Chapter 22 – Deception and confrontation

Warning: This chapter contains battle-style violence.

A/N: Thank you yet again for all your lovely reviews, encouragement and comments. You guys are great.

Selred waited for a response to his call. He sat confidently astride his horse, sword drawn and flanked by his men, two to either side of him. He knew his quarry was here. He could virtually smell them - particularly the sweetness of the women. The house was silent, though. The only noise was that of a dog barking loudly at him and a pair of chickens clucking indignantly in the shadows. His gaze moved from the house to the outbuildings and stables. They were no doubt hiding. He liked that idea. Liked that they were afraid of him. So they should be. He was death.

He called again. Still no reply.

He considered this for a moment, and then turned to the two men on his left. "Search the stable and barn. Be careful. That rider is dangerous and the woman can also use a blade." He dismounted as they moved away, glancing at the other two men. "You two come with me. We'll take the house."

Slowly. Cautiously. Footsteps silent, he approached the door. A prickle between his shoulder blades was a reminder that the rider could be hiding somewhere, an arrow at the ready. His fingers wrapped around the cold metal of the door latch. Twist and then a steady push. The interior was cool, dark and deserted. Eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light he registered the closed bedroom door to his right. Saw the loft space to his left. A quick gesture directed one of his companions to the ladder leaning against the edge of the platform. Another gesture set a guard on the main door. Finally he turned towards the bedroom.

The clash of steel on steel rang out. He spun round. Saw the glint of a sword high above his head. A cry rang out. His man. Falling from the ladder. Suddenly the rider from the woods was in the room, crouched low and dangerous.

"Kill him!" he shrieked.

Both of his men were moving now. Closing in. Two onto one in an enclosed space? The rider was already dead. A frustrated cry filled the air. Selred jerked. Saw the rider's eyes dart to the bedroom door as he fended off first one, then the other of his men. He recognised the look. Knew immediately that he would find the rest of his quarry behind the closed door. As his men found their balance and once again attacked, he strode to the bedroom door and yanked it open.

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Two onto one. Elfhelm had faced worse. Fighting in the enclosed confines of the house was a new experience, though. He sidestepped a slashing blow. Collided with the table. Gods. Pain flared through his hip as the hard corner bit deep. He spun left. Met steel with steel. Spun right. Deflected another blow, and stumbled as the bucket of milk rocked against his ankle. Two opponents and every damn piece of furniture in the room. That wasn't quite such a fair fight.

Thrust. Parry. Block. Thrust. He darted around the table. Was followed by two swords. Another rapid exchange of blows. He glanced past his attackers. Saw the bedroom door was closed, and that there was now there was no sign of Selred.

He parried a forceful series of sharp, jabbing attacks. Tried to manoeuvre his opponent into a corner. Swore as he was forced back towards the heat of the fire. He needed to end this.

Now.

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Selred's felt a tremor of excitement at the sight that greeted his eyes. He'd expected to find the women. Would have been thrilled to have done so, but this… This was far better. Lying on the bed was his elusive quarry. Eomer, once proud King of Rohan. Still alive, although judging from his harsh breathing, barely so. A low moan escaped the king, and delivered an almost sexual rush of satisfaction to Selred. Galwyn's poison was clearly working its evil.

"Please," the king whispered, his tone agonised. "Please, no more."

Selred stepped nearer. This was far better than he could ever have hoped for. He was in time to witness the king's death after all. The body on the bed suddenly convulsed, and a harsh groan tore from the king's throat.

Another step bought Selred close enough to look down at the tortured face, pale gold in the light of the single lantern. He felt nothing but contempt for the man lying before him. Galwyn was right. The country was better off without a man who could be so easily ensnared by a woman and a few whispered words of magic. That he owed this man his loyalty as a citizen of Rohan meant nothing to him. The war had ravaged the country. There was little lying ahead except years of hardship as its people slowly rebuilt their lives. He had no patience for such a future. Instead, with the money Galwyn had promised him, he would live a life of comfort in Gondor.

"No more," Eomer murmured, his face twisting into a grimace. "No more."

"Would you have me end your life, Eomer, Son of Eomund?" he asked unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. "Is that what you want?"

Eomer's lips moved, but the words were too faint for Selred to hear.

