The day after the sweet-cake incident, Lothiriel found herself reluctantly crawling through the drain bearing more food (though no sweet-cakes) and medicine. Still embarrassed, she couldn't help but want to talk to Éomer again, and see how Faramir was doing.
Slinking out of the drain, she found Éomer. . . washing his back? Lothiriel has so far managed not to take much note of the King's lack of shirt, but now... She frowned as she saw him visibly tense when the wet cloth touched his back. The frown deepened as Lothiriel noticed that the cloth was coming away with dark streaks on it. "Éomer?"
Obviously she had surprised him, for he dropped the rag and quickly turned his head, wincing at the movement. "Lothiriel! I did not expect you."
Kneeling next to him, Lothiriel reached through the bars and gently touched his back. Hissing from pain, Éomer's body involuntarily jerked away. Pulling her hand back, Lothiriel rubbed her fingers together, recognizing the sticky substance on them as blood. "You are hurt."
"It is not very bad." 'At least not as bad as Faramir.'
"I brought medicine."
His face brightened. "Thank you." Taking it he turned, obviously intent on using the medicinal salve for Faramir, but Lothiriel grabbed his arm. Her touch sent a jolt of lightning up his spine, but it wasn't painful. Ignoring it, Éomer raised an eyebrow in question.
"You need to be treated too."
The firmness in her voice gave no room for protest, but Éomer tried anyway. "Faramir needs it more. Besides, I cannot reach my back well so there is little use."
Lothiriel didn't buy it. "There is plenty enough for both of you and I can get more. As for your back, I can reach it." She realized that she sounded forward and quickly added, "That is, if you are all right with that."
Seeing that it would be better to agree than to argue, Éomer consented. As he treated Faramir, Lothiriel began coating his back with the salve. "Was this Pelatarn's doing?"
Éomer shook his head. "Mustayo. Though I think that it is only because of Pelatarn's influence. I feel that he would rather we just rot in prison."
Lothiriel could sense the frustration in his voice. King Éomer was a proud man, always in charge of his situation. He was a warrior, used to facing his enemies in battle. 'Being captive in this dark cell must be torture enough for a man used to riding through open fields.' Surprising herself, she voiced her thoughts. "I do not think I could handle this as well as you have. This place is so dark and small." She shivered slightly as the room seemed even smaller when she talked about it. "I do not like small spaces."
When both of them finished with the medicine, Éomer turned to face Lothiriel. "You do not like small spaces, yet you crawl through that small drain to get here."
"It...It is not that bad, and I want to help Faramir." 'And you.'
Seeing how discomforted she was, Éomer's respect for the lady rose. To overcome a great fear is hard to do, and yet she had done it for love of her cousin. "Are not the ships of Dol Amroth small as well?"
Lothiriel decided to be blunt. "I hate ships."
Éomer smiled. "A lady of Dol Amroth, the great port city, hates ships? I suppose you dislike the sea as well."
Though he was teasing and she knew it, Lothiriel nodded. "Not as much, but the sea is so salty that even the air sticks to your skin. To make matters worse, fish makes my stomach turn."
The King of Rohan laughed and Lothiriel found herself pleased that she had helped ease his troubles, if only for a moment. Unfortunately the moment was cut short as a sound echoed from the hallway. Someone was coming. "Quickly, Lothiriel, go!" hissed Éomer, shoving the medicine and food into her arms. Lothiriel scrambled back into the drain, pulling back the wood boards to cover the entrance, but instead of just leaving she turned around and tried to see what was happening through the cracks in the boards.
Faramir groaned as a kick in his side woke him up. He had actually been having a good dream, strangely enough about his cousin, Lothiriel. But Pelatarn had cruelly ended the dream and the Steward found his mind once again invaded.
((Denethor grabbed Faramir's right arm in one hand. "Not fair? Life is not fair. If it was, your mother would still be alive and I wouldn't have such a weakling for a son!" The Steward squeezed his son's arm tighter.))
Yes that would have been better, wouldn't it? Why would he want such a weak son?
Faramir refused to listen to Pelatarn. I am not weak. The blows fell and the Steward's body screamed in protest.
((Denethor glared at his son. "Life is pain, boy, you need to remember that!" Faramir felt sick as he heard and felt the bone in his arm snap. When he cried out in pain his father backhanded him. "Go away, I don't want to have to deal with you tonight."))
He never wanted to deal with you, you were too weak. You are still weak, you cannot even fight me.
I fight you, I will fight you, and I will win.
Pelatarn's eyes flashed and the undead soldiers' blows fell even harder. Éomer struggled against those that held him back, but as always it was in vain. Finally Pelatarn stopped, and he and his soldiers left. The King of Rohan growled softly in frustration as he tried to clean Faramir's wounds. 'I will kill him. No matter how long it takes, I will kill that monster.'
Lothiriel could not move at first. She was paralyzed with the horror of what had just happened. Éomer had told her, she had seen the wounds, yet this torture had not seemed real to her until now.
Again, crawling out of the drain, Lothiriel numbly moved to the bars that separated her from Faramir. The Steward's injuries looked even worse to her than before. "By Elbereth."
Startled by the noise Éomer turned, eyes widening when he saw Lothiriel there. "Lothiriel, what... ?" He saw the look in her cinnamon eyes and he knew. "You should not have stayed."
