A/N: Hugs to everyone who reviewed the previous chapter. My apologies for the evil cliff-hanger. I simply couldn't resist. Now to find out who has a sword to Eomer's throat…
Chapter 22 – Revelations
With every step of his horse, Aragorn felt his heart grow heavier. At first he had simply put it down to his sorrow at the loss of Eomer. Now, though, he was beginning to suspect the weight had another source. He shifted in his saddle, trying to dislodge the intangible discomfort, but it clung to him like a burr. Damnation. What was it that made his spirit suffer such unease?
He looked towards the horizon and was startled to see a gathering cloud of dust. Moments later one of his scouts arrived.
"Riders of the Mark approach, Sire."
He nodded. A welcoming party? This far from Edoras? It was unlikely. But why else would riders be leaving the city right before the funeral of their king. He straightened up in the saddle, brushed some of the dust from his clothes, and tried to hide the weariness that gnawed at his bones. A few moments later a familiar face rode into view.
"Hail, Elessar, King of Gondor!"
"Hail Marshall Eothain," he replied, raising his hand to bring his people to a halt. "What draws you and your eored from Edoras during this season of mourning?"
Bitterness flickered in Eothain's eyes. "I fear all is not well in Edoras, Sire. I would speak of such matters with you, if I may."
"Of course." Elessar turned to his steward. "We will rest a while. Do we have enough provisions to offer the Marshall and his men food and drink?"
"Aye, your Majesty. Let it not be said that the Royal House of Gondor cannot offer hospitality even in the midst of a desert." His gaze took in the dry, grassy plain they were transversing.
Elessar smiled, amused by the man's pride. "See to it then." He swung off his horse, and waited patiently as Eothain dismounted. Then he gripped the man by the arm in a friendly greeting and led him away from the crowd, calling over his shoulder as he did so. "Faramir, come. You may wish to hear this."
They settled on a slight incline some distance to the right of the Gondorian train. Elessar sat on the ground, stretching his legs in front, his weight on his elbows. The relaxed posture was at odds with the knot of tension in his stomach. "So, tell me what is going on."
Eothain huffed out a breath, and then in short, emotionless sentences told the king all that he knew. Elessar listened intently, reaching out to rest a sympathetic hand on Faramir's shoulder as the Marshall described Eowyn's distress at the loss of Eomer. When Eothain reached the end of his tale, Elessar gazed across the plain in the direction of the Golden Hall. The facts of the situation were helpful, but the darkness in the pit of his stomach had still not been explained. He gave Eothain a penetrating look. "Now tell me what it is that you suspect."
"Your Majesty?"
"I would know your thoughts, Eothain. Your suspicions. The dark dreams that haunt you in your bed."
The Marshall flinched. "You would have me gossip?"
"I would have your opinion on the happenings in Edoras, for my own heart has become more heavily burdened with each passing league."
Eothain clenched his jaw tightly, but then nodded. "Very well. Rumours abound that the Lady Eowyn has been driven mad by her grief. Although I do not doubt that she mourns the loss of her brother - as do we all - I do not believe this to be so. She has forever had an inner strength, the like of which few are blessed to possess. That she would allow her own hurt to come before her duty to Rohan…" Eothain shook his head. "I do not believe she would allow that. I have no proof of what I am about to say, but since you ask for my thoughts, for my opinion… I believe that while Ceorl professes he wants only what is good for Rohan, he in fact seeks only that which is good for himself. He is not only ambitious, he is ruthless in that ambition. It has become clear to many of us that he has found a way to influence the queen into acting on his behalf in all manner of things. I fear for her, your Majesty."
"Faramir." Elessar spoke the name softly as he saw the prince's hand drop to the hilt of his sword.
"I will kill any man that harms her," Faramir said, eyes blazing.
"And I would aid you in that task," Elessar said. He turned his gaze back to Eothain. "Do you have any idea what hold Ceorl has on Eowyn?"
Eothain shook his head. "I have pondered this for since departing Edoras, but to no avail."
Faramir caught Elessar's eye. "Théoden-King was held in thrall by Saruman."
