A/N: Happy New Year! I hope you all enjoyed the festive season. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. On with the story once again…
Chapter 26 – A message for the king
"We need to get a message to King Elessar," Elfhelm said. He was sitting in Eothain's tent, a bowl of hot stew in his hand and a tankard of ale on the table in front of him. Erika was by his side, her attention on her meal. The comforting sounds of an eored at rest drifted through the doorway. Laughter. Bawdy jokes. The occasional voice raised in song. It was a good feeling, but one he felt uneasy about enjoying while Eomer's fate was still unknown.
Eothain frowned. "That may not be easy. I am supposed to be many leagues from here. As are all the men of the eored."
"Then I will have to go," Elfhelm said. "Enough time has passed that it would not seem unreasonable for me to be returning from Gondor. However, Ceorl is sure to keep a close eye on me the moment my presence is made known to him. It is possible that once I am in the city, I may not be able to leave again."
Erika looked up. "I will go. My face is not known to the guards of Edoras."
"Absolutely not," Elfhelm said, earning himself a surprised look from Eothain. "It is far too dangerous."
"Nonsense," Erika replied. "I will enter the city as a widow seeking work in the kitchen. No one will even notice me."
"Everyone will notice you," Elfhelm argued.
Eothain caught his eye. "Though I do not wish to cause discord between you and your lady…"
"I am not his lady," Erika interjected, causing Elfhelm to flinch inwardly. Did she not know how much he desired the opposite? Clearly he could forget such a dream, since the idea displeased her so.
"Forgive me," Eothain said, with a slight bow of his head. "Whatever the reason for it, Elfhelm, I fear you are being overly protective. It makes sense for Erika to undertake this task."
"And undertake it I will," Erika said.
Elfhelm cursed silently. They were both right, of course. Nevertheless he hated the idea of Erika placing herself at risk. "Very well, but not before day break. I will not have her wandering Edoras alone at night. With Ceorl in charge, I hesitate to imagine what evil now walks freely in the dark." He dragged his eyes from her and turned his attention back to Eothain. "What of Eomer?"
The rider leaned back in his chair, picking up his ale as he did so. "That is already taken care of." He raised his tankard. "Let us drink to his health and safe return."
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Ceorl paced before the empty throne in the Golden Hall. He had consulted Galwyn again, but learnt nothing new. The Flames of Foresight still betrayed her. She could see nothing but a blazing light. Now he felt as blind as her. A few days before the future had seemed so clear to him. Rohan's queen and its throne were to be his. Two more days and everything he desired would've fallen into his hands like a ripe apple.
Now his plans threatened to unravel. Galwyn did not know whether Selred had succeeded in his task of killing Eomer or not. Even now, the king could burst through the doors and lay claim to that which was rightfully his.
Exhausted, Ceorl sank onto the throne, running his hands along the smooth wood that had served Rohan's kings for so many long and tumultuous years. No. He would not let this happen. He would not lose all that he and his mother had worked so hard for - not this late in the game. Since he could not rely on Selred, he would send men of his own. Eomer, Son of Eomund could not be allowed to return to the Golden Hall.
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"Riders!" Eomer said, his sharp eyes spotting the dust cloud on the road ahead. The sun had barely risen, and he and Lothiriel had yet to breakfast. A more dismal start to the day was hard to imagine. He slowed the horse, not wanting to give them away by travelling at a suspiciously fast pace.
Lothiriel put to good use one of the new Rohirric curses she had learnt over recent days. "How many?"
"They are still too far for me to discern. At least three. Maybe more." He peered round at the surrounding countryside in the vain hope some form of cover might suddenly appear from the plain. The horse whuffed impatiently as it sensed his uncertainty through the reins, and he clicked his tongue to reassure it. There was no where to go except straight on towards the riders.
Lothiriel glanced at him. "Too many to fight."
He couldn't deny it. "We will get past them," he said, with more conviction than he felt.
"How?"
"By not making the same mistake as before." He held out his left arm, tugging the sleeve of his tunic up to his elbow. "Remove it."
