But Beren coming back to the light out of the pits of despair lifted her up, and they looked again upon one another; and the day rising over the dark hills shone upon them.
- Of Beren and Lúthien
Chapter 13
After brief and fitful rest Éomer woke up at sunrise. It didn't feel like sleep had really released him of any exhaustion or grief, and the prospect of new day didn't seem to hold any promise. What moved him was duty, nothing else. Mechanically he dressed and forced down some breakfast, though it tasted like ash in his mouth, and went on his way.
He paid a visit to Éowyn that morning, but though it was encouraging to see her awake it did nothing for his troubled thoughts. She didn't seem too keen on conversation and he too felt like words had failed him. How to comfort her or give her hope when he had none for himself? So they sat, mostly in quiet, until she had reached for his hand.
Éomer looked at his sister and she met his gaze; somehow the loss of their uncle was all the more real then. After all, in many way he had been like their father. They sat in quiet like that for a while, both lost in their sorrows and this shadow they shared.
"She was here... but I couldn't save her, and now she too is dead", he said quietly, and his sister knew right away just who he meant.
"I am sorry", was all Éowyn said, and they spoke no more.
Eventually Prince Erchirion came and said that Gandalf had called them all to a meeting. It was to take place outside the city walls, where Aragorn had gone to stay, as he didn't think it appropriate for him to linger in Mundburg when he had not even properly entered it and claimed his birthright.
So Éomer bid farewell to his sister and promised to come and see her later, and together with the prince he made for the stables. Éothain had reported to have found Firefoot on the fields, which at least was a relief. He didn't think he could have endured any more loss.
"How is your father the Prince?" asked the young king carefully as they walked. He had delivered the news himself, and he had a feeling that the look on Prince Imrahil's face upon hearing of Lothíriel's death would haunt him for the rest of his life... as would the man's anguished sobs as his sons had escorted him away from the scene.
Erchirion's sigh and the way he shook his head was now all the information Éomer needed.
"He's... well, you can guess how he is. He loved her very much, and I don't know if he's ever going to... you know. Amrothos stayed back with him, and we agreed I should represent Father today", said the dark-haired prince softly. His own eyes were blood-shot and it was doubtful he had slept much either. Éomer found he couldn't really answer, not in words at least. So he just nodded.
The eyes of the prince were melancholy but there was friendliness, and gently he spoke: "I see that you loved her very much, my lord. Perhaps I do not know you like she did, but I think I see what made her love you in return... and I am sorry that Father only changed his mind when it was too late. It may be an ill thing to say now, but I wish he had let her marry you. She might be alive still if he had just given his consent."
"Would that she was", was all that Éomer managed then; he couldn't have this conversation now, not yet.
"Any word of Ocharnil?" he asked to get both their thoughts to other matters if even for a moment, but Erchirion again shook his head.
"None whatsoever. It looks like the man has disappeared from the face of earth", answered the prince with just a hint of anger. Yesterday, as soon as the truth of Lothíriel's fate had been revealed, men had been sent to look for Ocharnil: Galdegir was by then delirious with pain, and could not provide any information as to why precisely had Lothíriel been in his house. However, Ocharnil remained undiscovered, and so did the reason why she had been in their hands. Though messengers had been sent to Dol Amroth, Éomer allowed himself no such hope that this was all some ruse and she was indeed alive. To him the fact that Ocharnil was missing was enough proof.
As for Ocharnil's son, Galdegir yet lived, but the healers could not say if he would survive beyond few days. After losing consciousness he had not come around again.
They did not speak on their way down to the fields, where many tents had been raised. Most of the Rohirrim, those who didn't need the healers, stayed there with their horses, as there wasn't really room for animals in the city. For Eorlingas it would have been unpleasant to be too far from their steeds anyway. The fields were far and wide, and there was enough space for tents even after the battle; already the work of clearing out the corpses of the fallen had started. The wind still came from the west and carried the stench of death towards east.
Many things grave were decided that day, and in the quiet dark of his thoughts Éomer welcomed the plan of war that was forged. It was very clear that marching for Mordor and challenging the Enemy before the gates of his land would be a deed courageous but of little hope. He was not fearful, though, and he gave his word easily. After all, the young king felt he had already lived through the worst he could imagine, and death in battle was a small thing when compared to losing all those he held dear.
