Chapter 29
Éomer made a point of walking himself without aid back to where his wife was, for though his leg still throbbed, it carried him. He didn't want to give his Riders or the civilians a reason to worry. Even Éothain, frantic though he must feel, concealed his concern.
Lothíriel was tending to the civilians, sharing with them what food and drink the King's Riders had happened to bring with them. They could fill their flasks in the stream nearby, and reinforcements would also bring more supplies with them. She looked calm and focused as she moved amongst the people, who now were quiet and consoled. Here and there she spared a kind word and a smile, and even now, Éomer couldn't help but smile. But he also reminded himself he should tell her more often that he was proud of her.
Guthild had been at last pried away from the body of her father and she sat between two kinswomen, who did their best to comfort her. But her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy as she heavily leant against the shoulder of one of her relations. It was a look he knew all too well.
As the King and his Captain approached, Lothíriel straightened herself. She took one look at them and immediately, dread returned into her eyes. However, she knew to keep her silence and instead followed suit when Éomer steered them away from the civilians. Whatever words would be exchanged next, he didn't want to declare it to everyone just yet.
"What is it?" she asked quietly as soon as they were outside earshot.
"That scratch – it may be a little more serious than I first thought", he uttered back and quickly described the cold throb, the dizziness he had felt, and how he had nearly stumbled. Her look grew worried.
"Show me the wound. Éothain, do you mind going back to look for the blade? I would like to see it", she spoke, quick and resolute, and both men silently complied. The Captain quickly walked back to where the half-dead orc had struck his king.
Éomer himself took seat on a small rock protruding from the ground and began to undo the clasps and straps of his greave. He then kicked off his boot and carefully began to roll up the leg of his trousers. His fingers felt stiff, but he shot his wife a warning glance, hoping to so suppress any ideas of her helping out.
Once the leg was bare, he lifted it so that she may inspect the wound; she knelt on the ground to be able to take a look. Light was starting to grow now and dawn was at hand, but she had brought a torch with her, which she asked him to hold. He did so, hoping that his fingers didn't grow so numb he'd drop the damn thing on her and set her on fire.
His wife examined the wound quietly and then pressed her cool, clever fingers against the unharmed skin near it. Her eyes closed. He wasn't sure of what she was doing; it was probably some sort of a witchy thing.
Éothain returned, carrying a crudely made dagger in his hand. It was an ugly thing, rusted and clumsy. You didn't find that sort of thing in the armouries of Meduseld. But it had served its purpose.
No words were exchanged when the Captain offered the dagger to the Queen, the hilt towards her. She took it and inspected it; a grimace shadowed her face momentarily and he wondered what she had felt in the blade – probably nothing good. Nevertheless, she rubbed the blade with her finger tip and carefully tasted it. Quickly she spat it out, made a low sound like hmm, and then dug through the purse on her belt. The two men watched her in rapt silence.
"I always bring some of my concoctions along because you never know what you may need. Eadwig's men did not touch it. I suppose they were either scared of finding something disturbing, or thought it wouldn't be smart to ransack their queen's belongins, even if I was their prisoner", she commented absentmindedly as she produced one slim vial. "This is something I developed myself, based on an ancient text I found in the archives of the Houses of Healing. It took a long time to get it right. The wisdom and knowledge of healers and scholars of past ages never ceases to astonish me… there was no poison used by mortals known to them they couldn't recognise and thwart. I wish I had even half their understanding."
At the word poison, both men startled, even though each had already thought of it.
Lothíriel carefully issued a tiny drop of clear liquid on the blade. It sizzled and a sickly green froth formed on the filthy surface. She frowned and at the sight of her expression, Éomer's heart fell.
"I know this poison, though it's not very common. Orcs this far north don't often use it. It's meant to paralyse the enemy and stop their faculties for long enough. This orc had laced their blade heavily – more than needed, it seems. If the wound was any bigger, your heart would already have stopped", she said quietly, in an almost noncommittal tone. He guessed it was because she was trying to control her own panic.
"Well, then make an antidote!" Éothain said, almost snapping.
"Do you think I carry the whole world in my purse, Captain?" Lothíriel asked back anxiously.
"I don't know, you're supposed to be the witch here!"
The two might have continued arguing hadn't Éomer spoken then.