Her eyes widened as she stared at the splint on his arm. "The bone has not had time yet to heal."
"It will not heal at all if I am dead," he said. She flinched at that and though he felt bad for hurting her with such a sharp reminder, he dismissed the emotion. There was no time for sweet words and thoughts of sensibilities. "Do it, Lothiriel. Now."
Her face grim, she pulled a small dagger from its hiding place in her skirts. Eomer slowed the horse even more as she set the blade against the bindings. He didn't want to end up explaining to the riders why his forearm was newly cut and bleeding. Fortunately Lothiriel was deft, and a few moments later his arm was free. She tossed the splints into the back of the cart where they would easily be mistaken for firewood. The strips of bandages vanished into a pocket. Eomer flexed the fingers of his left hand and tested out his wrist. The limb seemed well enough, although he knew that was most likely deceiving. As soon as possible he would need to get it splinted again.
Now wasn't the time to worry about that, though. The riders were almost upon them. He glanced at Lothiriel, registered how worried she looked. One day soon, he was going to see to it that she had nothing more troublesome to concern her than what colour her next dress would be. She smiled weakly at him, gently squeezed his fingers and then turned her attention to the riders.
It was worse than he thought. There were six of them. All well armed and armoured. There was absolutely no possibility of taking them on in battle and winning. He ducked his head down, adopted what he hoped was a suitably cowed posture and pulled the cart to a halt. Hooves thundered as the men bore down on them. Two went past, reining in their mounts to the rear of the cart. Two stopped either side of the cart, level with himself and Lothiriel. The other pair stopped just in front, preventing any opportunity of forward progress. They were totally surrounded.
"Hail, Eomer," the rider to the right of Eomer said.
It was over then. Ceorl had found him.
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Erika could see that it wasn't going to be difficult to get through the main gate. The king's funeral was planned for the next day. As a result, Edoras was crowded with people wishing to pay their respects, as well as numerous traders who knew that a gathering meant an opportunity to sell their wares. Nevertheless she waited until the guards were engaged with a trader pushing a cart filled with caged ducks before slipping past.
Once inside, it was not difficult to get her bearings. The Golden Hall towered majestically in front of her. The main steps led to two large wooden doors, which were guarded by blue liveried soldiers. She watched for a few moments, observing how they turned everyone away with the exception of others dressed as they were. Clearly that was not going to be her way in.
Drifting with the crowd, she moved to the left of the hall, following her nose as much as her instinct. The smell of fresh bread grew stronger as she drew nearer, and it was not long before she discovered herself by the bake house. Taking up another position from which she could watch, she observed the hot loaves being stacked on a long trestle table near the outside door. As another batch was slid into the ovens, a young girl wrapped half a dozen freshly cooked loaves with a clean muslin cloth and then carried them through a different door, presumably into the hall itself. Some time passed, and then the girl reappeared, gathered up six more loaves and headed off again. Perfect.
Erika waited until the baker and his assistant were fully occupied in shaping a fresh batch of dough. Heart pounding she slipped through the outer door and prayed they would not turn to look at her as she grabbed a cloth from the pile at one end of the table and swiftly wrapped a couple of loaves in it. The skin pricked at the back of her neck as she headed for the door to the hall, expecting at any moment to be apprehended. Luck was with her, though. She stepped through the doorway and into a cool, dark passageway without any one stopping her.
The light was dim here, and she paused to give her eyes chance to adjust. Paused too, to calm her nerves, knowing as she did that there was far more danger inside than out. Especially the danger that she had not mentioned to Elfhelm for fear he would prevent her from taking on this task, and risk himself instead. No point in dwelling on that now, though. Time to move on. Elfhelm had drawn a map of the hall for her and she'd done her best to memorise it. However, his neatly sketched lines and squares seemed to bear little resemblance to the corridors and doors that lay ahead. She took a deep breath, offered up a brief prayer and headed to her left, trusting to her memory. If the bake house was behind her, then this route should lead her past a number of storerooms to a staircase and a doorway. The latter opened into a set of rooms behind the throne room. The stairs would take her to the rooms occupied by the queen and her guests. Elfhelm had told her that it was likely the King of Gondor would be give accommodations on the eastside of the hall.
