Chapter Thirteen
The sound of voices, one raised in anger, stirred her out of her slumber. Why are there people fighting in my room? She thought sleepily. She raised her hand to grab a pillow but when she felt the restraining force of the coarse rope, she jolted up, instantly awake.
"It's not a dream," she breathed softly. She really had been attacked in her room. She had been kidnapped! Her eyes scanned around the dimly lit area, but besides finding out that she was kept hostage in a large tent and that she had slept on a thin mattress with several bundles of cloth, she saw nothing else. But she heard a lot. And one of it was the angry yelling that had awakened her. She tried to get to her feet, but they were bound tightly as well. To crawl out would be futile and she didn't know what was outside, it could be worse than sitting quietly in the tent. So, she pulled her knees against her chest and looped her bound arms around them and waited.
She didn't have to wait long, for no more that minutes after she had awaken, the flap of the tent was pushed aside and a man walked in. For while he moved around and did not notice that she was awake. Lothíriel took the time to look properly at her captor… or one of them, she thought fearfully. He was tall, and had blond hair but it had darkened tremendously, to match his brown skin. He was awfully thin and his movements were somewhat sluggish. And when he turned to look at her, she saw his eyes were ice blue.
"Ah, you have awakened. Did you enjoy your sleep?" he greeted her cheerfully, somehow missing the fact that she was tied up and a hostage.
"Release me" Lothíriel hissed. The man laughed and moved to her. She visibly shrunk away, scrunching smaller into herself. He sat in front of her, still smiling.
"I realize this may be a little… different, that what you are accustomed too, but you see this is crucial to achieving my goal," he said. Lothíriel glared at him.
"What do you want from me? What do I have to do with your goals?" she asked. The man pursed his lips, thinking.
"Actually, nothing. But it seems that my stupid henchman messed up and kidnapped the wrong lady. He was supposed to kidnap the Rohan queen," he said. Lothíriel gasped at that. They meant to kidnap Helena!
"You bastard!" she sneered. He wasn't perturbed by her words and remained smiling at her.
"I am what I am," he said. "Now that we've established who I am, let's discuss who you are."
He didn't know who she was? What kind of a kidnapper was he? She was just about to tell him to go and spear himself on his sword when the flap of the tent flipped open again and a body was thrown in. the man turned away from Lothíriel,
"If you would excuse me," he said then got up and walked to the other person, who was still lying on the ground. He grabbed the man's hair and yanked it hard. Lothíriel winced at the painful yelp the other man let out.
"Tell me, you filthy swine, does that look like Lady Helena to you?" he asked the man. Painfully the man got to his knees and looked properly at Lothíriel. Lothíriel let out a horrified yelp. It was Old Man Daroth!
"Are you two well acquainted? Good, tell me who this is?" he barked at Daroth. Lothíriel felt a spasm of fear, for if he found out she was indeed a princess, he may become more "ambitious". But then she remembered Daroth can not speak westernese.
"She… Éomer love… queen of Rohan," Daroth stuttered. Lothíriel's blood froze over, he can speak westernese. Her captor shook his head.
"No she isn't. Lady Helena is the future queen of Rohan. You were supposed to show the men where her room was, not this foreign wench," he said. Anger surged through her at being called a wench but she wisely kept it in. Daroth shook his head.
"No… you said Éomer's love. He loves her… not wench… princess… Dol Amroth," Daroth stammered some more. Daroth had either missed the announcement or had been too drunk to listen properly and had assumed Éomer was to marry Lothíriel. The silence was thick enough to be cut with a knife. But Lothíriel soon found his tongue.
"He is lying, he is drunkard, and what would he know? Éomer loves me not, and he is betrothed someone else," she cried, shocked of the pain in her heart as she said the words.
"Besides how can you be sure he is telling the truth?" she tried again. Her captor snorted at Daroth who was shaking his head vigorously.
"The man is too drunk to think much less concoct such a lie. Nay, he is telling the truth" Daroth visibly sighed with relief. Lothíriel, however did not share the same feelings.
"A foreign princess? Well, it would seem in searching for glass I have come upon a diamond instead," he said and dropped Daroth's head. He then yelled some command and soon a burly man entered and dragged Daroth out.
"I have heard stories of the city by the sea. So you are Imrahil's youngest daughter. How wonderful. Éomer is in love with a foreign princess, but can't marry her. How delightfully wonderful," he said, rubbing his chin. Lothíriel could nearly see the nuts and bolts churning in his head.
"With you, not only will I have Rohan but Dol Amroth as well," he said thoughtfully.
"What! Never, you overestimate yourself, my father would never comply with your wishes," she cried. He just laughed at her.
"He'll have to if he wants his daughter in one piece," he replied, an idea already formed in his head. Smiling lazily at her he reached out to touch her cheek. She quickly turned away, rejecting his touch.
"You'd best learn to tolerate my touches, princess, because once I claim Rohan, you shall be my wife, then your father can not afford to deny me anything," he said. Her eyes widen at that.
"I will never marry you," she said, her lips curled in a sneer. He just laughed.
