A/N: Sorry, sorry – I know it is mean to play havoc with Eomer and Lothiriel's wedding day, but what can I say. Some times us writers just have to let the evil muse have its way. So, ready for one last cliff-hanger?

Chapter 32 – Cold revenge

She had been recognised. Of that Galwyn had no doubt. A thousand curses on that wretched healer. Fingers gripping hard at the tray of sweetmeats and wine she was carrying, she ducked into an alcove and took a moment to calm herself. To have come this far unobserved, right into the very heart of the Golden Hall itself, had been no easy task. Every moment she remained here was torture. The exuberant mood of the guests was a painful counterpoint to her grief. Her son was dead, killed by the man they now praised and whose wedding they were here to celebrate. That Eomer, Son of Eomund should be alive was injustice enough. That he should be happy was more than she could bear.

She breathed in, and then slowly exhaled, forcing her muscles to relax as she did so. She would not let nerves betray her now. Nor would that runt of a girl bring about her ruin. The fates were on her side. The throne of Rohan was destined to be a seat of misery for the new king. She would personally see to that.

The trembling of her limbs was calmed now, and she once again set off through the narrow hallways. As she had suspected, no one paid any attention to a middle-aged servant going about her business, and it took scarcely any time for her to reach the door to the princess' chamber. Her polite knock was answered by a young girl, face flushed with excitement. Galwyn knew from observing the royal party earlier that this was the youngest of the three maids that attended Lothiriel. Not only was she young, she wasn't exactly the sharpest of girls. Yes, the fates were definitely with her.

"I have refreshments for the princess," Galwyn said. She stepped forward as she spoke, giving the girl little option but to admit her to the room. Almost immediately, the maid turned away, her attention drawn back to pair of women in the centre of the chamber who were fussing over the seated figure of the bride to be.

Keeping her face averted, Galwyn crossed the room and set the tray down on a small side table. A quick glance told her no one was paying her any attention. Perfect. She drew a small silk handkerchief from her pocket. The corners had been tied together so that it formed a pouch. Carefully she untied the thread that held it, and then moved towards the young women, all of whom were now busily working Lothiriel's hair into an intricate confection of ringlets and curls. So thoughtful of them to gather so closely together.

She paused behind then, murmured an incantation and then, holding tightly onto one corner, snapped the handkerchief into the air above their heads. The action released a cloud of silvery-grey powder. Galwyn hurriedly stepped back, holding her breath. Four pairs of eyes swivelled towards her. Lothiriel leapt to her feet, a cry of alarm forming on her lips but not sounding. Two of her maids had already collapsed at her feet. She half-turned as the third one crumpled to her right. An intricately carved comb dropping from the maid's fingers and skittered across the floor to Galwyn's feet. Then finally, Lothiriel dropped to the floor.

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"I know it is churlish of me to ask, but how many more people do I have to make polite conversation with?" Eomer asked as Elfhelm closed the door on yet another set of well-wishing visitors.

"Only two, your Majesty, and they asked if they may see you together. Shall I show them in?"

"Their names?"

Elfhelm shot an affectionate look in Eomer's direction. "I do not think they need an introduction." He opened the door and beckoned to the two as yet unseen people.

Eomer's heart lifted as they stepped into view. "Legolas! Gimli! Welcome." Two strides took him across the room, and he grasped Legolas' forearm in greeting. "I was told you were travelling far off in the east."

Legolas gave an elegant smile that somehow also managed to be mischievous. "Surely you did not think we would miss your wedding?"

"Aye, lad," Gimli said, taking his turn at greeting Eomer. "I need to see this queen of yours with my own eyes." He hesitated, and then asked. "Is it true you consider her fairer than the Lady Galadriel?"

Ah, so Gimli wanted another round of that game, did he? Very tempting. However, the last time the subject of the Elven Queen had arisen, blows had almost been exchanged, and Eomer doubted Lothiriel would understand were her bridegroom to greet her in the Golden Hall with a bruised face and black eyes. He inclined his head and smiled graciously. "I have heard it said that beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

Gimli snorted. "What is the world coming too that a Rider of Rohan will not speak for his lady even on his wedding day?"