"How serious is it?" he asked, and though his voice was low, both his wife and Captain fell silent.
"You said you felt dizzy and your eyes darkened for a moment? And your leg is throbbing around the wound?" she asked at length.
"Aye."
She thought for a moment, eyes downcast. When she looked up again, her eyes had a look that smothered what small hope there had flickered in his breast.
"It will continue to spread. Slowly at first, and you'll still be able to walk for a while. But eventually the wounded leg will go, and then the other, too. You'll be able to sit up, but after some time, you only have your hands, until they go as well. You will probably live, but for the rest of your life, other people will have to be your legs and your hands", she answered slowly.
A stunned, horrified silence fell over them. It was as if his entire life crumbled down before his very eyes. Long, happy years of loving his wife, watching their son grow, having other children by her, and building a land and a legacy they could be proud of… all that became ashes in a blink of an eye. Next to him, Éothain sobbed out loud.
"Unless… well, there is one thing, but it's half legend..." Lothíriel muttered, frowning again.
"Why didn't you lead with that?!" Éothain almost shouted out loud. "What do you mean, there's 'one thing'?"
Other men might have grown angry at how Éothain was talking to her, but Éomer knew it was only a sign that his Captain had now truly accepted her as his best friend's wife. Éothain only spoke that way to Éomer himself.
"I will not be yelled at, Captain", she snapped at him, eyes flashing. "If you want to be in charge of the witch's business, I'm happy to give you a chance!"
"Stop it, you two", Éomer ordered now, calm and stern as he pushed his own despair away for the time being. "Lothíriel, what do you mean?"
"Wulfrun told me", she began carefully. "She knows about poisons used by orcs and Dunlendings almost as much as the ancients did, and she taught me some of that lore. She said that in old Entwood, there grows a herb by a stream that no man can know. Eorðsteorra, the earth-star she called it. It thwarts many poisons, including this one. But that may just be legend, indeed. Wulfrun said that Entwood wouldn't yield the earth-star to just any who sought for it."
"Do you think that this herb truly exists?" Éomer asked. His throat felt strangely tight and he didn't think that was because of the poison. He wasn't even surprised that this information, whether it was good or not, came from Wulfrun. Of course. At the time, he had wondered why his wife was keeping company of the midwife of Snowbourne when her efforts were more needed at charming the reluctant lord and lady of the town. Even then, his far-seeing wife had been playing the long game, although he wasn't sure she herself had fully realised it.
"I don't know. It does sound more like something out of song. But Wulfrun… I think she believed it exists. And we know now that strange things do live in Entwood, don't we?" Lothíriel replied hesitantly.
"So how do we get this herb?" Éothain asked bluntly, his eyes darting between the faces of his king and queen. Obviously, he didn't care whether it was a legend or not – he was going to try and get it anyway. He would go looking for the herb himself, even against his king's orders, if need be.
But Éomer was silent and so was Lothíriel. She had lowered her eyes again and had started to slowly clean the small wound – probably to give herself something to do, rather than thinking it helped anything.
The young king looked at his captain.
"Éothain, I would like to speak with my wife alone", he said quietly. There was, apparently, some gravity to his tone, for his friend didn't try to argue. Éothain nodded silently and walked away. At this point, their little communion had raised a fair amount of attention and Éomer could only imagine what his Knights, Eadwig's remaining men and the civilians thought. He decided it was better to keep them in the dark for the time being. If people started to think their king was dying, or about to become a living corpse – well, this trouble with Eadwig would probably seem very small in comparison.
He directed his eyes at his wife again. She was still cleaning the wound, dabbing at it with a small handkerchief.
"Lothíriel, is there any hope?" he asked her.
She raised her eyes at last, and he could see they were damp with tears. The sight nearly broke his heart.
"I do not know. But... if you would let me go and look for the herb..." she whispered.
He nearly convulsed at the thought. Letting her go searching for some half mythical herb in the Entwood...! That forest was a dark, strange place, and hid many secrets and dangers. Even if Treebeard and the Ents had allied with the Free Peoples in the Ring War, it didn't necessarily mean they were friends of Men. Their life-spans were measured in aeons and they had no reason to love mortals, whether they be kings or peasants. The wood was wide and great and Treebeard himself had said they were few now. Like a nightmare, it played before his eyes: Lothíriel entering the wood and getting lost forever, never to return to her home and husband.
