Chapter 8
It was full day when Éomer woke up. He could not recall the last time he had slept so deeply. Even if a band of orcs had marched in last night, he probably would not have woken up to notice.
He was glad to have been able to rest so. Much of the strain of past few days was gone from his muscles and he felt renewed. It had been good to sleep without having to worry about being found in the middle of the night. He stretched lazily and the sofa groaned under him. Somewhere outside, dogs were barking. These perfectly ordinary sounds seemed like such a blessed thing after many days of strife. When he sat up and raked a hand through his tangled hair, he grimaced to himself. It was a wonder that fisherman had agreed to ship him and Lothíriel to the city. He must be looking like a perfectly haggard disaster.
Once he was up, Éomer checked the other room as silently as he could. Lothíriel still slept, resting on her belly and sprawled on the bed like she had just fallen there and lost her consciousness the moment she hit the mattress.
He smiled to himself. When she slept, she looked so... so harmless. One might even forget she could put down a man in five seconds if she wanted. The young woman with a name as sweet as flowers was in fact as deadly as a viper.
The Rohir returned to the first room. Lothíriel had bought them enough food for three or four meals, and so he began to work on a breakfast – a skill acquired at many years of serving as Rider. He rummaged the tall cupboard, not out of expecting to find foodstuff but sheer curiosity. There was not even tea from her last stay. Then again, she had said it was years since she had last been here. He did discover a little bit of seasoning, though, for which he was glad when he found some eggs in the basket she had got from the tavern keeper.
"Good morning! Something smells good", a voice greeted him from behind, and Éomer turned to see his companion. He blinked and almost dropped the pan: there stood a woman in roughly woven gown and her long, black hair streamed down her shoulders. With a bright smile on her face, she looked so lovely and innocuous one could never have imagined the shady things she did in the name of Dol Amroth. And he was a fool who had taken her for a lad!
"Morning", he managed to answer and lifted the pan, "Breakfast?"
"Yes please", she said eagerly and hurried to set the table. They worked in companionable silence and he noted there was ease to how they operated together. She claimed to be a lone wolf, but Éomer wondered to himself if that was the truth, or just something her aunt had made her believe.
When they were eating, he made a light joke at her choice of attire.
"Not dressing as a boy anymore?" he asked with wry humour. She snorted as an answer.
"What, would you prefer it that way?" she quipped and there was a teasing look in her eyes, carefree and genuine. Suddenly he felt just as confused as before. But if Lothíriel noticed that, she did not reveal it. She continued to speak, "I'm going to get us some water from the well nearby. There will be people outside, and the more I look like a commoner, the smaller the chance will be that I'm noticed."
He frowned.
"Do you really think it's necessary?" he asked her. It sounded over cautious to him, but then again, what did he know?
"Well, considering I'm the one responsible for your safety and well-being right now, I'm not going to take any chances", she stated firmly. The Rohir hid a smile at her tone and the sheer absurdity of this little spy princess guarding him, a veteran of the Ring War and a warrior counted among the best of his age. She sounded like she could give Éothain a run for his money as far as fussing went.
While he was still thinking of this, she spoke again, "I'm sorry we don't have any clothes for you – not in your size, at least. I could go and see if there is anything at the markets, though."
"I would appreciate it. These are getting a little ripe", he noted and made a face. It was bewildering to think of all that happened over the past few days. It seemed like many weeks had passed since his ill-fated visit to the tavern in Dol Amroth. He could only wonder what was happening there now, and if Imrahil had been able to placate his Riders. Éothain should be able to keep them in line, but only if he did not allow his own fear and concern to take over. And if the captain held the Prince and his sons responsible for his king going missing... well, he just hoped his friend wouldn't declare a war between Rohan and Dol Amroth. But if Éothain managed to check them until Éomer was able to join them again, he imagined their hard feelings would be soothed when they learned that Imrahil's own daughter had saved him. At least himself, he was ready to forgive a lot of things for what she had done for him – and was still doing.
He also wondered if the corsairs had actually followed them all this way. Lothíriel and him hadn't left much of a trail to follow, but on the other hand, would it be necessary? Pelargir was a rather obvious destination for two fugitives. And Lothíriel had said the ship had taken so much damage, it wasn't likely they could escape her father's fleet. They still had much to gain if they could recapture their prize.
"What are you thinking of?" Lothíriel asked suddenly. He looked up from his food, which he had been staring at with unseeing eyes as he pondered. She had finished eating and was making a plain braid in her hair – something a woman from these parts might do to keep it away from her face. He idly thought of how beautiful her hair was when open.
"Just... everything. I was thinking of how my captain has taken all this... if he and my men are already tearing Dol Amroth apart. And I wonder if the corsairs truly followed us here", he answered at length.
"Do you think your men will be very harsh with my family?" she asked him warily.