She found the stairs without problem, and hurried up them, but to her dismay she discovered the upper corridor was filled with people. For a moment her nerve almost failed her, but then she spotted several trays of food carelessly discarded on a bench. Breakfast trays awaiting collection by the looks of it. Adopting the near-invisible attitude of a servant she quickly cleared one off and then restocked it with a clean goblet, a half-full flagon of ale and several slices of bread from one of the loaves she'd been carrying. The addition of an untouched pat of butter and a pot of honey made the tray appear as though it was fresh.
Armed now with the tray instead of the loaves, she wove her way amongst the crowd. There were yet more blue liveried guards, and a large number of every day folk gathered in groups of two or three. Here and there she caught snippets of conversation. Ah, so they were waiting for an audience with the First Marshall. With luck they would all be more interested in their own business than in the passage of a nameless servant girl with a tray of food.
Up ahead she saw the door she was heading for. A large round shield hung over the lintel, the colours of both Rohan and Gondor painted upon it. Elfhelm said it was a symbol of the oaths Eomer had sworn to Elessar at the end of the war – oaths that promised Rohan would always come to the aid of Gondor should such aid be needed. Now she hoped fervently that the King of Gondor would come to the aid of the King of Rohan. She stepped closer, and suddenly found her way barred by a giant of a man in a blue tunic.
"Your business here?" he demanded.
She adopted a small demure smile. "I bring breakfast for the king." Please, please, don't let him have eaten already.
The guard frowned. "Where is the girl that normally serves these rooms? I was not told to expect someone who is unfamiliar to me."
"She was taken unwell." Erika saw his frown deepen, and so strengthened the lie by smiling coyly. "As for our unfamiliarity, perhaps we can remedy that when you get off duty."
He brighten as he realised she was flirting with him, and his eyes took careful stock of her figure. "Perhaps we could. And where might I find you?"
"In the kitchen. Unless of course I am dismissed from my position for serving the king's breakfast with undue tardiness."
"That would be an ill fate for a pretty wench such as yourself," he said. "Best you hurry up and see to the king's needs." His eyes followed her as she moved past him. "I shall look forward to you seeing to mine later."
She smiled at him. Cur. As though she would allow his unwashed body anywhere close to her own. Right now, though, she had more important things to think about. Stepping up to the door, she gave a quick knock and without waiting for a response, she slipped into the room.
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Eomer looked at the rider who had addressed him, knowing there was little point in denying his identity and yet still determined to try. The words died on his lips as he found it was a familiar pair of blue eyes that stared back at him from behind the protection of a helmet. All hope vanished. It was Jerling, a rider from the eored that had once been his. One who did not need a splinted arm to recognise him. "Am I betrayed by my own men now?" he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.
"Betrayal, sire?" Confusion flickered across the young man's face. "Nay. We've been sent by Lord Eothain to escort you to safety."
"Eothain?" Eomer could scarcely believe his ears. If there was one person he could trust in addition to Elfhelm, it would be Eothain.
"Aye, your Majesty. He awaits your arrival with much eagerness. He and Lord Elfhelm."
Lothiriel gave a sigh of relief. "Elfhelm lives? And the woman travelling with him?"
"Both are quite safe, mi'lady."
One of the riders at the front of the cart suddenly wheeled his horse around. "Jerling! Blue breasts approach." He gestured down the road. Jerling glanced over his shoulder and swore under his breath.
"Blue what?" Eomer demanded, squinting in the direction of Edoras. A second dust cloud was visible now.
"Marshall Ceorl's personal guard," Jerling spat with disgust. He too wheeled his horse around, gesturing to the riders behind the cart as he did so. "You two, stay with the king. The rest of you, with me."
Eomer was on his feet now, his hand reaching for his sword. Lothiriel caught at his arm, her expression imploring. "Please, don't. Let them fight this one for you."
"Lothiriel…" It went against everything he was to let other men do battle for him.
"You need to save your strength," she said. "They are fit and healthy and eager to prove themselves before you. Please, Eomer."