"Speak up, man," Selred said. "Beg me to put you out of your misery like the sick dog you are."

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Beneath the floor, Lothiriel sat with her hand clasped in Erika's. The darkness was total, but with the blindness came an acute awareness of the noises from above their heads. Every footfall. Every clash of steel.

She bit her lip in frustration. This was foolishness. To sit in the dark when she could be fighting. Never again would she do such a thing. She should've told Eomer…

A pained grunt reached her ears. Please. Don't let that be him. He had suffered enough. And Rohan needed her king. She felt Erika's fingers move. Realised she was crushing them. She forced herself to relax. Erika squeezed her hand in silent acknowledgement and gratitude.

Above their heads a guttural cry sounded. Then came the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the ground. Erika's grip was now as tight as her own had just been.

Was someone dead? And if so, who?

She closed her eyes, but the darkness had already penetrated her soul. Eomer, dear Gods, please protect him.

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Sweat ran down Elfhelm's back as he pulled his sword from the gut of the fallen man. The other attacker backed away, not so brave now he was alone. That's right, traitor. Look death in the eye.

For Rohan. For the king! Elfhelm leapt forward, a war cry tearing from his lungs as he launched his attack. His opponent faltered, and then swung his sword up, parrying the blows. Pain jarred up Elfhelm's arm as their weapons clashed - once, twice, three times. This man had the advantage in both weight and height. Did he have the skill though?

No. Elfhelm forced him backwards, away from the fire, but he couldn't make him turn. Couldn't yet clear a way to the bedroom door and Eomer. Damnation. He had protested the plan. Had begged Eomer not to take such a risk. Surely by now, it should be done? He glanced once more at the bedroom door. And in doing so, gave his attacker the opportunity to strike at him.

He leapt back. The blade hissed through air, a mere hair's breadth from his tunic. Focus, man. He launched another attack. Sparks ignited as the blades connected. The air was rank with the smell of sweat. His lungs burned with exertion. And still his opponent refused to yield. Refused to die.

Suddenly daylight flooded the room. The outer door was open, and two burly figures stood silhouetted against the light. There was a moment of shock as both sides took in the situation, and then they stepped into the house. Elfhelm's heart sank as he prepared to enter afresh into battle. Three against one. The odds were now far from favourable.

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Another spasm racked the king. He groaned softly, and then fell quiet again. Slowly he opened his eyes, and fixed his gaze on Selred's face.

"Do you recognise me, Eomer, Son of Eomund? How does it feel to look upon the face of the one who will bring an end to the once proud House of Eorl."

Eomer stared up at him, but he didn't speak. His brow was furrowed now, but it was hard to tell if it was from confusion or disbelief.

What sweet pleasure this was. Selred was torn between savouring the situation and bringing it to the ultimate climax. He imagined the sight of Eomer's blood staining his sword blade a deep crimson, but then considered how much sweeter it would be to add to the man's torment before opening his veins. "I will have the women," he hissed. "Both of them." He smiled as Eomer's jaw tightened. "They will pay dearly for aiding you. Particularly that piece of fancy Gondorian womanhood. I'm going to enjoy riding her. She'll be so saddle sore by the time I'm done, she'll beg…"

"Bastard." Eomer ground the word out.

"Yes. I am." Selred relished the anguish his words had caused. "But perhaps if I were to hear you beg, I might spare her. Untouched, she would no doubt be worth a pretty penny or two in ransom." Once again Eomer's face contorted with pain. Selred watched and waited. When at last the spasm passed, he spoke again. "I can end it for you. Quickly and cleanly. All you have to do is ask."

"No." Eomer's voice was barely a whisper, all strength gone now.

"Yes." Selred leaned forward, his tone persuasive. "What is the point of fighting? We both know how this will end. Why not spare yourself more pain and protect the women?"

"You lie."

"I give you my word." Triumph cut through him as he saw confusion on the king's face. Clearly the man was so racked with pain he couldn't think straight. There was no other explanation as to why Eomer would even consider such a worthless promise. Or perhaps it was simply a way to persuade himself he was being noble, rather than a pitiful coward who desired only a swift end to his pathetic life.

"Your word?" Eomer murmured, his voice barely audible.

"My word. Beg me to end your life and I will not touch the women."