"I don't know. I suppose it depends on what your father tells them… and how well your aunt is able to convince them of your skills. My Riders know that women can fight as well as any man, but they may have some difficulty in accepting the idea of a lady of Gondor working as a spy", he answered and pushed a slice of tomato in his mouth.
"I can understand that. But the best we can do right now is to stay put. The journey to Dol Amroth is long on foot and we don't have enough coin to buy horses. Plenty can go wrong on the road and I won't allow you getting killed after managing to get you this far safe and unscathed. Father will send a ship to fetch us as soon as my message gets to him. It may take a few days, so we must be patient and hope for the best", she said determinedly. Éomer felt half frustrated and half amused. For one so young, she somehow managed to be very convincing and commanding.
And she was right, of course. It would be foolish to go wandering the countryside when they had a perfectly good sanctuary right here. The journey would be faster either way if they just patiently waited for the ship and they would spare Imrahil's Swan Knights from having to search for them in the long roads between the cities. Éothain would tell him to stay and wait, not risk himself needlessly.
"Aye, I suppose you're correct", he sighed. "I simply do not like sitting around and waiting."
"Oh, I know how that feels", she said softly. Then she let out a small laugh, "My impatience was also Aunt's favourite topic for lectures. Sometimes I can still hear her shouting in my dreams, telling me to go slower and steadier and bide my time."
"She's one stern woman, isn't she?" Éomer commented quietly. Judging by everything Lothíriel had told him about her aunt and mentor, he wasn't sure he'd like the woman very much.
"Oh, that she is. I do not think she would be alive today if she wasn't", she said and looked away. A slight crease formed between her brows.
"Is that what one must become, then? If one wishes not to die in your trade?" Éomer asked her, searching for her eyes. But she wouldn't meet his gaze directly.
"She believes so", said Lothíriel in an unsure voice. Then she shook her head as if to get rid of an unpleasant thought. She got up on her feet so quickly that she almost lost control of her feet. The clumsy movement seemed odd compared to her usual stealthy grace.
"I must get going if we wish to have a bath today. Stay put, my lord", she announced, using a formal tone she had not been using often until now. But then it occurred to Éomer she had never been particularly formal with him to begin with.
Lothíriel swept out before he could come up with a sufficient answer. He sighed once more and imagined Éowyn standing nearby, arms crossed on her chest and her foot tapping the floor impatiently.
You and your big mouth.
Armed with two buckets from the little apartment, Lothíriel headed swiftly for the public well near their safe house.
It felt like he had seen straight through her, guessed her fear that she would never be as good as her aunt... and the other side of that fear: that she didn't want to change herself so deeply and dramatically as becoming Lady Ivriniel's equal would require. The strange, shady history of the Hidden Blades did not know many who could compare to Aunt, but on the other hand, Lothíriel had never known anyone who was as cold and loveless. In her heart of hearts, she dreaded sharing that fate. Aunt had taught her great many things, but not how to make sense of her own heart, her own desires. And so for the longest time, even she had ignored their existence.
And yet she hadn't really understood this until now – until Éomer had asked her if she ever thought about what her life would be like in future. It was a rather depressing thing to realise she probably didn't have choice anymore. Maybe the best she could hope now was to just become like her aunt, to unattach herself as far from human emotion as she could. Then it wouldn't matter what she did, and surely certain troubled thoughts about truth and the value of life she had been trying to avoid past few days would be gone for good. It was dreadful to think that was all she could expect. But what else could there be? How could she find anything real in her life, if all she did was manipulate and lie? How could she be real?
Yet perhaps, if she could find someone like him… someone who knew and loved truth, and could teach her to live by it, too.
The thought nearly had her walking straight into the open door of a small shop. The most obvious observation occurred to her immediately, but soon enough she was berating herself inside her head with a voice that sounded disturbingly like Aunt's. She couldn't get confused in the middle of such an important mission.
There was some fortune to her near collision though: the shop happened to sell some clothing, even in Éomer's size – she had worried she wouldn't find anything for a man so absurdly big.
At the wells she met some of the local women, talking and gossiping until they saw her pulling up water. They cornered her like a flock of birds and were shooting questions at her: who was she, where had she come from, and was she new in the city? She made up a quick little story about how she and her husband had recently moved into the city to find work, but that he had got sick almost immediately upon their arrival, and so she had been busy tending to him. The company of women seemed to accept this tale easily enough and she was able to leave the wells without becoming a target for greater interest among the crowd.
When she got back to the apartment, she cast a long, searching look around the buildings of the small square. Nothing seemed to be out of ordinary, but one does not simply dismiss every caution when one is trying to keep a foreign king safe and sound. And truth be told, Éomer's words had stuck with her: perhaps he was right about the corsairs and their loyalty to their captain. She kept waiting to see the face of one them somewhere in the shadows, staring at her with murderous intent.
A shiver ran down her spine, but it was gone when she entered the little apartment. There Éomer stood by the table, cleaning up after their meal and humming slowly to himself. But he seemed to have heard her approaching from some way, which did not put her on the edge; she was glad to be with someone who was just as ready and alert. No corsair would be taking them by surprise.