"Surely you must already know my answer", he said evenly.
She closed her eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. Then she looked straight at him again.
"I do not say this as a seer, but as a woman who knows her husband. If you won't let me do this, then the poison will eat away your ability to move, like I told you. And... and it won't be long before you also lose your will to live. It's not a life you could bear, my dear heart; for you were meant for great things", she said slowly, and then that familiar, glassy look clouded her eyes, and he knew she was seeing ahead. Once it had passed, she spoke in a strangled voice, "And I won't lose just my life's companion, but also my child. All that we hoped and dreamed will pass like dust in the wind."
"What then, if I live and you die?" he asked her harshly, but she didn't even flinch.
"Your life is more important than mine. You will find a new queen. But I, I can't – I won't – have another husband", Lothíriel answered.
"What if I won't have another wife?"
"But you must! You must live, and be the king I always knew you could become. I – I promised you, didn't I? I promised you sunlight, and I can't stand the idea of... of failing you like this!" she stammered, and tears now streamed freely down her weary, drawn face. "I brought all this upon you! If you had taken Guthild as your wife, then all would be peaceful and calm in your kingdom, and you would be safe. But I let you want me, I said yes when you asked – I was selfish just once, and that's why I must go!"
Gently he cradled her head between his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. How odd it was, that he could still find new depths, new dimensions in his love for her!
"It's not your fault, Lothíriel", he spoke gently. "You speak as if you could have stopped me from loving you. No, my dear, sweet woman – I was no less selfish when I asked you to leave the security of your home and expose yourself to the world. I did not want and I still don't want any other by my side. Even if I were to die tomorrow, these months with you are the happiest I've had in a very long time. Don't you see? You've already fulfilled your promise."
"Then let me do this for you – let me show you, and everyone, that this was not in vain. Let me go and find that herb. If not for your own sake, then for your son... for the children I saw that night when we danced in Merethrond. And for Rohan", she whispered.
Éomer struggled with himself. He couldn't let her go and endanger herself yet again, but still... she was right to say that he wasn't going to survive this. If he couldn't move anymore, if he couldn't ride or fight or make love to his wife or carry his son on his shoulders among a thousand other things, well, that wouldn't be a life worth living. It would kill him as surely as a sword to one's chest. And she was certain she'd lose the baby over the grief of his passing... had she sensed this, somehow, when she had sent him to battle? As for what she said about their other children – he had guessed something like this before, that they were supposed to have more than just the one child she now carried. He couldn't easily understand how this moment could contradict that which she had already seen. But maybe even she didn't. Maybe what she saw was not carved in stone, and there was freedom in choice and action. Maybe. Who knew the truth in the end?
He could send for Wulfrun, tell her to go and look for that damned herb. But how quickly did the poison work? Wulfrun was many leagues away. Lothíriel was here, and they were already close to the wood as it was. If he considered this honestly, then he had to admit that of the two women, his wife was the more... the witchier one. If there really was some legendary herb out there in Entwood, then the one person he could imagine finding it was, indeed, her. Maybe her Elven blood was even some kind of a saving grace that the dark things of the wood would recognise – and thus allow her to pass unharmed.
As for him, how could he just let it end like this? Everyone had such hopes placed in him. He was the one supposed to heal and mend this war-torn land. Éowyn had her own life in Ithilien now and she would suffer greatly if she had to leave it behind. He knew what it felt like to have the burden of the crown thrust on you against your will. He didn't want to do that to his only sister, she who had escaped all that grief and started a new life. It was Éomer Théoden had trusted to carry on pushing this yoke, and fulfil what he and Théodred could not. It was the last duty trusted upon him not only by his lord, but also the beloved uncle.
Which, again, led him to what was apparently his only viable choice: letting his wife walk into a strange, dangerous wood to look for a herb that might not even exist. It was madness. On the other hand, after this past week, madness seemed to be the default mode of his life. Béma, what could he do? On a purely intellectual level, he knew she had good points – he could marry again even if she died, however much he resented the very idea. Imrahil would probably not forgive him, but he had to think of Rohan first before any foreign alliances. And truth was, after the ordeal so far, he'd be wrong to claim that she wasn't strong enough. She had already shown her mettle to him. When she put her heart and mind in it, she was every bit as determined and steadfast as any of the great queens before her. If there was a person alive in this world who could walk into that forest and bring out a herb to heal him, that person was Lothíriel of Dol Amroth, the Lady of the Mark and White Witch of Edoras.
