A/N: Whoa now! Twenty chapters and Twizzlers for everyone! This is great. I've never written a twenty-chapter fanfic. Actually, I've never written a fanfic before. This is super! Anyway, sorry for the egregious delay. ~ S

Chapter 20: The Suffering of Queens

"Wake up." Lothíriel felt a boot kick her gently in the back. Rolling to the side, she was met with Beorn's cornflower eyes, which regarded her with an emotion she couldn't place. He was inches from her, leaning over her bed. She could hear the other men murmuring quietly behind him.

"My brother is awake," the leader of the Dunlendings stated, moving back so she could get up. Her muscles were either extremely sore or numb. Her hair was in disarray and there was dirt and soot on her skin. Certainly she looked more like a wraith queen than Rohan's monarch. She ignored the image she must've presented to them because it didn't matter.

She knelt beside Beorn's brother, whose name was Eofor. He looked much better, his eyes open and skin cool. His eyes were the same color as his brother's though warmer. He smiled with cracked lips and she guessed he was about seventeen. His hair was dark and long, the faint stubble across his chin giving him the appearance of being older.

"Good morning," she said politely. She noticed someone had changed his bandage while she slept. She gently unwrapped the linen. Eofor winced.

"Are you an Elf?" the young man's voice was strained and faltering in Rohirric.

"No," she replied with an inescapable smile. She cleaned the wound quickly, noting how he tried to remain stoic. She marveled at tolerance of the young man (though she imagined he was really still a boy, made old by experience). "But I could probably introduce you to one." He smiled back at her, his eyes narrowed with pain. She cleaned the end of his arm and rewrapped it. He thanked her and Lothíriel found herself far more tolerant of this one, rather than his brother.

Said man observed her with a dour expression, leaning against the stone, smoking a pipe. Lothíriel glared at him and he stared back her with equal intensity. His assertive nature reminded her of Éomer. But then, her husband was not one to capture Queens and blackmail them into helping him. Minor difference. Beorn relented to her silent admonishment and doused the pipe.

She was not allowed to see to Elfhelm, but she could see that he would be alright. His external injuries seemed minor. She worried at broken bones and internal damage, but there was nothing to do about that now. He offered her a gentle reassurance with his eyes across the cave. She was wished she could find the strength to save the both of them, but she wasn't entirely sure she possessed such valor.

The hours passed without time. Lothíriel didn't know how long they'd been gone and she had no idea if it was day or night. Beorn had allowed her to relieve herself outside, but she'd been blindfolded and escorted by two guards. They gave her relative privacy and she was permitted to remove the blindfold, though she didn't need it. She didn't recognize the place at all. It was all rocks and scraggly ground. She saw the sun was hidden by clouds but guessed it was twilight. Once she'd finished, the blindfold was returned and she was escorted back.

As they reached the hollowed circle in the cave and her blindfold was taken off, Lothíriel listened to the men speak. Kneeling beside Eofor, she wiped his brow, glancing every now and again to the circle of men. Eofor was listening as well, his expression troubled. Lothíriel couldn't understand their dialect but it sounded urgent. Beorn looked distressed and he shot her a glare. He spoke brusquely to his men, waving an arm in a horizontal sweep to indicate the cave. A Dunlending responded quickly and sharply, pointing at Lothíriel and raising his voice. Beorn reprimanded him, also gesturing to the Queen. After a moment of silence, he gave directions. The same fellow began a question, to which Beorn cut him off sharply. The man bowed and the cave was emptied of Dunlendings.

"Morgil says your King has been spotted south of this place," Eofor murmured to her. "My brother sent them to make sure the party does not find us."

Panic rose in Lothíriel's chest as the prospect of a confrontation became quite real. Her heartbeat quickened and she sat back heavily on her heels, seeing bloodshed before her eyes. What if Éomer was killed? What if the Dunlendings slew the lot of them? What if…? A hand wrapped around hers, bringing her back to reality. Eofor was grasping her hand in his, his expression concerned.

"My lady?" he asked softly. Lothíriel forced a smile and patted his hand. He lay back against the pallet and she resumed her task. She was mildly surprised with Eofor's kindness toward her, given the contempt she'd been met with from the other Dunlendings. Perhaps it was his age.

"You need to rest," she said with a nod. He rolled his blue eyes to the ceiling, a lopsided grin on his lips. "Don't you give me that face," she scolded in a good-natured tone. "Now to sleep!" Eofor fell back against the pallet with an indignant but playful thud. But he did close his eyes and after a moment, his breaths deepened. The young man had suffered much in these days and could not be made to stay awake longer than necessary.

Lothíriel scooted away from him, cleaning the extra bandages in the small cistern of warm water. She glanced up at Elfhelm, who was bound and gagged in a painful niche. His eyes were closed and it seemed he was conserving his strength. She heard Eofor shift on his bed before resuming a gentle snore. She smiled to herself, the young Dunlending suddenly reminding her of her brothers.

"You shouldn't treat him like a child," Beorn said quietly. He was sitting across from her, his knees drawn up. He leaned against the stone, looking at her between the peaks of his knees, his forearms resting on their surface. He looked utterly relaxed, the countenance of a lounging predator. At the slightest move, he could spring to action, taking down anything in his path.