When the debate was over, he sought again Prince Erchirion, for there was one thing that still needed to be discussed.
"There is something I'd speak of with you, Prince", he said quietly, and the other man nodded. They made way outside and Erchirion glanced at him.
"What is it, my lord?" he asked. Éomer could not answer at first, because what he had in mind was something that tore at his heart to even think of. But it had to be taken care of, and so he hardened his will.
"It is possible that her body yet remains in the ruins. I would go and seek for her, with your permission... in your father's absence I suppose you're the one I should ask", said the young king; it was a wonder his voice did not come out choked.
Erchirion's face darkened and he looked away. He sighed and nodded.
"Father would probably want me to do it, but... you have my blessing. I have to admit I'm not sure I could do it. And she... I think she'd wish it to be you", he said in a strained voice. He placed a hand on Éomer's shoulder, and there was a moment of shared grief for the one who had been dear to them both.
Not trusting his voice, the young king nodded. He knew it would not be easy, and perhaps it would break his heart all over again... but unless he went and searched for Lothíriel's body, and saw her properly laid to rest, Éomer knew he'd never be able to let go of her.
"How is he?" asked the voice of Marshal Elfhelm, effectively distracting Éothain from his thoughts. The other man was watching the King speak with Lord Aragorn: a stern frown, darker even than usual, appeared to have permanently settled on the face of their new lord.
"Grieving. That's really all I can say. He won't speak, not even to me", said the captain and shook his head.
"I'm not sure I really understand all that has happened here", Elfhelm said quietly. There was an inquisitive look on his face, though evidently he also understood these were delicate matters.
"There was a lady of noble birth. He met her here in Mundburg, when he was still serving as a captain to the old Marshal - she was the one whose hand in marriage Théodred was offered, though she had given her heart to Éomer. She died last night in that fire", Éothain answered, keeping his voice low. It was no wonder that this was not a common knowledge. After all, though he wasn't one to hide his feelings, neither was Éomer the one to speak loudly of them.
Elfhelm didn't seem to understand right away, and so Éothain continued, "He'd have married her."
That was enough information at least. The Marshal's eyes widened slightly.
"Really? Whenever did he care for marriage?" he asked. Indeed, the young king was not really someone to settle down just so... but then, perhaps even the most restless heart could be tamed. Éothain had only briefly seen the Princess who had conquered the wild son of Éomund, but he knew his liege-lord well enough to comprehend she must have been something special.
So he gave the other Rohir a pointed look and said, "Exactly."
Elfhelm made a noise at the back of his throat and Éothain took it for a sign of understanding. Then he frowned and shook his head.
"Hmm. The fates must be twisted and cruel to bring in someone like that and then take her away forever", he said pensively and sighed. He glanced at Éothain, "What of Lady Éowyn? Will she be all right? The lads were asking about her, but I couldn't answer."
"She's on the mend I hear. Lord Aragorn healed her", answered the captain.
"That is happy news. At least some good things happen too", Elfhelm stated.
"Aye. I dare not think what would have happened if she had died too", Éothain sighed, scratching his beard. Then he looked at the Marshal solemnly, "But mark my words: it will be a long, long time before the two of them are going to be all right."
Before attending to the heavy duty of finding her body there were some things for him to take care of in the Rohirric camp, and busying himself with the responsibilities of the king at least distracted Éomer from those dark thoughts that would have consumed him otherwise. After making a round in the camp and receiving reports that things were as well as they could be and that the men were getting all the rest and food they needed, he turned again his horse towards the city.
The company came to a halt in the second level of the city. His men all wore grave faces when they dismounted before the carcass of a building that the flames had consumed... the outer structure of it still stood, but when Éomer stepped in from what had been the front door all he saw was rubble and stone and burned wood. A great rock, flung here by the enemy's catapults he judged, sat in the middle of it all.
His men did not come inside with him: they had enough discretion to give him a moment alone before starting the sad task ahead. They awaited outside for him to say his farewell.
Stopping to stand there in the middle of rubble, the King let out a quiet, wavering breath. The pain of her loss was somehow more intense here, but that didn't surprise him. This was where she had died, after all. Gazing from the rock to the blackened walls, he wondered: had she already been dead by the time the fire had started? Perhaps it had been the collision of rock from catapult that had killed her... it would have been more merciful than the slow death in fire, wouldn't it?
All the same, she was gone.