"Lothíriel..." he sighed, closing his eyes. His feet felt so, so cold. "What am I going to do with you?"
"You need to trust me one more time. You came for me when I was in trouble – now let me do the same for you. I'm not afraid of Entwood and what may await me there. I'm much more terrified of losing you", she replied, now a bit calmer. Those grey eyes of hers! That will of hers, as strong as his own!
"What about the child?" he asked. He had to.
"The child is safe, I think. It's still early. And this one is hardy – hardier than me. He is yours", she spoke, sending his heart into flutters even in this moment of uncertainty. Queens of Rohan had borne heirs in times of strife and danger before.
"Even if I let you do this, I can't let you go alone."
"And I wouldn't dream of it. Alfwen will come with me, and any such Knights that you think appropriate", she answered, now covering his hands with her own.
"What then, if you don't find the herb?" he asked her. She shuddered, but remained in control of her emotions.
"In that case, it doesn't matter what we do", Lothíriel said, and her voice was quiet and dark.
He supposed there were still some things, like contacting Aragorn and consulting the healers of the White City. Maybe some other man – a more sensible man – would have considered that their first course of action. But at this point, he had seen Lothíriel work things beyond the everyday reason. Who knew how far she might be able to go? From any other person, talk of half mythical herbs would have made him laugh. But she… he was sure she had a chance other people did not.
He sighed. Gently he raised her chin so that he could meet her eyes.
"Very well then. I will not try to stop you from going. But you must be careful, look only for that herb, and come back as quickly as you can. Don't do anything rash and don't endanger yourself needlessly. If it comes to choosing between your own life and mine, I want you to promise that you will think of yourself first. That is my condition", he said, slow and even.
Her eyes were wide and serious, and like that last time, when they had negotiated on her coming with him to look for Guthild, she understood the need of a compromise. So she didn't try to refuse his condition.
"I will not fail you again", she promised quietly, gathered his hands, so much larger than her own, and gently pressed a kiss against each of them. Then without a further word, she began to tend to the wound again, and when she was done, she rolled the fabric of his trousers down again and helped to pull on his boot and fasten the greave. Dawn was now rising and he felt tired, but whether it was the weariness of the past few days or the poison working its sinister job, he wasn't sure.
Éothain joined them once again.
"The people are starting to wonder. We'll have to do something soon. What have you decided?" asked the Captain warily.
"The main force, as many as can be spared, will begin the journey home. Put Déorwine in charge of them – he's a reliable man and experienced. They'll escort the civilians to Healding and offer such aid as is needed. They are then to join us again at the edge of Entwood", Éomer began, breathing deeply. "The Queen and I shall ride there. Pick twelve Knights that you trust to accompany us. Alfwen will come as the Queen's personal guard. Once we reach the wood, she will enter it with a small company, and look for the herb."
Éothain looked worried.
"Just twelve Knights is not much, especially if they are to be split", he pointed out.
Éomer smiled grimly.
"Aye, but this whole thing is a gamble. There's no harm now that could do me worse, and in the wood, weapons are of no use. If the herb doesn't exist, then it doesn't matter what happens. But the civilians' lives can still be guarded. Still, if you'd like, you may send for companies of the Muster of Edoras. They can handle the escort and the Knights can stay with us, if any are close enough. But my lady wife needs to rest before we move", he replied.
Lothíriel raised her head quickly and even opened her mouth, but she saw his look and seemingly decided against arguing with him.
Éothain looked troubled, but seemingly decided against arguing.
"Fine. I'll send a Rider to summon a few companies to our aid. Maybe some have now reached our vicinity. I imagine we shall need some supplies as well", he said.
"That would be excellent."
"How do you feel, Sire? Is the poison... is it spreading very fast?" asked his friend then, frowning slightly.
"My foot feels a little numb, but I think I can still walk – and ride, too", Éomer replied after testing his wounded leg.
"That is a good sign", Lothíriel remarked. "If it's slow to work, then there is still time for the antidote. By the time it reaches your waist, it will be too late... which is why I'd rather move forward now."