"Yes you will," he replied and gripped both her upper arms with his hands, his nails piercing into her skin. She tried to scream but was cut off when he caught her lips in a kiss.
"ARGH!" he screamed, pulling back, his lower lip bleeding. Lothíriel glared at him, tasting his blood between her lips, satisfied she had done well to injure him, but feeling that it wasn't enough, she spat on his face. Instantly his cheery countenance was replaced with anger and hatred. Gone was the man who walked into her tent and in his place was a horrible monster. He wiped the saliva of his face and with the same hand he dealt a jaw cracking blow to her chin, not matching to his thin frame. Her head snapped back dangerously at the impact, and physical pain like never before seared through her.
"You will learn some manners when you reside in my home, princess," he hissed, grabbing her injured chin, causing more pain to throb across her face.
"You will learn also humility," he continued and yanked her to her feet. He removed a dagger from a side pouch and aimed it at her. Oh god, he's going to kill me, she thought and closed her eyes. But she opened it again, when she heard the sound of cloth ripping.
He was tearing her clothes! She tried to wriggle away, pleading at him to stop, but her squirming was met with nails dug deeper into flesh and her cries were received with more painful blows. He only released her when she was clad only in her under dress. She shied away from him as his eyes roamed hungrily over her.
"You are a beautiful maiden ready to be made into a woman, and I am just the person to do it," he said evilly. She tried to run, but her binded legs prevented any movement. And her whole body ached from his blows that she didn't have the energy to resist when he pulled her back to him. But at that moment, a man walked in and said something to her captor. He nodded curtly then waited till the other man had gone before turning back to Lothíriel.
"It seems this shall have to wait till my victory becomes real. But that is alright, I am a patient man, I can wait till then," he said then with one great push, he pushed her back onto the pile of cloths and thin mattress. His cheery façade had returned.
"Enjoy your stay, princess," he said and in three strides was out of the tent. Lothíriel waited till he was completely gone before burying her head in the mattress and giving way to the tears.
Two days had passed since one of Éowyn's ladies had reported that Lothíriel was missing. The entire Mark had been searched and there were no signs of Lothíriel or her kidnapper, as Éomer was now convinced that Lothíriel had been kidnapped. He had personally scouted the perimeters of Rohan, resting little and eating even less, but as the other search parties, he came with nothing. Standing at the highest point of Meduseld, he scanned the horizons, hoping against odds that he would spot her familiar raven tresses.
"Éomer, come inside," a feminine voice from behind him forced him too look away from the crowds below him.
"Helena, I must find her. How can I explain to Imrahil that I have lost his only daughter?" he said, his voice hoarse with the lack of energy and food. Helena moved closer to him and placed a consoling hand on his arm. Éomer had turned back to look before him.
"Éomer, I am sure she is fine. Hurting yourself like this will not bring her back any faster. Come inside, eat a proper meal and rest, for more than two minutes, and try again tomorrow. Who knows, tonight Lothíriel may just waltzed in and we all can have a good laugh over it," she said trying to make her voice uplifting and chirpy, but like Éomer, her heart was gripped with fear. For all her occasional recklessness and disregard for rules, Lothíriel was not stupid. She wouldn't disappear into the night, especially after such an attack. Deep inside Helena knew something was wrong, but she wouldn't tell that to Éomer. He was worrying enough without her to add on to it.
"I will grab a slice of bread if that will cease your nagging, but do not ask anything more from me," he answered bitterly and although his words stung her, she didn't ponder on it. He was worried, and rightfully so. Sighing softly, she waited for him to walk pass her towards the palace before falling in to walk behind him. They entered the dining hall to see Éowyn, still garbed in her tunic, her sword placed idly by her seat, already seated at her place, her eyes staring blindly at the feast before her. Her already pale face was even paler and her gold hair contrasted strongly against her skin. Éomer in turn, grabbed an apple and walked to one of the windows overlooking the city.
The silence was thick as the two siblings entertained their fear wrought thoughts and Helena just shook her head at them. But she too had not the appetite to eat any of the splendid food, her own thoughts filled with worry for the princess. The silence continued for a time until suddenly the great wooden doors of the halls burst open with a resounding slam. Three pairs of eyes turned in shock towards the figure standing in the middle of the doorway, his eyes scanning for his sovereign. Éomer stepped forward, in his shock was still speechless.
"My lord, my lord…" Helfast panted rushing towards him. His blue eyes were dark with panic and anger as he handed a piece of parchment to the king. Éowyn and Helena jumped up from their seat and stood beside Helfast. He did not turn to his daughter's imploring eyes. Instead his eyes were fixed on the king, his face contorted in anger.
"It was found tied to an arrow on the stable doors," he said with such bitterness, but Éomer's eyes were busy flying over the scrawl of black ink on the frayed paper. When he was done, he turned his eyes onto the three people before him. Helena involuntarily took a step back at the fury in Éomer's eyes. His blue eyes were nearly black and his full lips reduced to thin lines. Even his hair seemed to have darkened a shade. His posture was stiff and straight back as his strong fist threatened to reduce the paper clutched within it to mere dust. Never has Helena felt such wrath emanate form anyone with such force. Why, he was nearly trembling in his attempts to withhold his temper.