There a long moment during which the only sound in the room was Eomer's harsh breathing. Was he even aware of where he was any more? Did he still know who tormented him?

"Well?" Selred demanded.

Eomer's lips moved, but no words came forth.

"Speak up, man. I can't hear you."

"Please," Eomer managed to say.

"Please what?" Selred leaned forward. Power. It was exhilarating. Intoxicating. To know that the life of another rested in his hands. To offer death and have it seen as showing mercy. "Please what?" he repeated.

"I… want…" Each word was forced out between a pain-filled breath.

"Yes?" Selred leaned even closer, his face now hovering mere inches from Eomer's.

"You… to…"

"Yes?" Selred curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword, anticipating the moment when he would draw the blade against the king's throat.

Eomer sucked in a pained breath, reached weakly out to snag Selred's sleeve with his right hand and drew him nearer still, before finishing his sentence.

"Die, traitor!"

"What?" Selred straightened up, shock hitting him like iced water. Too late he registered a searing pain in his gut. Staggering backwards, he stared in disbelief at the blade that now protruded from his belly. No, this wasn't happening. He jerked his head up and watched in stunned horror as Eomer threw back the sheet and swung off the bed. No. He was supposed to be dying. This couldn't be. "You…" he gasped out, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. "No. You're…"

"Poisoned?" Eomer offered coldly. "Sorry to disappoint you." The subterfuge created a sour taste in his mouth, but he knew he had been right; it was the only sensible path left open to him. Much as he might wish to deny it, a fair fight against Selred would have had only one outcome - his own death. Now, though, anger at what he'd just heard gave his poison-weakened body fresh strength. He crossed the short distance between himself and Selred, wrapped his hand around the hilt of the dagger he'd just plunged into the man's body and pulled it free. Selred screamed, clutched at the open wound in his stomach, but somehow managed to stay on his feet. "That was for all you've done to me," Eomer said. "This is for what you threatened to do to the Princess of Dol Amroth." He thrust the dagger into Selred again, this time aiming the blade at a sharp upward angle. Blood ran down the hilt of the dagger, warm and sticky, as he twisted it into the man's heart.

Selred's eyes bulged. His mouth worked. And then he fell lifelessly to the ground.

For a long moment, Eomer simply stared down at the body at his feet. The rush of adrenaline had gone as quickly as it had come, leaving him shaking and weak. His stomach roiled at what he had just done. Entrapment. Murder. That Selred deserved it, seemed irrelevant. He'd never killed other than in the bloodlust of battle. He didn't want to do so again, even though he knew the same rule of kill or be killed had applied. It just didn't… feel the same.

The sound of crashing furniture beyond the bedroom door snatched at his attention, bringing a swift end to his musing. With as much haste as he dared, he bent over Selred's lifeless body and retrieved the dagger. Turning to the bed he pulled his sword from where it had been hidden beneath the bedclothes. The weapon felt heavy in his hand, and he growled in frustration at the fresh reminder of his physical weakness. Another crash came from the main room, and he didn't hesitate any longer. Weak or not, it sounded like Elfhelm needed his help.

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It wasn't that they were better swordsman. It was simply that there were three of them and only one of him. Ouch! A blade sliced across the bicep of Elfhlem's right arm, leaving a line of dark red blood in its wake. Not a deep wound, but unwelcome evidence that he was starting to lose this battle. His sword met with another. Grunting he shoved the attacker back, and only just managed to swing his blade back up in time to prevent a jabbed thrust from contacting with his ribs.

"Give up, old man, and we'll kill you swiftly," one of his opponents taunted.

Old man? He was outraged at the suggestion. It was true that he was no longer in the bloom of youth, but to call him an old man? Indignation gave him a momentary spurt of energy and he launched a fresh volley of blows, taking one of the three by surprise. His own blade bit into flesh, and he leaned forward, putting his weight behind the thrust. There was a moment of resistance as his sword met bone then, almost instantly, he was rewarded with full penetration. His attacker's eyes widened in pain and fear. Incomprehensible words bubbled from the man's mouth along with blood-flecked froth. And then he began to topple backwards.