She threw him an appealing glance, but he met it sternly.
"I'm not letting you in that forest before you've rested", Éomer answered.
"What shall I tell the men? I expect they will have questions about this, hmm, new quest", Éothain wanted to know.
"Tell them I shall explain everything later. If anyone wants to know, just say that the Queen has a task that can't wait", Éomer answered. After her recent actions, the fortitude she had shown during the hunt and the way she had cared for the civilians, would probably convince most of them that this thing was needful, too.
"I beg your pardon, but you know how that will look", Éothain said carefully.
"Will it look worse than me declaring myself a witch before a crowd of witnesses?" asked Lothíriel and she began to rise. Éomer held out his hand for her, which she used to haul herself into a standing position. Her pregnancy was still at early stages and she was as agile as before.
Éothain looked like he wasn't sure if he should be irritated or amused.
"If you put it that way, my lady..." he muttered and shrugged. He looked at his king, "But it might help if you talked to them."
"You may be right. Let us get on to it, then", he agreed and attempted to push himself up. Again his leg faltered under him, but Éothain's hand was there to help him regain his balance. The two men shared a quiet look of understanding.
Éomer was barely able to hide that he was now limping, and even his dismay over realising he no longer felt the toes of his wounded leg. That would soon become a problem, but for the time being, he had to keep up a strong front.
Morning's light was upon them as he approached his Riders and the civilians. All stopped whatever they were doing, as if sensing his intention of speaking to them. Lothíriel stood by his side and he got a sudden feeling that this too was helpful in delivering his message. People knew, especially his Knights who resided in Meduseld and witnessed him and his wife in their daily lives, of the recent rift between them. But now they stood together once more and that may be instrumental at this moment.
"It has been a long night for us all", Éomer began, regarding the company gathered before him, "And though it has not been without grief and sacrifice, I'm glad to see that most of us still stand here hale and strong. I made a promise to come look for the innocents who had been so maliciously taken and I consider that oath now fulfilled. I must now turn to a new and urgent task, and leave you to make your way back home without mine or Queen's company. Do not be alarmed: a party of my own Knights shall escort you part of the way, until groups of Muster of Edoras can be summoned to bring you the rest of the way. I wish you all a safe journey home. Let your hearts be comforted, if grief burdens them: those who died here fell as warriors, fighting to preserve the innocent. That is a fine end for any of the Rohirrim."
There were some murmurs, and one young girl almost looked like she wanted to applaud. But the elderly man next to her, perhaps her grandfather, hushed her.
"As for myself and the Queen, there is a task ahead of us that I can't yet speak of freely, but all will be revealed in due time. Until then, I leave you and yours in the grace of Béma and Læs. May they guard your way and lead you home", he finished his speech, and looking around himself, he could feel that his reassurances were enough for these people. Some talked quietly between themselves, but earlier tension and the sense of uncertainty had passed. Lothíriel quietly pressed his hand and even Éothain looked satisfied.
The sun was climbing ever higher when the civilians and their escort began their journey back towards Healding. They were also taking the remaining outlaws and Dunlendings with them; such a small, crushed group was not likely to make more trouble. The bodies of the orcs and Uruks now burned with a slow fire, as was the custom.
But when the main company had left, Éomer knew it was time to speak more clearly. His condition would continue to deteriorate and he wouldn't be able to hide it. So he spoke to them, but he kept his calm; as long as he himself showed nothing but fearless faith and tranquility, things would remain under his control. In an even voice, he described the injury and the effect it was having on him. The faces of his Riders began to grow very serious indeed, but he was quick to explain that the Queen believed she had a solution – a herb that grew in the lap of Entwood, potent with healing power.
He watched their faces closely. His Knights had seen what he had seen in the Ring War, talking and moving trees, Elves high and mighty, and holbytla come straight out of old tales. And only a couple of days ago, their own queen had effectively declared she was a white witch. It wasn't that long since a white wizard had come and raised up another King of Rohan. It was strange, but all present had seen enough strange things to accept this just as the most recent oddity.