"Ready my horse, we ride. I will teach those bastards they have messed with the wrong king," he said his tone low with vengeance. Helfast nodded for he had read the letter and he too was fueled with much rage and was gone within seconds. Not looking at the two ladies, Éomer strode out of the hall, his steps echoing with purpose. To shed the blood of the men who would dare to take something that was his. Éowyn reached down to pick up the crushed paper, Éomer had just then dropped. Uncrumpling it she read the words. Helena stood over her shoulder, trying to read it as well. The words caused her to exclaim in anguish.
We have your precious princess. If you want her alive, ride to the Gap of Rohan. There the score shall be settled and past wrongs will be righted.
At the base was a print of a wolf head, the mark of the Dunlendings.
"My lord, do you think he will come?" came the meek voice of the man, trembling in the shadow of his master. His master, in full armor, sat proud and tall atop his steed, his men waiting patiently behind him. He turned his black eyes to the slender figure of the princess, slumped tiredly against the body of one of his men and his cruel lips twisted in satisfaction.
"He will come, for if it isn't his love for her, then his pride will forbid him to deny us an audience," he replied malice ringing in his laughter. The chilling sound caused his hostage to turn her stormy blue eyes to him, her lips curled in disgust. But he was not perturbed. He had the upper hand and by tonight those stormy eyes will be glazed over in lust and the lips will be screaming with pleasure… in his bed.
His horse stamped in frustration of standing still so long, and he reached down to pet the animal. His horse, a half-bred stolen from right under the nose of the Rohirrims, neighed in return.
"Patience, my beauty. It won't be long now, and soon you shall enjoy the warmth of a stable and the succulent juice of ripe apples and hay, not the filthy food we have been forced to feed you in Dunland," he whispered, the last bit with bitterness as his mind pictured the poverty of his people, the hunger and deprivation they had to suffer, while the undeserving Rohirrims lounged about in their wealth. Wealth that he had been cheated out of. But he will soon fix that, and it will be their turn to suffer, just as his people had. His stupor was disturbed as a scout came running up towards him.
"My lord, they are here," he cried. The proud fallen lord nodded and raised his hand in a motion to follow him as he rode out towards the Gap of Rohan which today, shall behold the falling of a proud king and the rise of a new one.
With almost angry actions, Éomer checked his saddle, making sure the stirrups weren't too loose or the reigns too long. He had no need to do so, but old habits moved him to do so anyways. Beside him, Éowyn was doing the same.
"Éomer," Helfast said as he walked up to the king. Éomer turned a pair of angry eyes towards the captain.
"Éomer, do not let your anger cloud your mind. Do not strike until the princess is safe," he said.
"Do you take me for a fool, Helfast?" Éomer snapped. And only would such fear would cause him to act like so towards a trusted friend.
"I do not take you as a fool, but I have seen you when you are angry. This no normal battle, Éomer. Someone's life depends on your very own actions. We do not know what the wretched Dunlendings are capable off," he stated, and it was only years and years of training and discipline allowing him to retain his calmness despite the anger bubbling within him. Éomer inhaled deeply trying to find some calmness.
"Aye, your words are true. I ignored your words once, Helfast. I will not repeat the same mistake. Very well, I will assess the situation before I slit their throats," he said and without another word he mounted Firefoot. Éowyn followed and then Helfast and soon his men too had mounted. Not wanting to take the chance in leaving his city unguarded, Éomer had decided that only his eored will ride with him, the other riders would stay back, with Feälef in charge. This time the counselor did not voice any objections in remaining behind.
"Do not act unless on my orders, and watch your backs. Dunlendings are not born with any honor in their body," he said to them, sent a curt nod to his counselor and betrothed and rode off in a cloud of dust, his men and sister, not far behind.
Feälef and Helena watched the riders ride off and her insides churned with turmoil. This was all wrong. She was wrong. When they returned, which she knew they will, the princess safe and sound in Éomer's arms, she will end the charade. Please, sweet Eru let her be alright and allow me to fix this misunderstanding. She pulled her shawl tighter around her and moved towards to Éomer's study, not knowing at all what she and Feälef were going to write in their letter to Prince Imrahil.
Éomer brought Firefoot to a stop as they entered the Gap of Rohan. Many battles had been fought on that very ground, and many Rohirrims had been laid to rest within the soil. It was not overly sure, but many had speculated that the absence of any growth in that area except the coarse, thin grass was due to all the blood spilled that seeped into the ground, damning it for all eternity.
Éomer warily watched the approaching men, one of them on horseback, the others on foot. He tried looking between them, but there were no signs of her. Around him, he sensed his men tensing up, their spears and swords ready for action, as the enemy advanced closer towards them. Eventually, the leader, the man riding the horse, which Éomer noticed with resentment was a Rohirrim breed, stopped before him, and in a mocking gesture bent low in a flourished gesture over his horse.
