Writ of Shadows and Phantoms
Chapter 16: of Foreseen and Unforeseen
Edoras
Beginning of Winter, 3019 T.A.
The night air was chilling. The still silence was broken by an occasional song of a bird. The stars blinked in the dark sky. Gamling stood leaning against the carved wooden beam outside Meduseld. His breaths blended into a mist of silver as he exhaled slowly. He was summoned to Éomer's study shortly after dinner.
"Gamling."
"What do you need of me?"
Éomer was standing in front of the bookshelf. His fingers slid along the few dusty books that laid idle. He turned to glance at the older man.
"Now it is the time to settle some unfinished business."
"My lord?"
"Snowbourn."
He knew Éomer would not have overlooked it. It came earlier than he thought.
Éomer decided to ride out in two days with his éored. Gamling suggested sending a detachment but he refused. He wanted to question them personally why they had not come to Dunharrow, why they failed to answer to their King's call and why they betrayed their oaths.
Gamling took another sip from his tankard. His eyes are thoughtful.
A strong gust of cutting wind howled in the dark, foreshadowing conflict to come.
Two days later.
"Lothí…..riel…" The undistinct voice called her again.
She looked around, searching for the source but it was dark and she could not even see her own fingers. The air was cold and dense and made her hackles stand.
"Who are you?" She continued to search aimlessly in the darkness.
"Sh…." It died off and came back. "You will see."
Her steps halted as she felt her feet hit something. It made a clank. She leaned down to pick it up. In her hands, she saw a sword broken in half. She loosened her finger a little and saw the hilt. Then she heard the unmistaken sound of liquid dripping.
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. It went. And it became more frequent and louder.
She looked around again. She was alone. A sudden chill ran down her spine.
It was the smell that caught her. And her hands were wet. She lifted her hand with the sword in it - a flow of scarlet summer wine trailing down the blade to the hilt. It kept dripping from the pommel.
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. The eyes were bleeding. Shaken, she dropped the broken blade.
It made a loud and clear clank as it hit the ground.
It smelled iron.
It was blood.
Lothíriel bolted upright in her bed, her eyes filled with terror. She had not had any nightmare since she came to Edoras. She touched her face and checked her hands to be assured it was only a dream. She had broken out in a cold sweat and was now shaking in fear. Her chest rose violently whilst she tried to catch her breaths.
She blinked a few times and just sat in her bed, trying to stitch the eerie images together.
She remembered the hilt clearly. It was a special make. One that nobody would forget.
Red leather bound with two horseheads coiling around it.
Gúthwinë.
She stayed awake until daybreak. She could not go back to bed after her nightmare.
As she opened the front door of her cottage, she was greeted with blinding and shimmering silvery ground. The snow came. The sparkling flakes danced around her. It was her first snowy winter. This explained the sharp plunge in temperature last night. It never snowed in Dol Amroth no matter how cold it was.
Pulling her wool robe tighter, she swirled down in great flurries over the snow-coated city. The glittering dust crunched under her boots. It was a beautiful scene. The flakes were falling silently all night long on the mountains and on the roofs of the living. As she drew closer to the orphanage, she heard cheerful laughter and shouts. The children were already outside, enjoying the merry of the snow.
She turned to glance across the city. Time seemed to have stopped.
Though beautiful the snow was cold and sharp as it bit at her fingers and the wind kissed her cheeks. She hastened to the children to be certain that they were wrapped up warm and tight for the cold. Whilst she checked the children, the city woke up with loud neighs. The doors of the stable were open. Horses breathed and snorted noisily. She thought many rides were up early. Those were Éomer's éored. She recognised their armour. They muttered among themselves. She could not catch or comprehend completely what they were saying. But every now and then Snowbourn was mentioned.
"Hannor, keep this scarf tight," she tightened the lace around the young man's collar. She lowered herself and hissed to him. "What are they saying?"
"They? Oh, the riders. They are leaving for Snowbourn today, it seems."
"Today? Snowbourn?"