From under his coat he pulled out the ring. Silver it was, and a small blue jewel sat embedded on it, circled by two tiny heads of swans. It was too small for him to wear in his finger, but after she had given it to him he had always carried it in a string on his neck. It was proof, if nothing else was: that Lothíriel had lived, and she had given him her heart.
He bowed his head and found that breathing was hard, and soon the gasps turned into quiet sobs.
"I'm sorry", Éomer moaned, "I'm so sorry!"
The tears would not be kept back anymore then, and his sobs threatened to turn into anguished cries, which he could but barely suppress. Oh, Lothíriel! She hadn't deserved this – she ought to live, to be free... if only he had – if he had -
"My lord", came the voice of Éothain, though obviously reluctant to interrupt this scene of grieving, "there is some raving madwoman here. She demands to see the King of Rohan."
"Éothain, now is not the moment", said Éomer, fighting to speak in steady tones. He did not turn to look at his friend, though.
"Of course. I will see her taken away", Éothain answered softly. "Some guards seem to have trouble with another beggar. Permission to send couple of men to see what it is about?"
"Do as you wish", answered the young king indifferently.
Then Éothain left, and he'd have fallen right back into that shadow, but suddenly a clear, outraged voice screaming from outside pierced through it and brought a sudden morning... and never in his life had he heard anything as unexpected or absurd.
"Éomer of Rohan, I swear if after all this time you refuse to see me, I'm going to single-handedly invade that insane land of yours!"
He didn't know if he was dreaming. He did not care; all that mattered was the voice he had not thought to hear again as long as he lived. And even if it were but a sweet dream that would only end in misery upon waking, this was still better than never again having as much as a breath of her. So he turned, stumbled across the rubble and ruin of fire, and dashed outside.
Judging by their expressions his men were positively convinced that she indeed was mad, and she certainly looked the part. Her face and clothes and hair were dirty, and she looked so battered and bruised that she must have taken a proper beating, but all the same it was her! Lothíriel was there trying to fight two of his riders to get to him and her eyes were shooting lightnings to every direction.
She was here, and she was alive.
"Lothíriel!" he called her name and he flew to her, pushing his men from way, and then at last he caught her. Oh, the bliss! He had no idea of how this could be, unless it was a dream that had brought her back to him... but then, surely only the real Lothíriel could scream and fight so and kiss him like this, and then murmur "all right, I'm not invading"?
A chuckle that somehow mixed with a sob was what he could answer to that, and he held her tight to himself, as if letting go would mean she'd disappear again. For the longest time all they both could do was to cling on each other, and he was vaguely aware of tears streaming down his face. Relief had turned his knees into water and he very nearly fell down right there.
"I thought you were dead. I thought I had lost you..." he mumbled weakly into her hair when at last it seemed like he could talk.
"You know I'm hardier than that, you big oaf", she answered. But then she looked up and frowned, "Where did you get the idea that I was dead?"
"Galdegir brought the news. I saw the house in flames, and he said you were trapped inside..." said the young king and cringed. He had not thought it possible for him to loathe the young lord more than he already did, but apparently such thing was possible. Damn that man for all the pain he had caused!
"I was trapped. But I was able to get out in time", Lothíriel answered and rested her head against his shoulder. Realising how close her death truly had been made him tremble. Yet, just like she had told him, she was hardier than that.
"How?" he just about managed to utter.
"I promise I'll explain everything. Just... could you tell your men to let go of Ant? She helped me", mumbled Lothíriel. Now that she was safely in his arms he took note of how weak she looked – he wrapped an arm under her shoulders and held on tighter to her, supporting her weight so that she didn't have to do that herself.
Éomer looked up and saw two of his riders holding between them a fell-looking woman: short-haired and cleft-lipped she was a peculiar vision, but if she had helped Lothíriel... well, only that would make Éomer love this woman.
"Release her. The Princess says this woman has aided her", he ordered. His riders seemed surprised but they did as he commanded. The woman named Ant (her name was just as strange as her appearance) shrugged her arms as if checking they were still in place.
"If you have helped my Lady Lothíriel, then I owe you my utmost gratitude, Mistress Ant. I will see you handsomely rewarded for your service", he said, which made the woman smile.
"I did not do it in the hopes of being rewarded, King. But if that's the way it is done among the high and mighty, I will not reject it", she answered.
"You're all right? They didn't hurt you?" Lothíriel asked, which made Ant scoff.