"Where is she?" he demanded cutting straight to the chase. The man before him broke into a mean grin.
"My king, will you not ask how my people fare? Or has your barbaric ways given way to manners completely?" he drawled, taking joy in the increasing redness of Éomer's features. Éomer started to move towards the offending man, but Helfast held him back. The man watched it with wry amusement.
"Its best you take heed of your captain, we wouldn't want an accident now do we, especially towards your princess," he said. Éomer gripped his reins so hard his knuckles whitened.
"If you have hurt in any way, I swear I will…" Éomer began but the man cut his words, his amused countenance replacing by anger.
"You are in no position to threaten me, Éomer. If I were you I would choose my words wisely," he snapped. Éomer just glowered at him. In the end Éowyn spoke up.
"Cease with your treacherous games, sir. Introduce yourself and then explain to us why you have taken our guest as your hostage," she said, less callous that Éomer, but with equal severity.
"I could never resist a beautiful lady. Very well, I am Wolfe, the great-great grandson of our great leader Frecá, rightful leader of Rohan, but had been cheated and killed by Helm Hammerhand," he said loudly. The Rohirrims were stunned for a moment before Éomer burst out.
"Your type are not worthy to be stepped on by a horse much less rule them," he snorted in derision. Wolfe bristled at the insult; his once calm face was now red in uncontrollable anger.
"You forget what I hold, and if you do not wish to explain her death, I advice you to be wary of your words," he growled. Éomer glared at him.
"Where is she?" he asked again. Wolfe raised a hand and to his side, the men parted revealing a burly man with wiry beard and in his arms was Lothíriel, so weary that she stumbled continuously in her steps. By the side of her lips was a big patch of blue black.
"Lothíriel!" Éomer cried out at her state of tattered clothes, messy hair and most of all the bruises on her exposed arms and face. She turned to him and tried to smile, her eyes still full of spirit, even though her body was not. Éomer turned his angry eyes to Wolfe's.
"This is between us, Wolfe, she has nothing to do with it," he said, his chest heaving heavily. He was glad that she was alive but that the filthy bastard had dared to hurt her. He would pay for it with his blood, Éomer swore to himself. Wolfe reached down and trailed a finger across her unbruised skin, and Lothíriel pulled away in disgust. That action nearly caused Éomer to throw caution to the wind and slice the hand right off the bastard, but he suddenly realized that her captor had a dagger pressed against her stomach.
"True. I must admit, that she wasn't the one I was targeting. In truth, it was supposed to be the Lady Helena," he said and Éomer heard Helfast inhale deeply at the news. Wolfe grinned broader.
"Aye, if my minion had not be so stupid, that would have been your daughter," he sneered, and in the back shadow of the horse, a figure trembled.
"But all is not lost. With the princess in my care, a tie with Dol Amroth will do well when I am king," he said his smile becoming larger. Lothíriel spat at the feet of his horse.
"My father will never succumb to a weasel like you and king Éomer will never risk the safety of his people. Your plan is fruitless," she yelled at him. He just gazed down at her.
"I shall enjoy the challenge of breaking your spirit, princess, and trust me I will when I bed you tonight," he said. Éomer let out a hiss but the sharp blade against Lothíriel's stomach prevented him from doing anything.
"State your demands, Wolfe," he snapped, his tone straining against his clenched teeth.
"It is simple, and I do not even ask you to risk anyone, but yourself. I realized that against your strength, my men are overpowered, so instead of wasting their lives and perhaps even mine, I have decided to take an alternative route," he said.
"Get to the point, man," Éomer growled harder. Wolfe laughed.
"Very well. Relinquish your crown to me and officially proclaim that you have stepped down and that you have granted kingship to me, and your men shall swear loyalty to me so I do not have to look over my shoulders every time," he said. The Rohirrims let out a gasp of disgust.
"You are crazy. Give up while you still can, foolish man, for king Éomer would never do such a thing," Éowyn cried. Wolfe let out a cynical laugh.
"Is that so, princess? Is she right?" he turned to face Éomer. Éomer was silent. His eyes kept on going back and forth between Wolfe and Lothíriel who was shaking her head vigorously.
"You will release her, alive, I if do as you command?" he asked finally. Uproar was heard from his men, but he held up a hand to silence them. He didn't know why he was doing this, but just the thought of Lothíriel cold in death, when he could have easily prevented it gripped his chest till it hurt.
"Éomer, you can not be serious?" cried Helfast. Éowyn was silent as she saw the emotions running through her brother's face. She knew he was torn between duty… and love. How considerate of him to realize he loved her now, she thought wryly.
"What would you have me do? Let him kill her and face the fury of Dol Amroth and Minas Tirinth sweep over us, where more of my people will die!" he bellowed back. No one said anything as they realized the truth of his words. They were strong, but with the joint efforts of Prince Imrahil and King Elessar, Rohan did not stand a chance.
"NO! NO! You are wrong! My father would never go to such extreme and neither will King Elessar! They will never blame you, Éomer, do not give in to him, please," suddenly Lothíriel cried out, her voice croaky with deprivation of water. Éomer just fixed her with sad eyes.