Eomer laughed. "Perhaps this particular Rider of Rohan has learnt not to be drawn into arguments by the words of a sly old fox?"

At that Gimli also laughed. He elbowed Legolas in the ribs in a display of delight. "Seems our hot-headed marshal has learnt to tame his tongue since a crown has been put on his head."

Relieved to have escaped the good-natured goading, Eomer gestured towards a table that was laid with a generous amount of food. "Have you eaten? It seems that Elfhelm and I have been supplied with a lunch that is far more than is necessary for two."

Legolas inclined his head in polite refusal. "We broke our fast but a short-time ago."

Gimli, however, was already half-way to the table. "Elves," he muttered to Eomer. "They like to walk on snow you know. I, however, have room for a snack at least." His gaze fell on a bronze flagon. "Would that be some of that fine ale you people brew?"

"Indeed it would," Eomer said. He opened a small closet and took out extra tankards. "Elfhelm, come and eat. Quickly, now, before this dwarf clears the table!" As Gimli began to pile a plate, Eomer poured the ale. He was just about to drink from his own tankard when the door to his chamber burst open.

Eothain charged into the room, his sword in his hand. "Eomer, are you alright?" Horror twisted his features as he focused on the tankard Eomer was about to raise to his lips. "No!" He leapt across the room, grabbed it from Eomer's hand, and hurled the contents out of the open window. Whirling he prodded at a loaf of bread as though it might suddenly leap from the tray and pummel Eomer to death. "Have you eaten any of this?"

"Eothain, have you completely lost your senses?" Eomer asked, too stunned to be anything more than bemused by the sudden interruption.

"Have you touched the food?" Eothain demanded.

"No," Eomer replied, stepping forward to relieve Gimli of his laden plate. He set it on the table with a frown. "Eothain?"

"And the ale? Had you already supped the ale?"

Eomer's gaze moved wistfully to the window. "No, although I am beginning to feel in dire need of a drink. Whatever is the matter, man?"

Relief made Eothain's shoulders sag. "Galwyn has been seen. Erika saw her in the kitchens. She was carrying a tray of food."

"What?" The shock was like a physical blow to Eomer.

Legolas stepped forward, arms crossed over his chest. "Galwyn is the woman who imprisoned you, is she not?"

Eomer nodded. Damn the woman. Why did she have to choose now to reappear?

Elfhelm's hand was on the hilt of his sword as he interrupted the conversation. "Is Erika all right?"

Eothain nodded briefly. "Aye, she is well, a little bit breathless from running to raise the alarm perhaps." He sheathed his sword with a violent thrust, and turned his attention back to Eomer. "Are you sure…"

"I am perfectly well," Eomer said. "I think I would've noticed if it had been Galwyn who brought me my lunch." He shuddered, the memory of a cold, damp prison cell chilling his bones like an icy draught.

"Where is Erika?" Elfhelm demanded. "Did you leave her alone? If Galwyn…"

"Peace, friend," Eothain interrupted. "Your lady is perfectly safe. I left two of the eored to watch over her."

"Thank you," Elfhelm huffed out a breath.

Eomer was pacing now. "She was certain it was Galwyn?" he asked Eothain.

"Aye, your Majesty, though she said the witch has bleached her hair in order to pass unnoticed amongst us." Eothain straightened his shoulders. "With your permission, I will double the guard at your door and…"

"No." Eomer frowned as he digested the news. Galwyn was here, and without doubt meant him ill.

"No?" Eothain and Elfhelm said in unison, exchanging concerned looks.

Gimli glanced at Eothain. "Don't you go fretting about extra guards, laddie. The elf and I will see to it this witch doesn't get anywhere him."

Eomer stared at the food, and then slowly turned and looked at the door. If Galwyn hadn't attempted to come to him then… His stomach suddenly twisted as realisation struck. He rushed towards the door only to be pulled to a halt by a strong hand curled around his wrist.

Legolas met his angry glare with cool blue eyes. "Where are you going?"

Eomer wrenched his arm free as he fought to control his anger. "It isn't me that Galwyn is after. It's Lothiriel."