"I've fought tougher rats", she said nonchalantly, but then she gave what Éomer thought was a smile. She said, "Good to see you're again where you belong, sweet lady."
"That's only because of you, Ant. Thank you", said the princess solemnly.
"Just did the right thing", said Ant nonchalantly. She frowned then, "Those guards got away, though. The moment they saw the King's men coming they made a run for it... if I know anything at all it's they have something to do with that awful man behind this."
"You mean Galdegir?" Éomer asked. He too was frowning now.
"Not just Galdegir. His father too – they held me captive. I would explain everything but you're just going to get really angry when you hear, and this is not the place for it", Lothíriel answered anxiously.
To be honest the mere mention made him angry and the young king gritted his teeth. Quickly, he thought of how he ought to proceed: Lothíriel obviously needed to be taken home as soon as possible and into the care of healers and her father. But if there were trouble afoot here he should clear it out... and find Ocharnil, before the man slipped away. The idea of letting his dear princess out of his sight was very unpleasant, and really, he'd rather deliver her himself to her father.
"Would you recognise those men if you saw them again?" he asked, looking inquisitively from Lothíriel to Ant. Both of them nodded.
"I will have to send some men looking for them – I do not suppose they will have got far", he decided. But then he looked at his dear princess.
"However, at first we should get you home, beloved. You look awful if I may say so. Here, let me help you up in the saddle..." he offered, and Éothain brought Firefoot by the reins. Carefully the young king helped his princess mount the stallion, if only so that she could rest her legs.
"You said you thought I was dead. Is my... does Father think so too?" she asked, suddenly looking very worried.
"He does. He... well, he took it very heavily", Éomer answered carefully - instantly a troubled expression came to her face. He touched her thigh gently, "Don't worry about it. We'll get you home and fix this. I promise it will be all right."
At that she smiled at him and he gave a kiss to her hand. Just the feel of her skin against his lips had his heart fluttering in mad joy, and he briefly considered lifting her back in his arms, and kissing her some more... but then he reminded himself that more than enthusiastic shows of relief and happiness she needed rest and the attention of the healers.
As he mounted before her and Lothíriel wrapped her arms about his waist, Éomer looked down at the strange woman called Ant. He spoke: "I would invite you to ride with us to the Citadel, Mistress Ant. Prince Imrahil will no doubt wish to speak with you, and anyway you do deserve every honour after the help you have given to the Princess."
He glanced at Éothain, who right away knew what his king expected. The captain bowed his head towards Ant, "May I ask you to ride with me, Mistress?"
"Gladly, if just to see that the lady here gets home safely", she answered, though Éomer very well recognised the slightly doubtful glances she gave to Éothain's stallion. Well, it was unlikely that she had ever ridden a horse, so he didn't blame the woman for her suspicion.
But Ant did not get to ride with Éothain, for just as the captain was offering to help her up in the saddle and the King's Riders were mounting their horses around them, a sudden clamour rose, and a company of riders and men on foot arrived to the square. Of men horseback there were ten, and rest counted at least twenty. On the front rode none other than Lord Ocharnil, which did not surprise Éomer too much. Of course he should have expected an encounter like this!
Behind him, he felt Lothíriel shiver, and she held on to him tighter. Her reaction instantly made an angry wish grow inside the King of Rohan. He had yet to learn all that this foul man had done to her, but what he had seen and heard so far had already convinced him they had meant and done her harm. And anyone who dared to lay a hand on Lothíriel was his mortal enemy.
"Lord Ocharnil", spoke Éomer in a cold and hard voice, "you have a lot of gall to show your face now."
"Well, you are in the possession of something that slipped from my hands, King", Ocharnil answered. His voice dripped with contempt when he spoke that last word, but the Rohir did not pay attention to it.
"No one possesses the Princess of Dol Amroth, you villain. I suggest you lay down your arms now and order your men to stand back, and perhaps I will not kill you, like you'd deserve", he said, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword.
"In case you didn't notice, horselord, you and your men are severely disadvantaged if it comes to a battle", said Ocharnil, giving a disgusting smile that had Éomer bristling. An intense urge to hurt this foul man grew inside him, but he forced back his temper. He had to remain calm now. The Gondorian lord continued, "So perhaps it is you who should stand down, and give me what I came for."