"You can not read what is within your father's heart, or how he will react. And he has made his point when he left you in my charge. I must, Lothíriel. I can not let you die, my heart is not strong enough to endure such a loss, and my people have suffered enough." he said dejectedly. He couldn't believe what was happening, but he had to do. His people could not stand another war. They were still recovering from the last one.
"Fine, I shall announce my abdication and name you next king," he said, his tone flat and emotionless. His men dropped their heads in despair and Éowyn couldn't stop a tear slide down her cheek. A chorus of cheers rose from the Dunlendings.
"I do not care, but what will happen to me?" Éomer asked Wolfe. A malicious grin spread across his face.
"You shall be executed," he answered. Lothíriel let out a horrific scream.
"Éomer, no! Please do not let him win, please, fight him! Rohirrims take up your arms against the wretched Dunlendings," she cried looking imploringly at the passive Rohirrims, her anger turning to sobs as she imagined him dying. Doesn't he understand that her father will understand his position and the choice he should have made? Lothíriel believed strongly that Imrahil would not hold Éomer responsible. No one moved a muscle and Éomer just shook his head.
"No, if that is my fate, then I shall endure it," he said. Éowyn reached out and placed a hand on his arm which he took in his big callused ones. He did not look at her; he couldn't bear to see her cry.
"No, this is NOT your fate!" Lothíriel cried out again. Wolfe laughed.
"And what can you do?" he asked, looking at her with the tolerance of an adult to a child. Lothíriel inhaled. Oh, she knew exactly what to do. Her body may be beaten and weary but her mind was still sharp. Even though her arms were held tightly by the guard, she straightened her back, and tilted her head regally at him.
"Rohan shall not serve a false king, and I will be the one to bring ruin onto your head Wolfe," she said and in one swift movement, she raised a foot and brought it against the knee of her guard. The man stumbled nevertheless remained a firm hold on her arm. But Lothíriel did not mean to run. Instead she grabbed the dagger from his loosened grip and plunged it deep within her.
"If I do not live, no agreement shall be made. You have lost," she said with a final effort before falling to the ground in a puddle of her own blood.
There was an intense quietness engulfing them as all eyes focused onto Lothíriel's bleeding being, her limp body falling slowly onto the ground, even unconscious her actions were graceful. The tension was so thick that one could taste it, its vileness tainting the tongue. It was so silent that the gentle thud made by her falling limbs thundered through their ears, the ugly sound of flesh meeting ground.
And with that sound ringing through his ears, amplified a hundred times over, Éomer felt something within him snap. Never had he felt such emotions, not anger, or rage yet all that at the same time. Throwing his head back, he released the loudest, ugliest and most terrifying cry to ever be made by man. Éowyn covered her ears against the hideous sound and tremors of undefined terror ran through the men, whether he be foe or friend. Even Helfast who had rode with Éomer since the beginning felt fear of hearing such a beastie roar. And Éowyn knew no King of Wraiths could ever match the horror that rose from her brother's throat.
As for the enemy, they just watched in stunned silence as Éomer rode forward his sword slicing through the air. Only when the head of the brute that had held the sword in Lothíriel's stomach went flying across the sky to roll at the feet of Frecá's heir, did they realize the mistake they had made. A strangled cry rose from them as they attempted to run but the sound was muffled by the thundering of Rohirrim hooves. Their decision to flee came too late and soon the ground was littered with dead bodies many of them slain by the King of Rohan himself in his anger, he no longer knew the meaning of mercy. And when his angry eyes spied the traitor, lost amongst the fight, his old and dirty self trembling, Éomer rode out to him and Daroth barely registered the presence of the king before his body was cleaved cleanly into two parts, and Éomer rode away to fell another enemy. The man he intended to kill was nowhere in sight.
Until then.
Wolfe had fallen off his horse but to give credit where it lay, the man had not given up. As it was, he was furiously colliding blades with Helfast. In the fury of the chaos, Éomer saw only him and knew that by his sword only would the bastard die.
"Go," he said, dismounting his horse and walking up to them. He had no fear of a stray blade finding its way into his flesh. The gods would not allow that, he knew they meant for him to battle with Wolfe. In their shock, the two men stopped and stared at him, the battle momentarily forgotten. But Helfast saw the look in his sovereign's eyes and knew it had to be done. He bowed and stepped away from the other man, and took up position to guard Éomer's back. But that wasn't necessary. Their enemy had been a meager number to begin with. And now there was none left. Except Wolfe.
"Enjoy your last moments," Éomer growled. Wolfe had no doubt of that, but he'll die fighting. There was always honor in that, no matter what side one fought on.
"I shall send your regards to the princess when I see her," he replied smugly. Yes he will die, and it would be well to remind the king that he won't be traveling to the after life alone. Fury rose once again within his body and Éomer no longer felt the need for talk. Without warning he dealt the first blow, his blade neatly counter attacked by the other man. He dealt another and another and another. Never did he relent his aggressive position, constantly making sure he was the one to deal the hits but Wolfe did well defending himself.