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Lothiriel regained consciousness quickly and painfully. Fear clawed at her. Was she blind? Why couldn't she see? She was lying on her side, legs tucked into her chest. Panic inched closer as she tried to move and found she couldn't. Her feet were pressed against something solid, and the skin of her knees scraped against a rough surface. Trapped. The knowledge was like a blow. She was folded into a small, dark place, and… She groaned inwardly as other sensations registered now. She both bound and gagged.

The sharp claws of panic latched onto her now. Suddenly she couldn't breath. Lights began to dance behind her eyes, as she desperately tried to inhale the warm, stale air of her prison. She was going to die. Suffocated. Buried.

A sudden jolt made her grunt with pain as momentum thrust her cramped body against one end of her prison. For a moment, she was too stunned to think as her muscles and limbs screamed a protest. Slowly, though, she pushed the hurt down to a bearable level. The jolt had to mean she was inside a moveable object. A box or a trunk of some kind. Yes, that made sense. That explained the cramped space, the darkness, and the poor quality of the air. Fighting the urge to kick out and scream, she forced herself to be still and concentrate on listening. There - she could make out a few muffled noises now. A scraping sound was coming from beneath her, but stopped almost immediately. There was something else - perhaps the murmuring of voices? It was too soft to make out.

Another jolt made her bite down on the gag, the rough cloth providing unexpected comfort as she began to contemplate the only thing that made sense of her current situation. She was being kidnapped. But by whom?

The sudden assault of memory would've caused her to cry out were she capable of doing so. Galwyn. She remembered only too clearly now. She'd been in the chamber that had once belonged to Eowyn. Her maids had been putting the finishing touches to her hair, and she was looking forward to putting on her wedding dress. And then - then she'd turned and looked into the face of Galwyn.

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Eomer burst into Lothiriel's chamber, too concerned to worry about knocking. "No!" He all but fell as he saw the bodies on the floor. Dead? No, she couldn't be dead. Legolas caught at his arm, steadying him. Elfhelm and Eothain both pushed past him. Elfhelm dropped to his knees beside the nearest body, and he brushed back the dark hair covering the woman's face. He glanced at Eothain, who was checking the other two women, both fair-haired, and then he looked up at Eomer. "She isn't here, Eomer."

Eomer swallowed hard, battling to keep the tumult of emotions in check. He could see now that there were only three bodies - Lothiriel's personal maid, and two Rohirrim women who had been thrilled to serve their future queen on her special day. "Are they…?"

"Just unconscious," Elfhelm replied, his fingers at the pulse point of the maid's neck.

Relief hit him like a wave. If they still lived, then there was hope yet. Eomer gazed frantically round the room, seeking clues, yet too overwhelmed to actually register details. Where was she? How could Galwyn had spirited her away against her will? Was it magic or…?

Gimli and Legolas had both entered the room now. The dwarf bent, scooping a woollen blanket from a pile of other bedclothes on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Is your new queen prone to untidiness?" he asked Eomer.

"What?" Eomer stared at him blankly. Lothiriel was missing and Gimli wanted to discuss her housekeeping skills? Was he completely mad?

Unperturbed by Eomer's reaction, Gimli shoved the bedclothes to one side and tapped his booted foot against the wooden floor. An oblong of darker coloured wood stood out against the sun-bleached paleness of the rest of the floor. "Unless I am very much mistaken, a chest stood here but a short time ago. A chest that held these blankets."

Legolas immediately stepped forward. "You are right, my friend. See here - faint scratches in the floorboards. It was dragged towards the door - and clearly it was heavy. More than woollen blankets were held within."

Eomer stalked forward, his fingers wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. "Are you telling me that Lothiriel was taken from here in a blanket box?"

Legolas nodded. "No alarm has been raised. How else would a kidnapper succeed in getting her out of the Golden Hall unseen?"

Distraught, Eomer sank onto the bed. "Then she could be anywhere. How can we possibly hope to find her?"

"Legolas will track her," Gimli said confidently.

Eomer looked towards the elf, fresh hope in his heart, only for it to be quenched immediately as Legolas shook his head.

"I am sorry," Legolas said. "With so many visitors moving around Edoras, any tracks will already be obliterated." He moved towards the window and sighed heavily as he gazed out of it. "Wait a minute." He spun to face Eomer again. "There is one small hope. What is the highest point of the city?"