The young king glared at the vile man before him. To surrender Lothíriel! He'd rather die than let her fall right back into the hands of this swine.
"You would do well to remember the Princess is not goods you can just so steal and walk away without no one lifting a finger to prevent you", he said steadily. "And if you mean to cause a battle to happen here, how do you suppose it'll be received that you attacked the King of Rohan?"
A flash of anger touched Ocharnil's face.
"Then perhaps I should see no one survives to tell the story", he snarled, though from his expression Éomer could tell this was not something the other man had expected to happen.
"Really? You'd kill me and believe that the one who now awaits beyond these walls will let it go unnoticed?" he asked, maintaining the same calm tone that would imply he was the one with the superior fighting force.
"If you kill one king, you might as well kill another", Ocharnil answered defiantly. Obviously he had heard the news of what had happened in the Houses of Healing, and the word that by his healing hands the King would be recognised.
Éomer let out a cold, harsh laugh.
"Lord Ocharnil, if by some miracle I should not be able to end your loathsome existence, I can assure you that Lord Aragorn will not make the same mistake. We both have battled greater foes than yourself, and I am not scared of you. For the last time I demand you lay down your arms and surrender yourself to be judged according to what you have done", he announced, clear and strong. However, he knew to expect the refusal, and was not surprised when it came.
"I take no orders from savage brigands like yourself, horselord!" Ocharnil answered. He turned to yell orders to his men, and Éomer did the same.
"Eorlingas! Assemble!" his voice carried over the square, and the dozen men with him formed a line around him. That one last moment he took to glance over his shoulder at Lothíriel. Her eyes were wide but she didn't seem scared.
"Don't worry. I'll keep you safe. We will get out of this and you will see your father again", he promised her, but she didn't get a chance to answer; Éothain had lifted up his horn, and gave three great blows that seemed to echo from the walls of the city. Short and sharp they were, and Éomer knew it was but a question of time those blows would be answered.
The answering sound indeed came from afar and Elfhelm must be bellowing orders as the men dashed to their horses, but it would take a while before they would reach this place. Until then, the King and his Riders would have to hold out on their own.
Just before the Rohirrim and Ocharnil's men clashed Éomer had one moment more to see Ant slip away to one narrow street, fast and agile as a deer, and he knew that for Lothíriel her flight must be a disappointment, but he didn't blame the woman. For all her spirit she did not seem like a warrior... but then the matter of her became irrelevant, and he had to concentrate on the fight and guarding the irreplaceable woman behind him. He would not lose her, not again.
Ocharnil himself came at him. The man was wielding a sword, the strike of which Éomer met with his own. Beside him was Éothain, who had instantly taken up the task of protecting Lothíriel and his King.
As Éomer exchanged blows with Ocharnil he quickly saw that his opponent was far better at this than his son. Galdegir's father had talent and experience that the young man lacked, and in his hate was murderous fury that fuelled him against the Rohir. If this had been a true single battle it could have unfolded differently, but as he fought Éomer had to also pay attention to Lothíriel and keep her safe. So his attention was divided between the sword-fight and making sure she wasn't harmed.
"You should just give up, horselord! You can't save her", Ocharnil sneered as their blades locked.
"She already escaped once from your claws. What makes you think she wouldn't do that again?" Éomer shot back. Firefoot danced under him, and then made a movement with his hind-leg the King recognised as a kick to some poor devil; he didn't have time to turn around to see if his horse had hit the target, but it didn't matter as long as Lothíriel didn't fall. She held on tight to his waist and he could feel her trembling.
He had to get her out of this place.
The vile lord gave him a glare and the fight continued in silence, though all around them noises of battle went on ceaselessly. Then a man appeared and tried to pull Lothíriel down, which attempt was paid back with the stroke of Gúthwinë, and he fell instead. This cost Éomer an opening against Ocharnil, which the man noticed as well and smiled.
But then as it started to seem like the Rohirrim were being pushed into a corner a fell cry rose over the mayhem. From the streets and small corridors men and even women were pouring to the scene, all armed with anything that could be used as weapons from peels to axes and pitchforks. At first Éomer thought these too were Ocharnil's men, but then he spotted Ant there too and to his complete surprise he realised she had somehow collected a force from the streets and brought it to help his men. Indeed, these newcomers – beggars and thieves and rogues – instantly fell on Ocharnil's men.