Wolfe fought well and bravely, but this was not his battle, though it would be his last. Éomer was fueled by his hatred and pain, the image of Lothíriel falling, her shirt drenched in blood doing well to stimulate Éomer's anger and maintain his stamina, but Wolfe, grown in improvished lands, grew tired and without much dramatics Éomer dropped the final strike sending Wolfe's head clear into the sky.
But the sight of the disfigured man did nothing to alleviate the anger within him; her bleeding body was still swimming in his mind. Raising his sword once again, he began to vehemently hack the already deformed corpse, hoping that it would lessen the lead feeling in his heart. He tried to break free when Helfast made a grab for his arms, not satisfied enough with the damage he had done. But Helfast held forth and eventually Éomer lost the energy that had fueled him and despair replaced the feeling, weakening his limbs. He dropped to his knees, and leaned against the hilt of the sword, the cold steel doing nothing to take away the heat of his tears.
"Come, it is over," Helfast said softly, bending as well to offer his support to the man. The other soldiers had begun to collect the bodies for burial, doing well to not notice Éomer's plight. Éomer suddenly missed the gentle touches of his sister and wondered where she was.
"Where was Éowyn?" he asked, dread clutching his already wounded heart.
"She has ridden back to Edoras with the Princess's body. There may still be hope," said Helfast softly. In his earlier rage he had not noticed Éowyn gather Lothíriel onto her horse and rode back to Edoras along with three other men.
"Is there? Hope?"
"Always, my son. Always."
But by the third morning, hope was beginning to look frail. The sun rose on that third day as it had the other two with its first rays falling on the distraught king as he paced the floor outside the room where his best healer's worked to revive the princess. The injury had been stitched and healing well and due to Éowyn's quick thinking and riding, she had been spared much blood loss. But despite all the good news Lothíriel remained unconscious. Their only hope now lay in the arrival of Imrahil, which would be anytime soon. This was not something Éomer was looking forward to either. Imrahil had trusted him with his daughter and he had let his friend down.
"Éomer, come and eat," his sister's pleading voice broke into his thoughts. He turned at looked into her anxious blue eyes. She was another person he had let down. Her wedding was supposed to be in four days and she… they, were supposed to begin preparation to ride to Gondor day after tomorrow. But now…
"I am sorry, Éowyn," he said. At least she was awake to hear him say it. He had been repeating the words to Lothíriel whenever the healers would let him see her, but there wasn't a flicker of response to show if she had heard. Just silence.
"There is nothing to apologize, brother. You have not wronged me," she said gently.
"Aye, I have. Your wedding…"
"Can wait. I have sent a message to Faramir, he will understand," she answered but her words were of no comfort to Éomer. Neither was the hug she gave him then, though he responded heartily to it. But then Feälef approached them.
"My lord, Prince Imrahil has arrived," he said and with no more words, he and Éowyn rush to the main door of Meduseld, not really knowing what to expect from the Dol Amroth prince. The said entourage arrived at the base of Meduseld just as Éomer exited the doors to the outside to greet them. Ai, Elphir had accompanied his father. This can not be good.
"Imrahil…" Éomer began but was cut short.
"Later. Where is my daughter?" was the brisk reply.
"Follow me my lord," Feälef took over, seeing the upset look his king wore. Imrahil nodded and followed the counselor into the palace. Elphir on the other hand stood before the king. Éomer met his gaze head on; ready for the tongue lashing no doubt he would receive. This made him unprepared for the fist that came instead, knocking him clear off his feet. He shook his head to clear the confusion of the sudden attack, and to allow the pain to subside, both in his face and backside. He looked up at the fuming prince, who didn't seem to care that twenty of Éomer's men were aiming the sharp tip of their spears at him. Éowyn was kneeling before him, peering into his surely bruised and bleeding face.
"Does that make you feel better?" he asked scathingly. Elphir remained silent then held out a hand. Éomer looked at it warily then decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and placed his hand in it. Elphir helped the bruised king back to his feet without any more histrionics.
"No, but it's a start," was the reply as the prince held out a white cloth for Éomer to wipe the steady flow of blood from his cut lip. Seeing that there wasn't any serious threat to their king, the Rohirrim's lowered their spears, but kept a cautious eye out on the foreign visitor.
"I shall take you to your sister," Éomer said and Elphir only nodded. He followed silently behind the royal siblings as they took him through the twisted maze of Meduseld to where his sister lay.
When they reached her room, Imrahil was bent over her, a hand softly caressing her pale face, talking to her in a tone that only a father could do. Elphir quickly moved to the other side and planted a kiss to her cheeks. The father and son remained like that for some time, not saying anything as they sadly looked at the woman lying on the bed, the only indication that she was still with them was the soft rise and fall of her chest. After a while, Éomer and Éowyn began to feel like they were intruding. But when they tried to leave, Imrahil stopped them.
"How?" just one word. Éomer turned to him, horrified that tears had begun to prick his eyelids. He swallowed hard the told them the story. When he was done, Elphir had his face completely buried in her neck and Imrahil leaned against his chair.