When he saw her dragging the two buckets, he frowned and put down the mugs he had been handling.
"I should be doing that", he stated gruffly.
"I appreciate the sentiment, but what do you think would happen if the dozen inquisitive ladies I just met were to witness a Rohirric warrior drawing water from a well in the city of Pelargir?" she asked him as she put down the buckets and poured enough in a pot to heat up for washing the dishes.
Éomer did not seem pleased, but neither could he come up with a counter argument. He sighed and crouched to stir the fire.
"I must seem like the most useless companion in the world", he muttered. She was not surprised by this change of mood – she knew already he was a man of action, and it must be asking him a lot to stand back.
"My friend, you're too hard on yourself. You're like a man who has been thrown in the water for the first time in his life and still expects to know how to swim. And if you were useless, we would both be dead by now", Lothíriel told him calmly. Then she flashed him a smile, "Not to mention, you make the tastiest eggs I've ever had, and that's saying something."
She could see the corner of his mouth twitching, until at last he gave in and smiled.
"So that's why you keep me around?" he asked her and humour returned to his voice.
"Absolutely", she told him cheerfully. "I can't risk you running off and establishing a business on your fabulous cooking."
Now he laughed out loud and seemed visibly cheered. It rather made her feel better, too. At least this was real.
"Good to know I can always make a living if I fail as a king", he said in wry humour. She didn't really think that a probable outcome – she had listened enough of her father and brothers' praise of Éomer – but she didn't say that out loud.
He was overjoyed when she handed him the fresh clothes, but insisted her to use water first for washing, and so she retired to the bedchamber to get clean. It couldn't compare to a bath, but she had managed to find some soap and she felt very much refreshed when she was done. Then she gave up the room for her friend, who looked just as anxious to wash as she had been. Lothíriel hid a smile; so much for her aunt's insistence that Rohirrim were uncivilised people who cared little about cleanliness. It sometimes surprised her that a person who had travelled so far and wide as her aunt seemed to have some very fixed prejudices.
Éomer had already cleaned up after their breakfast – and the man still felt useless! – so there wasn't really much to do in the main room. She poked at the fire and thought they would need more firewood and water as well. Lothíriel cringed to herself, for she did not look forward to dragging buckets of water and piles of logs. She might be stuck doing just that for many days, depending on how quickly the tavern keeper could get the message to her aunt. On the other hand, if things seemed calm enough, maybe they could book a passage on one of the ships from the harbour? Ships from Dol Amroth frequently stopped at Pelargir on their way to or from Minas Tirith. At least, that would spare them from sitting here and waiting for help to arrive. It might be better for Éomer's peace of mind.
She turned around from the fireplace – and got a very unfortunate view into the bedchamber, for her companion had forgotten to shut it completely. She froze where she stood and her mouth went dry, for the Rohir was stripped to the waist and she wasn't sure if she had ever seen anything as beautiful as the lethal grace of his movements and his golden hair falling against his tanned skin in bright daylight.
Lothíriel turned away so quickly that she nearly lost her footing. Her cheeks were burning hot and she intensely wanted to dump her head in cold water. Hadn't she been telling herself before how stupid it would be to get confused right now? It was as though her years of training had ceased to exist. Aunt would be so disappointed with her if she knew.
When Éomer joined her again, she did her best not to look at him straight. It was hard, because she was abruptly aware of how proudly and confidently he held himself, like a man born to rule. He was now arrayed in clothes she had got for him, fresh and tidy with his hair tied back. When the grime and sweat of their flight had been washed away, it was difficult to ignore the fact he was one of the most attractive members of his sex she had ever met.
She desperately tried to think of what Aunt would tell her. Then again, she wasn't sure the woman had ever found a man pleasing to her eye. Aunt seemed mostly disgusted with males, and probably expected her student to naturally share the sentiment. Lady Ivriniel had always told her that most men were brutish creatures, ruled by their crude desires and emotions. Only if they were trained diligently from childhood, they could be taught to follow certain principles that were generally for the common good.
But as Éomer spoke in a soft voice and pulled on his boots, she couldn't see anything crude about him. Maybe he was a little rough around the edges compared to Gondorian lords, and certainly he was different than most men she had met, be it as a princess or a spy. But none of that was bad, or crass in the sense Aunt would imply. This King of Rohan had dignity about him, but also passion and strength. Not one of these qualities seemed like they weren't a natural part of who he was. Maybe Aunt was not entirely fair or right with her assessment.
This thought made her relax once more, at least enough so that Éomer didn't notice she was uneasy. Aunt had taught her to hide her feelings, and the Rohir, though he seemed a keen judge of character, was not yet so close to her that he could read her mood when she was doing her best to conceal it.