He considered the unspoken question for a long moment. Was it possible that the dark arts were at work here? That would certainly explain the heaviness he felt in his spirit. Yet somehow the explanation did not fit right. It would take a great deal of magic power to control a strong spirit such as Eowyn. With the destruction of the one ring there was no longer a focus for such power. It was far more likely that any influence over her was human in origin. He shook his head, more from confusion than any real attempt to refute Faramir's suggestion.
"I have no answer," he said. "Eothain, we will keep our eyes and our senses open in Edoras. If Ceorl does have a hold over the queen, rest assured we will not only find it, we will also break it."
Eothain bowed his head. "For that I will be forever in your debt."
Elessar climbed to his feet, his gaze turning once more towards Edoras. A shiver rippled through him and once again he wondered if his instinct was not perhaps correct, that dark magic was at work. If that was so, then he would have to face it as best he could. There wasn't anything he could do about it right here and now. He turned his attention back to Eothain. "Come and eat. You too, Faramir."
"Ceorl has ordered me to the West Fold," Eothain said. "I should not tarry. Already I have bought my men on a diversion."
"I take it this order does not sit well with you, Marshall."
'Indeed not!"
"Then perhaps an alternative order might be more to your taste? One issued by the King of Gondor maybe?" Elessar clapped the man on the back as they headed back to the mass of horses and men.
"Your Majesty, I swore an oath…" Eothain began uncertainly.
"Ah yes, Rohirric oaths," Elessar interrupted as though the idea was novel. "Tell me, Eothain, is the oath Eomer took on behalf of Rohan still binding on his people until such a time as the new queen may choose to withdraw it? The oath he took saying that Rohan and her people will come to the aid of Gondor if ever such aid is requested."
'Aye."
"And under such an oath, would you not be required to follow an order from the King of Gondor in precedence to one issued by a Marshall of the Mark?"
A slow smile spread across Eothain's face. "I believe that is true, your Majesty."
"Good. Then let us talk about where you might be ordered to go while we eat."
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Elfhelm backed out of the house, dragging the second dead body through the doorway. Dropping the man next to his comrade in the cool shadow of the house, he turned to check on Eomer. Mordor's fire! His hand dropped to the hilt of his sword at the sight of the king kneeling in the dust, a blade at his throat.
"He'll be dead before you draw it," the figure behind Eomer warned.
Fingers itching, Elfhelm moved his hand away, raising both arms in surrender. "Who are you? And what do you want?" His anger flared afresh that yet another danger faced them. Curse the fates. Had Eomer not been through enough?
"Those are the questions I require you to answer," the man snarled. "Come out of the shadow. I would see your face so that I can know if there is deceit in your words."
Slowly Elfhelm did as he was told, his gaze never moving from the blade that threatened the king. Eomer looked uncomfortable yet calm. Perhaps, though, the latter was due to being far too weary to care that he was once more in a life-threatening situation. His hands were behind his back, possibly tied. Elfhelm couldn't be sure. It did not really matter. Any move on the king's part was likely to result in injury. Or worse.
Elfhelm stepped forward. Blinked as the sun hit his face. And heard a shocked gasp.
"Eomer?" He lurched forward, fearing the worst. Drew to a halt as he realised the king was unharmed and that the gasp had come from the swordsman.
"L…lord Elfhelm?" the man stuttered.
"Aye."
To his surprise the man abruptly sheathed his sword. "Forgive me. Had I realised it was you…" His gaze swung wildly - taking in the dead bodies and then shifting to the house. "What has happened here? Where is my wife? My children?"
"Anlaf?" Elfhelm asked, suddenly realising the man had to be Breda's husband. A frightened nod confirmed it. "Your wife and children are quite safe." He saw the man slump with relief, and he took the opportunity to move quickly to help the king to his feet. "Are you alright, your Majesty?"
"It seems that the gods are determined to strip me of all pride," Eomer replied ruefully. He attempted to brush the mud from the knees of his pants, but simply succeeded in spreading the dirt up his thighs.
The man's eyes, which had shown his relief, now reflected shocked horror. "Your Majesty?" He dropped abruptly to his knees, head bowed. "Oh no. What have I done? Eomer-King, please, can you forgive such an insult against your person?"