She dashed up the stoned steps. She knew Snowbourn, of course. Back in Minas Tirith, the old riders told her that none of the reinforcements from Snowbourn had shown up when Théoden mustered them. Knowing Éomer's character, her heart feared for what he had decided to do.
She swung the doors open and stamped across the main hall. All the riders turned to her. She caught Éothain with a few riders standing next to the fire pit.
"Where is your King?" she demanded, finding it hard to suppress her anger.
"He is in his bedchamber with …... They are…."
She did not wait for him to finish. Her steps hammered down the hall again.
Her feet came to a halt when she reached his room. He was talking to Gamling. Her heavy and loud footsteps caught their attention. They stopped their conversation and turned around to her. It was hard to tell who was more surprised. Éomer certainly did not expect to see her in the morning and in his bedchamber.
"Good morning, my Lords," she found it an effort to remember her courtesies.
"Good morning, my lady," Gamling returned with a smile.
Her jaws clamped tightly before she found her voice again.
"If you could spare a few minutes for me please, Lord Gamling, I would like very much to have a word with your king."
It was more a demand than a question. Gamling exchanged a look with Éomer. The young king nodded. "I will meet you at the front porch."
The old rider gave both a polite nod and left.
"It is unusual to see you here," he said casually. One of his feet was up on a chair; he leaned forward to tighten the buckles of the greave around his lower leg. He had known her deliberate intention to stay away from his bedchamber.
"Why did you not tell me you were going to Snowbourn?" She took a step forward, almost barked at him.
"It was not necessary."
He replied with a tone of disinterest and continued to fasten another greave.
"Why do you need to go to Snowbourne? A detachment would have been sufficient!"
"That is not for you to judge."
"I am part of your council. This matter should have been discussed and agreed beforehand. You…"
"If you wish me to remind you – this matter is strictly and solely an affair of Rohan," he interrupted her harshly. "And, it is not within your jurisdiction to interfere."
"But, there is no need for you to go to Snowbourne. You could've…."
She did not finish.
"Lothíriel! They failed to answer to the muster by their King. They failed to fulfil their oaths to their land. And, now they will answer personally to me why they had not come when Rohan was in need at the most difficult times!"
He returned to his splenetic nature. His outburst startled her.
"But your place is with Edoras.."
He cut her off again before she could finish. "I am the King. I know my place damn well. It is time you learn yours."
His voice was curt and hard. He squeezed his eyes and gave her a hard stare.
She heard the sound of his receding footsteps.
She chewed her lip and said nothing. It is time you learn yours - his words were cruel. She hated them. She was hurt. All her concern meant nothing but a child's tyranny to him. Why had she come only to bruise her pride? Why should she even care? It was a constant battle between them both.
She closed her eyes to draw a deep breath. The blood-dripping hilt flashed before her again. She opened her eyes and it was gone. She stormed out of his chamber and headed to the main hall. He was not there.
"My lady, are you feeling fine? You look pale," someone asked.
She turned around to find Éothain with a worried look. He did not seem to have been offended by her rude behaviour earlier.
"Éothain," she grabbed both his forearms hard, pulling him closer, "watch your King. Do not let anyone or anything near him! Do not leave him at all cost! Do you hear me?"
"I will, of course! I am his bodyguard! For Béma's sake, what has gotten into you?" He tried to calm her down.
"There are enemies who mean Éomer ill. Promise me you will watch him! Promise me!"
Her grips on his hands tightened. She could hardly control her whimpering voice.
"It is my job to protect my King," the young rider put his hand on her shoulder to reassure her. "I have to go, my lady."
The bated breaths of horses mingled and swirled with the cold air. The trampling hoofs made down the slope to the gate, leaving a trail of winding black line behind. She saw him leaving from the porch of Meduseld. He waved at his riders to proceed. He led the group and he did not look back.
The following days felt like years. She now knew waiting was a form of pure torment. She could not concentrate in her classes. Her mind would wander and her thoughts would drift. The nightmare did not come back but she felt the unease lingering within her. Whenever she had some time, she would stand with the guards at the gate, hoping to see at least a messenger. But news did not come until a week before Yule. The King and his éored would return to Edoras in two days. It was late midnight when the company returned.