The day passed uneventfully in their little safe haven. Most of it they spent talking of this or that, telling each other about their lives before this unexpected journey. Lothíriel was just as eager to hear about Rohan as Éomer was to ask about her life as the Hidden Blade. For a time, they even forgot that right now they were the prisoners of this small apartment.
Their conversations were disrupted when Lothíriel left once more to get more water and some firewood. She had to make two trips to manage this, but she was glad for the chance to stretch her legs and get some fresh air.
Éomer was not so lucky; he had agreed to stay put, but he was pacing when she got back from her second trip outside. He was moving from one window to another and gazing out for a minute before continuing his restless wandering. In his body's language there was something like in the gait of a beast in cage. She remembered seeing a lion once when a travelling fair had come to Dol Amroth, and the great predator they had kept as a jewel of their collection of wonders from distant lands. Her and Amrothos had got close to the bars while their nursemaid's eye had been turned the other way and she would never forget how the animal had snapped at them, its mighty teeth only inches away from the two children. She thought right then King of Rohan was remarkably like that great cat; the long golden hair streaming down his shoulders surely heightened the sensation.
He relaxed a little when she joined him once more and said she had bought them some tea, and for a while they were both preoccupied preparing it. She toasted a few loaves from yesterday's bread and topped it with what remained of cheese. She'd have to go and get more food tomorrow.
Over the tea and the toasted bread, they resumed to conversations and tales, and the Rohir seemed to relax a little once more. He was smiling at her over his mug of tea, his long fingers cradling it between his hands. She noted how flecks of gold were revealed in his dark eyes and the warm light made him look surprisingly gentle. Lothíriel had already seen he could be very fierce and threatening when he didn't smile and his eyes were without this glimmer. In those moments he surely looked like a ferocious warrior king from the wild north. Yet that was not all she saw: to her he had become a trusted companion. In his presence, she didn't need to lie about anything or watch her back. She could simply be.
Perhaps that was not all. For when he smiled at her, her heart took a misstep and leapt. Lothíriel felt both like a young girl giggling at the sight of a gallant knight, and also very foolish. She could almost hear Aunt's voice in her head, scolding her like she was a thoughtless child.
That was the reason she eventually figured it might be smart to get out of the little apartment, catch some fresh air, and clear her head. Because the longer she was in the immediate vicinity of this horselord, the harder it became to keep her thoughts straight.
Thankfully, she had actual valid reason to go out without looking like she was acting strange.
"I was thinking", she said as she finished her tea and laid the cup on the now empty earthenware plate, "It might be a good idea to go and talk more with the tavern keeper. There wasn't time last night… I'd like to get some tidings. Find out whether the news about your disappearance have already spread – and if there's any word of strangers arriving at the port."
Éomer looked at her with dark eyes, his earlier gentle humour gone.
"I don't suppose you'll let me come along?" he asked her wryly, already prepared to resign to his fate.
"You should stay here. I know it's frustrating, but we can't risk exposing you. There are plenty of folk living in this city who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of our circumstances", she responded in soft tones.
The Rohir sighed and looked unhappy, but he said nothing, except for a muttered "be careful out there."
She promised she would be, and then Lothíriel slipped out into the night. She breathed in the cool air and felt indeed a little clearer. It was easier to focus on her goals when he wasn't here to distract and confuse her thoughts. Grimacing in the dark, she imagined Aunt would probably tell her to stay away from him as much as she could. Why hadn't they ever talked about this? Well, maybe the old woman had expected that her visit to the house with red veils would have taken care of such fancies.
The inn was quieter tonight when she stepped inside. A few parties of two, three people sat around tables, nursing tankards of ale as they spoke in low voices; it was not so late yet that the house brew would have made the clients merry and rowdy. The establishment was nice enough in the standards of the city. It was clean, with polished furniture, and food that was actually edible. All in all, it was not a place the corsairs would be first looking for a missing horselord. So she hoped.
The keeper of the tavern was a short, round-faced man in his fifties. His expression was one of constant concern. She wondered if he had always appeared so, or only after his business with Aunt Ivriniel.
"Evening, Master Gelmir", she greeted him in a soft voice as she halted at the counter, which he had been polishing with a faded rag.
"Mistress", he greeted her and threw a nervous look around, like he expected Aunt to be lurking somewhere close. Lothíriel had told him she was travelling alone this time, but apparently he was not confident the dreaded woman wasn't watching.
"Have you got any news? Anything interesting going on in the realm?" she asked him. She didn't meet his eyes, but pretended to be highly interested in the mug he had produced for her and was now filling with foaming ale. Granted, the clientele didn't look like they would have a reason to pay particular attention to her. But it would be bad form to let her own slip somehow compromise the safety of the king she was trying to keep hidden and secure.
"Dol Amroth and Minas Tirith are in uproar. Apparently, the King Éomer has gone missing during his visit to south. It's not sounding good – I have already heard talk of war. As though the last one wasn't enough", Gelmir huffed and looked even more worried than usual. She imagined war would be quite devastating for his business.