Eomer snorted. "Get up, man. I would not be much of a king if I took offence at a man seeking to protect his family and his home. No harm has been done except to the cleanliness of my clothes, and if you look close you'll see that they are in fact yours." He turned to Elfhelm. "Bring the other two bodies out and let's reunite this man with his family. Then we can tell him of all that has unfolded."
It took Anlaf and Elfhelm a few brief moments to rid the house of the remaining bodies. Yanking up the trapdoor, Anlaf helped the women up the small ladder. As Breda emerged he pulled her into a fierce embrace. "When I came back… found these two…" His voice cracked. "I feared you were dead. You and the children."
"Hush," she murmured, pressing her lips against his. "We are all well. No harm has been done." Her eyes darted around the room and she flinched as she saw each smear of blood. "At least, no harm that cannot be wiped away."
"Elfhelm, you are bleeding." Erika said, the moment she stepped foot onto the rush-strewn floor. "Come. Let me see to your arm." Eomer smiled as the Marshall attempted to fob her off. Elfhelm might be able to command a hundred men, but in Erika he had more than met his match. In no time at all, she had him stripped to the waist and was fussing over him in a manner that was a fair cry from his own brusque treatment at her hands. It very much seemed as though the Marshall had won a place in the young healer's heart in addition to saving her life.
Suddenly he realised Lothiriel was staring at him. He began to smile. Was about to make some flippant comment. But the look on her face made his stomach flip-flop. It was so… Confused? Hurt? Relieved? No, none of those. And yet all of them. There were simply no words to describe it. Abruptly she turned away and began to tend to the fire. For a moment he simply stood and stared at her back. No. He had to know what he had done to make her look… like that.
"Lothiriel?" He'd crossed the room and caught her arm without even realising he'd done so. As he turned her towards him, his stomach did a second wrenching twist. Her cheeks were wet. By the gods, she was crying.
Embarrassment flushed her face. "I am glad to see you are unharmed, your Majesty."
He flinched at the formality of her words. Almost nodded curtly and left her to whatever mysterious emotion assailed her, but something told him that if he did, he would regret it for the rest of his life. Slowly he raised his right hand, cupped her cheek and wiped away the wetness. "Why the tears?"
Her smile was rueful. "You will think me foolish."
"Never," he replied with a gentle vehemence.
She hesitated, her eyes studying him as though she would read his soul. Finally, with the softest of sighs she spoke. "Three times now I have feared for your life. It seems that each time, the event grows more distressing… and the relief that I feel seeing you alive and well…" She trailed off. Dark eyes holding his, her lashes damp with tears. For him.
It was more than he could bear. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. For an instant she stiffened - no doubt shocked by his complete disregard for etiquette and formality - but then he felt her soften again. Felt her respond to him. All coherent thought departed from his brain. He wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss. By the gods, she felt good. The touch of her lips, the scent of her hair, the press of her body against his. She was intoxicating. A man could drown in her kiss.
The sound of someone clearing their throat rather pointedly made it through the haze that Eomer was caught in. He broke the kiss, turned and found Erika, Elfhelm and Breda watching him with amusement. Only Anlaf seemed to think nothing of the fact that he had just engaged in an act that his advisors would no doubt have labelled as a huge breech of diplomatic decorum. He glanced at Lothiriel and realised that he didn't care what his advisors thought. Kissing the daughter of the Prince of Dol Amroth had been the best thing that had happened to him in a very, very long time. What was more, if he had anything to do about it, he intended to kiss her a lot more in the future.
He drew in a deep breath and reluctantly released Lothiriel from his embrace, catching hold of her hand as they separated. "I think we all need to sit down and talk."
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Lothiriel knew she should be paying attention to the conversation, but it was hard to concentrate on plans for the journey to Edoras when her hand was still captured in Eomer's. Not only that, but he'd kissed her. A very passionate kiss that had cascaded through every part of her body, awakening desires that she had not known herself capable of feeling. By the gods, she would give up a great deal to be kissed like that again. To feel his lips pressed to her. His arms wrapped around her. The heat of his body as he moulded himself…
Stop it, woman! Embarrassed by her thoughts, she dragged her attention back to the other occupants of the room. Tried to ignore the fact that Eomer's fingers were still curled around her hand. And that, as a result, the edge of her hand was resting on his thigh. Tried, but largely failed.