Éomer's sad face unparalyzed Lothiriel. Tears rolled down her cheeks and she started to shake from trying to control herself. "Oh Éomer, I did not know! I did not understand what he went through, what you go through. It is...It is..." She could not finish as tears overtook her.
Éomer hated to see her so upset, hated seeing her crying. Though the iron bars separated them, he reached through and hugged her with one arm as he used to do with his sister when she cried. Lothiriel instinctively leaned closer to him and wept into his shoulder.
Lothiriel was barely aware of crying. Her mind had taken her back in time to when she had first met her beloved cousin.
flashback
"Iri! Iri play wif me!" Eight-year-old Lothiriel bolted outside when she spotted her youngest brother in the halls of their home. Four-year-old Amrothos loved his older sister, but he tended to talk too much. And she was already too upset to deal with that.
Lothiriel fled to the horse-field, the one place she could calm herself. As she watched the horses graze she sniffled quietly. Her pony, Roch, trotted up to her and she petted his mane. "No one understands me, Roch! They don't understand that I would rather be riding you than go sailing." She started crying and hugged Roch's neck. "I hate sailing, I hate ships, I hate Dol Amroth and I hate my family for making me stay here!"
"I do not think you do."
Lothiriel raised her tear-streaked face and looked at the handsome stranger. "Who are you?"
"My name is Faramir, and I would guess you would be my cousin, Lothiriel. Your father mentioned that you liked horses."
"I love horses, especially Roch." She hugged her pony for emphasis. "You're my cousin?"
Faramir nodded. The twenty-year-old knelt down so he would be eye-level with his cousin. "My mother was your father's sister. Now, do you want to tell me why you think you hate your family?"
Lothiriel's anger flared. "They won't let me go to Rohan with Da! I wanted to see the horses but Da said it would not be apa..appro…appropriate. He wants me to stay and go sailing with my brothers and sisters, but I hate sailing, especially with my siblings!"
Faramir sat back on the ground and motioned for Lothiriel to sit next to him. When she did, he put a comforting arm around her. "I can understand you wishing to go to Rohan, but at this time your father is right. The sister of the King of Rohan has died, leaving her two children orphans. Your father is going to give Gondor's condolences to the king."
Lothiriel's eyes widened. She hadn't known, though Imrahil had tried to tell her before. "The children are orphans? They don't have anyone?"
Faramir nodded solemnly. "They are going to live with their uncle the king, though, so they do have family."
"I wouldn't want to lose Mama or Da." She looked down, suddenly ashamed of her words before. "I guess I don't hate them, or Dol Amroth." Straightening, she looked at Faramir defiantly. "But I still hate sailing!"
Faramir smiled. "And why is that, Lothiriel?"
The girl smiled, glad to have a grown-up who didn't call her 'little one'. "I don't like ships, they are so small, I feel like I will suffocate!"
"You do not like small spaces then?" Lothiriel nodded vigorously. "I do not like being cooped up either. I would much rather be out riding." Standing up, Faramir held out his hand and helped her to her feet. "Now, my lady, will you do me the honor of escorting me to the house? I believe I should tell your father that I am here." Faramir winked at her as they walked to the house. "Perhaps later you would like to show me Dol Amroth from horseback."
It was then that Lothiriel developed her hero-worship of Faramir. He could do no wrong in her eyes. Even later, when Lothiriel had grown up and realized that even Faramir could make mistakes, she still loved him dearly.
end flashback
Lothiriel's heart lightened from the memory. 'I only learned later that he told my father not to make me go sailing. Though I saw him rarely, he always looked after me.' She raised her hand to wipe her eyes. 'Well, Faramir, I finally made it to Rohan.'
"Are you alright now, Lothiriel?" Startled by Éomer's voice, Lothiriel realized that his arm was around her shoulder and that she was leaning against the King of Rohan's chest.
Embarrassed, Lothiriel quickly sat up straight. "I...I am sorry. I did not..."
Éomer put a hand on her arm. "It is alright. Do not be ashamed of your grief."
Lothiriel looked at him. "How can you watch that time after time? I fear I would go mad."
"If this goes on much longer perhaps I will. Watching a brother suffer is worse punishment than anything Mustayo could do." His eyes seemed to pierce her heart with their sorrow. "We must get him out soon."
Lothiriel nodded. "Hild has found a locksmith. He is in the process of making some lock picks for us. Hopefully they will be done soon." Her grief had turned to a fierce determination to save her cousin, and Éomer, from this torture. "We will get you out of here. I promise."
As Lothiriel talked to Éomer, back at Hild's house Éowyn was chopping carrots for dinner with such ferocity that Hild had decided it would be safer to sew in the bedroom. 'I hate being so helpless! I am cutting carrots for Valar's sake, while who knows what is happening to Faramir!' She wasn't so daft that she could not see that Lothiriel was hiding something about Faramir from her. Though the woman from Dol Amroth had much to say about Éomer, she became closed-mouthed when it came to the Steward.
Éowyn brushed away a tear from her cheek. 'I must be going mad. One moment I am so angry I could kill something, the next I just want to curl up and cry.' Finishing the last carrot, she leaned on the counter as the tears fell. 'I just want Faramir.'