"She gets it from her mother side of the family," he said and began rubbing his temples. Éomer didn't understand what he meant but didn't ask any questions.
"I'm sorry," he apologized again. For Eorl sake, what else could he do but apologize? Imrahil stood and walked to stand in front of Éomer, only then noticing the fresh cut on his lip.
"How could you have known? You were willing to risk your own life and the future of your people because of her," he said. Éomer shook his head.
"But she… I mean…" he tried to say that it had not worked, she was still hurt, but he couldn't say it.
"She is a princess, and she has been brought up to understand that the people's need prevail over the need of one individual. Do not blame yourself," he said and engulfed Éomer in a hug. Imrahil hugged Éomer as he would one of his sons. With all the fatherly love and pride he had within him. He didn't blame Éomer, no; there was enough guilt in the younger man that Imrahil saw no need to add more.
To his horror, Éomer, who had forgotten what it felt to be hugged by a father figure, began to cry.
They stayed that way till Éomer's tears were spent and his chest no longer heaved with aching sobs.
"I wish to take her home. Would you ask your healers if this is advisable?" he asked. Éowyn, who too had tears streaming down her cheeks hastily wiped them away.
"I shall ask," she said and was soon gone. The three men remained quietly in the room, their eyes and thoughts fixed only on the maiden that lay still before them. Éowyn returned shortly later.
"They say her wounds are closed, so there is no fear of them reopening and bleeding but how will you carry her home?" Éowyn asked.
"There is a carriage outside to transport her home with the least of movement," Elphir said this, his face still partially buried in his sister's neck. He shared his father's sentiment that no one was to blame in this situation. Who was to say what he would've done had it been him in Éomer's place, so it would be unfair to judge the Rohan king so harshly. Besides his point was already made known by the cut on Éomer's lip. No need for anymore animosity.
"We shall leave now," Imrahil said moving back to his daughter.
"I shall get the maids to load her luggage, and prepare some nourishment for you to take with you," said Éowyn and she quickly left the room to make all the necessary preparations for the Dol Amroth's departure.
"In the meanwhile, Imrahil, why don't you and Elphir have something to eat? I shall have them brought here, there is no need for any formality," said Éomer waiting for Imrahil's agreement. Imrahil looked at Lothíriel for a while; he really wanted to make a start so they would reach Dol Amroth as soon as possible. But then he saw the tiredness in his son and knew that the few men who had ridden hard with him were also suffering similar fatigue so a little rest and food would probably do well for all of them.
"That would be fine, Éomer," he said finally and Éomer set about ordering food and drinks to be sent to the room. He would've supervised the whole thing himself but he did not want to be away from Lothíriel anymore than her father and brother did. He would not dwell on the thought but there was a sense of fear in his mind that this would be the last time he saw her in his home.
Éomer was quiet as he bid them goodbye. No unnecessary words were exchanged as Imrahil felt enough time had been wasted. He didn't assist in carrying Lothíriel's body into the carriage. He didn't even leave the steps to look onto her pale face one more time. He didn't even blink when Imrahil turned briefly to wave at him before he entered the carriage to sit with his daughter's lifeless body. He stood at the steps of his palace long after the last rider had exited the gates. But the loss he felt was not his alone to bear. Lothíriel's sacrifice for Rohan had traveled fast and far. Her name never left the lips of the Rohirrims, her deeds the topic of every conversation, and her health in all their prayers. The people of the Mark began to see her in a new light, and grieved to see her depart for home, still unconscious.
But closer to home, unwavering yet gone unnoticed in the past days, was Helena. She had been a silent spectator, quietly standing by the sidelines as she watched and prayed with everyone else for the recovery of the princess. No one knew the truth still of the extent of Lothíriel's sacrifice for this country that wasn't even her birth place, but as she watched the Dol Amroth princes ride away with their swan princess, she knew the truth must be made known. No longer was she willing to carry the burden of that secret in her heart, on her mind anymore. If the people grieved now, then they shall weep in regret for what they have truly loss. Helena would not be a pawn in this twisted game anymore. Éomer shall know all of what Lothíriel has done for his country and if he does not ask her to marry him even after that, then Helena would skew him with his own sword.
She hesitated for a moment before raising her hand to knock against the study door. Éowyn, whom she had told the story to earlier, had offered to accompany her. But Helena knew this was something she had to do herself.
"Come in," came the muffled reply from within. She knew who was in the king's study even before she pushed the door open, for she had spent the last hour monitoring the room until she was sure only the three people she wished to speak to were in the study.
"Good eve, my lords," she greets her king, his Chief Counselor and Captain of the Mark. Helfast removes himself from his seat to meet his daughter for a hug. Helena clings to him for a second longer, savoring his warmth for she wasn't sure if he would ever touch her again after what she had to say.
"What brings you here, Helena?" Éomer smiled at her, feeling somewhat a little guilty. She was his betrothed but he had spent his days neglecting her completely. Feälef simply smiled at her, but he took note of the intense fear in her eyes. And unless his eyes betrayed him, she seemed to be shaking a little.