And, perhaps most important of all, all these men trusted him and had followed him to the Black Gate. Compared to that, it was a small thing to ask them to have faith once more. So the calm remained, and much like Éothain before, the main question now seemed to be: what do we do to get this herb? Unsurprisingly, Alfwen seemed like the most confident of them. She knew Lothíriel better than most and also had greatest faith in her Queen's ability to deliver this thing.
The remaining company removed from the site of the battle into a more sheltered spot. There Lothíriel was quick to pass out on her bedroll. The rest of the party also took this chance to get some rest. Éomer knew he too should try to catch some sleep, but he could not. His mind was fixed on the slow throb on his leg, and how it was quietly and inevitably spreading. What then, if she failed? What if the herb didn't exist? The answers to these questions were too dreadful for him to consider.
His Knights were quiet, but they did not seem as troubled as they might have been. His words appeared to have consoled them. Like him, they knew that the orcs were not going to bother them again. It was their way after such a crushing defeat to hide some place deep and dark to lick their wounds. As for the one or two outlaws who had escaped – they were unhorsed and were no match for one single Knight of the Royal Household.
Lothíriel slept for a couple of hours, but she awakened suddenly, as if some sense of foreboding had come to her even in the middle of dreams. She demanded they continue at once, and since the numbness was starting to spread in his leg so that he could not get up without help, Éomer agreed. He saw the concern on the faces of his Knights, but pretended he didn't notice it. His calmness and his faith in her were as much the key to succeeding as her own strange abilities. She was a witch in his grace.
But he was still able to ride, and so the company hastened on the road once more. There was an urgency about them, but it was different than before. It was somehow raw and uncertain. When they had hunted the outlaws, his Knights had been quite confident they could easily beat a gang of ragtag outlaws. But when the life of the King was at stake, and the only solution was more than a little mystical – well, doubts were understandable. As such, Éomer made a special effort to act and seem as normal as he could. Yet he knew they were racing against time.
They kept up a swift pace and so it was that same afternoon that they reached the edge of the famous Fangorn forest. It stood as dark and uninviting as it ever had. After the Ring War, Éomer had given strict orders not to disturb the wood or cut any living branch that grew there – although he felt that maybe his orders weren't even needed. The stories about the Shepherds of Trees and the destruction they had brought to Isengard were now a common stock of tales of the Mark.
Silently the company dismounted. Nobody seemed eager to raise their voices, as if even just loud noises might raise the wrath of the wood. Éomer now saw he was asking much to have brought his men here and expecting them to sit and wait so close to the shadows of the ancient wood. Their faith in him, however, was stronger still.
It was at this point he was not able to get down by himself; it took Éothain and Alfwen to make sure he didn't fall down face first. Below his knee, the only thing he still felt was the wound. Its cold throbbing never ceased; in fact, it had become more painful than before.
"It's no use. Help me to sit down somewhere", Éomer said to his captain, who, though concern was plain on his honest face, did as was asked. There was a slanting stone he could rest his back against, even if Lothíriel's grim prediction came true and he couldn't sit up by himself anymore. But hopefully that wouldn't happen any time soon.
Éomer groaned as he finally settled down. He tried to move his leg, but it no longer followed his commands. With a sinking heart he thought of how he might never be able to rise up again.
Lothíriel came to his side. She still looked tired, although her earlier rest had helped a little. But though her face was fatigued, in her eyes burned a kind of fire he had only seen a few times.
"How do you feel?" she asked quietly as she knelt beside him.
"I'm fine. The leg isn't working anymore, but that was to be expected", he replied, taking her hand in his own. She stared at him in the eyes and the light in her eyes grew ever fiercer.
"Don't you worry. I'm going to find that herb. Everything will be all right. Just stay here, and try not to move – it should slow down the poison a little bit", she told him.
"You just take care of yourself out there, will you? Don't do anything stupid. Remember what I told you. If it comes to choosing between yourself and me, you must save yourself", he reminded her.
"It will not come to that", Lothíriel said and kissed his hand. She glanced at Éothain and told him, "Guard my lord husband while I'm away. Get him something to drink but don't let him move."
"Aye, my Queen", said the Captain, and however he had challenged her before with his arguments, now in his voice there was nothing but deference. Éothain bowed his head and said, "Good luck, Lothíriel Queen. Our hopes go with you."
She nodded and then turned to face her husband once more. She didn't seem afraid, only resolute and single-minded. Hopefully it would be enough.