"Yes, I heard about it", she muttered and brought the cup to her lips, taking only a small sip. "What will King Elessar do? Has there been any word of what he's planning?"
"Not yet. I suppose he doesn't want to reveal his intentions yet, though I'm sure he already has some kind of a rescue mission in action", said the tavern keeper. Lothíriel glanced at him quickly.
"So he knows who took his ally captive?" she asked. If King Elessar came south – well, that might just solve all her problems. Deliver Éomer straight to safety, make sure politics were taken care of, and convey an absolutely clear message to the corsairs: they weren't going to get vengeance under the very nose of the King of Arnor and Gondor.
"They say it was corsairs, but if that's the case, I don't think there's much hope of saving Rohan's king. Their ships are swift and their malice is particularly keen for those of the House of Eorl. Southrons have not forgotten or forgiven the fate of the Black Serpent", Gelmir responded and shook his head, much as one would over someone's deathbed. Meanwhile, Lothíriel bit the innards of her cheeks to keep from smiling.
Oh, I'm working on it, and I think I just might be able to pull this off, she thought to herself. But Gelmir didn't need to know that.
"Say, has there been any corsair sightings near Pelargir? If they have grown so bold they'd capture the King of Rohan himself, then surely there has had to be some increase in their activity", she said quietly, sipping more of her ale. It wasn't particularly good, but it wasn't like she came here for drink and atmosphere.
"Not corsairs that I have heard of", said Gelmir as he continued to polish the counter with round motions of his hardened hand, "but there was a pair of fishers earlier, and they said they had seen a badly wrecked Southron ship sailing upriver. I assume they are legitimate merchants, or elsewise Amrothians would already have intercepted them."
She looked down and hid her frown. So the corsairs were coming to Pelargir. Did it mean they were still planning on chasing her and Éomer? Or were they just hoping to dock here to make repairs on their ship? Maybe they hoped for both. Whatever the case may be, she knew they needed to be careful.
Lothíriel met the tavern keeper's gaze again.
"Keep your eyes and ears open, Master Gelmir. If you hear anything more about this ship and its crew, I would like to know about it", she told him in a low voice.
"What's your interest in them, Mistress?" he inquired her. In his small, grey eyes there was a curious look.
Lothíriel shrugged as nonchalantly as possible.
"I just like to know things. She always tells me to pay attention even when something may seem irrelevant", she answered and immediately felt bad when she saw the way Gelmir paled. But she told herself it was necessary to hint at her aunt's name. She couldn't compromise Éomer's safety by letting Gelmir put his nose where it didn't belong. On the other hand, would Éomer approve of her frightening this poor man just to keep him safe? The answer was unlikely in her favour, but right now, she had no choice.
Lothíriel just hoped Gelmir would take the hint and restrain his curiosity. Otherwise, she imagined he would be going to an early grave.
"By the way, can you sell me some more food?" she asked him then, hoping to distract him from the topic at hand. But soon enough she realised what a basic mistake she had just made.
Gelmir lifted his eyebrows.
"You need more food already, Mistress? The load I gave you last night should last at least a couple of days", he pointed out, and she immediately wanted to give herself a good kick. What a stupid move! Now she had suggested she wasn't alone here!
Again she shrugged and feigned indifference.
"I'm expecting company", she merely said, and once more, Gelmir's face grew white.
"Is she coming here?" he asked in a thin little voice. Indeed, if his nerves got often wrecked in this fashion, his heart was sure to give out sooner or later.
"It's not for me to disclose", Lothíriel said and sniffed, knowing Gelmir wasn't going to ask any more questions. No, it was not nice, but if the man was too busy being terrified of Aunt Ivriniel, he wouldn't be thinking about her little slip. And Éomer would stay safe and sound.
It was her job, doing the dirty, unpleasant thing that the high and honourable had declared below their dignity.
Lothíriel had never questioned this fact. But as she carried another basket of food back to the safe house and was greeted by the smiling face of the man who was brave and decent and just good, she found herself wondering if hers was a reality she could truly live with in the long run.
After Lothíriel had returned, they spent a couple of hours talking about and analysing the news she had heard from the tavern keeper. It was as Éomer had feared: the corsairs had decided to sail here. He surely didn't like being anywhere in their vicinity while he and the Princess were so badly at disadvantage, but she reassured him they would be safe while they kept their heads down. And their earlier reasoning not to go and travel to Dol Amroth or any other city by foot was still valid.
Seeing there wasn't anything they could actually do now, they eventually agreed to try and get some rest. Perhaps new day would also bring more tidings.
He insisted her to take the bedchamber again, while he laid down on the sofa. Sleep didn't come to Éomer quite as easily as last night; all the events of past week were running in circles inside his head, and he was also thinking about the corsairs and whether there would be another confrontation.
Eventually he did sink into uneasy sleep, though. But as it so often did when his mind was troubled, his rest was plagued by a familiar nightmare.
