Chapter 21: Lost and Found

Whatever possessed him to drag that sharp-tongued girl along was probably the same thing that influenced his tolerance of her. She was only slowing him down and irritated him with her questions. At least she had the sense not to scream like a gutted pig. He knew women had that propensity.

Beorn's grip on her wrist was tight because he could not afford to chase after her if she broke free. Her skin beneath his was soft and smooth, not at all unwelcoming. It was a fool's choice to abduct her. He'd been willing to leave Eofor to his misfortune, the stupid boy. If he couldn't stay on a horse, he deserved to have his hand smashed by unmerciful hooves. But his men would not quiet and went on and on about healing the lad. Finally, Beorn relented and allowed his men to devise a slapdash plan that involved capturing the Queen of Rohan.

While her skills were impressive, he found her a complex problem he was in no mood to deal with. On one hand, Beorn now held in relative captivity the Queen of his enemy. On the other, it meant the King would not stop until he found her. But it had been the will of his men that brought her here. He had to admit, it was a dramatic plan, sending that fellow from the north with a 'letter.'

How foolish of you, Éomer, Beorn thought smugly. You should have been more protective of your prize.

And now she was his. Well, she was under his control. Though he would never admit it to her or his men, he was pleased that his brother had a chance to survive. The lives they led were arduous and often required sacrifices of the most painful type. Had not Beorn's own father left his young sons to brave the bitter elements while fleeing the Riddermark so many years ago? Indeed, Beorn and Eofor grew up in a harsh world, one the likes of Éomer would never know. But it was this beautiful young Queen who'd given him hope. Given Eofor hope. But that angered Beorn. Men like him could not rely on hope. Not in this lifetime. She was putting ideas into their heads. Thoughts of comfort and trust. Those were dangerous and Beorn decided the Queen could become more of an enemy than Éomer without realizing it.

She'd worked her magic on his brother, but she was more trouble than she was worth. And now he had the King on his tail. Still, Beorn couldn't rationalize why he'd brought her. There was something about the woman that both irked and intrigued him. His brother had mistaken her for an Elf, but Beorn could see she was no such thing. She wasn't nearly arrogant or vain enough. But she was a pain.

He paused, listening to the sound of horses fading into the distance. They were not being pursued. Beorn felt the coldness seep into his very bones and he let out a heavy, smoky breath. The Queen beside him was panting lightly, her grey eyes narrowed with exertion. Leaning against the tall monument of stone, Beorn looked at her.

The thick riding dress was torn and muddied. Beneath, the skirts of brown appeared to only provide minimal warmth. Despite the dirt on her face, the Queen held an air of elegance foreign to a man like him. Her bone structure hinted at Elven heritage, with high cheekbones, arching brows and a strong jaw line. Her complexion was pale without being sickly. A thick mane of black curls, like serpents, veiled her neck. Éomer was a lucky man, it would seem.

"Do you plan to run forever?" she asked quietly. Her voice was accented, having hailed from Gondor. There was a quality to her voice that calmed him and offered him something beyond this dank existence.

"If I have to," he answered, looking away. He wasn't sure where he was running or why he'd taken her with him. He didn't worry about the Rohirric man abandoned in the cave. He was bound and gagged. Even if Éomer did somehow find him, Beorn didn't have to worry about the man telling his King anything important.

"Why did you send Eofor away?"

"I had to."

"Why bring me?"

"I had to."

"Have you a plan?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes," he snapped, knowing it was not the truth. It was evident she knew it too. She watched him with those grey eyes that seemed to look into his very soul. In all his years, Beorn had never met such an insufferable, beautiful, confounding, captivating woman and he found himself wanting to know more about her. To spend more time in her company.

Initially he felt wonderful satisfaction for capturing such a valuable pawn in this war against the Rohirrim. But there was a sense of longing as he looked at her. He would never taste her, never hold her, never know her touch. She was royalty. He was scum. In that way, he was more jealous of Éomer than ever. But it was not Éomer, King of Rohan, who held this woman's company now. It was Beorn.