She heard Anlaf explain that he'd recognised Elfhelm from the Pelennor Fields. Heard Breda proudly telling Elfhelm that her husband had answered Theoden's call to arms. Was vaguely aware of Eomer voicing gratitude on behalf of all of Rohan, and of Anlaf once again apologising for mistaking the king for a ruffian. Eomer smiled at the description, his lips curving, and once again she was lost.
He'd kissed her. Eomer had kissed her. What did that mean? Did it in fact mean anything at all? After all, he'd embraced Erika on being released from his prison cell. Perhaps it was simply a habit of his to take the nearest woman in his arms on escaping imprisonment or death, and it meant nothing at all. It was no more than a natural relief at being alive, of being free. And yet - how could it be? He hadn't kissed Erika. And he hadn't taken hold of Erika's hand in a way that suggested he had no intention of ever letting her go again. It was not imagination that warmed the back of her hand. It was living flesh. His fingers. His skin.
"What is your opinion, Lothiriel?"
"What?" She realised everyone was looking at her. Waiting.
Eomer squeezed her fingers gently. "Elfhelm seems to be under the impression you will side with him rather than me."
Heat flushed her face. "I'm sorry. I must've drifted off. I have no idea what you're talking about."
"The cart," Elfhelm said.
She turned desperate eyes towards Eomer, hoping he would take pity on her. Amusement lit up his face. "Anlaf has suggested we borrow his cart and travel the rest of the journey to Edoras under the guise of husband and wife." Eomer turned away, fixing Elfhelm with a stern look. "Apparently Elfhelm does not think me strong enough to ride such a distance."
Husband and wife? Heat flushed her cheeks, and for a moment she felt dizzy. She sucked in a sharp breath and berated herself. One kiss that probably meant nothing to him and she was acting like a foolish young maiden with no more brains than a mumakhil.
"Stop being so damned stubborn, Eomer," Elfhelm snapped, apparently weary of protocol. "You know it makes sense. We may have rid ourselves of Selred and his men, but we have no idea how many others may be watching out for us. However, they will no doubt be looking for four riders. If we split up, we stand far more chance of reaching Edoras."
"If we split up, yes, but to travel by cart…"
Lothiriel withdrew her hand from his. It was time she took control of the situation. Or at the very least, control of herself. "I believe you were asking for my opinion?"
"Yes," Eomer said, his brow knitting in puzzlement as she folded her hands in her lap.
She looked at him, saw how pale he was. Saw the fatigue in his eyes; it was so intense it might easily have been mistaken for pain. For the love of the gods, here she was, dilly-dallying with silly notions of romance, when he was barely capable of sitting at the table, let alone thinking straight. "I think this decision can wait until the morrow. You, my Lord, need to rest."
"Indeed," Erika interjected. "That, I believe is one thing on which we can all agree."
Lothiriel smiled as Eomer opened his mouth to protest, but then clearly thought better of it.
He dipped his head in acknowledgement of Erika's words. "It is true that I am… a little weary." He pushed himself to his feet and all but fell back to his seat.
Elfhelm swore colourfully and was round the table in an instant. "Why did you not say something?" he demanded harshly as he slid an arm around Eomer's waist.
A rueful smile tugged at Eomer's lips, and his eyes met Lothiriel's. "I was enjoying… the company."
"Damn stupid fool of a king," Elfhelm muttered under his breath. "To bed with you now and don't even think of rising until the morning. We will bring the evening meal to you." The words were harsh, and Lothiriel doubted if Eomer would have tolerated them from any other man in Rohan. The affection that Elfhelm had for his king was obvious to all, though, and for once Eomer simply gave himself up to the man's care.
As the two men stepped into the bedroom, she realised that Erika and Breda were both looking at her, inquisitive amusement on their faces. Heat raced into her cheeks and she rose swiftly. Before either of them could speak, she grabbed an empty wicker basket and headed for the door. "I thought I might pick some apples. For a pie. For dinner." With that she was out in the yard, and alone with her thoughts. Right now, that was exactly the way she wanted things to be.