to help. Apparently he'd given up pretending he had the strength to pull a piece of solid oak furniture around.
"Come out!" the voice shouted again.
"Now what?" Elfhelm asked as he straightened up.
"Now we fight." Eomer swayed like a drunk as he turned to the door.
Elfhelm leapt across the room and slid his arm around the king's waist, keeping him upright. He'd fought many a battle beside this man, often odds that seemed weighted against them. Never before, though, had he believed that the possible outcome rested solely on his shoulders.