"Easily accessible? The beacon tower," Eomer replied.

"Of course. Come!"

"Legolas," Eomer began, uncertain what he hoped to gain by climbing the tower. However, the elf was already out of the room and half way down the corridor, and he had to satisfy himself with merely running after him.

A few minutes later, gasping for breath, Eomer reached the top of the watchtower. Legolas was leaning casually against the outer railing, his calm demeanour suggesting he had merely strolled up the stairway.

"There," Legolas said, pointing across the plain.

Eomer squinted, and then shook his head. "I don't see anything."

"A cloud of dust. Travellers moving away from Edoras."

"You think it might be Galwyn?" Dear god, let it be Galwyn. And please, let Lothiriel be alive and unharmed.

"Who else would wish to depart the city on your wedding day?" Legolas turned. "There is a small rise with some kind of structure on it not more than a league further on. Do you know this place?"

Eomer felt nausea rise in his gut. "The Carrion Hill. It is a place of execution, rarely used in our history." He drew in a shaky breath. "I ordered Ceorl's body to be hung there as a warning to anyone else that might care to challenge my authority." He stared at Legolas unable to voice the horrifying suspicion he now had as to Galwyn's intent.

The elf met his gaze, a dark glint in his eyes. "A life for a life," he said, confirming Eomer's fear. He glanced out at the plain again. "We have little time.

Gimli huffed into the tower, his face red and sweaty from the climb. "Well, what have you discovered?"

Eomer pushed past him, taking the stairs two at a time. "We think we know where Galwyn is taking Lothiriel. Hurry!"

"Hurry?" Gimli panted. "You don't even know the meaning of the word, laddie."

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The lid of Lothiriel's prison suddenly opened, sunlight blinding her as she squinted up at the face of her captor.

"Still alive then?" Galwyn hissed, staring down at her with malevolence. She reached into the chest, wrapped strong fingers around Lothiriel's upper arms and hauled her upright.

Pain flared through cramped muscles, and nausea roiled in Lothiriel's stomach. No, she couldn't be sick. Not with a gag in her mouth. Desperately she forced herself to stay calm, to focus on the thought that her absence from the Golden Hall was sure to be noticed, and that Eomer was no doubt already racing to her rescue.

"Yes, he's coming," Galwyn said, apparently reading her mind. "Sadly he will be too late to save you from execution."

Execution? Lothiriel's limbs suddenly felt weak. Was that what Galwyn planned? To kill her rather than hold her for ransom? Now her eyes had adjusted to the light she quickly took in her surroundings. She was sitting in the blanket box from her bedroom. The box was on the back of a small horsedrawn cart, which was stationary on top of a small rise. To her right she could make out the walls of Edoras. To her left was open plain. In front of her was a sight that chilled her to the bone. A wooden framework stood starkly against the azure sky. She stared up at it, her gaze transfixed by the noose that hung from one of the beams.

"Ugly isn't it?" Galwyn said. "Your bridegroom thought it a fitting resting place for my son. Hung his body there for the crows to feed on."

Frustrated Lothiriel tried to speak despite the rough material that gagged her.

"Want to defend him, my pretty?" Galwyn considered a moment. "Well, why not. It isn't as though there is anyone to hear your screams for help."

Lothiriel spat out a mouthful of rag as Galwyn released the gag. She sucked air deep into her lungs, before speaking. "Your son was a traitor. Eomer only did what was necessary."

"Hanging his body on a gibbet? Was that necessary?"

"What did you expect? An honour guard to attend his burial?" Lothiriel hissed in pain as Galwyn leaned over and pulled her to her feet. The numbness of her limbs quickly turned to the discomfort of pins and needles, and nausea once again threatened.

"I expected him to be king," Galwyn said, her face mere inches from Lothiriel's. "Instead that cur from the House of Eorl cheated death time and again, and took back that which was not his to have in the first place."

"The throne belongs to Eomer," Lothiriel replied, winning her battle with her stomach once again. "None of your plots and schemes could alter that. Even your dark magic failed against him. Is that not proof enough that the gods are on his side?"