"Ant!" Lothíriel exclaimed from behind him and he knew she had seen them too, and he laughed. This had to be one of the most insane things he had seen so far in this city! The arrival of this beggar army instantly restored the Eorlingas too, and they gave out a great war cry.
He wasn't left to wonder about this for long, as Ocharnil was now driven by furious despair. Having seen the evening of their odds he fought more viciously to end the battle – or at least to kill his opponent.
Again their swords locked against each other, and the face of the twisted lord was only inches from Éomer's. There was a fierce scowl on the man's face, as if the mere hatred in his eyes could kill the Rohir.
"Curse you and your base people", he hissed, trying to throw back the King.
"My men are going to overrun this place any moment now. There's nothing more you can do. You're finished, Ocharnil. Give up already!" Éomer growled back.
"You can't kill me, horselord!" exclaimed his opponent.
There was a sound of horn, and it was only few blocks away. Elfhelm was coming, very likely leading a full éored of furious Eorlingas. Ocharnil's eyes widened... and there was the opening Éomer had awaited.
"I already have", was all he said, and then Gúthwinë tasted at last the life's blood of Ocharnil as the blade cut into his neck.
As Ocharnil fell several things happened.
One was that Elfhelm and his riders arrived to the aid of the King of Rohan, and the square flooded with Rohirrim.
The second was that a tall, heavily muscled man threw a spear taken from a Rider towards Éomer.
And the third thing which happened was Lothíriel's grip faltering as she fell from behind her beloved to the ground.
A/N: Here's update again! I've been kinda busy, so I got this ready only now, and that was after some difficulty in decising how things about this chapter should turn out. At first I had problems figuring out the matter of Ocharnil, but as you can see I did solve that matter eventually.
I did my best writing Éomer confronting our villain. I'm not sure how well I did, because I don't consider myself such a good action writer, and anyway like I said I had difficulty in decising what should be the circumstances of their confrontation. This was probably also because so many of my readers apparently want to see a proper fight between the two, and I didn't want to disappoint that wish. Hopefully I did manage to create something exciting here.
Also I can't tell how glad I'm to hear that so many of you like Ant! I'm rather fond of her too. :)
As for Ocharnil's motivations in this chapter, I'd point out that this situation is not what he planned. He didn't foresee Éomer becoming the King, but he's desperate enough here to actually try and take down our favourite horselord. One, he'd get his revenge; two, he'd remove someone who could become a problem as far as his powerhungry plans go; and three, getting to Lothíriel means that he has to get past Éomer first. How he stayed hidden until now is likely because after the battle he took refuge in one of the houses he owns in the city, and then had men out just in case Lothíriel was alive, because before she finds Éomer she's pretty much the only one who can testify that he's a damned villain.
All the same, the chapter ends with yet another cliffhanger. Originally I did not mean to stop there but then as I tried to continue it just didn't seem like a part of this one, and as a writer I'm evil enough to enjoy keeping you, my dear readers, on your toes.
Hope you liked this chapter, and thanks for reviews!
solar1 - And here's the reunion! :)
Sandy-wmd - Glad to hear that! I thought as well that it'd be more interesting to read, not to mention more realistic, if she had some difficulty in getting out.
You guessed right! Éomer and his men indeed came to look for her, but surprise was what did get instead!
Mellon - We've yet to see if things keep going wrong...
Le Pleiade - That is nice to hear - I was a bit doubtful of how that turn would be received.
And you're right - the encounter with Ant and her peers should give food for thought for all parties involved. As for Lothíriel's family, hopefully this chapter answers your musings about them!
Talia119 - I did consider going that way, actually. But that would have required a kind of different character than Ant is. I had two reasons I went this way: first, because if she tricked Lothíriel somehow it'd have prolonged this story (perhaps considerably) and secondly, because I wanted to create bit of a contrast to Ocharnil. Ant has a shady past, as do her friends, but I wanted to show that someone living that kind of life could still be kind and empathetic.
As for Ant's name, I'd imagine it's either a nickname or a shortened version of her rightful name.
Katia0203 - Thank you for your compliments! Really warms my heart. :) I hope you'll continue to like this story!
annafan - Oh yes, she's definitely someone who'll try to get out if she sees the chance.
She doesn't really figure out she could try and get help from the Rohirrim because she only sees them at the end of the last chapter, and she'd not only have known where to look for them but also whether they'd believe her.