It was always the same: a great field was about him, torn and burnt and ravaged in battle. Light had a reddish tint to it, as though Sun herself had been washed in blood. Dead bodies littered the ground, faces twisted in terror, limbs broken and mangled. So many of them bore the familiar green cloaks, or still clasped round shields in their hands, and the sun emblem was hacked and bloody more often than not. And then, as soon as he recognised this scene, Éomer relived that horrifying moment once more, and he saw the image that was burned to his memory clear and vivid: Éowyn's pale face among the slain, and the grief and madness that fell on him when he understood he was alone in the world. He couldn't say how he got back in the saddle – he only knew then that he was riding, riding through the ranks of orcs, and Gúthwinë sang in his hand as he cleaved left and right. Madness drove him and he roared his curses and laments into the fray, and all he wanted, all he expected, was a way to join his family in grave.
He woke up with a gasp and almost fell down to the floor. Cold sweat covered his skin and for a minute, Éomer could not recall where he was. His heart raced in panic and before he even knew it, he was already on his feet. It was dark, but he could more sense the walls than see them, and it felt like all the building would come crashing down on him any minute now.
He needed to get out. And he needed to get some air.
The Rohir rushed out, heedless to the noise he made as he threw the door open. Then his hands grasped at the stone railing that marked the edge of the open corridor of the second floor of the building. Night was still and dark, and its air spoke of coming rain. His breathing was still laboured as he pressed his forehead against a stone pillar, though he was already starting to feel a bit calmer.
Leaning still against the cool stone, Éomer reminded himself of three important facts: Éowyn was alive and safe in Ithilien, they had survived, and the war had ended with their victory. But though these things were true, the nightmare still returned from time to time. And he knew he wasn't the only one among the veterans of the Ring War who returned to that accursed field in his dreams.
He heard movement behind himself, and then a soft voice spoke in concern.
"Éomer? What is wrong?" asked Lothíriel. Of course she would be sleeping lightly enough to hear him suddenly bursting out of the apartment.
The Rohir did not answer at first. She seemed so single-minded all the time, and sometimes ruthless. He was sure her aunt would regard having such nightmares as a weakness, but what about Lothíriel? What would she think of a man who couldn't forget the horror of what could just be the worst day of his life?
And yet, how could he say anything except the truth?
"A nightmare", he muttered at length, staring into the night but not really seeing anything. "I was remembering the Pelennor fields."
Lothíriel came to stand next to him, pressing her hands against stone railing.
"I see. My brothers have dreams about it sometimes, too. It's not like they meant to let me know, but I've walked in on a few late night conversations I wasn't supposed to hear. It's all right, my friend – I have heard enough tales of that day to understand why the memory persists", she said softly, much to his surprise. Éomer hadn't known his Amrothian friends had just as hard time forgetting.
"Do you ever have such dreams?" he asked her, studying her features in dim light.
"No. But I haven't been doing this for very long, and I'm not supposed to engage unless I have the advantage. If it's me against multiple enemies and I have the option of running, then that's what I need to do", she answered slowly. Éomer thought he could spy a slight crease on her brow in the darkness.
She looked at him then, "So you see it's different for me. I don't get involved the way you do. It's… a lot cleaner, if that makes sense."
He thought to ask if the things she did ever came back to haunt her. But she had said she hadn't been Lady of the Hidden Blade for long, so perhaps this trade had not yet fully consumed her.
Perhaps her aunt's teachings were still an absolute truth of her world, sheltering her from understanding her own darkness. What would happen to this woman, if she continued to live like this? Would the goodness he saw in her vanish, until ruthless lies truly became a part of her? He shuddered at the thought.
"Some things you can't forget", Éomer said at length, heavy with the pain of knowing. "And you are lucky to have escaped it so far. But there's a darkness in this world that one can't avoid for ever, and it will always be there, even without a dark lord to lurk as a menace."
"Yes", she agreed softly, leaning her elbows against the railing as she peered into the night. But then she turned her eyes towards him and she put her hand on his in a comforting gesture. She continued, "My grandfather once told me that's why the Eldar call our world Arda Marred. Darkness and horror are a part of it… but that is the reason people like you exist. Because you can shoulder it for others and make it a little better. Me, I just scurry around in the darkness like some spider. But you give others an example – something they can look up to and strive to become. You show the world that decency is a choice anyone can and should make."
Éomer stood silent, looking at her in wonder. How to tell her that she had just given him one of the greatest compliments he had ever received? That with these words, his burdens were easier to bear and there was sense in braving on? Something like that was not easily spoken out loud. But Lothíriel lifted her eyes and smiled wryly at him, as though she didn't understand what gift she had just given him. He turned his hand, so that the tips of her fingers were against his palm, and his against hers. For a second he wanted to grasp her hand and never let go, but she reacted before he did. Lothíriel withdrew her fingers and looked away again, and her dark hair veiled her face from him.