He slumped down, knowing she was right, but still hating the situation. "There must be no more deaths, Lothiriel."
She squeezed his hand gently. "You are the king, Eomer. Better get used to people protecting you."
"I will never get used to it. Never."
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There were two men seated by the fire. Erika hadn't expected that. "King Elessar?"
The elder of the two glanced towards her, his face irritated. His gaze shifted down to the tray in her hands. "Are we to have no peace? We have already broken our fast."
"Forgive me, you Majesty." She gave a dip of a curtsey, recalled how Eomer had once been impatient with such an action, and decided it best to come straight to the point. Except, who was the young man sitting with the king? She glanced at him and took her courage into her hands. "If I may be so bold as to ask your name, sir?"
Both men frowned at her, and it was the king who answered. "This is Faramir, the Prince of Ithilien."
Faramir? Ah yes, the future husband of Eomer's sister and a friend of the king. Relief made her hands shake and she hurriedly set the tray down on the table next to the bed. "Thank goodness." She turned back to Aragorn. "Sire, I have a message for you from Master Eothain. He requests that you meet with him as soon as possible. Also…"
The door burst open behind her, and she spun round, the news that Eomer was still alive dying on her lips. Horror washed over her like a wave of iced water. It was Ceorl. She had hoped their paths would not cross, had prayed as much when she volunteered for this task. Now she all but held her breath. Would he recognise her from the rare occasions they had attended the same harvest celebrations in the northern villages? Hopefully not. There had always been other girls who were older and prettier than her. Girls who had gladly claimed his attention. As his gaze fell on her she ducked her head, feigning obeisance. Too late. She saw his glare become tinged with puzzlement.
"Woman, what are you doing in the king's quarters?"
"Peace, Ceorl," Aragorn said before she could reply. "She meant no harm. She is simply a woman seeking work as…"
"A seamstress," Erika said as she heard the slight hesitation in Aragorn's voice. "I heard a rumour that the Lady Arwen had need of such and…"
Her relief that the king had covered for her was short-lived. Ceorl grabbed her arm, the bite of his fingers forcing her to look up. His eyes narrowed as he scanned her face. "Where do I know you from?"
"The kitchens, my lord. I have been employed to help what with Edoras being so full of visitors and all." Her heart was pounding now. The lie unconvincing to her own ears
He shook his head. "No, your face… I have seen you… somewhere else." He turned back to Aragorn, his fingers still clasped tightly around her arm. "I will see to it that she does not trouble you further."
"There is no need to concern yourself," Aragorn replied. "I'm sure she meant no harm, and was merely…"
"On the contrary, your Majesty. I consider it a matter of grave concern when a royal guest is disturbed for no good reason." With that, he yanked her towards the door.
Aragorn stepped forward. "Ceorl, I do not think it necessary…"
"With all due respect, your Majesty, I would ask that you not interfere in this matter. There are certain matters of security, Rohan security, that you are not privy to at this time."
Erika saw the king's lips narrow into a tight white line. He inclined his head in acceptance to Ceorl, but when his eyes met hers they were filled with apology. Moments later she was out in the hallway. Two guards were standing nearby and Ceorl all but threw her at them. "Hold her," he snarled. Strong hands closed around her arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but a sweaty palm pressed down over her lips, silencing her, and she found herself staring up at the face of the guard she had flirted with earlier. Ceorl's voice was a malevolent hiss. "I may not recall your face now, my lady, but I will do." He jerked his head at her captors. "Lock her away. I will question her later."
Furious at being caught, Erika realised with sickening certainty that there was nothing she could do to help herself as she was dragged away. A few curious eyes turned in her direction but almost immediately became blind as they saw the blue uniforms. She could almost taste the fear of those around her. There would be no aid from that source. Thank the gods she'd managed to deliver at least part of her message before Ceorl's untimely arrival. The King of Gondor might still be ignorant of Eomer's existence, but hopefully he would respond to Eothain's request. If she now faced imprisonment and perhaps torture, then so be it. Her loyalty would ever belong to the true King of Rohan.