She was tucking the children to bed when she heard the galloping of the horses. Quickly shortening her lullaby, she kissed the youngsters good night and made her way to Meduseld. There were no cheery chatters that usually filled the hall. All the soldiers looked worn and exhausted. Their face showed no joy but grimace.
"Gamling," she caught the old rider.
"My lady."
"How was Snowbourn?"
"It was very dreadful," Gamling shook his head.
"Where is Lord Éomer? Is he hurt?"
"He went straight to his bedchamber. I don't know, my lady. He has not spoken a word since we left Snowbourn. We rode fast and hard back to Edoras. He has not slept much either," he said with a tone of worry.
"What happened, Gamling?"
"A….a…. merciless butchery. I should have seen it coming," he turned his face away. His voice was soaked with emotions. He blamed himself for not foreseeing it before. It was now too late. "I've failed him."
"Whatever happens, it is not your fault," she tried to offer some consolation.
"Lord Éomer..."
"Let me see him."
"I am not certain it would be a good moment, my lady," the old rider hesitated.
"I need to see him, Gamling." She insisted.
She knew she could never cross the boundary of her so-called diplomatic condition. Erchirion warned her before he left. She could not help it tonight. She had to see for herself that he was unhurt.
"My lord?" Eothain saw her coming in from the front doors but hesitated if he should alert his King.
Dropping his pauldrons on the table, he turned to his Marshal. "What is it, Éothain?"
"It is, errr…"
Pitching the bridge of his nose, his King raised his head and questioned him with a hint of impatience between his scowl. "Speak quickly!"
Then he saw her standing at the door.
"May I come in?" She asked. A relief showered her when she saw him.
He signalled rather unwillingly to acknowledge her admission. He turned away and continued to unfasten his sword belt. It was only when she came closer to him that she saw the inevitable fatigue showered over his face. Other than his usual unkempt appearance, he looked exhausted and worn from inside out. His hair was messy with tangled locks; his face still carried the soot and dirt from riding. The sweat and grease on his face shone under his tanned skin.
"What is it?" Her voice was soft.
He threw her a grave look but remained silent. Then he hissed in pain when trying to pull his sword belt over his head.
"You are hurt," she entered the room and went closer. Concern was written all over her face.
"I am fine," he declared coldly, resuming the task of removing his armour.
"We need to get you clean up," she came in front of him.
"Just leave me, woman!" He barked. His patience was hanging by a thread. He needed no more trouble than he already had.
She did not give it. She turned to his bodyguard at the door. "Can you get me a huge basin of warm water and some cotton towels please, Éothain?"
The young rider quickly proceeded to her needs.
Soon, Éothain came back with some hot water and towels. Taking them off her hands, she urged the young man to rest. "You should go and get some rest, Éothain. You look drained."
The man young did not know how to respond. He was indecisive if he should get some rest which he needed desperately, or he should stay with help as it deemed improper to leave a lady alone with a man. Sensing his uncertain thought, Lothíriel just stood up and pushed him out of the room, "Go and get some sleep. It is not time to think about modesty. I will take care of him. Go!" She closed the door.
She returned her gaze on the Horselord. He cursed lowly under his breaths.
"Just leave. You are not supposed to be here."
"I won't until I see your wound."
"Fine! Suit yourself," he sounded annoyed and angry. His armour clattered as he let it fall onto the floor. He flung his chainmail and then took off his tunic, ignoring her.
It was then she saw a darkened patch on his neck where his shoulder met. She felt an instant sting in her heart. The blood had soaked into his shirt and spread all over his shoulder. It was not a small scratch that would have caused that much bleeding.
He cursed again, removing his shirt only to tear the dried blood with it. A trail of crimson flowed down his back.
"Lord Éomer," she called him in a mild tone. "Let me dress your wound."