"You are so much braver than I could ever hope to be", she said softly.
He coughed to clear his throat – and his head from the astonishment and something he couldn't name. It was a wonder he was able to get anything out.
"If I learned something during the Ring War, it is that courage takes many forms. It's one thing to face your enemy on battlefield. Another is to board a ship full of corsairs and put your life in line to save someone you don't even know. You are a fearless woman", he pointed out.
"Fearless – or foolhardy", said Lothíriel with a teasing tone to her voice. "And in any case, courage is not same as fearless. The former implies some common sense, you see."
"You don't have any common sense, then?" he asked, finding himself feeling much lighter already.
"If you ask my father, no", she answered in good humour and reached to pat his forearm. "Come along. It's still hours before dawn. We should go back to bed."
"Aye", he replied, though he wasn't necessarily eager to let this moment end yet. But she was already shifting towards the door, and so Éomer let himself be lead back inside.
Torion was muttering as he hauled his fishnets into his boat.
Anduin had been unforgiving today: the river had yielded so little fish, the pitiful amount did not recommend showing his face at the markets next morning. He could have waited for rain and then cast his nets again, but he decided against it. After all, for this week – or month, maybe – his livelihood did not depend on the generosity of Anduin the great.
He was considered by some as the most stubborn fisherman in all of Pelargir. Such reputation had been attached to him because ever since he had been a young man, he had been going further downriver than anyone else cared. Torion preferred to fish in solitude, not to listen to the constant yapping of his fellow fishermen. Sometimes it yielded good haul, sometimes not. Last night, the catch had been exceptional.
He touched the little pouch on his belt again, just to make sure it was still there. The silver chain he had received last night as payment was safely tucked inside. He had not yet had a chance to meet a silversmith, but he was certain it would guarantee quite a few meals for him and his lazy, good for nothing son.
He thought again about the pair he had shipped to Pelargir. What a curious scene! The girl had looked like a Gondorian, but the man had to be one of Rohirrim, Torion was sure of it. While his grasp of Common Tongue had been astonishingly good, his array and blond tangled hair rather announced the land of his origin. But what would two such strange companions be doing here? He was sure there was more to it than met the eye. Torion had heard peculiar tidings of King Éomer of Rohan going missing, but he didn't presume the tall Rohir could be him. For it was said pirates had caught him, and surely he and his captors would be halfway down to Umbar by now. Not to mention, the girl did not fit that image at all. So, he reasoned it just had to be some bizarre coincidence. After all, traffic between Gondor and Rohan had been much greater since the ending of the war.
Torion had just got his nets cleared out when a sudden voice calling from the bank of the river disrupted him. He looked up in wonder. What were the odds?
"Hello there!"
It was getting dim already, but he could make out a male figure standing by the stream and waving at him in earnest.
"And who would you be?" Torion shouted back, trying to decide what he should do. Were survivors of wrecked ships becoming some kind of a thing in these parts? Maybe this man was from the same ship as the pair last night. They had not said others had made it alive, but perhaps they simply hadn't known.
"Just a weary traveller. Might I speak with you, good master?" came the answer.
Torion pondered what to do for a moment. He couldn't say he wasn't curious, and maybe there was a chance of earning more silver – or even gold! – by transporting this fellow to Pelargir, too. After all, his joints were not what they used to be, and his fool of a son could not be trusted to be able to catch even a dead fish. Some extra coin would surely be helpful.
At length he decided it was worth the shot, and so he guided his boat towards the bank.
In less than minutes, he was already regretting his decision.
For there was hardly two feet between his boat and the bank when the low bushes by the bank came alive. Suddenly, the place was swarming with armed men. Easily they took a hold of his boat and dragged him to the riverbank while Torion cried his pleas for mercy. What a fool he was! He should have known better!
"Bring him to me", said a new voice. Two men lifted Torion from under his arms and dragged him to where stood a man dressed in dark cloak made of light silk. He was resting a hand on a curved blade so that the Black Serpent embroidered into his tunic was in view. Torion cursed himself yet again: he knew this insignia and what it meant.
"Please, I'm just an old man, I have nothing but my little boat -" he began to rant nervously. What could these villains benefit from killing an old helpless fisherman?
"Quiet", the leader of this ragtag company commanded. His voice was so cold, it sent shivers down Torion's spine.
"Shanum, are you sure this isn't a waste of time?" asked one of the men surrounding them. He was using their own speech, but Torion had happened to learn the tongue of Southrons back in his youth; merchants from Umbar had at a time been welcome in Pelargir and he had often sold his fish to them.
"We need information. He may have seen something, and even if he hasn't, we're not going to leave without asking. We owe that much to our captain", replied the one named Shanum while he stared at Torion with eyes as black as night. There were some mutterings, but no one argued further.
"W-what do you want?" Torion asked in a strained voice.