Elfhelm yanked at his sword, trying to pull it free. Damnation. The hilt was slick with his own blood and sweat, and the sudden drag of a lifeless body pulled it from his grasp. His victory over this particular enemy was going to be his undoing. He was now unarmed. Against two men. It was over. His gaze flicked from one to the other. Which would it be? Who would take his life? He backed away from their sneering faces. Felt the heat of the fire against his calves. Never had he imagined he would die at the end of a Rohirrim blade. Nor had he believed he would die trying to save the king from the same fate. He took another step back. Realised he had nowhere to retreat too. Tilting his chin, he prepared to step into the halls of his fathers.

A soft thud sounded, and the man to his right jerked as though a puppet master had suddenly pulled at his strings. His sword clattered to the floor. His other attacker hesitated, the killing blow he had been preparing to deliver suddenly frozen in mid-arc. What the hell?

"Two onto one hardly seemed fair."

Elfhelm's gaze swung towards the sound of the familiar voice. Eomer! The king was standing unsteadily in the doorway of the bedroom, his face a grim mask of concentration. But very much alive.

Realisation of what had just happened hit Elfhelm as the man to his right toppled forward. Eomer's dagger was embedded at the top of his spine - a single lethal throw from the king had killed him. It was a second chance. A reprieve. Elfhelm whirled into action, ducking beneath his attacker's blade. In one smooth move he scooped up the dropped sword, continued to spin as he came up on the other side of his opponent while simultaneously drawing the blade across the man's midriff. Blood spurted as the sword all but cut the man in two; then his body dropped lifelessly to the floor.

"Elfhelm?" Eomer sounded breathless. "Are you alright?"

He nodded wordlessly, his brain desperately trying to catch up with the action of the past few moments. Was he alright? Yes. Amazingly enough. Yes. In barely a blink of an eye he'd gone from believing he was going to die to staring down at the lifeless bodies of his enemies and the very alive body of his king. He was definitely all right.

"You're bleeding." Eomer gestured at Elfhelm's blood-stained sleeve.

"A mere scratch." He swallowed hard. "You saved my life. Thank you."

Eomer slumped against the doorframe, a tight smile on his face. "You have saved mine more times than I can count these past few days. Consider it payment only in part."

Heat burned his cheeks at the suggestion that the king was indebted to him. "You owe me nothing, Eomer." He crossed the room, intending to help him to a seat. "You look awful."

"I'm fine." With obvious effort Eomer pushed himself upright. He glanced over his shoulder, into the bedroom, then shut the door as he stepped unsteadily into the main room.

"Seldred?" Elfhelm asked.

"Dead." Eomer spoke the word without emotion. He gazed round at the carnage. "We should release the women, but let's get these bodies out of here first. I don't want Breda's children seeing their home desecrated in such a manner."

Elfhelm nodded. He had nightmares enough of his own. If he could spare the children from suffering the same, he would gladly do so. Besides, there was scarcely room to move the table from over the hiding place with four dead bodies sprawled on the ground. Eomer helped him drag the first body out into the yard, but as he glanced at the king he knew he had to once again risk his annoyance by fussing over him. Eomer's skin was ashen and Elfhelm could tell that nothing other than sheer bloody-minded grit was keeping him upright.

"Rest a moment," he said, squeezing Eomer's shoulder. I can manage alone."

"The women…"

"Will not come to any harm from waiting a few moments longer for release."

"I suppose not," Eomer said. He wanted to protest, but the trembling in his legs was warning enough that his body had reached the limit of its endurance. He turned away from the house as Elfhelm headed inside once more. Tilting his face, he relished the warmth of the sun on his face. It had been too long since he last savoured such a simple pleasure. Too long had he been a prisoner - first held physically captive by Galwyn and then imprisoned by the poison in his blood. Freedom was sweet. As was the knowledge that Selred was dead.

He opened his eyes again and took in the sight of the five riderless horses in the yard. They would be able to make good speed to Edoras with a horse each. He looked critically at each one, identifying its strengths and weaknesses. The bay looked like it would suit Lothiriel. The small chestnut would be ideal for Erika provided… He froze as he suddenly realised that the horses weren't the only new additions to the yard. Puzzled and somewhat concerned he turned towards the house, intent on getting Elfhelm to take a look at what he'd just seen. He'd barely taken a stride when he felt the sharp prick of a sword between his shoulder blades.

"On your knees - now," a deep male voice rumbled behind him. "Don't try anything foolish because I will not hesitate to run you through."