A/N: I'm glad you all enjoyed the kiss. Thank you for your lovely reviews. Now on to Edoras…
Chapter 28 – Facing one's fears
Fear. It was a powerful tool and one that Ceorl enjoyed using. He smiled as he saw the young serving girl look up from her task of sweeping the floor of the Golden Hall, her face suddenly wary. Yes girl, look on me and be afraid. She turned away as he passed. Pretended to be deeply engrossed in her work. Was no doubt praying that he would not notice her.
He knew what was whispered about him. The death of the young rider, Edric, had produced exactly the effect he had hoped for. People wondered who would be next. And no one dared to speak a word of dissent to his face. With Eothain gone and his personal guard in place instead of the eored, Edoras was his. All he now needed to do was bury the memory of Eomer along with the body that still lay in the hall, and then take Eowyn as his wife. Soon, very soon, the crown of Rohan would be on his head. His uncle would be revenged. And everything that had once belonged to the House of Eorl would be his.
Almost drunk on the anticipation of power, he strode into his private chambers. Barring the door behind him, he turned to the fire that was burning brightly in the hearth despite the fact it was almost midday and the sun was, for once, blessing Edoras with its warmth. He removed his tunic as he stood before the heat of the flames. There was no point in being overly hot as he waited for Galwyn.
He did not have to wait long. The flames suddenly hissed and spat, and then turned a deep emerald green. His mother's face shimmered in the fire, strangely contorted by the ever shifting pattern.
"Well?" he demanded. "Are they dead?"
Galwyn's expression was dark. "Selred has not yet returned."
"Damn that man. How often have I told you he is not to be trusted? Nor is he competent?"
"There is worse news," Galwyn continued. "The flames of Foresight have failed me."
A shiver ran through Ceorl and he reached for his tunic. His mother's magic was the one thing he relied on. "What do you mean?"
"There is a new light in the land. One that I cannot penetrate."
"I don't understand."
Galwyn sucked in an angry breath. "Dark magic requires dark emotions, Ceorl. You know that as well as I."
"Indeed. Have I not ensured that Edoras is filled with fear?"
"Not all in Rohan are afraid," she retorted. "There is hope. A very strong hope that pains my eyes when I try to look upon it." She hesitated and then added. "Ceorl, it may be that this cur of a king still lives."
"No. That cannot be."
"What other reason could there be for a hope so strong that I cannot see those who came to his aid?"
"No. He was poisoned. You saw to that with your own hand."
"Aye, but one who travelled with him was a healer."
"Surely her skills are no match for yours. She is but a country girl who knows what herbs will soothe a child's fever. And did you not weave a spell into the potion?"
Galwyn's lips twisted before she all but spat the words. "Magic can sometimes be rendered less powerful if the one it is aimed at is guarded by the love of others."
"Love!" Ceorl swore. Turning from the fire he paced the room. "What are you saying? That one of those wretched women has given their heart to him?"
"It is possible," Galwyn replied.
"And because of it he is saved?"
"Again, it is something we have to consider."
"And what of Selred? Was he not supposed to ensure the deaths of all of them?"
Again, Galwyn's lips twisted into a grimace. "As I said, I cannot see. We cannot rely on Selred, Ceorl. You must be prepared."
Ceorl's pacing drew him back to the fire. He glared into it. "Do not fear on that account," he hissed. "If Eomer still lives and is foolish enough to show his face in the Golden Hall, a dozen arrows will pierce his flesh before ever he manages to utter a single word in defence of his throne."
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Breakfast at the holding was a brief affair the next morning. Erika was pleased to see that the king had regained some colour in his cheeks. She watched him eat, his determination to return to Edoras and regain control of his kingdom evident in his expression, his stance, even the way he worked his way steadily through his meal.
Across the room, Lothiriel was fussing with the children and apparently trying to avoid the king. That too made Erika smile. She was well aware of the awkwardness that accompanied the early days of a romance. All they needed was some time together and that would soon pass. Even before the king had planted a kiss on the princess that had lasted at least an eternity, it had been clear to anyone with the eyes to see it, that Lothiriel of Dol Amroth and Eomer of Rohan were well matched.