"Tell me, fisherman, have you seen a man and a young woman travelling near the river towards Pelargir?" Shanum wanted to know. The gaze of his eyes nailed the old man where he was and for a second Torion wondered if the followers of Black Serpent had a snake's ability hypnotize.
"M-m-maybe", he stammered. "I don't know."
"It would be impossible to make a mistake about the man. He is one of the Rohirrim, tall and blond-haired. And the young woman" - Shanum spat hatefully - "is dressed like a boy."
Torion swallowed. What did he care about some odd people he didn't even know? He had his own little life to worry about, and it was nothing to him if these strange, dangerous folk chased one another across lands and rivers. Maybe the Rohir and the woman were already beyond the reach of this lot and it wouldn't matter what Torion told them.
"I - I may have seen such folk only last night", he said at last, hoping these corsairs would be content with truth, and leave him be once they had heard what they wanted.
Shanum smiled. Even in the darkness, Torion could see how very hateful that expression made him seem.
"Well then", said the Southron in velvety voice, "Why don't you tell me everything you know?"
To be continued.
A/N: Phew! This one was a bitch to write, though I enjoyed it as well. It was great to build Éomer and Lothíriel's relationship even more, and I especially enjoyed being inside Lothíriel's head and exploring what this prolonged exposure to Éomer is causing to her. It does seem like things are going somewhere between them. ;)
Thank you for reading and reviewing! Your comments are much appreciated.
EStrunk - Sorry to have made you hungry! :D I hope this one keeps you more satisfied. Anyway, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. And I admit I enjoyed writing the bit about her ankle as well! :)
Jo - Glad to hear that! :)
Anon - Great if I managed to make her thoughts clearer! Perhaps this chapter will help in that regard even more, as it is rather heavy with her POV. I would say she has never really thought about having a family enough to dismiss it, but maybe she's now starting to think about many things she has ignored until now.
The friendship certainly seems to be growing!
sai19 - Yes, while a quick romance can be enjoyable sometimes, slowly developed relationship is usually more substantial. And with two characters from such different backgrounds and world views, it surely is preferable to work their attachment slowly so that it becomes more natural.
Luckylily - I'm glad you like it! :)
Wondereye - It might be interesting for them both, yes!
Nerdanel - Is he ever? :D I'm not sure he is very subtle about his emotions, whatever the case may be! And it may be better for him to stay as far from Ivriniel as he can! :D
Doranwen - We'll see how safe it is! ;) You are quite correct - reunions and reactions should be very interesting! But we'll get there in time.
Wtiger5 - I'm glad you decided to give the story a chance! I know it's a bold setting and there are people who dislike those, but where's the fun in rejecting a storyline that I find entertaining?
Guest - Thank you!
Merakia - Oh, they definitely aren't making similar way as Aragorn and his friends. The way for Éomer and Lothíriel here is much shorter, they aren't running as fast, and they take plenty of breaks.
Anyway, I'm glad you like their conversations! Those are very enjoyable to write as well. :) There's not as much Éomer's POV in this chapter as in the earlier one, but I hope you enjoyed those bits anyway.
I know my comma usage with dialogue is a matter of some dispute, but the way I'm using it generally is how it's in my own language, and early on I figured out I'd better stick to one system than switch between two, lest I end up forgetting which one is which! I hope it doesn't bother you too much. In any case, thank you for your comments!
Brandir - I considered that, but there are actually plenty of reasons he is not judging her at face value. He notes that as a younger and more hot-headed man, he would indeed react strongly. But at this point, he's a man who has survived the War of the Ring and gone through a year of kingship. These experiences have taught him a lot about life and world and things beyond the borders of Rohan. He knows things aren't always black and white, that he can't judge things outside his own realm just like so, and as a king he has already learned that in this position, he may have to do things and make decisions that don't fit in a tight criteria of right and wrong, and truth and false. And like he notes back at the ship, he knows he needs to survive this ordeal no matter what it takes. Rohan needs him to stay alive.
And there's the fact Lothíriel has already saved his life and continues to help him at her own expense. She is struggling to get him through this and putting her own life in line. Éomer is not blind to this, nor to what it implies about her. I imagine he also thinks it would be dishonest and hypocritical of him to get pissed at her actions while he is benefiting from it all. Like he thinks to himself, she may be ruthless and use methods he never would, she's not deploying them to similar ends as Wormtongue. Considering Wormtongue was a hated enemy of his, Éomer indeed does feel strongly about him, but he also has a very good understanding of said man's character. It's good enough he knows she's not like Wormtongue at all.
And as a keen judge of character, he's also wondering if falsehood is actually natural to her, or if it's something she has learned. Plus, don't forget she's still very young - Éomer sees that and is cutting her some slack, because should children be held responsible for what their parents and caretakers have told them all their lives? Especially when they may be able and willing to learn elsewise?
This all ties in with threads of characterization and relationship building I mean to explore further, so I don't want to spoil that bit too much, but let's just say these are indeed questions that will come up again in the story.