Galwyn suddenly reached out, tangling her fingers into Lothiriel's hair and pulling her even closer. "And what of you? Are the gods on your side, Princess of Dol Amroth?"

"Eomer will come and when he does…"

A peal of humourless laughter tore from Galwyn. "When he does, he will find you dead, hanging from the same place that he put my son. The third line of kings will be a short one for no woman will ever bear him a child. Forever will I haunt his steps and he will learn that to even cast an affectionate look on a female will be the equivalent of signing her death warrant. The gods may have granted him a throne and a country, but I will see to it that he rules in loneliness and misery and that he is forever remembered as Eomer the Cursed."

Horrified, Lothiriel pulled away. Words failed her, not because of the threat to her own life, but at the enormity of the hatred that Galwyn had for Eomer. She tugged futilely at her bonds. There had to be something she could do. Some way to stop this. Despair bit deep as Galwyn forced her from the cart. With her hands tied behind her back how could she possibly do anything to save herself, let alone Eomer?

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Eomer arrived at the stable to find Brego and Firefoot obediently following Aragorn towards the door. Neither horse wore saddle or bridle. Legolas hurried past, heading for Hasulfel's stall. Trailing behind, although eager to catch up, were Gimli, Eothain and Elfhelm.

Aragorn glanced at Eomer, his face serious. "You can ride bareback, can you not?"

He scrubbed his hand over his face as he tried to catch up with the notion that Aragorn was not only here, but clearly intended to ride out with him. "Of course, but…"

"Then let us not waste time with saddles and bridle. Lothiriel's life may depend on our speed."

"How did you know?" Eomer asked, as he grabbed a handful of Firefoot's mane and swung himself onto the horse's back.

Aragorn settled himself on Brego. "You Rohirrim have a number of strange customs. I do not think racing up the watchtower on your wedding day is one of them."

Ah, he should've known that action would not have gone unnoticed. "Galwyn has her," he said, knowing the name would explain all.

"I feared as much," Aragorn replied. He shot Eomer a sympathetic look. "Do not worry, my friend, we will get your bride back." He turned and shouted into the dim interior of the stable. "Legolas? Do you intend to dally all day?"

The sound of thundering hooves came in response. Legolas and Hasulfel burst through the doorway and galloped towards the gate, scattering Rohirrim children and livestock in their wake. Eomer and Aragorn immediately urged their own horses on.

"What about us," Elfhelm called, as he arrived at the stable, out of breath. Behind him was Eothain, and some distance further was Gimli.

Eomer threw his reply over his shoulder. "You know where we're heading. Follow as fast as you can."

Gimli snorted as he caught up with the two eored riders. "So, which one of you gentleman is going to share a saddle with me?"

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Although he was not unaccustomed to riding bareback, Eomer rarely did so at such breakneck speed. He knew the action was reckless, but he did not care. In fact, he was grateful that it required all his attention to ensure he stayed on Firefoot's back. It was far too painful to think of Lothiriel in Galwyn's hands. He cursed silently, berating his own stupidity. When Elfhelm had returned with the news that Galwyn had apparently fled towards the Haradrim, Eomer had decided not to spend any more time and manpower in attempting to capture her. There were too many other pressing needs that needed his attention. However, he should've known that Galwyn's hatred of him would draw her back to Rohan. Should've guessed too that she would not strike directly at him but rather at the one person he held most precious. By the gods, this time he would see to it that Galwyn would not cause trouble for his house again. This time he would see her dead.

They were almost at the hill now. The lighter coloured vegetation on its slopes made it easy to pick out the gibbet and two figures, one of which was…

"No!" A gut-wrenching cry tore from him as his brain made sense of what he was seeing. From this distance he could see that one of the two figures was standing beneath the gibbet. It had to be Lothiriel, and from her narrow silhouette he guessed that her hands tied behind her back. Standing by the upright beam was a second figure. Galwyn. Eomer cursed. He knew how the gibbet worked. Galwyn would be standing next to a metal ring, to which a rope would be secured - a rope which was no doubt looped over the arm of the gibbet and then around Lothiriel's neck. The witch was going to hang her.