She felt a pang of longing. Not for Eomer, because there was no spark between herself and the king, but rather for the dream she once had of being a wife and a mother, of holding a man in her arms who she loved and who loved her in return. Her gaze drifted to Elfhelm, who was sharpening his sword by the fire. The amber glow of the flames gave a warm tinge to the steely grey-gold of his hair, and softened the weather-beaten lines of his face. Thank the gods he had survived the recent battle for if he had not…
Shocked, she realised where her thoughts were leading. For if he had not, she would have mourned him deeply. Far more deeply than she might have mourned the king. Than perhaps any other man she now knew.
"Erika? Are you alright?" Lothiriel asked.
"What? Oh yes." She realised she was no longer darning the hose in her hands, but instead was gazing stupidly into mid-air. A second realisation hit her. One far more frightening. She cared for Elfhelm. Perhaps even… loved him. Dear gods. How could that be? She stitched furiously for a few moments, trying to deny it. Remembering how she had once believed she would never care for another man again. People had told her time heals, but she had not believed it. Still did not and yet… the feeling, whether it was affection or love, that was a reality. One that had stolen up on her without permission or warning. Finally she could not help but look at Elfhelm once again, bemused by her own reaction to him.
Unaware of her attention he held the blade in front of his face, his keen eyes studying its length. Apparently satisfied he slid it into the scabbard at his side and turned to Eomer. "It is settled then. You and the princess will travel by cart. I will ride ahead and learn what I can of the situation in Edoras."
Clearly a conversation had taken place to which she had not been party. She straightened her back and set aside the hose she was darning. "And what of me?"
Elfhelm met her gaze. "You will stay here. Where it is safe."
The dismissal was like a blow to her stomach, and all thoughts of love and romance vanished. Safe? She knew what that meant. Waiting behind, dying little by little as each day passed without news. No, she was not going to live through such days again. He had no right to make that decision for her. She glared at him as he rose and headed towards the door. He was gone before she managed to find her voice.
She realised the king was watching her, his gaze sympathetic. "Don't think ill of him. He is motivated by concern for you."
"And what of my concern for him?" she snapped. "Or does that count for naught?"
She saw surprise on Eomer's face. Watched him shoot a quick, uncertain glance towards Lothiriel. Men! They had no idea what it was like to be left behind. No idea what it was like to be shoved into a hole beneath the ground where they could hear the sounds of battle but had no way of knowing the outcome. No way of knowing who lived and who died. Safety meant being helpless. And by the gods, she'd had enough of feeling like that. She treated Eomer to a blistering look that would've singed his eyebrows were it actual heat, then turned and stalked from the house.
The yard was crossed in a few long purposeful strides so confident was she as where Elfhelm had gone. Just as she suspected, he was in the stable, saddling his horse. He looked none too pleased to see her. Well, that was too bad. Rarely was she afraid to speak her mind or to fight for that which she wanted. She positioned herself in front of the stall he occupied and crossed her arms over her chest.
"So, you have decided that I should stay here," she said, accusation sharpening her tone like a flint.
His attention was on the girth of the saddle as he replied. "There is no knowing what awaits us in Edoras."
"Pray tell me, Master Elfhelm, what right you think you have to make that decision for me?"
He glanced up at her, clearly surprised at her anger. "There is no need for you to risk yourself further."
"No need?" The gall of the man. She stepped into the stall, the horse providing a barrier between them. "And what do you know of my needs?"
"What?" Now he looked puzzled.
For a moment she thought about explaining, but the look on his face convinced her it would be futile. He was a warrior. How could he possibly understand? Better to simply deal with the situation in a way that he would be familiar with. Action rather than words. "I'm coming with you," she said.
"No you're not." Anger flashed across his face.
She tilted her chin and met his heat with that of her own. "Last time I checked, Master Elfhelm, only two men would have the right to give me orders and expect obedience – my father and my husband. Since I have neither, I am free to do as I wish."
He glared at her. "The king…"
"…has not voiced an opinion. Nor do I believe he will do so unless you choose to interfere." She pinned him with a glare of his own and hoped that she was right in guessing that it was Elfhelm who had suggested she stay and that Eomer had simply gone along with it. When he didn't correct her assumption, she quickly strengthened her position. "Do not go to him, Elfhelm. I will not think well of you if you do."