"I have done as you asked of me. Your brother will be fine, as long as the bandages are changed and the skin is allowed to heal." She spoke to him, but her eyes were on the sky. "Will you be true to your promise and let me go now?"

"I believe I said I would allow you to return home," he reminded her. "If you so please, you may go." She looked at him, eyebrows raised. Clearly she hadn't anticipated him keeping his word. Neither had he. She turned away from him, contemplating a path. She began to retrace her steps, leaving Beorn leaning against the rock.

"My lady?" she paused, offering her profile as she waited for him to speak again. "Thank you."

She resumed walking, navigating the wet, muddy terrain with the awkwardness of unfamiliarity. Beorn looked away, refusing to watch her disappear. He feared failure. Allowing her to heal Eofor would ultimately destroy him. His men were either dead or in the process of killing the Riddermark. And for what? A woman he could never have. It was incredibly foolish of him to put his men in this situation. They had created such a perfect plan to irritate Éomer into ignoring his people and now it was jeprodized by this woman.

Beorn shook himself of his thoughts as the sound of horses grew closer. The Queen's figure halted, listening. He could run her down and demand the Rohirrim cease the murder of the Dunlendings. He could force Éomer to give him what he wanted. But watching her, he realized that it would be pointless. He would be killed. So he crept away on silent feet, sending a quiet promise into the cold air.

"By my life, Queen of Rohan, we will see each other again."

-o-

Éomer pulled Firefoot to a halt, his sword bloody. They'd been met by Dunlendings – an abnormal move. Usually the brutes did their mischief and slunk away. But these men charged his éored full force, as if it were their final fight. The Riddermark showed them no mercy, until Éomer stopped them. If these men had Lothíriel, killing them would keep him from finding her. Regardless, none of the men talked, even when threatened with their lives. He respected and cursed their loyalty.

"My lord!" Éomer turned in the saddle to see a Rohirric man gesturing to his King. Firefoot trotted toward the man. He was pointing at something in the valley of rocks. A figure was struggling against the slippery, difficult ground to ascend the hill. Éomer recognized the riding dress and touched his horse's flank. The beast responded knowingly, making his way down to Lothíriel.

She stopped and waited for him to reach her. Éomer dismounted before Firefoot had stopped, taking his wife by the shoulders, searching her face. Her skin was smudged with dirt and her dress was wet, but she seemed alright. She smiled slightly and Éomer felt his heart warm. He hadn't realized how much fear lurked within him until he saw her face. He couldn't imagine what he'd done if he hadn't found him.

"Thank Bema you're alive," he blabbered. "We must get you back to Edoras at once." He was in the process of picking her up and lifting her into the saddle, but she was protesting, slapping lightly at his hands. He stepped back, perplexed.

"I'm capable of getting on the horse myself," she muttered indignantly. "And first, we must fetch Elfhelm."

"Elfhelm?" Éomer frowned, eyebrows knitting with doubtful surprise. "I thought surely he was slain."

"It is not so," his wife replied, shaking her head. "They left him in the cave. Come, I will explain later. But he is need of food and water, I'll bet, after all this time."

"Lothíriel." The Queen turned to look at her husband. He stepped toward her, placing a hand on the side of her cheek. "I… I am glad you are well. I was worried… the Dunlendings are not known for their hospitality… I thought, perhaps… Well I didn't know for certain. I mean you –"

"I missed you," she said with a smile. She took his hand in hers, abolishing the awkwardness that threatened to destroy his reserve. He couldn't muster a smile to return, but he squeezed her hand gently in response. Perhaps things would be alright in the end.

A/N: I'm really sorry for the delay. I tried to work from a different POV, as requested, so hopefully that didn't disappoint. Thank you to Efia-an for her pointers on the previous chapter. I tried to explain some of the confusing bits in the last few chapters. If I haven't, please let me know so I can fix it, especially in terms of Éomer (if he seems out of character). Thanks for your support, guys! I'm writing for you! S