"He is," she replied, glancing back at the younger brother.

"No, my lady. He is not."

"What would you have me treat him as?" she asked softly. Beorn's eyes met hers as she washed. She held his gaze steadily, not willing to let him dominate her with his words and silent authority. "Would you rather I treat him like some barbarian, unfeeling and cold? Tell him to ignore the pain and forge ahead? You and I both know that kind of talk could get him killed."

"It hasn't," he murmured.

"Yet." She stopped washing, sitting back on her heels to look at him. "Who put such loathing in your hearts?"

"You might ask your King," he answered after a moment. She realized she was sitting only a pace or two from him. His blue eyes bore into her like icicles, remorseless and frozen. "It was his uncle's son who butchered my mother and sister. It was his sword that stole the life from boy twice before his time."

Lothíriel tilted her head slightly, black curls draping her shoulder as she listened. The bitterness in his voice was not lost on her. But neither was the pain.

"If you expect me to believe you are not guilty of similar acts, then –"

"I have killed no one's wife, nor sister or daughter!" he exclaimed, but lowered his voice. Eofor and Elfhelm slept on. Beorn moved toward her, until he was inches from her face. She could almost taste the earth and sweat on his skin but refused to avert her eyes.

"Perhaps not," she replied at length. "But you have killed someone's husband, brother and son. You cannot deny that." She could tell he was going to berate her for that comment, but she didn't give him the chance. "This is a war torn country. I am not ignorant of that. All the same, it seems peace could be had."

"Tell that to your husband," he growled. But this time, it was Beorn who broke the gaze, staring irresolutely at the ground.

"He is too pigheaded to accept the thought, just like you. But between you two, I do not doubt an understanding could be had. An alliance, no. But accord for all your years of bitter fighting would be welcomed. You and my husband have the potential to stop this."

"Somehow I think it is you who would put the words in our mouths," he murmured. He looked at her again. She noted the way his visage was centered on his eyes, pools of azure gleaming and watching. He was very much in similar appearances of King Elessar, though Beorn seemed younger. The Dunlending shifted, moving his head closer to hers. Lothíriel found herself immobile. His fingers wound around a lock of hair as he maintained her gaze steadily.

"Beorn." She spoke softly as he moved closer still. "Do not give me reason to call you a barbarian," she whispered hesitantly, closing her eyes. She felt his gentle pressure on her hair release and the warmth emanating from his body disappeared. When she opened her eyes, he was standing several paces away, glaring at the negative space between them.

Lothíriel felt an unfamiliar and indescribable pressure in her neck, as if her heart had been caught between her chest and mouth. The back of her eyes stung with tears that she did not let fall. What was the matter with him? How dare he think he could be congenial to her and then turn around and seduce her? She looked up, about to give him what-for when she found he was upset with himself. His expression had darkened and she could almost see the self loathing leak from his skin.

"Get up," he muttered tightly. She stared at him, bemused and concerned. "Stand up, curse you!" She stood unsteadily. Elfhelm and Eofor roused at the sound of Beorn's voice, the latter about to ask a question, which his brother silenced. The sound of horses, though distant, could be heard through the long opening of the cave. Éomer was here.

"Brother, you must get up as well." Beorn was buckling his sword to him, tossing the order over his shoulder. Eofor stood and Lothíriel immediately moved to help him. He thanked her with his eyes and pulled his belt and scabbard from the ground. Lothíriel did not offer to assist him in putting it on, for it meant that she would have sentenced a rider of the Mark to injury or death. Beorn helped his brother and they doused the torches.

Lothíriel felt a hand on her wrist and she was tugged toward the dim light of the mouth of the cave. She was being led by Beorn and she heard Eofor behind her. She paused, glancing around in the relative darkness.

"But –"

"There is no time for him," Beorn hissed in her ear, pulling her along. So they exited the cave, leaving Elfhelm behind.

The grey sky, though bleak, was bright and its intensity caused dots to impede Lothíriel's vision as she was hauled roughly around. She tripped on the wet ground, listening to the sounds of horses as they neared. Seeing there was nothing for her to do, Lothíriel allowed Beorn to drag her around, Eofor bringing up the back. It all looked the same for her, but Beorn seemed to have an idea. He stopped suddenly, turning to his brother.

"Go east," he indicated a jerk of his head. "Circle around them. We'll meet you at the stone pass." Eofor looked at him, pupils dilated. But within a second, he nodded and sprinted away. Lothíriel turned on Beorn.

"You've sent him to his death! Straight into the path of my men!"

"Sacrifices," Beorn muttered, yanking on her wrist as he started moving again. "And if you're wise, my lady, you will not test my patience."

Lothíriel offered a silent prayer for Eofor, for she knew the Riddermark would show him no mercy. She longed for the sword Éomer had given her. The she remembered the dagger in her boot, scowling deeply at her own stupidity. Why hadn't she recalled that earlier? She felt it now, rubbing gently against her skin as they tore around the rocks and stones. Well she would make its presence known soon enough, or she'd be just as doomed as Beorn's brother.