His gaze was white hot. "Is it so wrong of me to want to keep you safe?"
"Is it so wrong of me to wish likewise?"
His eyes widened in shocked surprise, and she realised that her swift retort had revealed far more of her feelings than she had intended. She stiffened, waiting for his response. For a long moment, they stared at each other, and for the briefest of moments she thought she saw Elfhelm the man battle to the surface. Elfhelm who had been without love for many long years and who perhaps did not believe that such a thing could once again be his. But then, with an abruptness that almost made her cry out in disappointment, Elfhelm the warrior regained controlled.
"I do not need a bodyguard," he said gruffly.
She looked pointedly at the raw gash on his arm. "Indeed not. But perhaps you still have need of a healer."
He shook his head, once again exasperated. "Do as you wish, woman. For I suspect you will have your own way even if the king were to forbid it."
"I am not that rebellious," she retorted. "But be assured, once I set my mind to something, I am rarely dissuaded."
With that she turned away and headed for the tack room.
Edoras awaited.
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Eowyn sensed the difference in Ceorl the moment he entered her chamber. He seemed ill at ease, anxious even. He paced across the room to the window and peered across the plains of Rohan. Seated in a chair by the fire, she watched him in silence, curious as to the cause of the change and wondering if this new mood could be turned to her advantage in some way.
Apparently satisfied with the view from the window, he turned to face her. "I have made a decision," he announced. "The wedding will be bought forward. As soon as the funeral is over, we will be bonded."
Her stomach tightened at the thought. No matter what happened, she would never marry him. Surely he had to know that. Now was not the time to say so, though. Better to let him think she would go along with such a plan. "Such haste will appear unseemly," she said, keeping all emotion from her voice.
"What do I care for decorum?" He strode to where she was sitting and leaned over her. "I will be king, do you hear?"
Fear. It was in his eyes. Something had happened. Something that had stolen his confidence. She stifled a gasp as the only possible explanation sprang to mind.
"Eomer," she whispered. "He's escaped, hasn't he?"
He spun away from her, but then turned and gave a harsh laugh. "What makes you think that?"
She gestured to the fire. "Prove to me that he has not."
He glared at the fire and then at her, and she knew in that instant that he could not. Despite herself, she smiled with relief. Fury darkened his features. He stood in front of her again, grasped her chin so hard she was sure his fingers would leave bruises.
"Your brother is dead," he hissed. "Poisoned. Would you like me to entertain you with stories of how he writhed in agony for hours before finally succumbing?"
"You lie!" Pulling her head back, she broke his grip and in the same instant lurched to her feet. The thought of Eomer being free had invigorated her, as did the knowledge that she no longer needed to play her submissive role. This changed everything, for even if she now lost her own life in a fight with Ceorl, Rohan would still be saved. Rohan would still have a king.
Ceorl jerked back as though expecting a blade to appear in her hand. She wished she had one, but since her earlier failed attack on him, he'd seen to it that she was not even allowed a knife with her meals. She could strike at him with words, though. "You cannot hide the truth from me this time, Ceorl. Eomer has escaped and he's on his way to Edoras."
Ceorl grabbed her arm, yanked her close to him. "He's dead, I tell you. Poisoned."
"I don't believe you."
"It matters not what you believe." He pushed her away, causing her to fall back into the waiting embrace of the chair. "We will be wed and I will be king." A knock at the door bought an abrupt end to the conversation. "Enter," Ceorl barked.
One of his blue liveried guards stepped into the room. He glanced at Eowyn and then bowed to Ceorl. "My Lord, riders approach. It is the King of Gondor and his entourage."
"Aragorn," Eowyn breathed his name with relief. At last.
A jerk of Ceorl's head dismissed the guard. He turned to her once again. "You will greet them in the Golden Hall."
"With pleasure," she retorted.
"Do not think to betray me to him," he hissed. "I will not hesitate to kill them all. You know that I have the archers to do it."
An image flashed into her mind. Aragorn lying on the floor of the Golden Hall, a dozen arrows in his chest. Her euphoria died. "You would not dare."
Ceorl's lips twisted into a sick smile. "No, my lady, it is you who will not dare."
