Chapter 31

Dol Amroth

February 3020

Erchirion heard them before he ever saw them. His father, Elphir and their two guests. He would have gone and passed them completely, opening his book to seem miles away in his mind, but their first guest stepped in front of them with absolute grace. Erchirion closed his book with a light sigh and met the eyes of Glorfindel.

The elf who had always seemed to shine from within had dimmed slightly after the quiet conversation. He was not surprised. Ever since Lothíriel's death, any conversation about her had had that effect. "Lord Erchirion, it is good of you to join us. Other than the welcoming party – which I may remind you that you only stayed for ten minutes – I haven't seen you at all since. I think even that you have been up in your library so often that you missed the arrival of your latest friend." The word friend was jarring. Erchirion wanted to immediately give his excuses before having to meet the man, but upon hearing Glorfindel, the other three joined them in the corridor. Erchirion wanted to leave rather than look upon his other guest, but protocol and etiquette demanded that he pay his respects. Bowing low, trying to convince himself not to straighten with the sour look he seemed to sport whenever he was near, he spoke.

"King Éomer, thank you for visiting us." The words were bitter in his mouth and it took all he had to contain himself. Indeed, he believed that if his father and brother had not been there, he might have struck the man simply for existing. He did not kill her with his own hand, but he might as well be her murderer! Éomer did not look the same as when Erchirion had last seen him. Before he had been proud and joyous like a lion but now he wasn't even a shadow of the same man. Although he still stood tall and alert – years of real world training he imagined – his face was drawn and a look of pronounced sorrow held in his eyes. Under his eyes were huge bags proving the lack of sleep. The sleep of a guilty man he imagined, though that one thought didn't remain because Erchirion had had difficulty sleeping since the event as well.

"It's been a while, Lord Erchirion." Éomer's voice was low but clear. "I was going to visit your sister's grave this morning before your father, brother and Glorfindel caught me in this corridor and showed me to her chamber. I would greatly enjoy having you join me when I go to pay my respects."

"I'm afraid I'm much too busy at the moment." Erchirion's words were clipped as he turned to go. A hand reached out and caught him by the arm. He turned, some of the anger he had concealed lighting on in his eyes, to see that it was his father who had stopped him.

"I think it would be for the best." Imrahil pulled Erchirion back, swiftly taking the book from his hand. His tone was one that none could argue with. "Show King Éomer the way to your sister's grave."

"I miss you a great deal you know." Éomer was on his knees as he touched the marble stone, tracing his fingers along the carved letters Here lies Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil. May she sail forever under a clear sky. He felt tears stinging his eyes as she read it over and over. "Do you know that shortly after sending you the letter, just before I discovered your fate, I had resolved to marry you – if you would have had me of course." He sighed and didn't speak for several minutes until finally he could allow the words access without his sorrow consuming them. "Why did you leave us Lothíriel, my love? Why did you choose to leave the company of the sun and join the moon instead?" As he mentioned the moon, the words he had heard during Yule came back to him. 'He must follow the raven's wing to the sea of sand to find the moon's blood.' He shook his head, dispelling his thoughts and stared blankly at the horizon where the sky and sea met. "My advisors often feel I need to be reminded that I am the last male heir to the house of Eorl. Of my entire blood, I only really have Éowyn left and soon she will leave me for Faramir. I do not begrudge her happiness, I simply wish that I could be equally happy with her." He looked back down at the stone. "I wish I never had to marry. If it were not for the sake of my blood and my people, I would live on without spouse or children and join you in the afterworld with no attachments." He took his hand off of the stone and stood. "Alas, that cannot be. I will part with you by saying that I will always love you and that until I have left Dol Amroth, I will not stop thinking of you. After I have left, I doubt I will ever return to this city." A small breeze blew past him towards the south. He put the palm of his hand gently to his lips and kissed it. Before the breeze ended, he put his hand outward and opened his fingers, allowing the kiss to be taken by the wind.

"Are you quite satisfied to let me sister rest in peace now?" Erchirion had allowed himself to be stirred into a bit of a frenzy as he had watched Éomer from the beach below.

"I never meant to disturb her peace, only to say goodbye." Éomer looked cautiously at Erchirion. "I don't think your sister would begrudge me that."

"Perhaps not," Erchirion's voice was full of all the venom he had so meticulously hidden before, "but I certainly do."

"I don't think I understand you." Éomer's tone held a strained warning but Erchirion charged further ahead without considering.