"Get going, before I change my mind", Éomer told her, trying to sound tough, but knew he didn't fool her. She leaned close, pressed her hand against his cheek, and kissed him. It was a bittersweet kiss, a farewell just in case. How soft was her mouth, and how sweet it still felt to hold her! She remained close even after pulling back, and only now did he see the fear and the need behind her determination.
"My father used to call me his Moondaughter, and well have I loved the night", she whispered close to his ear, "but you are my Sun, and I cannot live without daylight anymore."
She stood up before he could say anything more and turned to face the wood. The shadows under the trees were silent, but looking into that shade, Éomer felt like the wood was staring right back at them. And he was sending his wife there. Well, Merry and Pippin had walked in that wood unscathed, too, so perhaps the forest did understand the need of the innocents.
Slowly she approached the first trees, Alfwen straight behind her, along with five Knights specially chosen to escort the Queen. They were taking only their swords with them and Éomer had told them not to break a single branch while they walked under those ominous boughs.
"Follow her lead and do as she says", he had said to them. How he hoped they would remember that command.
Lothíriel halted at the first tree. Gently she put her hand on its gnarled trunk and stood there. Was she praying, or talking to the tree? She was too far away now for him to hear. Then, as his heart painfully twisted in his chest, she stepped into the shadow of Entwood.
To be continued.
A/N: Here is an update! I hope you all liked it. :)
I had thought of something like this happening since early on, but for a while, I actually had doubts whether to go this way or not. But in the end, I considered: I chose to engage this whole "white witch" angle, so maybe it's just on brand to go with this kind of twist? And it seemed to make sense to me that in Entwood, there are other strange things than just the Ents. I know, I know, it's not strictly in the canon, but it's fun to imagine that a forest as ancient as Entwood might have some strange magical things inside it - and Lothíriel, with her witchy inclinations, would look for it. And it was fun for me to tie her knowledge of this mystical herb with Wulfrun (the midwife of Snowbourne) and the earlier events which have brought them here. It may be me explaining things too much, but it's interesting to think that Lothíriel was lead down on this path weeks ago - she was given the keys to helping Éomer long before he was actually injured.
I hope you and yours remain safe. I recently got my first vaccination, and am waiting for the second.
Let me know what you think! Your comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading, reviewing and favouriting!
Inspiration for the chapter: Wardruna - Lyfjaberg
EStrunk - Thank you! I think there's a lot of potential in their respective capabilities. But it's still a question of how they engage these, especially with her fear of being used. On the other hand, they seem to have natural understanding in how to co-operate with her sight and his skills as a leader!
I think Éothain's end was in many ways a most fitting one!
xXMizz Alec VolturiXx - What can I say? Cliffhangers are just so fun! ;)
Simplegurl4u - I hear you, and I know it would have been satisfying to see him brought to justice. But I think this end (his death in battle) was more in character for him, especially when Éomer didn't yet know the full truth about him... but more on that later. You'll see why that was the only possilbe end for him. At any rate, I do think what makes Éomer and Lothíriel so strong together is the fact they are making effort freely, because they want to.
Lothíriel saw something, certainly, but she also sees a way to help him!
Catspector - It's hard to say from Éomer's point of view what exactly she saw! Maybe her warning did play a crucial role - that he stepped aside before the worst of what she saw happened!
sailor68 - So it would seem! I'd say he didn't think the wound was very serious, or in the need of cleaning. His own experience probably worked against him there. I know I have skipped properly cleaning scratches because I thought it wasn't serious!
almythea - ;)
Jo - I wouldn't say it's an issue of him not taking her seriously. Actually, you could argue that he's a bit too confident in her abilities. In his view, he did pay heed to her - she shouted her warning, he stepped aside, and received what he himself first considers not very serious injury. You see, his experience betrays him in this instance. Thanks to his profession, Éomer is used to small bruises and scratches and he doesn't think twice about them, especially when his attention is needed elsewhere. Not to mention, he doesn't expect that a famished, ragtag group such as the orcs his company slew could be using poisons. So it's a human mistake, based on his fairly extensive experience, rather than him not taking his wife seriously.
Wondereye - Let us hope so, indeed!
Wtiger5 - Yes, he rather deserved punishment! But we'll see how it goes for Éomer.