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"Eomer, I know you are eager to reach Edoras, but this is a cart not a chariot," Lothiriel said as she all but lost her seat as they bounced over a particularly rough piece of ground.
"Forgive me." He reined the horse back to a slower pace. "Are you alright?"
She settled back onto the hard wooden seat. "I am fine." He smiled his relief, but she could see the tension in him. "Perhaps you should have risked riding."
"No," he said immediately. "Elfhelm was right. There may still be men on the road looking for us. We may not reach Edoras as swiftly, but at least our disguise means that we may travel unhindered."
She glanced down at the coarse woollen dress she was wearing. It was the oldest garment in Breda's wardrobe. One that was so worn, Breda had been planning to unpick it in order to salvage what wool she could. With it she wore boots that were more holes than leather, and a shabby cloak. Her hair had been deliberately tangled and matted, and her face was streaked with dirt. As long as she did not give herself away by speaking, no one would ever suspect that she was part of Gondorian nobility. As for Eomer - she took a quick look at the handsome man at her side. His clothing was not as bad as the rags he had been wearing when they first met, but not by much. And he too was in dire need of a comb and a wash. The only thing remotely clean about him was the bandaged splint on his left arm, which Erika had rebound after checking that the bone was fusing properly.
"We are a pretty pair," she joked.
His eyes were mischievous as he looked at her. "Even dressed in rags and with dirt on your cheeks, there is no mistaking your beauty, my lady."
Embarrassed she smiled at him. "I was told that the men of Rohan were not given to words of flattery."
"Then you were told wrong," he replied. "Although it is true that we tend to compliment our horses more frequently than our women."
She laughed. "Then I shall treasure your words even more."
They fell silent again. Lothiriel gazed out at the countryside feeling awkward. Finally she could stand it no longer.
"Eomer, about yesterday…"
"Ah, yes." He gave an embarrassed sounding cough and kept his eyes fixed on the horses. "Your father would no doubt take a horse whip to me were he to hear of my behaviour."
Disappointment cut through her. Was that his main concern? That her father would be angry with him? Or was it simply that returning to Edoras had reminded him of the demands of court life. "You need have no fear on that score," she said. "He will not hear of the incident from me."
Eomer glanced at her, but his expression was unreadable. Was it relief? Or was it… oh no, had she just implied that she preferred the matter to be forgotten? She desperately tried to come up with a way of explaining that was not her intention without sounding like she was a brazen lass who welcomed such treatment. Before she could find the right words, Eomer spoke again.
"I would not have you thinking that I am the kind of man who is in the habit of forcing my attentions upon any available young woman," he said.
"Of course not."
"It was just that… in the heat of the moment…" He shot her a quick look. "I would seek your pardon if I offended you."
"Offended me?" She didn't know how to answer. Again he seemed more concerned with decorum than what his actions meant - assuming they meant anything, of course. "No, I did not take offence."
For a long moment, the only sound was the soft plod of the horse and the whisper of the grass as it bent beneath the caress of the breeze. She waited patiently, hoping he might continue, that he might say something that gave her some clue as to his feelings, as to why he had held her hand in his, long after the kiss had ended. Still he did not speak.
Finally, unable to bear the awkward silence a moment longer, she took a deep breath and began again. "Eomer, about yesterday…"
He all but flinched at her words, but she pressed on regardless. "Were I to be asked, not that I will be, but should someone ask, I think you should know that… well, that I might be persuaded to admit that the… umm… the experience… was not completely… without enjoyment."
That earned her his full attention. He tied off the reins, leaving the horse to set its own pace, and turned to her, his eyes searching hers. "Not completely without enjoyment?" he finally repeated slowly. "Then it seems I have more to apologise for than I first realised."
Heat burned her cheeks. In her attempt to navigate the difficult waters of a relationship that had yet to be defined, she had insulted his kissing ability. Could things get any worse? "No, Eomer, please, I did not mean to imply…" She cursed her stupidity, and also all the rules of convention and etiquette that meant there was a right way and a wrong way for two adults of the opposite sex to behave, especially when they belonged to Royal Houses from different countries. She glanced round, realised they were in the middle of nowhere and that the only witness to her words was a horse. Damn it, what did etiquette matter? It was entirely possible he was heading to his death in Edoras. If ever there was a time to speak with simple honesty this was it. "What I meant to say was that… should you be so inclined… I would not be averse to being kissed again."