"I have something I wished to tell you," she said a little uncertain, and some words caught in her throat making her squeak. Helfast and Feälef exchanged looks.
"We shall leave then," Feälef began to pack his stuff but stopped when Helena shook her head.
"No! Stay, please. My words are for all you to hear," she said. Once again Feälef saw the raw fear in her eyes and began to worry. What has happened?
"Would you sit?" he asked beckoning to a chair, but she shook her head again.
"No, my words come easier standing," she said. The three men exchanged looks, apprehension filling their own hearts now as they watched the maiden compose herself.
"It is about the day Edoras was attacked," she began slowly. The men visibly tensed at that, and Helfast, who had taken a seat jumped to his feet.
"They did not do anything to you did they?" he asked, feeling a sudden cold all over.
"No, no. it is not about me, father. Nothing happened to me because I did nothing," she said quickly in one blur.
"I do not follow Helena," Éomer said after a while. Helena inhaled deeply then tried again, slowly this time.
"I was not responsible for the safety of our people. I was simply following orders from Princess Lothíriel. She was the one who lead us all to safety. She was the one who knew of the caves and it was her quick thinking that saved us all. I… did nothing but follow orders," she said and tears began to sting the back of her eyelids. She didn't want to cry. She just wanted to say what she came to say and receive whatever punishment that came her way. But it would seem the stunned silence of the three men were worse than any penalty. Feälef was the first to recover.
"But why didn't you say this earlier? Why didn't you correct that woman?" he asked. This time tears flowed swiftly down her cheeks.
"Because Lothíriel told me not to. She forced to promise that I would not tell anyone. I wanted to… so badly but she made me promise," Helena sobbed. Immediately her father's arms came around her holding her tightly.
"Father I am so sorry. I have disappointed you, I am so sorry," her sobs became more violent as she clung harder to him.
"Shhh, my pet. I am not disappointed," he cooed softly to her, kissing her hair as he stroked her back, trying to console her tears. It took a while for her to calm down enough to face Éomer. Éomer had moved away from them and was staring pensively out the window, not really thinking of anything, just remembering when life used to be much simpler. Wake up, kill orcs, have something to eat, kill more orcs, return home, get drunk, pass out then repeat the whole process again. So much simpler.
"Your majesty?" Helena's shaky voice brought him back to the present. He turned to look at her teary eyes.
"Will you forgive me?" she asked. Éomer nodded.
"Yes, I forgive you. You did what you thought was right at that time and I am not angry, just sadden by it all. She has done so much and it has all gone unthanked," he said softly.
"There is still time, my lord. You shall see her again at your sister's wedding and you could thank her," she said. Éomer snorted.
"After the carelessness I have shown, I doubt Imrahil, or any of his sons will let me anywhere near her," he said wryly. His hands flew up to the wound on his lips. It still hurt bloody murder.
"Then I shall take them on to allow you passage to sneak by them," she said with determination. They may think she jests, but she knew that if that is what it took then she will do it. This whole folly has gone on too long. Hadn't she promised Éowyn that she would help get Éomer and Lothíriel together? Well, she intended to keep her word.
"You are a good person, Helena. Rohan will benefit well with you as their queen," Éomer said with a laugh. He was still sad but the image of small Helena taking on Imrahil's towering sons was quite funny. Even Feälef and Helfast grinned as the same image ran through their heads. But Helena was not smiling.
"Your majesty, please do not take this personally, but I wish to break off our engagement," she said, this time with no tears. Another shock silence filled the room.
"You do not wish to marry me?" Éomer asked very much surprised. She shook her head.
"Helena, child…"
"No father, I have made my decision. For one thing I will not live in the shadows of a woman who truly deserves to be queen and second, my heart… is no longer mine," she said her voice dropping slightly as she said the last bit.
"Are you saying another man has stolen you heart?" her father asked in shock. She nodded but remained looking at Éomer. He did not seem upset, just surprised and she knew she had made the right choice. They worked well as friends but anything more would just mean a lifetime of misery for both of them.
"And who is this man? Does he deserve what you give him?" Helfast asked again seeing that he was the only one who had the tongue to speak at present. Helena bit her lip at this question and turned to him.
"Well, father, he does not know he owns it, as I have not made myself obvious to him but only a few insignificant times. In fact I do not know if he even remembers my existence," she said ruefully.
"Ah, so he is not of Rohan born?" Feälef asked, finally finding some useful words to use. Helena shook her head.
"No, he is of King Elessar's court," she said, which was truthful enough. Helfast opened his mouth to say more but Éomer beat him to it.
"Then, if that is where your heart lies, dear Helena, I release you from our promise, and wish you all the best," he said and hugged her.
"You are not angry, your majesty?" she asked suddenly unsure. Éomer shook his head and smiled.
"No, I am not. To pursue this matter would be unfair to both of us," he replied and meant every word of it. Somehow Helena's independent decision of her future made him rethink his. With all that she had just told them, he no longer had any reasons to not pursue his own dreams. He just hoped it wasn't too late.
End of Chapter 13
(8809 words)