"I doubt you would, when you only think of yourself in this. You, who are the man I consider my sister's killer." Erchirion's rage propelled him even further. "If you had not picked up Lothíriel's heart only to cast it away shortly thereafter she would still be alive today!" Éomer seemed to diminish somewhat but Erchirion was not satisfied. He balled his hand into a fist and punched Éomer with all his might. The man's head barely moved, the rest of him remained completely still. If he had not been in such a state, he would have nursed his hand which smarted from the contact but instead it only added more fuel to the fire. Erchirion reached out and grabbed Éomer's tunic. "Even if she were still alive today, I would have not let her have any contact with you. My only regret in this is that I ever considered giving her your letter which no doubt would have only broken her heart anew!"

Life flashed in Éomer's eyes and what had diminished grew twofold until he stood tall and his presence seemed to take up twice the space it already had. Reaching forward with his two large hands, he took both of Erchirion's arms just about the elbow and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed no more than a rag doll until their eyes were level.

"You never gave her my letter? It arrived before she died?" He shook the prince. "You fool!" He threw him onto the ground with a cry that was mixed between grief and rage. Erchirion scrambled to his feet, standing stubbornly in front of Éomer. "You foolish, foolish man! If you had only given it to her, I believe she would still be with us today. I had written that I wished to renew relationship with her."

"Then I," Erchirion couldn't finish the words. He had always known it in some way or another, but he had never wanted to admit that he was the reason for the death of his most beloved sister. "No!" He screamed out towards the sky. "I loved her, I still love her!" Tears fell from his eyes. "I wished only to shield her from further heartbreak."

Éomer punched Erchirion squarely in the jaw. The difference was astonishing. Erchirion went sprawling backwards and fell, sputtering, into the waves with a large splash. He stared up at Éomer, a pillar of cold fire. "I swear that if you were not the son of Imrahil, a man I have come to respect, I would run you through with my sword this very day for this." Éomer stomped off leaving Erchirion alone to his guilt and grief.

The scream of agony would have shocked and dismayed anyone who heard it, if anyone had been around. Éomer was on his knees as the water lapped at his legs. He had come to terms months ago that his letter had either not arrived on time or at all and Lothíriel had taken her life because of it. But to discover that it had indeed arrived and in fact never reached Lothíriel because her brother had meddled in things he didn't fully understand, it had been too much. He wanted to remain furious with Erchirion, but a part of him – however much he wished to pretend it wasn't there – understood why he had acted in that way.

He thought about his relationship with Éowyn and all the things he would have done to spare her pain. He considered how much more pain he had indeed caused her even while his motives were pure and loving. It was a true blessing that she was still alive now even after all of the events that she had gone through. He sighed sadly and rested his open hands on his lap. Looking to the sky, he imagined how his life would have played out if she still lived. The words Erchirion had spoken rang in his mind. 'I wished only to shield her from further heartbreak.' Those were not the malicious words of someone who had meant harm, but of a loving brother who wanted their sibling to be happy again. Yes, Erchirion had acted like a fool, but he wondered if he had been put in the same situation with Éowyn, would he have acted any differently?

After a long while, he finally stood and began walking slowly to the castle. All of his rage had dissipated and was now replaced with a bitter sorrow. The castle itself was quite a distance away and in fact, in his anger he had gone almost as far as the forest. As he walked he watched to ground, spotting seashells and seaweed among the sand. Where he walked, the sand was still wet from the earlier tide, but not much farther to his side, the dry sand shifted as several breezes came and went. It was during one of these breezes that Éomer saw it in the dry sand.

A black feather was exposed from the sands. He had of course seen feathers while he had walked up and down the beach, but all of those feathers had been white from seagulls. The ebony feather was laying flat, but with each grain of sand that shifted off of it with the breeze, it seemed to shiver in anticipation of taking flight once again.

Before it could take off, he reached down and pinched the end of it with his fingers. He didn't know why he had decided to take it, but before he could do anything with it, a wind that was stronger than any he had felt that day gushed past him towards the south and he lost his grip on the feather. After watching the feather tumble in the air as it moved towards the south, he turned away, continuing on his trek towards the castle.

Erchirion was sitting in Lothíriel's room, holding the raven's feather in his hand when he heard movement at the door. Normally he would have ignored it, especially after having wept as bitterly as he had, but without looking, he could feel Éomer's presence. He turned, not even bothering to explain his red eyes and tear streaked cheeks. Even if he didn't care, Erchirion knew that Éomer would understand. When he saw him though, Éomer's focus was not on Erchirion but on the feather he held.

"What kind of feather is that?" His angry tone from earlier was gone, replaced with mild curiosity, laced with something else Erchirion couldn't place.

"It's a raven's feather." He answered, holding it out for Éomer. The large man strode forwards slowly, staring at it.

"I came across another just like it on the beach." He touched it gently. "He must follow the raven's wing to the sea of sand to find the moon's blood." He murmured gently. Erchirion withdrew his the feather as his eyebrows knit together.

"What did you say?" He turned his head to the side a bit, bringing his hear closer to Éomer.