A relieved smile tugged at his lips, but almost immediately he grew serious again. "Lothiriel, you know I can give you no guarantees as to what the future holds." He gestured towards Edoras. "I would have raised the subject of what happened yesterday myself were it not for that."
"The future will take care of itself, Eomer. We can only do the best with the time we have today."
"I would woo you properly if the fates allow it."
"Does that mean you aren't going to kiss me now?" she asked, not attempting to mask her disappointment at that prospect.
"Actually that means that I am going to kiss you in a manner that is likely to be entirely improper." He smiled as he leaned towards her. "I think it only fair to warn you that I do have a certain amount of pride in my ability to ensure a completely enjoyable experience."
"Would you like a mark out of ten?" she replied.
"Is that a challenge?" he murmured as his lips brushed lightly against hers.
"Absolutely," she managed to answer as heat shot through her body, pooling in a well of desire as his touch aroused her senses. Enjoyment did not come close to describing the next few minutes as she allowed herself to explore the smooth planes of his back with her hands and tangled her fingers into his hair, all the time relishing the warmth of his lips, the taste of him as he probed her mouth with his tongue, the musky scent of his skin. It was heaven. And what was more, she was aware that there was so much more to come.
"Lothiriel." Eomer groaned her name and drew away from her. He was breathless. His cheeks flushed. His pupils dilated. "We must stop otherwise, so help me, your father really will have reason to take a horsewhip to me." She sighed and reluctantly drew away from him. Slowly he untied the reins and urged the horse into a trot. He glanced sideways at her, and then wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him. "Believe me," he grumbled as she settled against him. "Never has earning a few lashes of a whip been so tempting."
She shivered against him. "Please, Eomer, don't even joke about such a thing. I have seen you hurt enough to last a lifetime."
He pressed his lips against her hair, and turned his attention back to Edoras.
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Aragorn handed Brego's reins to one of Rohan's young stable boys and told his horse to behave for the lad. Then he turned his attention to the Golden Hall of Edoras. Memories from his last visit swirled. Eowyn - beautiful, vulnerable, so very sad. He had tried to let her down gently, but it had been impossible not to inflict hurt. Had he known the depths of her despair, that she would ride out with the men… He sighed. What was past, was past, and all had ended well except… Eomer. The loss of his friend, a man who he thought of as a brother, was even more acute now he stood before the place Eomer had called home. There was something else pulling at his senses, though. Something far darker than a spirit of mourning.
"Do you feel it?" he asked Faramir as the prince joined him. He struggled to find the words to describe what he was feeling as he opened himself to his surroundings. "There is… a heaviness."
Faramir gave a barely imperceptible shrug. "They are about to bury their king."
"No, it is more than that." Suddenly he knew what it was. "It is fear that I taste in the air."
Faramir glanced at him. "Perhaps that is from me, for I admit I am not looking forward to this audience."
That he could understand. It was one thing to face an orc army without flinching. It was quite another to face possible rejection by the woman you loved. He patted Faramir's back in supportive affection. "I believe you will soon find your fears groundless. Remember, though, what is shown on the surface is often not that which is in the heart."
"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?" Faramir asked, huffing out a breath.
"Exactly what it says," Aragorn replied. "Come, let's get this over with."
Four men in an unfamiliar blue livery stepped into his path as he headed towards the hall. They bowed politely and one of them addressed him. "Your Majesty, Queen Eowyn has asked that we escort you."
He inclined his head in polite acknowledgement of the honour guard. "That is most thoughtful of her, but she and I are old friends. There is no need for such formality." Before they could object he neatly sidestepped them and bounded up the steps to the large wooden doors of the Golden Hall. The guards there looked somewhat flustered at his sudden appearance. He smiled warmly. "Will you not open the door for me, lads?"
For a moment he thought they would deny him. But then, as though suddenly realising that the King of Gondor could not be kept standing around like a peddler of cheap corn, they were suddenly tripping over themselves to do his bidding.
He stepped into the gloom of the Golden Hall, ready to battle whatever evil awaited.