"I told you I am fine! Are you deaf?" This time he barked at her.
"What is with you?" she barked back. "I am trying to help!"
"I did not ask for your help! And we have gone through this once in Minas Tirith. I am sure you don't need reminder for that!"
"Your men are concerned about you, for Valar's sake! You should have seen Gamling's face! That poor old friend of yours should not have to worry about you!" She snapped. "He blamed himself for whatever that happened in Snowbourn! And now you are sulking like a child! Do you really think this will make Gamling feel better?"
That sent him silent. He settled himself in a chair and let out a loud disheartening sigh.
She had never seen him like this. So shattered as if his heart had been gnawed, leaving an empty void.
"I need to wash your wound and dress it at least to stop the bleeding. I don't have any salves. A healer will need to see to it tomorrow." Her tone was milder as her anger died down.
He looked away and did not reply. She regarded that he had agreed to it.
The deathly silence breathed around them as she ran the damp towel over his wound. It was an incision beneath his collar, just where his armour ended. It was swollen and clogged with soot.
"How did you get this?"
"Just a scratch of a spear," he answered. His attitude softened.
"Just a scratch? A few inches more, you will be memory!" She reminded him whilst dressing and tieing a bandage over him.
He snorted refusing to respond to her.
She let out a breath.
"I will need to clean you up a bit more."
She took in the sadness sinking in his eyes. She lifted her hand and cupped his face, then swiped the grim away with the damp towel in her hand. Her eyes followed the motion of her hand. The dirt was stubborn and the stench from his armour was pungent, meaning he had not washed for a few days. Still holding his chin in her other hand, her fingers rubbed away the filth on his forehead, his eyebrows, down his nose, around his eyes and his cheeks. Feeling the towel had gone cold, she stood up and rinsed the towel in the basin, squeezed off excessive water and resumed from where she stopped.
"What happened, Éomer?" She finally asked. It was the first time she addressed him without formality.
He grimaced at her question. After a long pause, he finally spoke,"we arrived and found Dunlending outlaws roaming everywhere. We managed to capture some of them but their leader escaped."
"But we saw no men, women or children in the settlement. All the livestock were gone. Then, we found a long abandoned pyre. Blackened logs scattered everywhere and ashes were thin, washed away by the rain. When we stepped closer, we saw what remained beneath the ashes - the burnt bones of men and women and children. Their hands and feet were bound," he continued bitterly.
"And..." He breathed deeply before continuing.
"They were...they were burnt…..alive," The last word came out longer than usual. Anger and despair flared in his voice.
Her body gasped suddenly for air. She could not imagine being there to see all the broken bodies. How hard it must be for him to see the slaughtered remains of his people. And there were children. She felt moist crept into her eyes. Her throat compressed with a sour taste in her mouth.
Trying control her emotion, she rose to rinse the towel again only to be abruptly stopped by his grip on her hand. She was not certain if it was out of her sympathy or other emotion that she instinctively brought herself closer to him and allowed his head to rest on her abdomen. Her fingers ran through his hair fondly, untangling the locks. His arms wrapped and coiled around her slender waist, embracing the comfort he seeked. He dug his face into the fabric of her dress, inhaling her scent, accepting the uninvited sympathy.
"While I sat on my throne questioning their loyalty, they were but already melted flesh! They have been dead all this while!" His voice pained her.
He was upset and angry. Remorse and guilt were inevitable.
"Their deaths are not of your doing. You could not have seen it." It was the best she could offer.
"Nobody came to them," he tightened his grip around her waist.
"It is not your fault."
They remained for a long time. Darkness breathed around them as if the unrest souls were crying for mercy, begging for life at the doorstep of death and asking why their king had not come to their aid.
"I should go. It is late."
"Stay. Just tonight."
She possessed a power to adapt herself to varied conditions of life, loved or not loved. And tonight it was put to an ultimate test.
TBC
Chapter 17: The almost ultimate breakthrough with some exposed flesh... (Coming soon!)
Footnote
Greave: (noun)armour to protect lower leg.