"It's something someone back from Rohan said before he died." Éomer shrugged. "It's something I've been trying to figure it out since." When Éomer focused a bit more, he noticed Erchirion's expression. "Does it mean something to you?"

"Are you sure they said sea of sand and moon's blood?" Erchirion stood. Holding the feather up to Éomer. His earlier sadness was forgotten as his mind remembered all the books he had gone through while trying to figure out why the feather had been there when his sister was not. When Éomer nodded, the ghost of a smile came onto Erchirion's lips.

He rushed past Éomer, not caring that the man followed close behind. He traveled down the maze of corridors, eventually passing Elphir who began trailing after the two men until Erchirion reached the steps to his tower. Inside was the great library of Dol Amroth. It was, of course, a fraction of the size of the library of Minas Tirith, but he knew each of the books within like they were his old friends. He took the stairs two at a time, popping into rooms that to anyone viewing would seem random, always returning to the stairs with a book or two in hand. After grabbing at least ten different books, Erchirion found his table. He scooted the maps and books he'd had open already to one side of the table, laying down his current pile onto the empty space. Wasting no time, he opened the first book to the desired page. Most were in Westron while others were in Sindarin, Haradric, and other languages he'd taken years to translate before.

"What are you doing?" Erchirion looked up in surprise at Éomer. He had been so focused that he had entirely forgotten that the rohir or his brother were there.

"What you said gave me the keywords I've been searching for this whole time." He focused on the pages, skimming them until finally he found the words. He laughed triumphantly and pulled one of the maps he'd pushed over earlier. The maps lettering was not that of Westron, nor was it Sindarin but Haradric, or better said the sanded tongue.

"What is that?" Éomer asked as both he and Elphir leaned over the map, trying to understand what they were seeing. Erchirion's tone turned to one of a teacher to his student. He pointed to a specific area on the map.

"This is Gondor. I'm not very surprised that it doesn't have more than a few border towns on Gondor's side, but if you look past the border into Harad you'll see," he moved his finger to another area on the map where the curved symbols were clear, "the Sea of Sand." He pulled out several other maps and indicated large expanses with lettering. A few that were in Westron also had the words Sea of Sand but the geography was different. "Now," Erchirion continued on, "several places that have deserts, both in the past and currently, have called them a sea of sand. That phrase alone is absolutely meaningless. However, when you add the word moon's blood," He pulled the first map to the top of the pile and slapped his hand onto the marked desert, "the search is narrowed down to one place." He looked up into Éomer's eyes. "Harad."

"But what is a moon's blood?" Some of sorrow in Éomer's eyes had been replaced with curiosity.

"It's something that the Haradric call people who have pale skin. They call those with dark skin sun blood but the people from Gondor and further north are considered moon's blood. They are the only people I know of that use that term." Erchirion looked up at Éomer. "There's something else." He opened another book that bore the illustrations of several animals, both realistic and fantastic. Turning the pages until he came to the image of a raven. "In Harad there are people who have a connection to birds and the very birds they use have strange powers. Some of the powers include shape shifting. I had dismissed the notion before because I had no reason to believe anyone from Harad would come here for Lothíriel, but when you mention two things that are clearly from there, I cannot ignore it any longer."

"You're not saying," Éomer stopped his words, not daring to utter his hope.

"I am indeed saying that." He nodded, his smile growing wider. "I do not think my sister is dead. I think that she was taken from us and I was made to watch only an image of her die so she would not be followed." Just as Erchirion finished, Éomer chimed in.

"If that is true," Éomer paused, fearing the damage to his heart if the hope remained unfulfilled before clearing his throat. "Lothíriel is still alive, and we must rescue her."

"Then we should gather the horses and supplies, and find out if there is a trader willing to take us and our horses. If so we can leave on the tide tomorrow." Elphir spoke up, straightening. "I will speak to father right away."

"I hesitate to leave before doing a bit more research and gathering plenty of supplies." Erchirion sighed. Éomer's eyes heated as he gazed down at the scholarly prince.

"Do you not wish to find your sister? You would have her remain a captive longer than is necessary? Why? So you have had time to read?" Erchirion met Éomer's eyes with a cool expression as he folded his arms.

"Do you want to die of hunger or thirst in the desert? Or perhaps you would prefer to be enslaved by one of the many nomadic tribes that wander the Sea of Sand? What shall we do if you offend someone? A lot of good it will do you when you are outnumbered by people who don't care if you're the king of the Valar themselves!"

"Father will be able to advise us. Ever since the war ended, we have been one of the few Gondorian cities to resume trade with the port towns across the border." Elphir watched as both of the men in front of him relaxed and nodded.

"We will certainly ask Prince Imrahil for his advice, but I wish not to tarry." Éomer followed Elphir out of the room and began his decent from the tower.